Daniel's Afternoon
When he straightens and wipes the back of his hand across his grimy forehead, Daniel realizes that his duties for the day are finally over. He's finished the repairs on the last of the stalls, piled the new bales of hay in the loft, cleaned the tack, and groomed the horses that needed his attention. He groans as he bends over to pick up an abandoned riding quirt. He would give anything for a long, hot soak in his tub, but he still has to go by the big house to see Mrs. Bolton, stop by the gardens to gather a small nosegay for Valerie (Mr. Evans has kindly given Daniel permission to pick lily of the valley and wild roses), take a quick bath, and press his clothes. He fumbles in his pocket for his battered pocket watch. As long as Mrs. Bolton doesn't talk for too long, he should have time to spare. His belly reminds him that the bread and cheese he gulped down at lunch didn't last long.
Luck smiles on him; one of the older cooks comes to the door and smiles at him when he asks for Mrs. Bolton. She urges him to sit at the wide table and puts a plate of apple crumble and a cup of tea in front of him. Daniel tries to eat neatly and keep his elbows off the table. He's just finished the last bite when he hears Mrs. Bolton in the passageway.
"They're ready for their afternoon tea, Mrs. Wicker," Mrs. Bolton says to the cook as she enters. "Daniel, come with me, please."
Daniel bobs his head at Mrs. Wicker, takes a final swallow of tea, and follows Mrs. Bolton outside.
"How is your mother, Daniel?" Mrs. Bolton asks as she walks briskly toward the small herb garden.
"She's well, thank you," Daniel replies politely.
"Have you been to see her recently?"
"Yes. A fortnight ago."
Mrs. Bolton stops in front of a bed of spiny pale green rosemary. "I imagine she will be pleased to hear that you're courting." She pauses, and then gives Daniel a steady look. "Pleased, and perhaps concerned."
Daniel's stomach lurches. This doesn't sound like a quick chat, or an easy one. "Concerned, ma'am?" he asks.
Mrs. Bolton folds her hands atop her apron and lifts her chin. "Daniel, I like Valerie, I truly do. She's a hard worker and a kind person." She tilts her head. "But she's also rather…free…with her affection."
Daniel feels heat flush into his face. "Mrs. Bolton," he begins as politely as he can.
"Let me finish," she interrupts him smoothly. "I am not saying Valerie is easy or loose, Daniel, so you need not frown so. I am not as prudish as you may think. I only caution you to be careful because I care for you, and I would not see you hurt or disappointed."
Daniel inclines his head. "I do not think Miss Valerie will hurt or disappoint me," he says quietly.
"I admire your faith in her, considering you've only just met." Mrs. Bolton holds up one hand at the protest that is forming on his lips. "I'm not faulting you for feeling the way you do, Daniel. I know that these young women nowadays can be flighty and irresponsible, and a good-hearted young man like yourself is an easy target." Mrs. Bolton tilts her head again. "You can't tell me you haven't seen Valerie in the company of the one called Walker Jerome, or Mellors, the gamekeeper here."
Daniel nods stiffly.
Mrs. Bolton sighs at his silence. "I thought at one time that Valerie had feelings for both men, particularly Mr. Walker. He's rather affectionate with her, and she with him."
Daniel can feel his hands closing into fists and makes an effort to relax his fingers. Mrs. Bolton wants only to help. He must remember that. "I appreciate your concern," he tells her. "And I will consider your advice."
Mrs. Bolton smiles, years lifting from her face. "That's a very kind way of telling me to mind my own business," she comments, then laughs. "Don't look so stricken, Daniel. I know I've overstepped my place." She stoops and breaks off a stem of rosemary. "Add this to your girl's nosegay," she tells him, offering him the sharp-smelling sprig. At his look of surprise, she laughs again. "Mr. Evans is a terrible gossip," she explains. "Can't keep a secret at all."
Daniel takes the sprig of rosemary and bobs his head. "Thank you, ma'am."
"You're welcome. You may go."
Daniel bobs his head again and walks across the yard to the path. When he looks over his shoulder, he sees that Mrs. Bolton is marching back to the house, her head held high. He wonders, not for the first time, how she manages to run the house and deal with the tangled relationships within its walls, yet manage to know everything that goes on throughout the entire estate.
Daniel looks at the sprig of rosemary in his hand. He has no doubt that Valerie's charm has caught the eye of Walker Jerome; a man would have to be deaf and blind to be immune to her light. He also knows that Walker Jerome and Mellors are in love; he's heard all the talk about the two of them. Whatever has happened between Valerie and Walker and Mellors is in the past; it has no bearing on what will be.
He's nearly to the path when he hears his name shouted. Shading his eyes with one hand, he sees Virgil, Lord Chatterley's personal valet, waving from the lane. A cart behind him is piled high with boxes and trunks.
"Daniel!" Virgil calls again. "Come help me unload this lot!"
Daniel grits his teeth and tucks the sprig of rosemary in his pocket. He arranges his face in what he hopes is a helpful smile as he changes direction and heads for the lane. Please don't let this take too long, he thinks.
**
It's nearly full dark by the time Daniel runs out of his tiny cottage behind the stables. His hair is still wet from his frantic bath, and because he didn't have time to go back to the main house and beg to use the laundrywoman's flatiron, his one good shirt is a wrinkled mess that he's trying to hide beneath an overcoat that belonged to his Da. He runs until his side hurts, then realizes that it'll do no good to show up at Valerie's cottage, not only late, but sweaty and disheveled again.
Daniel groans aloud in frustration as he slows his pace. It had taken nearly two hours to help Virgil unpack the bloody cart and carry the boxes and trunks up to the third floor. Then he'd been stopped yet again, this time by one of her ladyship's maids who needed help getting a parcel ready for the next day's post. He had rushed through his bath, shivering in the icy water because he didn't have time to heat it. He feels unkempt and out of sorts. All the bright promise of the day has been drained by his frustration and fatigue. As the last of the pearly light in the western sky fades, he wonders if Valerie has given up on seeing him. He is at least half an hour late, an unforgivable rudeness.
Daniel quickens his pace. The thought of insulting Valerie makes his stomach ache. He rubs his clammy hands together and breathes deeply in an effort to relax. He can smell the faint scent of wildflowers along the path, and the sweet smell jogs his memory.
"Oh, shite!" Daniel cries as he realizes he's forgotten to pick flowers for Valerie's nosegay. Not only will he be late, but he will show up on her doorstep empty handed.
He doesn't think his luck can get any worse.