Summer at Mount Hope by Rosalie Ham Page B

Contraception. She took off her straw hat and slipped the paper inside, under the headband. ‘I suppose we should go and find the picnic,’ she said.
    The Crupps and the Pearsons settled to eat lunch in the shade between their buggies, Henrietta and Phoeba handed out sandwiches while Maude propped herself against the buggy wheel, her corset rising to her armpits as the widow recalled Hadley’s neat furrows. Hadley rolled his eyes in frustration.
    â€˜Ah! Some familiar faces.’ The vicar’s trousers strained across his thighs as he bounced towards them. He took hold of a buggy spoke and lowered his bulk onto the blanket next to Henrietta, eyeing her sandwich.
    â€˜I see I am just in time for lunch.’ He leaned closer, ‘And good morning, Miss Pearson.’
    Henrietta pulled back.
    They hadn’t really brought enough for him but it was too late, the picnickers moved around with their tea and sandwiches to accommodate his spreading form.
    â€˜How nice to see you again, Vicar,’ gasped the Widow, the tinge on her nose deepening. ‘My son Hadley is the new wool classer here at Overton. He works with the stock overseer, Mr Titterton.’
    The vicar took a plate of sandwiches from Henrietta and said to Phoeba, ‘I must come to lunch one day and taste your wine.’
    â€˜She would enjoy that very much,’ said Maude.
    Hadley took his fob watch from his pocket as if he urgently needed to know the time and Phoeba quickly reached for the scones. ‘Lilith made these,’ she lied, ‘please have one.’
    â€˜No cream?’ said the vicar and he turned to smile at Lilith, scone dough clogging his gums.
    â€˜We don’t have a cow,’ said Lilith. ‘Mrs Jessop has a cow but we’ve got a goat because they’re cheaper. The Pearsons sold their cow because their soil is salty and their milk was always brackish.’
    â€˜If you say so,’ said Hadley, mildly offended. Widow Pearson was speechless with indignation.
    â€˜She’s looking for a husband to cook for, aren’t you Lilith?’ said Phoeba. Lilith scowled, but Phoeba ignored her and offered the cake tin to the vicar. ‘The plum cake is lovely too, Vicar.’
    Suddenly there was a ruckus; the picnickers stood to see the fuss. The president of The Victorian Ploughmen’s Association and three other gentlemen were marching two suffragettes to their buggy, gripping them by the elbows. They shoved the women up into their carriage, led them towards the driveway and let the horse go. The two women swung their buggy hard left, tearing straight across the ploughing field, their escorts hot on their tail. The buggy bounced alarmingly and the horse panicked, his head up racing. Pamphlets flew along in his wake while horse teams, bullocks, judges and competitors scattered before him. Spectators clapped, including Phoeba and Henrietta, who gave a long, loud whistle. The Widow Pearson lurched sideways at this, gasping, her complexion purple. But the daring suffragettes managed to circle the ploughing arena twice – and ruin it – before escaping.
    â€˜Well,’ said Phoeba, ‘that was worth a day out!’
    Lilith said they needed to be doused with a bucket of cold sal volatile; Widow Pearson said it was a craze she hoped would disband, glaring at her daughter; Maude declared they’d ruin their families’ reputations, ‘the way they make a spectacle of themselves’.
    â€˜Henrietta does equal work with Hadley but she won’t inherit the farm,’ Phoeba pointed out and the Widow snapped, ‘That is none of your concern.’
    â€˜And Mother,’ said Henrietta, ‘how would you feel if you lost us because Dad divorced you?’
    â€˜My husband died,’ wailed the Widow and turned to tell the vicar all about her tragic life. But the vicar had left in search of better luncheon baskets.
    â€˜Gone to Mrs Jessop,’