Outdistancing the other women who rushed out of cottage to greet them was Beth Collins, at sixteen the youngest of Willow Herbal’s faithful workers. “Ah, missus,” she bubbled, eyes aglow, “you must be right happy to have the major home. ’Tis a miracle, me mum says, but I say it’s just like a fairy tale…” As young Beth took in the awkward silence which greeted her fanciful disregard of the lord of the manor presenting his wife to his betrothed, she clapped her hand over her mouth. The eyes peering over her fingers opened wide in fright. “What Beth means,” said Mary Carter, a mild-mannered woman of middle years long accustomed to mending other people’s fences, “is that we are happy the major has returned to us at last and Lord Cheyney as well.” “You are quite right, Beth,” Julia assured the younger girl, though a shade too heartily. “It is a miracle and no one could be happier than I to know the major is alive and well.” She smiled encouragingly at the stricken sixteen-year-old.
