Tidelands

James smiled at Alinor again, his eyes searching her face, wondering at her silence. Still, she said nothing. He did not know, but she was thanking God for the sight of him, marveling that he had come, as he had said he would, conscious of her own simple joy at his handsome face, of the rich tumble of his dark curly hair, of the beautiful line of his mouth. He had come as he said he would—that was what surprised her most. He had kept his promise, and the warm rising of her desire felt like gratitude that he should be the man that she hoped, that he should be fit for her love, as natural and as unstoppable as the incoming summer tide.

“She’s been out all night attending a birth,” Ned spoke for her, and then turned to her: “Is all well? God bless them in their travail?”

“Yes, she has a boy,” Alinor answered, recalled to herself. “Strong and well made. She’s well herself. I’ll go back to see them later.”

“And will you rest now?” James asked her.

She smiled at his ignorance. “No, no, of course not. I have all my work to do in the cottage and garden,” she said. “And this afternoon I’ll come here to pick the plums, go to visit the mother and baby, and then go to the mill for gleaning and for the harvest home. Is Sir William coming to see the harvest in?”

At once he realized this was a chance for them to meet. “I don’t know. I’m on my way there now. But if Sir William attends I will come with him and bring Walter and Robert.”

“I should like to see Rob,” she replied. “Sir William usually attends the harvest home at the mill. The mill is the biggest farm in his estate.”

“I hope to come then. Shall we see you there?”

“At sunset,” Alinor said.

“Is there dancing?” he asked, as if they were a girl and a boy, and he might bow before her, take her hand and lead her out.

“After dinner,” she said. “Just a fiddle and the harvest dances.”

He did not dare to ask if he might dance with her. “I should so like . . .”

“What?” she asked, instantly alert. She thought of his hand on her waist; she thought of their steps going together.

“To see you at harvest home,” he said lamely. He nodded to her brother, bowed to her, climbed on the mounting block, and rode his horse down the track to the Priory without looking back.

“Pleasant enough, though fine as a lord,” Ned said carefully, watching her.

The face that she turned to him was blandly serene. “I’m so glad he’s teaching Rob,” was all she said. “It’s a great chance for him.”

“Started work but went away the very next week,” he pointed out.

“He left them studies to do. Rob told me they read in the library every morning and do the exercises he set them: translating and mathematics and map reading—all sorts.”

“Is he a godly man?” he pressed her.

“Oh, I should think so. He preached a fine sermon in Sir William’s chapel and stood before a table. He didn’t use the altar at all, and all the gold and silver and all the fine embroidered cloth must have been taken down and packed away. There were no tapestries or statues or anything fine. He’s one of the new men.”

“Well enough,” he said, denying the uneasiness he felt at the brightness of her face and the way that the gentleman had looked at her, as if he were surprised to find a woman like her in a place like this. “Well enough, I suppose.”

She nodded. She was completely calm. Ned could not reach her; he could not understand her.

“Seems very friendly,” he said, as if it were a failing.

“I don’t find him so. He’s just his lordship’s tutor. He just takes Master Walter out and about to see the things he should know, and Rob with him.”

“Handsome man,” he remarked.

“Do you think so?” she asked, just as Alys had said to her of Farmer Stoney’s son at the mill. “I hadn’t noticed.”

As soon as James Summer arrived at Mill Farm with Sir William, Master Walter, Rob, and the groom, he knew it was a mistake to come. It was obvious that they were the family from the great house, the landlords: riding out, ready to be amused by peasant celebrations. Sir William was on his charger and Walter rode his father’s hunter, James was on a high-bred black riding horse, and even Rob had the handsome cob once used to pull the ladies’ carriage. The four of them, overhorsed, overdressed, followed by the groom, rode through the white-barred gate into the mill yard as if they were royalty: condescending to observe village customs, patronizing the people’s sports.

Mr. Miller came out into the yard and bowed low to his landlord, his little son Peter beside him. Mrs. Miller burst out of the kitchen door, flinging off her stained work apron, trying to look as if she were a lady of leisure and had not been basting the roasting ham. Jane raced after her, pulling her best cap over her dark hair. James flinched at the bleached whiteness of the Miller women’s best aprons, the stiffness of the frilled lace, and the falseness of their smiles.