All the next day Sir Niccals made unsuccessful attempts to catch Miss Pot, but he never succeeded. The house was in turmoil: some of the servants were seriously ill due to the recent rain. Mrs. Niccals also felt unwell due to the damp weather; she complained of a headache and didn't get out of bed, although her condition, according to the doctor, didn't raise serious concerns.
But all these things were of little interest to Murdoc, who saw in them only difficulties on the way to his goal. He was able to catch Miss Pot while she was fiddling with dishes in the kitchen, replacing the maid.
"Miss," Murdoc called, stopping at a respectful distance largely due to the kettle of boiling water on the tray at that moment.
"Good day, sir" said Miss Pot, shifting the cups and plates onto the tray. "Are you okay?"
" Yes. And you?"
"Yes, me too," Miss Pot nodded. "Thank you."
"I want to talk to you, Miss Pot," Murdoc said.
"Yes, fine, but not now," said miss Pot.
"But since the morning I have been trying to tell you…"
"Do you see I don't have a minute now?" Miss Pot asked almost indignantly, picking up the tray. "I'll talk to you as soon as I'm free."
"Sorry, I somehow didn't think…" Murdoc was even slightly taken aback, feeling himself five years old again. "Can I help you?.."
"Yes!"Miss Pot blurted out. "Don't bother me, please," she ordered, and after waiting for Murdoc to step aside, she walked past him from the kitchen with a tray in her hands.
Due to the fact that Mrs. Niccals' companion was also ill, Miss Pot spent the whole day at her bed, bringing her tea, medicine, doing handicrafts with her and listening to tales of old times full of barbs. She stayed at night to read the book she had chosen to Madame, because, as Madame assured, she has insomnia and she wakes up literally every half hour and she needs someone who will calm her down with reading and give her medicine at night.
Before dawn, Miss Pot was sitting on the back of the sofa, dozing with her cheek propped on her palm, when Murdoc entered the room very quietly.
"Miss," he touched her shoulder.
Pot shuddered and woke up.
"Miss, go to bed," he said.
"I can't, sir," Pot sighed. "Madame ordered to wait in case she wakes up."
"And I'm ordering you to go to bed," Murdoc said.
"But madam."
"I'll sit in your place," he whispered. "Go. I'll handle this. Everything will be fine".
Miss Pot hesitated for a second, then quietly got up, holding her skirt down, put her book down and, nodding to Murdoc, tiptoed out of Madame Niccals' bedroom.
Murdoc's hopes of some favor were dashed when after breakfast he saw Miss Pot in her traveling clothes and carrying a basket.
Are you leaving somewhere?" he blurted out.
"Yes, sir," said Miss Pot. "I wanted to thank you for ... Well, for what you did."
"Did Madame Niccals tell you something? Did you get fired?"
"Oh my, no," Miss Pot chuckled. "I'll be back in a day. I need to visit my sister."
"I'll accompany you," Murdoc decided.
"To the station?" Miss Pot was embarrassed.
"You don't mind?" Murdoc asked. "Would you agree?"
"Uh… I'll agree with pleasure, sir," miss Pot replied, smiling timidly. "If you want it."
Since the coachman drove Miss Pot to the station, it was not possible to talk.
"I'll come with you if possible," Murdoc said as Miss Pot bought the ticket. "Take two tickets."
"But…" Pot paused. "It is not necessary at all... The train is noisy, and, then, I will stay with my sister and you will have to return alone…"
"All right," Murdoc nodded. "If you don't mind, I would like to."
"Don't mind" slightly blushing, said miss Pot.
They bought tickets, got on the train and, as Pot said, it was noisy and crowded. Murdoc didn't want to start a conversation when strangers surrounded them, but he sat next to him, thinking that, nevertheless, it was important for him to make sure that Miss got to the desired stop safe and sound.
Miss Pot wanted to get some knitting, but it turned out to be not a good idea and she just sat by the window, looking down at her basket, glancing out the window. Amid the measured swaying of the carriage, having seen enough of the flickering landscape, Miss Pot didn't notice how she dozed off after sitting at night by Madame Niccals' bed. Murdoc leaned back a little and Miss Pot bent her head on his shoulder falling asleep.
Trying not to move, Murdoc felt the warmth emanating from her and the weight on his shoulder, and he clearly understood that such a reward was enough for him for all those unsuccessful attempts to get to Miss Pot with a conversation.
As the train approached the desired station, Murdoc coughed. Miss Pot, gently waking up, did not immediately realize her position, but, having regained consciousness, abruptly straightened up, sitting up straight.
"Stop soon," Murdoc said, and Miss Pot nodded at his words, gripping the handle of the basket.
They stepped out of the carriage onto the planking of the station.
"Thank you, sir," said Miss Pot. "I was much calmer on the train with your company. Sorry if I took too much advantage of your favor to me... I have to go as soon as the road is still long... And there you can buy a return ticket" having said this, Miss Pot pointed to a house located on the other side of the railway tracks.
"May I walk you all the way to your sister's house?" Murdoc asked.
Miss Pot paused, glancing at him briefly.
"It will be too burdensome for you, sir…" she said.
"Don't think about it," Murdoc said. "Just tell me if I'm going to hinder you on your way."
"Of course… no, sir," said the miss. "You will not hinder me in any way on the way. I just want to say that it is far away and I don't know how you'll get back."
"It's up to me how I get back," Murdoc said. "Take me as a travel companion? You'll not be so bored walking. And besides, who will help you carry the basket? Allow me?" he stretched out his hand for the luggage.
"Oh," Miss Pot refused with a smile. "I am uncomfortable going empty-handed."
"Okay," Murdoc agreed. "May I accompany you with the basket?
"You can, sir," said Miss Pot, grinning softly.
"Thank you," Murdoc said, "and thank your busket."
Still smiling, Miss Pot walked away from the station to take the right road leading to her sister's village.
Master Niccals and Miss Pot walked for a long time in silence along fields of emerald spring trees with fresh foliage, tall grasses and flowers. Miss Pot occasionally gazed at the surrounding views, after which she increased her pace.
"Miss?" Murdoc said.
He was still waiting for the conversation, but he didn't know where to start.
"Yes?" Miss Pot woke up from her reverie.
"You are constantly looking at something."
"I…" she paused. "No, we'd better get home as soon as possible. Then I can finally let you go."
"I'm in no hurry," Murdoc said.
"You've already spent almost half a day on me," Miss Pot shook her head.
"Oh, I haven't wasted a minute on you," Murdoc said. "I spent all this time on myself. To be close to yourself, to admire you and enjoy it."
Miss Pot turned away, hiding her face.
"So if you want to go a little slower to enjoy the views of nature, I don't mind at all and will support you in this," added Murdoc.
Miss Pot didn't answer, striding beside Murdoc.
"I…" she stopped. "I'm just for a minute," she said. "I just want to see the flowers of the wild apple tree. See? Here it is, blossoming like a white cloud…"
"Come on," Murdoc said.
Leaving the road, they went to the apple tree and, passing through the soft grass, Miss Pot noticed meadow flowers and, along the way, touched them with her fingers, smiling. Approaching one of the large branches of a tree strewn with white fragrant flowers, Miss put her basket in the grass and, bringing the flowers closer to her face, inhaled their honey scent. Murdoc looked at her, standing very close. He saw how her breath lifted her chest, heard her breathing and saw how her eyelashes twitched. But as soon as he came a little closer, she left this branch, moving away to another one. Murdoc walked around her, stopping in front of her. Miss Pot lowered her head so as not to accidentally meet his gaze.
"This is… incredible," she said, stroking the flower petals.
"More than that," Murdoc said, following her.
He carefully nipped off one of the flowers and, coming up from behind to Miss Pot, took her hand. Meeting no resistance, he opened her palm and placed the apple blossom in the very center. She smiled.
"You gave me an apple orchard," she said. "This flower could become an apple, give seeds, fall into the ground, grow into a tree, bloom and produce hundreds of the same trees."
"They wouldn't fit in this place anyway," Murdoc chuckled.
"Maybe," Miss Pot agreed. "And maybe, in two hundred years, a garden of this flower would grow here."
She squeezed the flower in her hand.
"Do you think about it every time you eat apple jam?" Murdoc asked.
Miss Pot chuckled.
"Not every time," she said. -"In general, today I think a lot about things that I usually don't think about. I probably shouldn't think about it."
"I think everyone has a right to think about what he wants," Murdoc said.
"Thoughts can take you too far," suggested Miss Pot.
"But what if the direction of thought turns out to be correct?" Murdoc asked.
Miss Pot exhaled softly, lowering her eyes to the lower flowers on the apple branch.
"Please," Murdoc whispered, getting very close. " Miss Pot."
Miss Pot was silent, pinching the green leaf on the branch.
"Look at me," Murdoc said quietly.
Lowering her eyelashes, Pot continued to stare at the leaves on the branch.
"I'm ready to give anything just to see you look at me," Murdoc muttered.
Miss Pot lifted her head, looked a little higher and, turning around, looked up at the very top of the tree.
"It's so beautiful here," she said.
"Because you're here," Murdoc added immediately.
Smiling, looking away from him, Miss Pot looked up at the white clouds in the sky.
"It's beautiful there too, although a cloud cannot be gifted like a flower. Something in the world remains impossible."
"Why?" Murdoc asked.
"Just because it's impossible," Miss Pot replied.
"Our decisions and our actions are capable of turning the impossible into the possible," Murdoc said.
"I guess I don't think so," Pot said. "Everything has already been decided. If you want to convince me, you have to give me a piece of the cloud."
"I'll do it, I swear I'll do it!" Murdoc promised.
"With all due respect, sir, you shouldn't be doing this, because that would be extremely pointless."
"It should be pointless!" Murdoc declared. "It blows up earthly logic! It shouldn't make any sense, only then is it real."
"In that case, everything is completely hopeless. Hopeless and pointless," Miss Pot said.
"God, why do you need it to make sense?!"
"Think about it," advised Miss Pot. "Why do I need it to make sense."
Hearing these words, spoken in a low voice, Murdoc suddenly fell silent.
"Miss," he said. "I do not care what you have under your skirt. It doesn't matter to me."
"Thank you for… letting me know," Miss Pot said, exhaling sharply, slowly but very tightly clenching her fingers into fists.
Trying not to show her attitude to what was said, Miss Pot quickly walked towards the abandoned basket.
"I…" Murdoc murmured. "I don't mean that… God, I don't… Miss Pot…"
"It's all right," Miss Pot replied in a trembling voice, lifting the basket from the grass.
"I said a terrible vulgarity, I didn't mean it!" Murdoc said.
"Just leave me alone," Miss Pot said, pulling away from him.
"I beg you ... I didn't mean to say anything bad! I mean it doesn't matter. Because you are beautiful and for me you are…"
"I ask you to stop, please! Enough!" stopped him Miss Pot.
"Don't leave me this way!" Murdoc pleaded. "I ask you to! Don't leave!"
Miss, dragging her skirts through the grass, almost ran away from him.
"Miss Pot! Come back!" went after her Murdoc. "Оh, merciful lord! I'll die if you leave!" He blurted out menacingly.
Miss stopped a few meters from him, breathing noisily through her nose. She raised her hand and brushed the loose hair from her forehead.
"I promise I'll never say that again, miss," Murdoc muttered. "I'm not going to say another word if you don't allow me to. I don't care who to be, as long as next to you. If there can be nothing but friendship between us, please let me remain your friend. Or, honestly ... If you push me away, I will die right here now in this place!"
"I wouldn't like that, sir," said Miss Pot.
"That won't happen if you order me to," Murdoc said cautiously, stepping closer.
"I'm not going to order you anything," said Miss Pot, stepping out onto the road and continuing on in Murdoc's company. "But if you die, it's certainly not because of me."
"But if you take the trouble to order, I won't die at all."
Miss Pot smiled.
"I can't, sir. You don't work for me, but I work for you."
"You know what, miss, I'm going to go to university this year."
"That's not bad, sir."
"And, God willing, I'll finish it one day. I will become a doctor. Imagine that you get a sore throat and I will treat you. Then I'll work for you, and you'll have every right to order me."
"First you should go to university and study to be a doctor," smiled Miss Pot. "Then we'll talk to you about it."
"We can talk now," Murdoc said. "Just about something else. If I didn't tire you, of course. I really hope I'm not tired."
Miss Pot said nothing, but smiled slightly.
"Have you ever wanted to study further?" Murdoc asked.
"Oh, that's a terrible question," Miss Pot said.
"Why?.."
"It's like asking a starving man if he'd mind going out for a snack," said the miss.
"But if you had the opportunity?"
"I'm making a lot of effort not to think about it ever," Pot brushed aside.
She was silent for a second.
"But, if only I had such an opportunity," she said. "I would like… to really learn what I'm doing now.
"You mean, like a teacher?" Murdoc asked.
"Oh, not really. I'm talking about needlework. Sewing. I would like to do this professionally. Ah... Why did you ask me about this... This is also impossible. In a sense, I am already very many years old and my time has passed."
"But in a way, your time is just beginning," Murdoc said.
"H-no," Miss Pot shook her head. "I don't plan to be in that way."
"Never?"
"If possible, never. Does it bother you or don't you like it?"
Murdoc frowned.
"Have I ever let you know by word or deed that I don't like something about you?"
"You haven't," Miss Pot replied quietly.
"Because there's nothing that I don't like about you."
He paused, slightly embarrassed by his own words, which looked like a too frank confession.
"In any sense, Miss Pot," Murdoc said firmly, "you have to hope."
"I don't want to hope," Miss Pot sighed with a smile. "I want to live for today."
Murdoc noticed that a little lower, at the foot of the hill from which they descended, the roofs of houses appeared.
"Is this a village?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," said the miss. "We came. I think it will be better for me to go alone. An employer who sees off a maid looks a little strange if you don't know everything."
"If you think so, perhaps," Murdoc said.
Miss Pot was silent, but did not leave, and Murdoc humbly waited, not wanting to part until he was finally left alone.
"You know …" Miss said hesitation. "Come on," she held out her hand to Murdoc.
"In what sense? .." Murdoc asked.
"Do you trust me a little?"
"I'm ready to trust you with my life," Murdoc said.
"Then follow me," said Miss Pot.
They went down the hill, went around the village and there, finding a high hedge, Miss Pot told Murdoc:
"Be so kind as to throw my things over the fence, just be careful."
Murdoc obediently obeyed the order, lifting the basket over the hedge and lowering it to the grass on the other side.
"I'll walk you to the station for a bit," Miss Pot declared and held out her hand again, demanding that Murdoc take it.
After half an hour of conversation, Miss Pot exclaimed in amazement:
"Oh, Virgin Mary, have we reached the station?"
She looked back at the road - there was no doubt that it was over.
"In all likelihood, so," agreed Murdoc.
"Now go and buy a ticket!" Miss Pot ordered. "I'll put you on a train and then I'll go home."
"Well! No way," Murdoc flatly refused. "To let you go alone through the fields and forests? Even without a basket? Never. I am going with you, this is not discussed."
"Ha-ha! It never ended, sir! Since this is the case, I propose this: to reach the middle of the road and disperse in different directions."
"We'll get to the middle first, we'll decide there," Murdoc said.
"Fine," Miss Pot said with a peaceful sigh. "It's just in front of the apple tree…"
"After the apple tree."
"Before! I know for sure, sir! Up to the tree."
"And I say - after," - stood on his Murdoc.
Miss Pot glanced at him with playful indignation, but was immediately embarrassed.
"Maybe after," she agreed.
Miss Pot left Murdoc abruptly, for fear of lingering again. When they nevertheless reached the village itself again, she let go of his hand and, finding a gate in the hedge, hid behind it, locking it on a hook, picked up the basket that had been thrown earlier, said goodbye and quickly left without turning around. Murdoc stood a little longer at the fence and, after a short time, went back to the station.
In the evening he couldn't sleep for a long time, remembering the past day, and all night he dreamed of a blossoming apple orchard and grass covered with white snow of flowing petals.