Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(29)

“Miss Billings!” The door to her room burst open. Three girls poured inside without waiting for an invitation. Bewildered, Tasia stared at Molly, Hannah, and Betsy. They were dressed identically, in white blouses, beribboned and flowered wreaths, and colored skirts. “Miss Billings,” Molly said merrily, “we've come to take you to the village with us.”

Tasia smothered a groan and shook her head. “Thank you, but I have nothing to wear. I'll stay here. Have a wonderful time, all of you.”

“We brought some clothes.” A collection of blouses and skirts dropped to her bed in a bright heap.

Hannah, a small, blond kitchen maid, smiled at her shyly. “Some of it's ours, and some of it's Miss Emma's. Keep what you like—they're all old things. Try the red skirt first, Miss Billings.”

“I'm not going,” Tasia said firmly.

The girls began to bully and coax her. “Miss Billings, you must. It's likely the only fun you'll have all year—”

“It's dark outside. No one will know it's you.”

“Everyone is going. You can't stay here all by yourself!”

To Tasia's surprise, Mrs. Knaggs appeared at the doorway with an armload of flowers. The housekeeper's face was stern. “What is this I hear about Miss Billings going down to the village?”

Tasia was relieved that she finally had an ally. “Mrs. Knaggs, they are insisting that I accompany them, and you know how imprudent the idea is.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Knaggs said, and broke out into an unexpected smile. “And if you don't go with them tonight, Miss Billings, I shall be very displeased. When you're an old woman like me, you can stay inside and watch through the window. For now you belong at the Maypole dance.”

“But…but…” Tasia stuttered, “I don't believe in pagan rituals.” Like all Russians, she had been brought up with a complex mixture of religion and superstition. It was proper to respect nature and all its powerful forces, but God was displeased by the worship of idols. Tree worshipping and any other May Day customs were definitely not acceptable.

“Don't do it because you believe in it,” Molly said, laughing. “Do it for luck. For fun. Haven't you ever done something just for fun?”

Tasia longed to stay hidden in the privacy of her room. She tried a few different objections, but her excuses were batted away. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “But I won't enjoy it.”

The girls giggled and chattered, holding up articles of clothing while she undressed. “The red skirt,” Hannah insisted, while Molly argued for the blue.

“She doesn't even need a corset,” Betsy said, staring enviously at Tasia's slender, linen-clad form.

Molly helped to pull a drawstring blouse over Tasia's head. “Her titties aren't much bigger than Emma's,” she said with a friendly laugh. “But don't worry, Miss Billings. A few more weeks of Mrs. Plunkett's puddings, an' you'll have a shape like mine.”

“I don't think so,” Tasia said doubtfully, glancing at Molly's ample bosom. She submitted, resigned to her fate, as they pulled the pins from her hair. The women exclaimed in admiration as her shining black hair fell to her hips.

“Oh, how pretty.” Hannah sighed. “I wish mine looked like that.” She went to the mirror and frowned at her own gold curls, tugging as if it might make them longer.

They plaited Tasia's hair with ribbons and flowers, and let it hang in a thick rope down her back. Standing back, the girls viewed the results with satisfaction.

“You're a lovely thing,” Mrs. Knaggs said. “Every lad from the village will be trying to steal a kiss from you!”

“What?” Tasia asked in dismay, while the girls pulled her out of the room.

“It's a village custom,” Molly said. “Sometimes the lads rush up and steal a kiss for luck. No harm in it.”

“What if I don't want to be kissed?”

“You can run away, I s' pose…but there's no need. If he's an ugly sort, it'll be over quick enough, and if he's a likely lad, you won't want to run!”

It was dark outside, a canopy of clouds covering the stars. The village was illuminated by torches and by lamps set in cottage windows. Drumbeats became louder and louder as they approached the green, tangling in a mixture of rhythms.

As Tasia had expected, wine played an important role in the celebration. Men and women were drinking from bottles and flasks, slaking their thirst between rounds of enthusiastic dancing. Linking hands, they circled the flower-wrapped Maypole and sang pagan songs about trees, the earth, and the moon. The sense of freedom and fun reminded Tasia of the Russian peasants' love of voila, the occasional chance to make mischief and have one's way, drink and break things, and be wild.

“Come on!” Molly cried, grabbing one of Tasia's hands, while Betsy took the other. They plunged into the circle and became part of it, singing an ancient ballad about a magic oak forest. “You don't have to sing, Miss Billings. Just make noise and keep your feet moving!”

That was easy enough. Tasia kept pace with the others, repeating the chants she heard, until the drumbeat was echoed by her own pounding heart. The circle broke as everyone paused to gulp more wine. Molly handed her a soggy wineskin. Awkwardly Tasia drank a stream of sweet red liquor. When the dance resumed, a handsome blond boy took Tasia's left hand. He smiled and joined in the song, crowing as loudly as the others.