John the Baptist’s feast day. The second stage of her plan must now begin.They were all sedately going to town in the barouche, children dressed immaculately, Theresa for once not driving. This was no time to emphasize her unseemly independence. She needed to draw on all the dignity of her position in the community this day.“First, Mrs. Parsifal’s cottage, Anthony, and then the church,” she said to the driver.With the stop first to her old friend’s home they would not be in time for the St. John’s Day service, but Vicar would still be there. That was all she needed.She glanced from right to left. Angelica, sitting on her right, was dressed sweetly in a white muslin gown with a tidy spencer against the morning chill and dampness. Jacob, on her left, was perfectly turned out in breeches and jacket, his dark hair, so like his father’s, damped into place. Dora was with them, of course, facing them, her eyes wide at the treat of riding in a barouche. She was going to visit her mother while they were in the village.
