There were many other young women in Marlow that autumn in similar case, and a rumour was current among them that this was a favourable time for crossing the hill. It was said that the lord of Wycombe was seeking new favourites.
Millie heard the rumour and tossed her head superciliously.
“Let him come here. I’d give him a piece of my mind,” she said.
“He doesn’t come ’ere,” returned the gossip. “’E’s afeard of our Mr Thrale.”
“Oh! Jasper Thrale!” said Millie. “That fellow from Wycombe could knock his head off in no time.”
The gossip was doubtful.
Millie was incapable of formulating a plan in this connexion, but she was seized with a desire for spending the still September evenings in the open air, and always something drew her towards the hill at Handy Cross. That way lay interest and excitement. There was a wonderful fascination in going as far as the top of the descent into Wycombe.
Usually she joined one or two other young women in these excursions. It was understood between them that they went “for fun,” and they would laugh and scream when they reached the dip past the farm, pretend to push each other down the slope, and cry out suddenly: “He’s coming! Run!”
But one afternoon, some ten days after Jasper Thrale had threatened her with the turnip field, Millie went alone.
She had left work early. The rain had not come yet, and Thrale was becoming anxious with regard to the shortage of water. He had the sluices of Marlow and Hedsor weirs closed, and had opened the sluices of the weirs above as far as Hambledon, but so little water was coming down that he decided to work shorter hours for the present.