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Then I float up the stairs.
Chapter 12
Saturday, 21 January 1950
Ursula was right.
During our lesson last Wednesday, I asked her more about her bicycle, as I never see her out and about without it. In answer to my question, she talked of freedom, independence, the glories of racing down a hill at top speed, and the strength of being able to successfully climb the hill beyond. It was like every secret she held within her could be mine within a few pedals on a bicycle.
So when Mrs. Gaskell mentioned she had a fairly unused one wasting away in her garage, I caught a lift back to Manor Farm with her and negotiated a fair price for it with her husband. It took me a few tries to remember how to ride one, as I hadn’t been on a bicycle since I was about seven years old. But with Charlie’s help after work a couple of days last week and a few falls and lots of laughter, I’m quite adept now and can get everywhere lickety-split, and on time too. And to make it even better, he promised to show me a few of his favorite picnic spots this summer. The ones only accessible by bicycle.
Not only all that goodness, but I’m getting stronger. It’s been merely a few days, but I felt it in my legs as I climbed the ladder to stock the store’s top shelves a hundred times yesterday, and when I bent down to lift those two heavy book crates last evening. I feel it in my lungs now as I push up the last hill to Peggy’s cottage.
“Have you been off that thing at all this week?” She waves from her front walk.
“Only to work, eat, and sleep,” I chirp back.
“Well, it’s a good day for this.”
The sky is a cloudless blue. “It’s perfect.”
Peggy hops on her bicycle and pulls up beside me. “Everything’s perfect because you’re going out with Charlie again tonight?”
“True.” I feel slightly triumphant and uncommonly delighted. “He’s taking me to a restaurant in Hook Norton.”
“The Unicorn too good for you two?”
“Not at all, if we wanted the whole village in on the date too.”
Peggy laughs, as do I, and the day feels splendid. We race along green fields and pastures, and I realize I have no idea where we are going. “Do we have a destination?”
“We do. I want to show you something.”
We chat on as we ride farther down Hook Norton Road. Peggy and I take turns, more like a contest really, of racing ahead. I feel fast and free and strong, and with each pedal I hope I can hang on to this feeling. And, as Ursula said, and Charlie, too, to not diminish my gifts—or myself—anymore.
“Come on. Catch up!”
I realize that in my daydreaming I’ve fallen behind. We crest a hill and Peggy hops off her bicycle. I do the same and follow her gaze. In the distance two hills away is a massive and stunning Jacobethan estate—I note the ornate stonework and large windows, along with the symmetry and turrets. Agatha Christie described a similar home, giving it that designation, in The Body in the Library.
“What is that?”
“Marchcourt. Lady Marchmont’s estate, or rather the viscount’s, I suppose. She grew up north of here. Isn’t it stunning?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. Couldn’t imagine anything like it either. All this time I’ve lived here and never known.”
Peggy turns to me. “It was a little far to walk, but now that you have this fancy bicycle—” She rings the bell in jest, then waves back at the house. “I’ve been inside a couple of times for parish meetings, and they gave a Christmas party there last year. This year she and the viscount spent Christmas ‘in town.’ That always strikes me as a funny way to describe London.”
“I suppose it is.” I’m unable to pull my focus from the house. Something catches my eye. “Was there a fire?”
“What? About twenty years ago, I heard. How could you—”
I point to the far right side of the house. “The stone facing on that last section is the same, but it hasn’t weathered yet. See how it’s just a touch lighter? It’s younger, much younger than the rest. But the work is so good, everything else matches. When the weathering catches up, no one will ever know.”
“Remarkable.” Peggy nudges me. “You’re remarkable.”
“It’s just—” I stop myself. “Thank you.”
“Good for you.”
