Joan Smith (7 page)

“Not so much sugar!” Jane exclaimed when Pel began to add a little extra.

“I like it sweet,” he said.

“You might think about the rest of us,” Nick said, rather sharply.

“Just as you like. I can always add a little to my own glass later. Here, give this a try, Jane.” Pel held the ladle to her lips. “Careful, now. It’s demmed hot.”

“A little more nutmeg, I think,” she said.

“My fingers are aching,” Nick said. “Can’t someone else take a turn?”

“Here, give it to me,” Pel said, and promptly grated the end off his finger, for the nutmeg had decreased to a minuscule size.

“I am sure you can buy nutmeg already grated in London,” Aurelia said. “It is a great deal of work, making the mulled wine, is it not? I hope it is worth the effort.”

“Do you want a plaster for your finger?” Jane asked Pelham, taking his hand and examining the raw end of his digit.

Pelham stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked it. “Don’t believe that will be necessary, Jane. Kind of you to ask.”

“It’s
only a scratch, for God’s sake,” Nick scoffed.

“We ain’t all heroes, Nick,” Pelham said forgivingly. He nudged his friend aside for a private word. “You seem a bit testy tonight, Nick. I know you’ve had a bad time of it in Spain, but you’re home now. It’s Christmas. You have a beautiful young fiancée. What more could you possibly want out of life? Just relax and enjoy yourself, or Miss Aurelia will think she’s marrying a bear.”

“Sorry, Pel,” Nick said, and gave himself a good talking to. He was behaving like a lout. What was the matter with him? He decided it was Goderich, rapidly sinking into oblivion abovestairs, that was putting him on edge.

When the mulled wine was prepared, they all tested it and agreed it was fine.

“Forgot the apples,” Pel said, and went off in search of them.

Shortly after his return, the mummers arrived and the whole party went out to watch the performers in their painted paper costumes and flowered headgear enact the traditional Christmas performance. They were all there—King George and the Doctor and Turkey Snipe, having at each other with their wooden swords. Nick pushed his worries aside and enjoyed the show. He invited the performers in for a glass of mulled wine and cakes, then they were off to Squire Archer’s house.

“Well, by jingo, that was enjoyable,” Pelham said when they had left. “And on New Year’s we will have the wassailers around to serenade us. There is nothing like a good country Christmas season.”

“Their costumes were made of paper,” Aurelia said.

“That’s part of the tradition,” Pelham explained.

“Why don’t they have cloth ones? At the Christmas pantomime in London they have lovely costumes.”

“That’s London. This is the country,” he said simply.

Miss Aurelia thought the country had a deal to learn from London, and when she was mistress of Clareview, she would teach them the proper way to put on a show.

In the general melee after the departure of the mummers, Jane thought old Lord Goderich might enjoy a cup of the mulled wine, and took one up to him. He was allowed wine, and in fact, usually had a posset at night to help him sleep. Nick soon noticed that she was not about, and asked Pelham where she had gone.

“She took a glass of wine up to your uncle, I believe. She is always thinking of others,” he added, smiling as proudly as if Jane already belonged to him.

“I promised to visit Uncle before retiring. I had best go up now, or the wine will have put him to sleep.”

“Say good day to him for me. I stopped in earlier, but he was sawing logs.”

Jane found Goderich already asleep when she arrived, his candle guttering low in its holder. She just looked at him, rather sadly. His blankets were all askew. She set the wine aside and straightened his blankets. When she looked up, Nick was standing at the door watching her, with a frown of concentration creasing his brow.

“He’s asleep,” she said softly. “Shall I blow out the candle?”

“I promised him I would come up and say good night. I hope he doesn’t think I forgot.”

“He will have forgotten all about it by morning,” she said. “We’ll leave the mulled wine to let him know you were here. If he awakens in the night, it might put him back to sleep.”

“That was thoughtful of you, Jane,” he said.

“Lord Goderich was kind to me in the past. He gave me my first pony, took me on my first trip on a sailboat. I just wish I could do more for him.”

“I feel the same.”

“His time is nearly gone. You are doing what would please him—if he realized it, I mean.”

“What is that?”

“Why, you will be carrying on in his place as Lord Goderich. Marrying, running the estate, raising more sons to run Clareview. That is what he always wanted.”

“That’s true, but I must confess, I came home to please myself. It never even occurred to me that it would please him. What a wise lady you are—and kind into the bargain, to cheer me up.”

She studied him a moment, wondering if it was Goderich’s condition that had marred Nick’s mood that evening. “I hope I have succeeded, for you have not added much cheer to this evening’s party so far,” she said frankly.

“Indeed you have.” But his smile, when they returned below, was more wistful than happy. Here was Jane, trying to repay Goderich for a few random acts of kindness, and he, who had been like a cherished son to the old man, forgot to go up and visit him when he had promised he would.

Lady Elizabeth was waiting for them when they entered the saloon. “Are you ready now, Jane?” she asked. “I have gathered the guests in the Music Room for some caroling.”

“You need not have waited for us,” Nick said.

“Jane is to play the pianoforte,” his aunt explained. “My fingers are not as supple as they once were, Nick. I wrote to you about my rheumatism. Let us go along.”

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” Jane said, and followed Lady Elizabeth to the Music Room, where the guests stood in a semicircle around the piano, with some of the older folks sitting a little back from the others.

Pelham came forth to greet her. “I’ll turn the pages for you,” he said.

Again Jane sensed some latent hostility in Nick, and said, “Perhaps you would like Aurelia to play for us, Nick. Does she play the pianoforte?”

“I—I don’t know,” he said, and looked embarrassed. “You go ahead, Jane.”

Jane went to the piano and played a simple accompaniment to the old traditional carols, while the group sang. The piano was slightly out of tune; no one had played it since Lady Elizabeth’s bout of rheumatism. None of the singers had a particularly well-trained or beautiful voice, yet the results were not only satisfactory but very moving. For Nicholas, it gave the profound satisfaction of a religious experience. The sensation of peace and well-being he had felt lacking all evening settled on him, and filled him with a glow of happiness.

When he glanced at the window bay, he saw snow falling softly in the blackness of night. How good it was to be home. The lamplight streaming on Jane’s bent head turned her Titian tresses into a crown. No, a halo. A queen would not bow her head so modestly. Her white fingers moved delicately over the keyboard. She glanced up and saw him looking at her, and smiled softly. Yes, this was how his homecoming should be.

Lady Bingham soon glanced out the window and brought the singing to a halt.

“Good gracious, it is snowing! We had best get home or you will be saddled with us all for Christmas, Lizzie,” she exclaimed.

Others saw the snow and joined in the rush to get home. When the last guest was seen from the door, Mrs. Lipton said to her hostess, “It is time for me to retire as well. A lovely party, Lizzie. Just like old times.”

Lizzie accompanied her abovestairs, saying, “It was. I don’t like change at Christmas. When Nick was away ...” Her voice petered out.

“Shall we polish off the mulled wine before we hit the tick?” Pelham suggested, and the others agreed.

“I hope the snow lets up, or there won’t be anyone at your Christmas service tomorrow, Vicar,” Aurelia said.

“Eh?
My
service?”

“You are the vicar of St. Peter’s.”

“Only the real vicar. George will tend to the service for me. He lives right next door so he will make it, whatever about anyone else. Well, how did you enjoy the party, Miss Aurelia?”

“Very nice.” Then she turned to Nick. “If we are here for Christmas next year, I would like to give the mummers real costumes, Nick. And perhaps we could hire some singers to give us a concert afterwards. Real, professional singers, I mean.”

Nick ignored her other heretical speeches and said, “What do you mean,
if
we are here?”

“I mean if we decide to spend Christmas here, instead of in London.”

“We always spend Christmas here,” he said simply.

“I know many folks leave London for the season, but there is really plenty to do there. The Christmas pantomime and the Christmas concerts. Marie has a big party. Mama and Papa spoke of spending next Christmas with the Huddlestons. Or they could stay with us. Your house is plenty big enough for guests.”

“But we—”

“Now, you mustn’t be selfish,” she said, smiling tolerantly. “I am spending Christmas here this year. You must let
me
choose next year.”

“Fair’s fair,” Pelham said. He finished off his mulled wine and set down the glass. “I’ll see you up to your room, Jane, and let these two lovebirds have their argument in private. We are de trop here. That’s French.”

They exchanged good nights, and Pelham took Jane’s arm to lead her from the room. At the archway he stopped and pointed to the mistletoe.

“I’ve got you where I want you now,” he said, and placed a quick kiss on her lips. He had been aiming for her cheek, but hit her lips by accident. “Sorry,” he mumbled, blushing.

She laughed and kissed him back on the cheek. “What is sauce for the gander,” she said.

“Eh? I thought the saying was ‘what’s sauce for the goose.’”

“You’re right. You
are
a goose. What was I thinking of?”

“It’s the wine. I’m feeling a touch twisty myself.”

Nick watched them from the grate. He knew his former feeling of well-being had dissipated, and told himself it was Aurelia’s suggestion of spending next Christmas in London that accounted for it. He certainly had no objection to Pel giving Jane a kiss under the kissing bough. Nothing wrong with that. He did it every year. But he didn’t remember Jane ever returning the kiss before. And the way they were laughing—it had an intimate sound.

Then he looked at Aurelia. She smiled sweetly at him and held out her hand to draw him down beside her.

“We don’t have to go to London next Christmas, if it makes you so unhappy,” she said.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I am a selfish beast. You are worlds too good for me,” he said.

Nick made a great commotion in the household when he appeared at breakfast the next morning in his scarlet regimentals. They set off his dark coloring and broad shoulders to a tee. There were actually tears of pride in his aunt’s eyes, and a mist of pleasure in his fiancée’s, as they complimented him.

Nick didn’t even hear Jane’s breathless “Oh my, you do look fine!” She had often imagined Nicholas all decked out in his uniform. She found that reality outpaced even imagination. When she glanced at Pel, stolidly pushing a forkful of egg into his mouth, she felt grave doubts that she could marry him.

“Should I be saluting?” Pelham asked, not entirely in jest.

“Take a good look,” Nick said. “The outfit goes into camphor after church.”

“No, no! Not until you have your portrait done. You promised,” Aurelia reminded him, with an adorable moue.

A clamor soon rose in support of this notion. Jane added her voice to the others. During breakfast, there was a steady stream of servants past the door of the breakfast room, all wanting a peek at the master in his red jacket.

Nick went outdoors after breakfast to see if last night’s snowfall had been heavy enough to make driving hazardous. He saw sufficient snow on the ground to lend the proper festive appearance without keeping anyone home from church. It was a soft, moist snow that clung to every bush and bough. Tracks on the ground showed where two rabbits had passed in the night. Black-headed cole tits rustled about the branches of the soaring pine trees in the park, loosening snow that fell with a soft plop.

When the carriages were brought around, he saw the horses’ breath steaming into the cold air. Heated bricks had been placed on the carriage floor to warm the ladies’ feet. Fur rugs awaited them. It had been arranged that his aunt Lizzie and Mrs. Lipton would accompany Jane and Pelham. He had rather hoped the four younger folks could go together, but it was no matter. Pel could not be making up to Jane with the other ladies in the carriage. He, on the other hand, had Aurelia to himself.

There was no lovemaking during the trip, however. Aurelia was concerned lest she not make a grand enough impression on the parish.

“My bonnet is from Madame Lanctot’s,” she said. “Do you think it pretty?” It looked like a giant steeple covered in blue feathers and did not suit her in the least, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“It is lovely, my dear,” he said.

“I want to be the best-dressed lady in church, Nick, so you will be proud of me.”

“My pride in you doesn’t rest on bonnets,” he said, smiling at her anxiety. “No one will outdo you, never fear. You will quite take the shine out of me in my uniform.”

“Oh no! The red will stand out a mile. You look so handsome, Nick.”

“I feel like a demmed fool, but you are right. The parish will expect one look at the outfit.”

The old Norman church stood like a bastion on a hilltop, surveying the carriages and pedestrians who answered the summons of its pealing bells. The ladies of the parish had plundered their conservatories and the countryside to provide the altar with flowers and holly. For this special festival, large red velvet bows graced the ends of the pews.

Miss Aurelia caused a great sensation in the highest poke bonnet ever seen in the parish when she was led up the aisle to Goderich’s box, but she took second place to Colonel Morgan. He wore not only the uniform, but the aura of a returned hero, and the next lord of Clareview. The Reverend Saintbury welcomed Colonel Morgan home, and performed the service satisfactorily. He delivered the sort of sermon expected of him on this occasion: short, with more of rejoicing at the holy season than harping on duty and sin. That would be taken care of during Lent. Mrs. Lemmon’s piebald bonnet nodded in approval.