Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(28)

The first day of May was clear and bright. The last bitter trace of winter had left the air, replaced by the verdant scent of springtime. Sprawled on the carpeted floor of an upstairs sitting room, Emma twirled her red hair into wild ringlets. She seemed appalled by her governess's matter-of-fact explanation of the menstrual cycle.

“Disgusting,” Emma muttered. “Why is everything such a bother for women? Bloody rags, stomach cramps, counting the days each month…why don't men have to go through some of this?”

Tasia smiled. “They have their own burdens, I imagine. And it's not disgusting, Emma. It's the way God created us. In return for all the ‘bother,’ as you put it, we are blessed with the ability to give birth.”

“And what a lark that is,” Emma said sourly. “I can hardly wait to be blessed with labor pains.”

“Someday you'll want your own children, and you won't mind all that.”

A thoughtful frown appeared on Emma's face. “Once I begin my monthly bleeding, it means I'm old enough to have a baby?”

“Yes, if you share a bed with a man.”

“Just sharing a bed will do it?”

“It's more complicated than that. You'll learn the rest later.”

“I'd rather learn everything now, Miss Billings. I'm capable of imagining some pretty dreadful things.”

“What happens between a man and woman in bed isn't dreadful. I've been told it can be quite pleasant.”

“It must be,” Emma said speculatively. “Or else those women wouldn't invite Papa into their beds.” Her eyes widened with dismay. “Oh, Miss Billings, you don't think he's given babies to any of them do you?”

Tasia's face turned hot. “I don't think it is likely. There are ways to prevent babies from happening, if one is careful.”

“Careful about what?”

As Tasia thought of various ways to sidestep the question, they were interrupted by a housemaid's appearance at the door. It was Molly, a buxom, dark-haired girl with a toothy smile. “Miss Emma,” she said, “the master sent me to tell you that Lord and Lady Pendleton have arrived. He says for you to come downstairs at once.”

“Drat!” Emma exclaimed, rushing to the window overlooking the front drive. “There they are, getting out of the carriage.” She turned to Tasia and rolled her eyes. “Every year they insist on coming to watch the Maypole dance with Papa and me. Lady Pendleton says it's so entertaining to watch the ‘rustics’ celebrate. The crotchety old snob.”

Tasia joined her at the window, gazing at the plump, middle-aged woman swathed in brocade. Lady Pendleton wore an imperious frown. “She does look rather haughty,” she admitted.

“You'll have to go to the village with us, Miss Billings. I'll drop dead from boredom if you don't.”

“It wouldn't be fitting, Emma.” The last thing Tasia wanted was to take part in a noisy village festival. It was improper for a governess, who was supposed to maintain her dignity at all times, to be seen in such a setting. Besides, the thought of being in a large gathering made her nervous. The memory of the bloodthirsty crowd at her trial, the sea of accusing faces inside and outside the courtroom, was still too vivid in her mind. “I'm going to stay here,” she said firmly.

Emma and Molly protested at the same time.

“But Papa gave all the servants time off to go down to the village.”

“It's bad luck not to take part in May Day,” Molly exclaimed. “You have to welcome summer with the rest of us. They've done it this way for a thousand years!”

Tasia smiled. “I'm certain summer will arrive whether I welcome it or not.”

The housemaid shook her head impatiently. “You have to come tonight, at least. That's the most important part of it all.”

“What happens tonight?”

Molly seemed to be stunned by her ignorance. “The Maypole dance, o' course! And then two men dress in a horse suit and go through houses in the village. People join hands and follow the horse in a long line. It's good luck to have the parade pass through your house.”

“Why a horse?” Tasia asked, entertained by the notion. “Why not a dog or a goat?”

“It's supposed to be a horse,” Molly replied, looking offended. “It's always been a horse.”

Emma began to giggle. “Wait until Papa hears. Miss Billings wants our May Day horse to be changed to a goat!” The sound of her laughter drifted down the hall as she left to join her father and the Pendletons.

“Emma, don't tell him that,” Tasia called, but the child made no response. Sighing, Tasia looked back at Molly. “I'm not taking part in any springtime celebrations. If I recall correctly, it's nothing more than a pagan rite—worshipping Druids and fairies, and such things.”

“Don't you believe in fairies, Miss Billings?” Molly asked innocently. “You should. You're just the sort they like to carry off.” She left with a snicker, while Tasia frowned after her.

The Stokehursts spent the afternoon observing the Maypole dance with the Pendletons. Most of the servants didn't show up for the cold dinner Mrs. Plunkett had prepared. They were all busy adorning themselves for the night's revelry. Tasia was certain that the springtime celebration was only an excuse to drink and cavort through the village. She wanted no part of it. Closing herself in her room, she settled by the open window and listened to the sound of drumbeats and chants floating up from the village. The night air was crisp with the scent of frost. She stared outside, imagining that the forest was filled with fairies, and that the flickering light of torches was the glow of their wings.