Note: I have never written a Lark Rise to Candleford 'fic before, and it disappoints me how few of them there are on this site! So, I thought I might add my own to the little collection in a vain attempt to boost the numbers! I hope somebody enjoys reading it.
This story is dedicated to Trixie, because now I am writing for this fandom she might just feel inclined to buy that Lark Rise to Candleford boxset I've been badgering her about!
Disclaimer: I do not own Lark Rise to Candleford, nor am I making any profit out of this piece of writing.
A Spring Tale
Spring had arrived in the hamlet of Lark Rise some week or so ago, banishing the frost and bringing blossoming blooms of flowers and new, vibrant shades of green to the woods and fields in the surrounding Oxfordshire countryside. As she stood just outside of the front door of her cottage, calling goodbye to her children as they set off to school, Ethel and Frank bickering as they hurried to keep up with their brother Edmund, Emma Timmins took a moment to look around at the outside world and wonder at the freshness that Spring had cast upon the land. Closing her eyes against the sun upon her face, Emma inhaled deeply, revelling in the change of season, for when Spring is in the air you might just smell it, taste it on the tip of your tongue, glory in it...
Emma had always been fascinated by Spring, as she supposed most hamlet girls would be, growing up surrounded by nature that changed so clearly with the seasons. As a girl she had wondered at the new buds of flowers she passed in the fields, watching day by day as they grew and bloomed with colour. She had watched for the arrival of butterflies, listened for the sounds of chirping newborn birds and felt so alive at the notion that the world was once again finding new life.
And yet today Emma found the prospect of nature's renewal a somewhat bitter prospect, for it seemed to the stonemason's wife that whilst the world flourished anew, some things in life were growing steadily dull and bordering on stagnant. Life in Lark Rise moved at a slow, steady pace, change came slowly to the sleepy hamlet where it came in a rush to the neighbouring town of Candleford, and the hamlet folk kept close their traditions and long held practices until sometimes change didn't feel like change at all. Yet, despite all of this, even old traditions and permanent fixtures seemed reinvigorated this time of year.
But not for Emma. Not where it mattered. Not anymore.
Things had been different in the Timmins household since baby Annie had been born. The new addition to the family had, Emma was beginning to suspect, had a somewhat damning effect upon her marriage.
Not that anybody would notice, of course. Her husband Robert certainly hadn't, that was for sure.
That was the point.
Money matters had grown yet more precarious since Annie's arrival, despite their eldest daughter Laura being away working in Candleford, and Robert had taken to working increasingly long hours each day to keep food on the table and clothes upon their backs.
Robert had always worked hard, he'd been working hard since the day Emma had met him all those years ago. Before Annie had been born Emma could scarcely believe he could work any harder.
Apparently she had been wrong.
Each morning Robert would finish his breakfast before Emma had even served the children and sat down at the table beside him. He would disappear out of the door with the same instructions to his children every day: Be good for your ma, be good for your teacher and if you do that you'll be good for yourselves! Most days he had no words at all for his wife, save for perhaps a hurried farewell, and that would be all she would see of him until supper, unless he appeared briefly for luncheon, though he was prone to taking food away with him instead which she packed upon the cart beside his tools each morning. At supper the pair of them would fuss over the children, hear about their day, what they had been up to and importantly, as Robert always said, what they had learnt. Once the children had been sent to bed Emma would busy herself by the fire darning stockings and socks and Robert would attempt to finish the odd job around the cottage that he'd been meaning to do for who knew how long, squinting through the dim evening light with the help of a candle or two as he hammered in nails for coat hooks, mended the chair leg that seemed to have come loose...
They'd talk briefly in bed later, their voices all whispers so as not to wake the children. Often Annie would cry and disturb them and when Emma rose from bed to see to her, she would return some minutes later to find Robert already fast asleep.
Then they would wake up the next morning and it would all start over again.
It was all becoming terribly mechanical. Mechanical, not natural. For surely the natural state of marriage was not like this? Surely it ought not be such a long and hard grind with not a moment's relief? Surely when he fell into bed next to her each night and leant to press a kiss to her cheek it ought not be so entirely expected, so entirely routine that it made her feel...well...nothing?
Even the prospect of Laura returning home to visit for a day or two the following day, an event Robert swore he would be home for, didn't make Emma feel much brighter, and as she watched Queenie Turrill step out into the breezy morning air, a basketful of washing under one arm, Emma felt as if her heart were sinking to her boots.
"Mornin' Emma!" Queenie called as she strode purposefully over to the washing line at the side of her cottage, and as usual Emma plastered a bright smile onto her face and, with a wave, called:
"Good morning, Queenie! How's your Twister today?"
Dumping the basket down upon the grass, the older woman came to stand before Emma, throwing her hands up into the air as she went, exclaiming:
"Oh Emma, that man of mine!" As she drew closer Emma saw an amused twinkle in the old woman's eye as she said: "'E's gone and got himself all in a fluster, he has! There's been an awful wind these past few nights, knocking at the shutters! Now Twister's all talk of ghosts and the like! And I told 'im! I told 'im that ain't no ghost! What would a ghost want with an old duffer like you?!" And with that, Queenie let out a merry laugh, glancing past Emma into the cottage where baby Annie was sat upon a mound of blankets by the empty fireplace. "Children all off to school already?" she asked, and as she too glanced back into the house, Emma agreed:
"That's right. Bright and early because they'll only dawdle on the way."
"And your Robert?"
"Gone already. There's work to be done over Ingleston way. He won't be back until nightfall." Emma flinched to hear the weariness in her voice and Queenie sighed, reaching to grip the younger woman by the arm.
"Just you wait 'till your Edmund finishes school. He likes the land, does young Edmund! He'll go off with Alf and the others to the fields an' perhaps his wages saved up might afford Robert a rest once in a while..."
Emma opened her mouth to admit that she would not care for her eldest son to go to work upon the land, that she hoped for better for him, despite how keen to accept such a lot in life he was, but she stopped herself just in time. After all, it would not do to appear above such a life. It was the life for most of the working men in Lark Rise, after all.
"Perhaps." she agreed half-heartedly instead as the loud and unmistakable tones of Caroline Arless drifted across the hamlet. Emma watched as across the way the Arless children were herded hurriedly out of the front door by their mother, who proceeded to usher them off up the lane towards the school house with exclamations of despair at their potential tardiness and demands for good behaviour.
Watching Caroline retreat back into her home, Emma supposed things could be worse.
At least Robert was here at all. At least he came home to her each night and at least she woke up beside him every morning.
At least he wasn't away at sea like Caroline's husband.
Indeed, Emma supposed she ought feel some sort of shame at her outlook upon her situation. But for some reason she simply could not manage it.
Because when Walter Arless did return from the sea, at least Caroline felt the thrill of it all. He'd return with gifts and stories and there would be such excitement when they set eyes upon one another, as if despite all their time apart they were so very much in love.
Emma couldn't remember the last time she had truly looked forward to Robert arriving home from work. Of course she longed for him, for the way they used to be, for the burning excitement in her stomach and the leap of her heart in her chest. But she knew it wouldn't be there when he walked through the door, she knew nothing different or exciting ever happened to disturb their routine, she had all but given up on it...
"Oh, would you look at that!" Queenie said, bringing Emma back from her increasingly despairing thoughts in an instant, and with a blink the stonemason's wife looked to see Queenie reach forward past to pluck something off the door. Pulled free from the loop of the hefty door knocker, Queenie held out a small bunch of wildflowers for Emma to take, asking:
"Robert leave you a gift this morning, did he?"
Despite Queenie's wide smile, as she took the vivid collection of flowers Emma let out a soft huff of disbelief.
"I shouldn't think so, Queenie." she said, gazing down at the flowers thoughtfully. "Robert ain't got no time for...for flowers and the like!" Smiling a little she supposed: "Ain't they pretty? Perhaps it were our Ethel when I sent her for water this morning. And I told 'er she'd been dragging her feet!"
"Your Ethel ain't been picking no flowers, Emma. She walked with me to the well an' we filled up the buckets together."
"Our Frank, then."
"What makes you so sure it weren't Robert?"
As she frowned down at the flowers, Emma found herself entirely reluctant to try to explain. Instead she gave a small shrug and a smile, murmuring:
"We'll see, eh?" And with that she offered her neighbour a cheerful farewell and disappeared back inside the cottage, abandoning the flowers upon the kitchen table in favour of scooping baby Annie up from the blankets and into her arms.
Throughout the day as she went about her chores, baby balanced upon her hip as she tidied and went to fetch more water to heat that evening for the children's bath, Emma found herself drawn to the flowers upon the table, admiring them, wondering, hoping...
She'd know if Robert had left them for her when the children got back from school. She'd ask which one of them had left them there, that way she'd know for sure.
She already knew for sure. It had been one of the children, she was sure of it...
And yet that afternoon when Edmund, Frank and Ethel arrived back in their usual rush of excitement and noise that flooded the little cottage, Emma found herself feeling apprehensive as she ushered them all into seats around the table, ready to present them each with a slice of bread scraped with jam.
"Now then," she told the three children as they tucked into their treat. "Who left these lovely flowers on the door for me this morning, hm? Was it you, Frank? Ethel?"
"It were Mr. Gibbs from over by the Arless place." Edmund informed his mother frankly, causing his two siblings to dissolve into giggles.
"Edmund Timmins! What a tale to tell!" Emma scolded, causing Frank and Ethel to abruptly halt their amusement, but as he took a generous bite of his bread and jam, the oldest Timmins boy insisted:
"It ain't a tale, Ma! It's true, I saw him from the window this morning!"
"Why would Mr. Gibbs be leaving me flowers?! Such nonsense, Edmund!"
"Is 'e in love with you, Ma?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Ethel..."
"What'll Pa have to say?"
"Frank! Enough, all of you!" Snatching up the empty laundry basket upon the floor beside the fireplace, Emma made a beeline for the door, insisting: "Finish your bread and jam! I won't hear another word of your nonsense! What'll your Pa have to say, Frank?! I don't care to think!"
Stepping outside and heading to fetch the last of the washing from the line, Emma paused upon the grass at the sound of footsteps upon the lane, and she turned to spot none other than Benjamin Gibbs striding along, a large sack of apples slung over his shoulder as he headed for the inn. Catching sight of her, the man reached to tip his hat, calling:
"Afternoon, Mrs. Timmins!"
Emma managed a rather numb nod and as he carried on up the lane she wondered what on Earth would possess Edmund to make up such a tall story. It was, after all, just a story. Emma could not for the life of her imagine Benjamin Gibbs leaving flowers at her door. What would it look like, for one thing? What with her being married! And she barely knew the man, indeed he knew Robert far better than he knew her for the two men would often share ale in the inn of an evening...
And yet as night time approached any and all of Emma's attempts to persuade Edmund to change his story, or have Frank or Ethel contradict him were entirely fruitless. By the time she was ladling soup into bowls and slicing thick slices of bread for supper she was beginning to feel increasingly apprehensive...
Because really, what reason did the children have to lie? She had threatened to tell Robert all about their mischief and lies that evening, but they only insisted that Edmund was telling the truth.
What if it was the truth?
What did it mean?
Nothing to her, that was for sure! She didn't welcome gifts from men she barely knew like that, it didn't seem right or even make sense and what would Robert make of it all if he were to hear about it? She'd have to tell him, surely? It seemed dishonest not to...
She dreaded to imagine the expression that would adorn his face, and yet...
And yet a awful little part of her was intrigued to see it. To see his reaction. To watch him get fired up and grow furious at the immorality of it all, leaving tokens for another man's wife like that!
And Robert was so good at being wound up over questions surrounding morality, of what was right and proper and what was not. It was an oddly alluring prospect to provoke a reaction out of him on a matter concerning her, concerning them. To have him show a bit more feeling than the simple fondness etched with weariness from a long days work that she had grown so accustomed to.
And yet as she finished setting supper down upon the table some short while later, the children sat fidgeting at the table, baby Annie upon Ethel's knee, Emma felt apprehensive again when at long last the door to the cottage was pushed open to reveal Robert freshly returned from Ingleston.
Emma watched him remove his hat, hanging it upon a peg by the door before setting about shrugging off his jacket, the children calling cheerful greetings to their father from around the table.
For a long moment Robert said nothing, pausing to gaze for a long moment at his family clustered around the table, and Emma felt her apprehension grow as his eyes came to rest upon her and he sighed heavily.
"What is it, Robert?" she asked, reaching to retrieve the baby from Ethel, hugging the squirming infant close to her as if she might feel comforted, but to her relief her words only seemed to knock Robert from a daze. He smiled broadly as he moved to take his seat at the head of the table, gesturing to the steaming cooking pot set in the middle as he suggested:
"Won't you tell me, Em?"
Emma managed a smile of relief as she picked up one bowl of soup and went to set it down before him.
"Vegetable broth and fresh bread, and I made an apple pie for afters! So eat it all up won't you all?"
"Apple pie?" Robert said as the children murmured excitedly, snatching up their spoons to get stuck in. "Isn't your ma good to us all, Frank?"
"Yes, Pa." the youngest boy agreed as he dunked a crust of bread into his bowl, and his father wondered:
"And have you been good to her in return? Ethel?"
"Of course, Pa."
As she took her place opposite her husband Emma watched Edmund's face contort in a distinctly irritated fashion and her heart sank a little when Robert too did not fail to notice it.
"Edmund?"
"Pa?" the boy murmured, not looking up from his bowl, and Robert leant back in his chair, eying his son in consideration for a long moment before reminding him:
"Just you ask Queenie and she'll tell you. Let your face look sour when the wind changes and it'll be stuck like that."
"That ain't true." the boy muttered sullenly. "I'm too old to believe nonsense like that."
"Either way son, it's not a fair face to look upon after a hard days work. What's the matter with you?"
Emma took a careful sip of her broth, eying the silent boy beside her for a long moment before insisting:
"Answer your pa, Edmund. He asked you a question."
"Edmund's been tellin' tall tales!" Ethel announced, sounding pleased with herself, causing Edmund to glower across the table at her, and as he ripped a chunk of bread in half, Robert observed:
"That's a tale in itself, Ethel."
"It weren't a tale!" Edmund announced indignantly, face growing a little pink. "Ethel and Frank didn't think it a tale earlier! She's only sayin' it is because...because...!"
"If you're so sure it wasn't a tale, Edmund," Robert interrupted calmly as Emma preoccupied herself with her food, "I'd like to hear all about it."
Silence descended upon the table, broken only by Annie's absent-minded gurgling as she sat upon Emma's knee, until at last Robert offered his wife a raised eyebrow and concluded:
"Well then. That's the end of that. Perhaps we might save The Boy Who Cried Wolf for another bedtime tale after all."
"How was Ingleston, love?" Emma asked him, clear to steer the conversation in a new direction, and her heart sank a little when he frowned deeply and informed her:
"I think it best if I go back again in the morning."
"But you can't!" Emma found herself insisting before she could stop herself. "You promised! Our Laura'll be coming in the afternoon! You said you'd take the cart to Candleford and meet her!"
"She walked over perfectly happily last time." Robert pointed out, though his expression was distinctly regretful. "I can't not go back, Emma. It's more work than they first said and we can't lose the money. It'll be done by midday, I'll be back here the same time our Laura is. Perhaps Alf might like to fetch her. I passed him on the road, says Caroline's all in a flutter waiting on a letter from Walter. Alf might check for a letter at the post office and then bring Laura back with him."
"Yes, perhaps he might." Emma agreed, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt, and Frank and Ethel began to babble excitedly about the prospect of Laura's home-coming. She let the conversation wash over her for a while...
"We made up Laura's old bed, didn't we, Ma?" Ethel was informing her father brightly some minutes later, and Emma managed to agree half-heartedly:
"That we did."
Robert sighed heavily and Emma looked up from her bowl to find him gazing at her from the other end of the table.
"All this sighin', Robert!" she said, abandoning her spoon as the apprehension crept back into her stomach to see him frowning. "What's it all for?"
He looked away, then, as if he couldn't quite bear to look at her, and she suspected he intended to shrug off her question or perhaps go as far as lie, what with the children listening. He cleared his throat, a moment to think as his gaze drifted over to look at nothing in particular towards the fireplace...
And Emma felt an instant lump lodge itself in her throat when he instead observed:
"Those are some pretty flowers you've got yourself there, Em."
The children all turned to stare at her, and as Emma looked over at the bunch of wildflowers abandoned on the mantlepiece she found herself murmuring:
"Yes, I thought so..."
"Did you pick your ma flowers, children?" Robert wondered, still staring at the mantlepiece as if he were fixated, and Emma felt panicked when all three children mumbled:
"No, Pa."
Emma hadn't expected this. Hadn't really thought about what to say. Hadn't even decided whether or not she ought be concerned...
...which only made her feel concerned for sure.
What if Robert decided the gesture wasn't entirely harmless?
Emma's father had always insisted that a man bearing flowers for a girl could have no entirely innocent intentions at all.
Emma hoped that Robert would not attempt to insist the same thing.
He was frowning deeply, one hand reaching to rake through his hair and before any of them could say another word, Emma rose to her feet and reached to press Annie into Edmund's arms, suggesting:
"You all go get into your nightclothes, alright? Then you can come back down and we'll have that pie! Take Annie with you, Edmund. Set her in her crib, she's dropping off in my lap!"
Obediently the children filed off upstairs to get ready for bed, and once she had watched them disappear from sight Emma turned to find Robert had risen from his chair to stand before the fireplace, eying the flowers thoughtfully.
"It's early, Em." he observed when she had come to stand just behind him. "They'll be awake a long while yet."
"I know. I just..." Emma trailed off with a frown, pursing her lips and hugging her arms around herself before admitting: "I didn't want them telling you tales, is all."
Robert let out a vague huff of amusement as he reached to pick up the flowers. Emma winced at his apparent fascination of them.
"All this talk of tales. It's like supper with the Mullinses!" he chuckled, and Emma tried to follow suit until he sobered and sighed heavily.
"There you go again. Always sighing." she observed, stepping forward to press a hand to his shoulder. "Won't you tell me why?"
Robert turned around to face her and when he did there were precious inches between them.
"Won't you tell me what tale Edmund's been weaving first?" Still holding the flowers he reached to slide an arm around her, suggesting: "Then I'll tell you what makes a man sigh so."
It was funny, Emma mused as they gazed at one another, that stood so close with his arm around her she might very well confess anything, for his warm eyes upon her made the apprehension in her stomach drift away to nothing.
"It's...it's a right daft tale, Robert."
"Oh?"
"Yes, Edmund says...silly lad..."
"Hm?"
"Just silly..."
"God's strength woman, the suspense might kill me!"
Emma's gaze drifted uneasily to the ceiling as she finally admitted:
"He says the flowers were left at the door by Benjamin Gibbs, that he saw him from the window."
Robert turned to glance over at the window in question, echoing:
"Ben Gibbs?"
"That's...that's what Edmund said. Nonsense, obviously. A silly tale..."
Her heart very nearly stopped dead in her chest to feel his arm fall from around her and within the blink of an eye Robert was making a beeline for the cottage door.
"Robert? What're you doing?"
"I'll only be a moment." he said, snatching his coat up from beside the door, and Emma's heart began to race as she stood, frozen to the spot.
"Where are you going?" she asked as he reached to pull the door open. "You're not going over to...to Ben, are you? It was just nonsense I'm sure...it don't mean anything...we don't want a scene or nothing...Robert?! Wait!"
She had to run halfway to the lane to catch up with him, reaching to grasp hold of him desperately by the arm, pleading:
"Please Robert! Don't go and cause a scene...think...think of the neighbours, what if they see you?!"
"Ben and I need a word, Emma." he insisted, carefully prising his arm free from her grasp. "Go back inside, you'll catch your death out here."
Emma stumbled to a halt, watching despairingly as he strode off towards the Gibbs' house, reaching to bang a fist purposefully upon the door.
Emma desperately wished that he had given her time to explain, time to decipher just what was going through his head...
What if he thought she'd somehow welcomed Benjamin's gift?
What if he thought it meant something to her...that something untoward was afoot?
God, if only he'd stop and talk to her first!
She watched numbly as Benjamin opened the door, all smiles, and invited Robert inside. And once the door had been shut behind him, Emma simply stood, staring...
Though the days were bright and warmer now, the evenings were still bitter and Emma reached to hug her arms around herself with a shiver, waiting. She waited and waited for several long minutes for Robert to reappear, but found the suspense difficult to bear.
After five minutes she found it entirely impossible.
Before she could think better of it, she ran down to the lane and made a beeline for the front door to the Gibbs' cottage, reaching to fling the door open unceremoniously, gasping in a deep, apprehensive breath as to what she might find inside...
Robert and Benjamin, stood over by the small, scrubbed kitchen table, both turned to stare at her, and as Robert frowned at her, Benjamin offered her a nod and murmured:
"Mrs. Timmins."
Robert opened his mouth, no doubt to utter something scolding, and Emma reaching to straighten her skirts, abashed as she hurriedly murmured:
"Sorry...sorry, Benjamin, I didn't mean to burst in like that..."
"My wife's afraid for you, Ben." Robert chuckled disapprovingly. "She thinks I mean to string you up from the rafters!"
Benjamin Gibbs raised an eyebrow.
"Thank you for your concern, Emma. Like you says Robert, it were mighty daft of me." he admitted, shuffling his feet. "But I told you, didn't I? What's the world comin' to!"
And to Emma's relief and downright confusion, Robert reached to offer Benjamin his hand. The two men exchanged a firm, amicable handshake and Robert murmured:
"Thank you nevertheless, Ben. You're a good soul."
And with that, Robert turned to stride back towards the door, reaching to lay a hand upon his wife's shoulder in order to guide her back outside.
"Come along, Em. The children'll be wanting that pie of yours..."
As she allowed him to lead her slowly back towards home, her hand tucked firmly into the crook of his arm, Emma ventured to ask:
"What'd you say to him, Robert?"
"I told him it wasn't all that smart to be seen leavin' flowers at a married woman's door." Robert told her, sounding remarkably unconcerned by the whole business. "I said it'd have people talkin' and you'd not like that. That's all."
"That's all?" Emma echoed, her pace slowing until they had come to a complete halt. "You didn't...you didn't ask...don't it bother you, Robert? That he went an' picked those flowers for me?"
And to her confusion, as he turned to face her, Robert gave a chuckle, eyes creasing with laughter.
"Oh, Em!" he laughed, reaching to pull her into a firm hug, chin coming to rest atop her head. "Benjamin Gibbs didn't pick you no flowers! He might've left them there for you, but he weren't the one to pick 'em!"
"He didn't?"
"No, 'course he didn't."
"Then who...?"
"Who?!" Robert promptly buried his face in her hair with a huff and exclaimed: "And you wonder why I'm always sighing, woman!"
"I don't understand, Robert." Emma admitted after a lengthy pause, and he drew back from her, reaching to lay his hands upon her shoulders.
"It was me, Em. I picked the flowers." he told her, thumbs scuffing her collarbone gently as he gazed down at her.
"You?"
"That's right. Because I'm tired o' you making me sigh." He lent forward until their foreheads were pressed together, his grip upon her shoulders tightening as he complained: "It ain't been the same, Emma. Not since our Annie. You don't look at me the same when I walk in that door. I miss it...I miss your face lighting up like you've longed to see me the whole day through. And I miss you beggin' me to leave the children at Queenie's so we might go for a walk, even though I'm bone tired an' just want a seat by the fire. And I miss you smiling at me...just for the sake of smiling. It's not the same, Em. It makes me sigh, makes the world dull..."
"You ain't got the time, Robert." Emma admitted dismally, eyes beginning to feel a little watery. "You've not the time for me anymore."
Robert flinched.
"You're up an' gone before I can utter a word to you, an' you come home late, eat and...and fall asleep in front of the fire or...or do jobs. You don't have time to talk to me or...or let me drag you off for a walk down the lane! You...you ain't got time to go...go pickin' me no flowers, neither!"
"I know, Em." he agreed, hands slipping down to hug her to him again. "I know and it's no good. So I thought this mornin' I'd do something about it. Only something small, mind. But something nevertheless. I ate my breakfast before you'd even finished layin' the table, loaded up the cart an' headed off down Ingleston way. There's flowers on the lane, all sorts of colours, I passed 'em so many times this past week! And I'd been thinkin'...when's the last time I picked my Emma some flowers? And didn't she used to love flowers like that? Wouldn't it put a smile on her face for once to have some flowers I picked myself? So I stopped the cart there and picked you a bunch. I thought if I was quick I'd bring them back to you an' still make it to Ingleston on time! Only up on his horse came Sir Charles who commissioned the carvings on the Ingleston church...God know what he was doing over Lark Rise way that time of morning! Just my luck, Emma! He saw me there on my hands and knees picking flowers and without a care he told me he wants a word or two about the work I've done, and might we talk on the way over to Ingleston, since we're going the same way! And what's a man to do? I couldn't say I was turning back to Lark Rise then! But up behind him came Benjamin Gibbs on his way to the fields. He took one look at the flowers and said they must be for my Emma, and weren't it a fine thing for a man to think of his wife of a morning on the way to work? He said he used to pick his Harriet flowers every week back when she was alive, didn't matter how old they got. But I left the bunch of flowers on the wall and told him I hadn't the time to go back now because Sir Charles was waitin' for me. So off I went, feeling right hopeless, and Benjamin must've took the flowers and run back to Lark Rise with them! Left them at the door! So there! I'm not a total failure of a husband! I just needed a bit of help, is all!"
"Oh Robert!" Emma chuckled, hands reaching to slap lightly against his chest as he too gave a somewhat abashed snigger.
"Maybe tomorrow I'll try again." Robert suggested, offering her a raised eyebrow. "If I'm to finish the work in the morning I'll have time on the way back...I'll pick every bloom this side of Oxford...!"
"No, no!" Emma laughed, rising up upon her toes to press a kiss to his cheek, before cupping his face in her hands. "Don't you dawdle on the way home tomorrow! Our Laura's coming home, remember!"
"Oh I reckon our Laura can wait a little while..." Robert told her, pausing to lean and kiss her, and for the first time in a long while Emma felt as if he meant it, as if it wasn't simply some sort of mechanical reflex.
And God, she had missed being truly kissed by him, being held tightly in his arms as if his life depended on it, being so loved she could feel warmth flooding through her body...
When he leant back from her a moment later, peering down at her through the darkness with a broad smile, Emma found herself confessing:
"Maybe our Laura could wait a little while, Robert. But not me!"
And at that precise moment, as Robert let out another bright chuckle and reached to slide an arm around her shoulders, turning to lead her back towards their cottage, Emma felt as if Spring had finally sprung.