by Robin Helm
In the interest of avoiding other well-wishers, Fanny moved purposefully to her wardrobe to inspect her dress options for the morning. She was inspired to escape the house and required clothing suitable for a country walk on a brisk, damp April morning.
“Green,” she commented aloud, removing a Pomona green cotton dress. She was rummaging through a chest for a wool mantel and old boots when her maid arrived.
“Bless my soul,” Becky murmured, her expression frozen in shock as if seeing an apparition.
“Becky,” greeted Fanny, straightening her back to stand. “We are short on time this morning. I shall need help dressing.”
“How long have ye been up?” Becky inquired, unmoved but for her gaping eyes surveying the destruction of her sanctuary.
“Not very long,” answered Fanny impatiently. “Make haste!”
Becky roamed about the room, touching all the garments and accessories that lay out of place, attempting to find just what the young lady had in mind to wear.
“I wish to wear this green dress,” Fanny directed, attempting to recall her maid to her duties.
“This green dress?” repeated Becky, now realizing she must be in a dream. She imagined Becky thinking that Miss Fanny did not ever wear that shade of green - deep forest green, yes, or a jeweled emerald, certainly, but a shade of green apple? Never.
Becky said, “I’m unable to recall ever having seen that dress before.”
“Have I conveyed to you the necessity of haste?” Fanny urged. She understood that her maid was unused to such an early morning with her, but haste was of the essence!
“What are ye up to, Miss Fanny?” Becky asked skeptically, holding the dress as if it was distasteful to the touch.
“I must quit the house without delay. Spring mornings are cold and damp, are they not? Do we wish for me to spoil a nice gown? Just help me to dress, fetch my oldest boots, and let me be on my way.”
Becky stared unbelievingly for a moment longer before springing to action, probably praying fervently that this was not to be the new Miss Fanny. The final result did her no credit, poor maid, and she fled to the servants’ quarters in tears.
Fanny, on the other hand, smirked at her reflection.
“I am hideous,” she stated with confidence before sneaking quietly down the stairs and out of the servants’ back door. She walked quickly through the garden, seeing no one, and disappeared into the woods, pausing to rest at the stream. It was more swollen than she had expected, and her boots sank into the mud past her ankles. She grimaced but almost immediately smiled again, enjoying the novelty of her adventure, calmly assured that no other body could possibly be out and about at such an early hour.
During her brief rest, she considered her plight. Two decades old with no prospects, and two sisters married, or close enough. She thought of her sister, June, who had never shown a care for her appearance, had never cared a jot for attention from the male sex, and had never made any effort to be overtly female. She was married nearly two years ago. Next, Fanny turned her mind to Cousin Victoria, the beauty, and the antithesis of June. Victoria had always dressed perfectly for every occasion, not a hair or ribbon had ever been out of place, and she had a way with gentlemen without being called flirtatious. She was married soon after June, though not in the brilliant match her mother had expected. Now, to trump them all, younger sister Louisa was betrothed to the Right Honorable Mr. Hampton, oldest son of Baron Hampton, boasting residences in every corner of the kingdom. What did they have that she lacked? In frustration, she continued on her way, stomping her boots through muck and ruin. At one point, she decided she had to cross the stream but, upon glancing up and down the bank, did not find a good crossing point. She turned to the woods and spotted a thick branch and quickly decided that it should do the trick. Dragging it awkwardly to the stream’s edge, she hefted it as far out into the moving water as she was able and winced at the sound of her dress tearing at the shoulder seam. Still, the branch was placed almost precisely as she wished, and she took a determined step towards it.
“Eeee!” she squealed, teeth clamping together as the frigid water rushed over her skirts. It was much deeper than she had anticipated, and the branch did not float with her full body weight upon it. Fortunately, she had not fallen completely when the branch slipped away, but she was now soaked to the thigh, with her skirts and mantel dripping water once she exited on the opposite side.
She timidly wrung them out as much as possible, shuddering again at the cold, and decided to find a clearing where the sun could do its work. After wandering for a time, Fanny found a path, chose a direction at random, and strode quickly in search of sunlight. Her feet threatened to freeze into ice blocks if she stopped, and only constant movement maintained a tolerable warmth. At long last, Fanny stepped into a clearing and into the warm sunshine. Lifting her face and arms, she spun in a circle, embracing the heat, before realizing her entire body would enjoy such an infusion of warmth. She crossed the field until coming across a fallen tree upon which she climbed for a makeshift seat. Fanny arranged her skirts and cloak in a way to allow for maximum drying while also maintaining modesty, and she removed her bonnet to allow the heat to reach her nose. She did briefly consider how the sun could deal harshly with skin that was unused to it, but she shrugged. Surely one morning could not undo a lifetime of work. Leaning against the upturned roots, Fanny closed her eyes.
CHAPTER II
The sound of cracking twigs jolted her awake.
“Are you all right, miss?” inquired a concerned voice.
Fanny, in attempting to sit upright into a more composed position, felt her hair plait catch on a jagged root and was jerked back.
“Oh!” she cried, reaching one hand to her tender scalp.
“May I help?” the voice offered kindly, waiting patiently on the sideline, just out of sight now that Fanny’s hair was caught.
“Yes, if you please,” she stated with some irritation. She had once seen her brothers with an insect they had overturned, and the poor thing had been helpless to set itself to rights. That was just how she felt now.
“I fear your hair is quite spoilt,” he said apologetically. “Not but what the rest of you is in a similar state.”
“Excuse me?” Fanny asked, indignant. Now free, she straightened her posture and glanced down at her skirts to ensure they were modestly arranged. Her dress was torn and brown with dirt, her boots were fully encased in mud, and her bonnet was nowhere in sight. “Ah, I see,” she said calmly. “Becky will rejoice that the horrible green dress has been destroyed.”
The stranger chuckled. It was a friendly, grumbling sound, like a bear that means you no harm, should one such beast exist. Fanny finally looked up to study her rescuer.
“So you are a lady,” he noted aloud, much amused by the discovery.
Fanny cast him a withering look before dismounting the tree. It was not her most graceful moment, and the stranger was put to use once more.
“My legs are… tingling,” Fanny explained, excusing her stumble. “Thank you,” she added reluctantly. As she mentally assessed the rest of her body, she realized her face was burning. Touching it gingerly with her fingertips, she winced.
“I would call it a rare piece of meat,” the stranger offered helpfully, “and yet, at the same time, well done!”
Choosing to ignore the diagnosis, Fanny began to peruse the area for her missing bonnet. The stranger, seeming to understand her line of thought, began walking around the overturned tree.
“Was this your bonnet?” he asked, chortling. Fanny frowned at him. The frown only deepened upon seeing the offering.
“Perfect,” she said eloquently, taking the ragged and filthy bonnet. Considering her needs for the moment, she shrugged slightly and began fanning her flaming face, almost sighing with relief.
Remembering herself, she paused her fanning and turned to face the stranger. He was a tall man, a full head taller than she stood in her boots, and she was considered to b
e quite tall for a young lady. He was dressed in riding clothes, though she saw no mount, and his face was attractive. His build was athletic and his carriage confident but easy. She noticed a deep dimple in his chin and appreciated the line of strong, white teeth. She smiled back, though she doubted his assessment of her was as flattering.
“How do you do?” she inquired, all politeness. “Have you lost your way? Perhaps I can help, as you have so graciously helped me.”
“I fear my horse is lame, and we have not yet reached our destination,” he explained.
“My home is nearby. I am sure Tom Groom could look after your horse, and my father could help you with the rest.”
“That would be most helpful,” he replied obligingly, waiting for the young lady to continue. In fact, they both waited.
Fanny’s expression changed into one of confusion. Looking around the field, it melted into concern.
“Anything amiss?” the stranger asked for a second time that morning.
“I fear that I am quite lost,” she said finally.
“Ah,” the gentleman replied, squelching a grin.
“You see, I walked quite a bit further today than usual,” Fanny explained sheepishly.
“That is apparent,” agreed the stranger. “Would it be helpful if I were to say that the stream is behind us, in those woods there?”
Fanny turned to the direction the gentleman indicated, then turned slightly more to study the trees to her left.
“Yes!” she said triumphantly. “I entered just there.” She pointed. “There is a path that leads to the stream. No, wait, I found the path after wandering a bit. Also, I am afraid, there is no proper crossing once the stream is attained,” she said apologetically.
The man smirked as he looked down to examine the obvious condition of her skirts, but seemed to overcome the urge to point out how it made her toils abundantly clear.
“Shall we begin our journey, then, and sort out our trouble with the stream once we find it?”
“I should say if’ would be more accurate,” Fanny mumbled in an uncommon show of unladylike behavior.
“Pardon?”
“If we find it,” she said again, but clearly this time.
“Challenge accepted,” the man replied confidently. He strode ambitiously towards the edge of the clearing.
“Wonderful,” Fanny remarked to herself, willing her reluctant legs forward. The stranger’s pace was relentless, and only Fanny’s sheer stubbornness carried her over the miles of mud and bracken.
“How far did you say you walked today?” the man inquired as they paused for a brief consideration of direction.
“I have no idea,” Fanny replied drolly. “I also have no idea where we are or what direction we are taking, so do not ask again.”
“You are not as helpful as you promised to be,” he remarked.
“Do I look like I am accustomed to combing the woods, through mud and stream and forest?” Fanny replied shortly. The stranger looked her over, head to muddy boot, and must have decided not to answer.
Finally, the stream was acquired. Fanny had no recollection of anything that would indicate if they were close to where she had crossed over or not. Fortunately, the stream was not as full, and they decided to take their chances crossing on foot.
Fanny was in full support of the plan, being unwilling to walk any further than necessary to get to the other side.
“You will get wet,” the stranger pointed out, again looking her over doubtfully.
“The cool water will be refreshing,” she insisted, gritting her teeth against the thought of the icy blast to her legs and feet. “Besides, I cannot even make out my laces, and I will eventually need to remove my boots.”
The stranger grit his teeth as he nodded for them to proceed. Fanny attempted to place herself behind the man, so he would not see her stumble awkwardly through the water, but he insisted upon helping. He took her arm in his strong grasp and slowly led her across. Fanny had built up enough heat, and the day had warmed sufficiently, that she did not suffer pangs similar to those of the initial crossing. Upon reaching the other side, she looked up at the man and flashed him a most jubilant smile. She was going to survive after all!
His expression became calculated, but he finally gave a brief upturning of the corners of his lips before releasing her arm and marching forward. They soon found a path, and Fanny felt lighter and more at ease.
“Is April not delightful?” she chirped happily, admiring the new spring growth. She laughed. “See this dazzling green of the new leaves? That was the shade of my dress.” She laughed again, a carefree sound full of mirth.
Moments later, upon recognizing a field beyond the border of trees, Fanny exclaimed, “Look! Just there. I count five deer in Farmer’s pasture.”
“You know this place?”
“I thought I did,” Fanny replied wistfully. “I begin to see why my sister so enjoyed her walks.” She pondered the thought but cast it aside. “Although it will never do to repeat this precise adventure.”
“I am sure your servants would appreciate your discretion.”
“Oh yes! Poor Becky,” said Fanny agreeably. “Imagine her surprise to find me up already and with my room in such disarray.”
The stranger paused for a moment to study his guide. “How are you feeling? Are you well?”
“I am quite well, I assure you. Never better,” Fanny said, smiling brightly, before setting pace again.
Her chatter continued for a time then fell away. The stranger watched her anxiously from the corner of his eye. She trudged along, eyes focused on the terrain, mind willing the legs to move. He offered to pause again for a brief rest.
“Generous, but I should like to be home for tea. I suppose breakfast has been cleared away,” Fanny remarked.
“Breakfast? Have you not eaten today?” the man asked incredulously. “You decide to strike out on this new adventure and did not eat or pack food or drink?”
Fanny considered shrugging but decided it would be a waste of energy.
“Missing one meal will not hurt me,” she said defensively, but the bite was long gone from her bark.
“Let us press on then,” he said gruffly.
The path ended on a road, but they had to decide which way to proceed down the road - left or right. Fanny hesitated. She glanced up at the sky and noted that the sun was directly overhead, indicating that the time was not as late as she expected.
“Do you still not know which way to go?” the stranger asked, holding back his ire.
“Oh certainly, I do,” she replied, “but the day is still young. Shall we not go into the village? There are several quaint shops I could show you.”
The gentleman glowered. Fanny preened.
“I cannot possibly look as bad as that,” she stated.
“You look like a scarecrow,” he replied, “and I am concerned for my horse.”
“Your horse?” said Fanny, not recalling anything about a horse.
“My horse that is lame and in need of attention,” he explained through gritted teeth. “We were traveling.”
“Ah yes! I am to fetch Tom Groom for your horse, and my father is to help you continue on your journey or whatever course you decide upon from here. Very well. We turn right.” Fanny’s steps once more took on a jaunty air until the drive leading to her house became visible. Her steps slowed, and she moaned.
CHAPTER III
“What now? Lost again?” the stranger asked brusquely.
“No,” Fanny answered, drawing out the sound. “Welcome to Woodhaven House,” she said, grandly waving her arm in the direction of the house. Her expression was glum.
“This is your home?” he inquired, admiring the traditional Tudor house of thatch and brick.
Fanny tilted her head to the side, decided it was the correct house, and pressed on.
“Here are the stables,” Fanny said, though it was obvious. She removed her mantel, tossed it in a heap just outside the door, and entered
. Upon seeing the stableboy gawking at her, she said, “Gus, yes. I am Miss Bingley. Could you fetch Tom Groom, please?”
The lad scurried through the barn and exited through a back door, and Fanny turned to her guest. “Nice boy, though a bit simple at times. I am obviously Miss Bingley.”
The gentleman nearly choked but hid it well in a cough. Not moments later, an older, clever looking man approached from the same door the boy had used.
His eyes twinkled in amusement when he greeted the young lady of the house.
“Miss Bingley! Pleasure to see ye out and about at this hour. Why, I have’na seen ye such a mess since…,” Tom began.
“Yes, quite so. A jaunt down memory lane is always so amusing, but this gentleman here has a lame horse, and I assured him that Tom Groom was the best man for the job,” Fanny explained sweetly.
“Silver tongued lass, she always were,” Tom replied appreciatively. He had come to the house as a stable boy when her parents were newly wedded just moving in, and now he stood as head groom, entrusted with the care of the horses and with the children as they grew to explore the stables. “Where is your horse?” he asked the man.
Fanny and her guest considered each other for a moment.
“Have you a map?” the gentleman asked finally.
“Come, Miss Bingley, surely you can tell Old Tom where we may find the beast?”
Fanny stared dumbly at the groom. He shuffled uncomfortably and humphed.
“Right. I can have the map fetched in a trice.”
Fanny’s stomach rumbled. Both men looked at her askance.
She stared mutely ahead.
“Perhaps, Miss Bingley, you should go into the house, and we men will discuss the location of the horse,” Tom Groom offered.
“Nonsense. A little rumble, and you men fall apart. And they say women are the weaker sex. Go, fetch your map. I may be of some use yet.”
While they waited, Fanny walked around the barn, attempting to stomp the mud from her boots. At one time in the past, an old looking glass hung in the tack room, but it was there no longer. “Pity,” she sighed, becoming increasingly curious as to her appearance.
