course, come then,â Reginald offered, âlet me introduce you.â
Hamish was askance. Did the man think he would follow? âYou can bring him to me,â he stated formally, picking up a plate and dishing up some of the quail and duck concoction. He never was one for mixing meats, but one had to make do occasionally.
Claire tired of Hildaâs ongoing description of how markedly fine her daughterâs matching set of hair tongs, curlers, shoe buttoner and shoe horn were, and looked with disinterest about the scattered picnic rugs. The shopkeeperâs family, the Stevens, sat with an English couple who owned a pleasing amount of land to the south of Wangallon Town. Further away reclined the minister and his family â the three sons of whom were off, no doubt, making mischief with Angus. Sally Foster laughed delightedly at an anecdote shared by Mrs Ovendale. Claire would like to have extended an invitation for Sally to join her, however, having married a Baptist some years ago, sheâd fallen foul of Hamish who believed that a Scotâs Presbyterian should stay with their own.
Claire brushed at the line of ants crawling across the picnic rug and shifted her position. Her whalebone corset was troubling her today, a usual occurrence during summer, and she pined for thecoolness of her bedroom. She untied the chiffon scarf securing her curved brimmed hat and let the air waft about her.
âMr Stevens has invested in timber,â Mrs Webb began by way of conversation, cutting through Claireâs daydreams. âI find the very concept of a trade abominable. Do you not, Mrs Gordon? The very thought of such a life, well,â Mrs Webb gave a convulsive shiver. âSome say he is clever. Who can be clever in a small town is my response, for there is none to compare the man with.â She ate a morsel of salted mutton and sipped at a warm glass of punch. âI find him altogether too shrewd, particularly as the foundations for another hotel are being laid almost diagonally opposite the current one. Besides which those that own a general store always know who has money and who does not. To my thinking that is most unpalatable.â
âA big fish in a small pond?â Claire remarked.
âExactly.â Hilda patted Claireâs gown. âI saw that very ensemble in the Grace Brothersâ catalogue. I myself have never been one for all white.â
âMother thinks it decadent,â Henrietta stated prettily. Jane took a bite of her parrot pie, the pastry crumbling down the front of her somber grey blouse. âDecadent,â she repeated as if the food she ate had somehow intrinsically weaved its way into her vocal chords.
Claire, having never seen Hilda in anything other than black, patted the older womanâs hand. âNonsense, white would suit you very well.â
Hilda gave a dimpled smile and then pounced on the arrival of Jacob Wetherly. âMy dear husband promised us some entertainments today, did he not, my girls?â
âYes, Mama,â Henrietta and Jane answered with the synchronicity of rehearsed obedience.
âA fine style of a man, Mrs Gordon,â Mrs Webb observed. âHeâs been employed down south on a highly regarded property for some fifteen years. They say he fell afoul of the owner.â Hilda leantconspiratorially towards Claire. âThere is talk of a liaison with no other than Mrs Henry Constable.â
âNo,â Claire whispered. âHow impossibly salacious.â And not at all surprising, Claire decided, as both she and Mrs Webb lifted their fans and under cover of much fluttering stared blatantly at the new arrival. âMrs Henry Constable must be ââ
âForty-five in the shade my dear, with five children. Oh he is a fine form of a man,â Hilda said breathily.
Claire couldnât disagree. Jacob Wetherly was tall and wore his clothes well. Dark-haired and straight-backed with a
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