A Quiet Ride to Town

The gang assembled in the kitchen for mid-morning tea. The chores were done and they were taking a much-needed break. Mavis had prepared scones, clotted cream, and tea. Mr. Humphries helped her set out the cups and saucers and the plate of scones.

"Do you need me to do anything else, Mavis?" he asked, smiling broadly at her.

"No, Mr. Humphries, you've been a great help in the woodshed. We've needed a lot more wood for the hot water since that large group came in from Germany. They have been most gracious, though. I think we might bring in enough money this week to pay for the tractor to be fixed."

"Yes, let's hope so," Mr. Humphries said, "I don't think me back could handle planting another acre of potatoes by hand!"

"Oh, that was awwwful!" Mrs. Slocombe drawled, "and I am unanimous in this!"

"Just think," Mr. Rumbold began, "we'll grow enough potatoes for our own use and may be able to take some to the farmer's market. That would bring in some money as well."

"Yes," said Miss Brahms, not trying to burst his bubble, "provided our potatoes are eatable!"

"Edible," Captain Peacock corrected.

"Oh, it don't take a rocket surgeon to plant potatoes!" brayed Mr. Moulterd, "You just throw th' eyes in th' ground and let 'em go! They know what to do."

Captain Peacock ran his fingers through his hair, "I need a haircut. Mr. Moulterd, where is the nearest barber?"

"Ahh, that would be in town. Jolly's Barber Shop. I could hitch up Old Dick for ya, if yer needin' to go!"

"I would appreciate that, thank you. Mrs. Slocombe, would you like to go into town?"

"Thank you, Captain Peacock. Miss Brahms, would you like to go with? We could do some window shopping," Mrs. Slocombe offered.

"That would be all I could afford to do!" Miss Brahms joked, "I'd be happy to join you. I'd like to pick up a bottle of wine."

"Oh, yes, Miss Brahms, wine does sound good!"

"There's a winery just down the road a bit, Mrs. Slocombe," Mavis interjected, wiping the table as Mr. Humphries collected the plates and cups, "They have very good wine."

"It would be good protocol for us to support our fellow farmers and local merchants," Mr. Rumbold added, "If we buy from them, perhaps they will put in a good word for Millstone Manor."

"That's a good point," Captain Peacock agreed. "Well, Mrs. Slocombe, Miss Brahms, shall we be off?"

"I'll bring the cart round for ya!" Mr. Moulterd bellowed, leaving out the back kitchen door.

"Would you pick me up some oatmeal soap?" Miss Lovelock asked.

"Oh, Mrs. Slocombe makes her own soaps and hand salve," Mr. Humphries blurted.

Mrs. Slocombe shot him a look. He shrunk.

"Oh, well," Miss Lovelock wrinkled her nose, "I'd prefer some Yardley's oatmeal soap, if you please."

"Of course, Miss Lovelock," Captain Peacock nodded, smiling.

She handed him a pound note.

"Yer chariot awaits!" Mr. Moulterd called through the front door.

Captain Peacock climbed into the cart, helping Mrs. Slocombe and Miss Brahms. Captain Peacock took the reigns and Mrs. Slocombe scooched close to him. Miss Brahms sat on the back seat.

Mrs. Slocombe sat primly with her hands in her lap. Captain Peacock looped his arm through hers and glanced over at her. She smiled shyly as he slapped the reigns and the horse began to trot.

The small gesture was not lost on Miss Brahms as she watched Captain Peacock and Mrs. Slocombe in the front seat. They communicated in sweet, wordless private glances. The horse clop-clopped along and Miss Brahms enjoyed the view of the countryside; she hadn't left the Manor much since they arrived.

It was a warm, dry summer day. Butterflies flitted lazily, hovering over the meadows. A few cows munched dreamily near a rock wall, mooing as they drove by. The smell of hay and animals hung in the air.

"They certainly look larger when you see them in person, don't they?" Miss Brahms remarked.

"Those cows look to be a different breed than our Betsy," Mrs. Slocombe observed.

"Our cows are jerseys," Captain Peacock stated, "These are Herefords. They are beef cattle."

"I didn't know you was so educated in cow breeds, Captain Peacock!" Miss Brahms cried, impressed.

"I've learned a few things here and there," he replied. All of his late-night reading sessions came to good use!

The trees formed an archway over the road as Captain Peacock deftly handled the reigns. Mrs. Slocombe looked left and right, absorbing the sights and sounds of the surrounding farms. The sun shone warmly as they neared town. The wooden seat was rather uncomfortable and Miss Brahms shifted.

Captain Peacock wheeled the cart to an area where he could park it and tether the horse to a drain pipe.

Captain Peacock disembarked the cart and stood at the ready to help the ladies out. He offered his arm to Mrs. Slocombe, "Lean on me and put your foot on the step. Yes. Right there. OK, gently, gently. That's it. Now step down; I've got you."

She smiled at him, her eyes dancing. He raised his eyebrows, a broad smile splashed across his face.

"Now you. Miss Brahms," he coached. He offered his hand and she grasped it tightly. She backed to the edge of the cart uneasily. Ever the gentleman, Captain Peacock could never resist the opportunity to catch a glimpse up a woman's skirt, and he tilted his head to steal a glance.

"Oh, Miss Brahms!" Mrs. Slocombe gasped, "Mind your skirt, dear!"

Miss Brahms self-consciously reached back and tugged her skirt down a bit, even though it wasn't riding up.

"OK, Now you set your foot on the step. Don't worry, I've got you. Slowly, slowly. That's it. Good. Now step straight down. Very good."

She joined Mrs. Slocombe on the sidewalk.

The town was quaint and old; some of the buildings looked to be at least 300 years old. Captain Peacock visually located the barber shoppe.

"I'm going for a haircut. What say we meet back here in about an hour or so?"

"That sounds good, Captain Peacock," Mrs. Slocombe answered, "Well see you in an hour.".

She gave him a last glance and she and Miss Brahms departed.

When they were out of earshot of him, Miss Brahms turned to Mrs. Slocombe, "Ere! What's your game?"

"Whatever do you mean, Miss Brahms?" Mrs. Slocombe asked in her posh voice.

"Oh, give over! I saw the way you two was oglin' each other the whole ride in. Come on, out with it!" she demanded.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about!" Mrs. Slocombe tried to avert her gaze. She could feel Miss Brahms evaluating her as she spoke.

Mrs. Slocombe wasn't sure she wanted to share this confidence with Miss Brahms at this early juncture in their retirement life. She wasn't sure how she felt about the idea and hadn't really had time to process the incident in the kitchen. She finally settled on the idea of saying nothing for the time being.