The Trumpet-Major
Thomas Hardy
Paperback
(Independently published, July 27, 2020)
In the days of high-waisted and muslin-gowned women, when the vast amount of soldiering going on in thecountry was a cause of much trembling to the sex, there lived in a village near the Wessex coast two ladies ofgood report, though unfortunately of limited means. The elder was a Mrs. Martha Garland, a landscapepainter’s widow, and the other was her only daughter Anne.Anne was fair, very fair, in a poetical sense; but in complexion she was of that particular tint between blondeand brunette which is inconveniently left without a name. Her eyes were honest and inquiring, her mouthcleanly cut and yet not classical, the middle point of her upper lip scarcely descending so far as it should havedone by rights, so that at the merest pleasant thought, not to mention a smile, portions of two or three whiteteeth were uncovered whether she would or not. Some people said that this was very attractive. She wasgraceful and slender, and, though but little above five feet in height, could draw herself up to look tall. Inher manner, in her comings and goings, in her ‘I’ll do this,’ or ‘I’ll do that,’ she combined dignity withsweetness as no other girl could do; and any impressionable stranger youths who passed by were led to yearnfor a windfall of speech from her, and to see at the same time that they would not get it. In short, beneathall that was charming and simple in this young woman there lurked a real firmness, unperceived at first, asthe speck of colour lurks unperceived in the heart of the palest parsley flower.