The Christmas Caper 1

 

I three young gentlemen

 

Jeremy Wrothling viscount Wrothlington

Hon Nicholas Derwent

Simon Havershall

 

“Well?” demanded the Honourable Nicholas Derwent.

“You don’t have to ask; look at his face,” said Simon Havershall.

Jeremy Wrothling, viscount Wrothlington, flung himself into a chair in the suite shared by the young men in the ‘York House’ hotel in Bath. He was a blond young man dressed almost casually, but in perfectly fitting clothes of the finest quality, save for the bird’s eye wipe he wore instead of a standard cravat.

“You were right, Nicky,” he said. “Jessica threw my ring at me.”

“How did you frame it?” asked Simon. He was as dark as his friend was fair, small, neat of build, with eyes that missed nothing.

“As we agreed; I asked her how she would feel if there was a broken entail, meaning that someone else was the viscount, not me. She screeched at me about leading her on and that she would only marry a dull dog like me if she could be a viscountess.”

“Dull dog? But you’re a top-of-the-trees Corinthian, a sportsman extraordinaire, a whip of the finest,” said Simon. “Talk about dull, don’t she even realise that a title from your pater can’t be subject to a broken entail?”

“Nicky was right, talk to a female with legal terms, and most of the time, their eyes glaze over,” said Jeremy.

“Said she would,” said Nicky Derwent. Nicky was a cousin to both the others, through the female line, and had wavy golden-brown locks and a dreamy look. He was usually the least loquacious of the three, but wrote poetry which was better for not being addressed to women of his acquaintance. “Look how Amelia carried on about me being a younger son, and there not being much chance of Dan dying now the war was over. Deuced bad form. And she sneered at the Viking ring I dug up and wanted to give her as a love-token, because I thought she entered into my feelings about antiquities.”

“And I caught Lydia sneaking round with Caldicott and kissing him in the conservatory,” said Simon.

“Most people use the lips,” said Jeremy.

“Put your damned sarcasm away,” said Simon.  “And do you know what she said to me? She said a lady had to keep her options open, because there was no point settling for second best. I thought she loved me.”

“Caldicott’s a rake,” said Jeremy.

“He’s a damned loose screw,” said Nicky.

“Women seem to like dangerous men,” said Jeremy.

“Which is why those who know you’re a nonesuch throw themselves at you,” said Simon. “Are we going through with it?”

“Yes,” said Jeremy.  “We each go to a posting inn, and see if there is a lone young lady, and she must be a lady, and induce her to travel with us. Take her to my hunting box, that being the better part of three hours travel, twenty miles, and if the women like us for our own sweet sakes, we marry them, because they can chaperone each other. Besides, my Great-Aunt Frideswide lives there with her companion, which does for the look of it.”

“We won’t have to talk to them, will we?” said Nicky, in lively horror. “Your great-aunt is crazy and her companion is first cousin to the Grim Reaper.”

“Aggie isn’t that bad,” said Jeremy. “She just feels the responsibility of caring for Aunt Frid, who is in her second childhood. She has her meals in private, now, so you need not worry that she will take all her clothes off at dinner like she did last time. Or, at least, she might, but you won’t have to see it. She was a famous courtesan in her time, and knew a number of royal dukes intimately.”

“All very well, but it was a shock to know her a bit too intimately,” said Nicky.

“Aggie keeps an eye on her, and they have a brawny maid in case Aunt Frid goes wandering,” said Jeremy. “And it’s not like summer storms when she goes outside in her shift to dance. Poor old thing, if it gives her pleasure, why should we decry it?”

“Because it’s scary,” said Nicky, frankly.

“I don’t mind the old lady,” said Simon. “When she’s lucid, her tales are delightful. I have been keeping notes, and one day I will use them in a novel which I will dedicate to her.”

“She’d like that, if she understood,” said Jeremy, touched. “Good; we’ll set off tomorrow. I expect I’ll be slow, as I only have a carriage with me, bringing the mater and her bevy of dressers, maids, companions and vestals with her.”

“You can fit six in the family carriage, does that constitute a bevy?” asked Simon.

“It feels like a bevy,” said Jeremy, firmly.

“Yes, I imagine it probably does,” said Simon. “As long as you don’t have to carry her cicisbeo as well.”

Jeremy shuddered.

“I can’t stand him,” he said. “I couldn’t stand him when the pater was alive, either. I know it’s fashionable to take lovers, but I want a wife who is satisfied with me, and with whom I would be satisfied.”

“How uxorious of you!” said Simon, lightly. “Not that I disagree. And this is why we are kidnapping poor but virtuous ladies in the hopes that they will be more convivial than the gold-diggers we meet in society.  ‘Oh, Simon’s so safe and steady, he could keep me in comfort, but I want excitement as well,’ which is what Lydia said.”

“Put her from your mind, old man,” said Jeremy. “By the time she realises what a mistake she’s made, with luck, you’ll be safely married.”

“What if they’re under twenty-one?” asked Nicky.

“If they’re alone in the world, they won’t have a guardian,” said Jeremy. “Oh, well, there’s always Scotland.”

“In December? You have rats in the attic,” said Nicky.

“Hush! We write to an importer of whisky I know, and have him bring a consignment south; and a chaplain. Then, onboard ship, we are on sovereign territory of Scotland.”

“Does it count?” asked Simon, dubiously.

“If we talk very fast, and don’t back down it counts,” said Jeremy. “It’s a casuistry which has been used for making treaties.”

“Well, I don’t suppose anyone else knows, either,” said Simon. “So, they can’t refute it.”  He considered. “Are we going to choose inns so we don’t go to the same place?”

“Good thought,” said Jeremy. “I thought I’d go to the White Hart.”

“Isn’t it a bit prestigious for the sort of ladies we’re looking for?” asked Nicky.

“It’s the main posting inn,” said Jeremy. “Someone doesn’t have to be staying there to be there.  I thought I’d give it a day there, and then try The Three Tuns, in Stall Street.”

“Good idea, to have a second one to go to,” said Nicky. “I thought I’d go to the Angel Inn, Westgate Street, it’s respectable, but cheap. Then, oh, The Saracen’s Head in Broad Street.”

“I’ll try The White Lion, and The Christopher, in Market Place,” said Simon.

“A toast, to our success,” said Jeremy.

 

They set out the next morning, through frost crackling underfoot. It had not snowed much, but older folk said it was too cold to snow.

Jeremy drove to the White Hart, asked for his horses to be watered, and threw blankets over them. He went into the tap room, where visitors congregated, and propped himself up at the bar, ignoring the flirtatious wriggles of the tapster’s daughter and her low-cut dress.

There were not many people in there yet, but Jeremy’s eyes were drawn to a youth, in rather outmoded clothing, worn appallingly badly.

There was something about the way the youth moved that made Jeremy’s eyes narrow.

Then the youth came up to him. 

The voice was well-modulated, obviously educated.

“Excuse me, are you the coachman for a stage coach, and do you have room for one?” the youth asked.

“I tell you what, you can ride on the box with me, and pay your way by talking to me so I don’t drift off into the killing sleep of cold,” said Jeremy.

“Thank you,” the youth replied.

 

Nicky pulled into the Angel Inn, in his phaeton, as a young woman in dowdy clothing, but obviously a lady, pulled a trunk which was too heavy for her into the inn yard. She consulted a pocket book in her reticule, and sighed. The sigh condensed in a cloud about her.

Nicky raised his hat.

“I suspect the stages will be behind schedule on these treacherous icy roads; going up and down hill,” he said.  “Can I give you a lift anywhere?”

“It depends where you are going, sir,” her voice was softly modulated.

“Oh, I’m exercising my nags,” said Nicky. “I can please myself. Or, indeed, you.”

“Oh, well, if you are going part of the way, I was heading for Cheltenham,” she said.

“Well, if you’ll hold my horse’s heads, I can load up your trunk and we can get going,” said Nicky. The young lady did hold his horse’s heads, without fear, and she stepped away when he remounted and took up the reins, leaning over to help her scramble in.

“Here,” said Nicky. “There’s a blanket to put over yourself; it gets chilly.”

 

Simon hesitated at the Market Place, in his gig, deciding whether to go to The White Lion, or The Christopher, it still being very early, when he saw a young woman, dowdily dressed in clothes which had seen much darning, and she was carrying a cheap valise. Her clothes were those of the upper class, out of date, but once stylish. She might be a dresser, of course, gifted her mistress’s clothes.

Simon decided to take a chance on her.

“Excuse me, you look as if you need help,” he said.

“Oh! I should not... you look harmless,” she said. Her voice was definitely that of a lady.

“I am harmless,” said Simon. “Where are you off to?”

“Milsom Street, number two,” she said. “I... I need to visit the bank before I do anything else.”

Simon consulted his watch.

“It’s almost eight; there should be someone there. You are not leaving Bath?”

“Oh! Yes, but I must see my bank manager first, so I am not defrauded.” She flushed. “I know, I do not look as if I have much to be defrauded of, but now I am one-and-twenty, I resent my small portion being usurped.”

“Intriging!” said Simon. “And where to, after the bank?”

“Anywhere,” she said.

“Hop up, then; the bank first, and then, my lady, your carriage awaits, and I shall hie you off to Lady Frideswide Wrothling, who is as senile as a coot, but has some entertainingly warm stories of her days at court,” said Simon, who found dissembling hard.

 

 

 

Master of Gothic House 13, cliffie bonus

 

Chapter 13

 

Wickes ran to the head of the stairs, swallowed hard at the inferno at its base, and swathed himself in the blanket. Then he straddled the banister, and slid down, hands in front of him to catch on the decorative newel at the bottom, rather than risking his manhood on it. He slid right through the flames too fast for them to touch him, then he vaulted off to the side, and plied the wet blanket to start beating out the flames.

 

 

Edwin found the ladies, a grumpy Tommy, and the servants up, and led them through smoke to descend by the servants’ stair. Jeb and Sgt Hamilton had already gone down, and met Ram Gopal.

Ram Gopal took charge, finding blankets, and directing them to the pump in the kitchen sink, where he also shut the door, to stop the draft.

Edwin sent the ladies to go through the vestibule and into the boudoir; it would be easy to light a fire there, as the chimney was already warm, and if need be, there was a French window into the kitchen garden, if the house caught solidly ablaze. They had come down well-wrapped in blankets and quilts, which Elinor had seen to, and Tommy curled up on the floor and went back to sleep.

“If we can keep it from reaching the roof beams, we’ll likely save the house,” said Edwin, grimly. “But any stair well acts like a chimney, and the stairs caught afire readily. But for Wickes, I doubt we’d have much chance of saving this wing.”

“Thank Mrs. Hymes and her assiduous polishing of the stair rail,” said Wickes.

 

 

oOoOo

 

Esther was buoyant. She was almost ready to sing out loud in joy, but for the thought that such would be vulgar. It would not have stopped Clara or Angela; but Esther, being closer to being bourgeois, was more aware of what might not be acceptable.

Of course, setting fire to houses was not acceptable, but as far as Esther knew, nobody had seen her do it, and that was what counted.

She waited until they were approaching Chelmsford, and passed a large vail to Ezra.

“You don’t have to, miss, it’s no trouble,” said Ezra.

“Oh, well, you will want something to be going on with, and to stay at an inn in Chelmsford while you look for another job,” said Esther.

“What do you mean, miss?” asked Ezra, puzzled.

“Well, I should think the house has burned down by now. I lit a fire on the stairs before coming out,” said Esther. “That will stop them forcing me to do what they want.”

“But miss! There are other young ladies, and the servants, and that little boy, as well as his lordship,” said Ezra.

A cold lump settled in Esther’s stomach.

“His... his lordship?”

“Ar, Lord Aldermede; who was Mr. Annesley until his uncle died,” said Ezra. “You’d best get out; I need to get back to see if I can help.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Esther.

“It’s his lordship’s pardon and that of his guests you’ll need to beg,” said Ezra, with asperity.  “Out you get; I ain’t drivin’ a common felon like you no further an’ if you don’t get out, I’ll use my whip, see?”

“You can’t do that! I’m a lady!”

“You’re a common felon, whass committed arson,” said Ezra, who was really upset, though a part of this might have been fear of being taken as an accomplice. “I won’t swing for you, no I won’t!”

It was born upon Esther that he was serious, and she stepped down from the carriage. Ezra jogged on to a track off the road to turn his team, and cracked the whip overhead to make his team run.

He threw her valise at her, but kept the quilt.

Esther had a few qualms; a lord’s death might be investigated more carefully than that of some mongrel, though she thought it a disgrace that a man of colour should be a lord.  Still, she might have made more effort, if she had known; it was too bad of him to hide such a thing, and it was his own fault if he burned up.

And with an old wooden house like that, it would have all burned up, so it was Ezra’s word against hers, and she might say that she accepted a lift when he had wanted to leave in a hurry, and of course, a lady would be believed; she could put the blame on Ezra. She smiled, secure in her own mind that she was not going to be in trouble. And at least Chelmsford was not far, now, to walk.

 

oOoOo

 

Ezra got back as the other hands were turning out to help fight the fire, and threw blankets over the horses for now to join in.

It did not take long with outdoor staff re-wetting blankets and making a bucket gang to have the fire completely out. The stairs were burned, but were solid enough to be useable.

Edwin knocked on the boudoir door.

“You ladies and your maids can go back to bed; all is safe,” he said. “Tommy looks comfortable enough; I’ll send Will in to sit with him.”

“Thank you,” said Clara. “Another couple of hours’ sleep will not go amiss.”

 

Three hours later, the company was having breakfast when a coach drew up. Edwin glanced out.

“It’s the Bishop of Chelmsford[1],” he said. “Well, let us see whether he is ready to listen to me about the vicar.”

There was a pounding on the door.

Hymes answered it, and was able to announce his grace as the bishop, with the vicar behind him, barged in.

“Ha! Caught you with your paphians! You slandered the Reverend Beckett to stop him denouncing you...”

“How dare you defame my affianced wife, her friend, lately the daughter of the vicarage until thrown out of doors without care for where she might go by that fellow Beckett?” roared Edwin. “And do you call my aunt, Mrs. Elinor Clitheroe, a Paphian as well? You have a confounded impudence! You, sirrah, will apologise or I will have the law on you for defamation! Hymes, send me ostlers to throw out these turbulent priests!”

“Oh has it come to this, that you introduce your bastards into the household?” demanded Beckett, pointing at Tommy.

“You have no manners calling bad names to an orphan!” said Tommy, shrilly. “If Papa was alive, he’d knock you down, and I expect my nearly-brother here will do so for him!”

“I will,” said Edwin, advancing on Beckett. “You throw out a young girl to starve, you literally starve the rectory goat, and now you slander a little boy by questioning his parents, and in doing so question the parentage of my bride, his sister? I will have you know that there is nothing underhanded in the marriage of Clarissa and Thomas Snowe of Ringshall, and you do not have relatively impoverished orphans to deal with, but me, Viscount Aldermede, who can afford to take you to law and see you unfrocked and imprisoned for your defamation, which is a direct attack upon any issue I might have with my wife, and hence with the succession!”

“I... I’m sorry!” squeaked Beckett. “I did not know! I saw a child, and assumed...”

“You assumed! To assume, sirrah, makes an ass out of u and me,” said Edwin. “And you are an ass; you bray like one with as much understanding.  I suppose you are the root of the infamous calumny levelled at my guests?”

The bishop also rounded on Beckett.

“You lied! You said a pack of women had been brought in, in two carriages!”

“They were! Tom Roper saw them!” said Beckett.

“Let me get this straight,” said Edwin, with a deadly calm which made Beckett shudder, and even unnerved the bishop. “The two carriages containing my aunt, three house guests – one of whom has departed – and their maids and their duenna in the second carriage, has been made in whose imagination into a pack of... women who should not even be mentioned in front of ladies? Did you take the word of some countryman who has never seen ladies with maids before, or did you make it up in your own dirty, prurient, aberrant, and disgusting little mind, because you are prejudiced against men of colour, regardless that my mother was a princess in her own country and took a step down to marry a mere brother of a viscount?”

“I... I thought....” said Beckett.

“You thought? I think that’s a lie,” said Edwin. “I think you have very little capacity to think. You certainly never thought when you turned Miss Cubitt out into the cold of winter because it was ‘inappropriate’ to share the vicarage with an unmarried man; a man of God would have stayed in the village ale-house until a suitable place had been found for a young lady left destitute, and a man of any moral scruples would have contacted the Bishop to ask if any ladies of his acquaintance needed a companion, to give her a suitable place when bereaved by the loss of both her parents.  But no doubt if she had been violated whilst she sought somewhere to go, you would have smugly said that it was her own fault? You disgust me. And this is why I want him out!” he added, turning sharply to the bishop.

“Beckett! You have lied to me and let me down!” said the bishop. “And you will be out by New Year! I will look for someone more suitable...”

“Don’t bother,” said Edwin.

“But... but my lord! You must have a vicar...”

“And the living is in my gift and I gift it to the Reverend Archibald Payne, a friend of mine from Oxford. I will be writing to him, and he can stay with me until that fellow is out,” said Edwin. “And if he is not out on the last day of December, my servants will come and throw him out, bag and baggage, and let him cope with being so rudely ejected!”

“Er, quite,” said the bishop. “A... a belated congratulations to you on your elevation, my lord, and on your impending nuptials. Come, Beckett, I want to speak to you in private.”

They left; and two stable hands with pitchforks ushered them out.

“That was masterly,” said Clara.

“Well done, my dear boy, I could not have done better,” said Elinor.

“If I were not betrothed to Jeb, I could hug you for putting down that awful Beckett!” said Angela.

“Abiit, evasit and I forgot the rest!” gloated Tommy.

“Abiit, excessit, evasit, erupit,” said Edwin. “Or, in English for those with less Latin, he has gone, shabbed off, retreated and been romped.”

“It didn’t translate it like that in my book,” said Tommy.

“No, but that’s what’s called a ‘free translation’ when you translate the spirit of what is meant, not the cold hard precision of the words,” said Edwin.

  “So, Timao Danaos et dona ferentes...”  said Tommy “If you did it in free translation?”

“Those sneaky Greeks give nothing without some nasty trick to it,” said Edwin.

“I wish you were teaching me Latin, not Reverent Hunnicutt,” said Tommy.

“Well, if your sister will accept my humble hand in marriage, I’m sure I can find some time for it,” said Edwin. “We’ll find you a decent tutor too, and Ram Gopal will teach you to shoot and use a sword.”

“You had not actually proposed, my lord,” said Clara.

“Had I not? My apologies, Miss Snowe. Will you do me the honour of being my wife?”

“Willingly,” said Clara. “If I had had any reservations stemming from your high-handed assumption, even though I understand why you made such assumptions in front of that idiotic Bishop, your handling of Tommy shows me that one day you will be a most excellent father.”

“I hope, in the meantime, to show you that I can be a most excellent husband.”

“I will make you work at it.”

“Of course.” 

“While the young people bill and coo, Mrs. Clitheroe, is there any hope that I might court a mettlesome lady like yourself?” said Wickes. “I have little to lay before you; mustering out as a lieutenant will not be much, but I offer my wit, charm, and my ability to turn my hand to most things.”

“You may spend some time convincing me; I’ve enough to keep us both handsomely, and I let Edwin invest for me as well,” said Elinor. “And if any of it is ill-gotten gains from my second husband’s career on the High Toby, I never asked.”

“And I’d be a fool to do so,” said Wickes.

“I’ll arrange three special licences,” said Edwin. “When the Bishop has cooled down and is amenable to the sweet song of money for the same, rather than the raucous tones of slander.”

 

Christmas was celebrated happily in Gothic House, with two weddings; Elinor wanted to be courted a bit longer, but Lieutenant Wickes mustered out anyway, hoping for a job with the viscount if his suit failed. His sergeant came with him, and Mrs. Partridge agreed to be Mrs. Harrison, and move into Gothic House to help Mrs. Hymes. Esther’s Lizzie became a general parlourmaid, and counted herself lucky; and Edwin took the deposition of Ezra, and of Jeb who had seen Esther light the fire, and wrote to Dr. Mortimer that as he had the evidence to have Esther hanged, he considered that it would be as well if she was never permitted to marry, and he would say nothing – unless her parents or anyone else close to her died suddenly, or there were any more fires.

Esther found herself expected to do more about the house to keep her busy, and was not permitted to have anything to do with mixing medicines. Dr. Mortimer was definitely frightened by the viscount’s revelations.

Archie Payne officiated at the weddings, and Jeb took his bride home to help him run his prosperous little farm. They took Faith, the goat, and Will with them, as well as Jenny, and lived happily ever after.  Edwin hired a tutor for Tommy, and found a young man who had a young brother in his care, so Tommy had a companion. Their discovery of other secret passages left Clara and Edwin declaring that they would go grey before their time, and in due course, sundry nieces and nephews were shown passages by Tommy. Tommy, of course, had the room over the porch. His best friend had the room above it.

 

 

 

Epilogue

 

It was amazing how many people in the ton whose views normally found persons of colour to be distasteful were much more ready to be ecumenical when the said person of colour was extremely wealthy and used his social position and wealth with the finesse that Angelo wielded a rapier in his fencing school. Clara was positively lionised by people she met on the town. She and Edwin, however, preferred a quiet life, and loved spending time in Gothic House, once it had a sufficiency of servants to keep it as it should be kept.

Their son was born here less than a year after the wedding, and was christened Giles Thomas Annesley, after Edwin’s father and after Tommy.  He was not named Vijay, as Edwin had informed many people he would be when he thought their nosiness was impudent. Clara gave Edwin two daughters and another son, who were named Sarah Angela, Clarissa Geeta, and Victor Vijay, because Clara thought it was a shame not to retain the Indian tradition and honour Edwin’s mother and her father.

 

Angela thrived as a farmer’s wife. There were a sufficiency of hands that she not be required to do too much heavy work, and most years she helped with the harvest. The first year, she was very obviously pregnant, and not carrying it well, and birthed a small, red-haired daughter who was christened in a hurry Angelica Clara. Angelica proved to have a will to live and fiery spirit to match her hair, and in time fell into many scrapes with her four brothers who followed, who grew up to be strong, able men, with varying shades of gingery hair, and ambitions to help their father increase his holdings. The Curtis children and the Annesley children grew up spending much time together and were as close as if they were related.

 

Elinor married Thomas Wickes, and they adopted the daughter of an officer Wickes knew who had been killed in the line of duty, and her huge mongrel hound. 

 

end of the first of three for the Christmas book, the crazy Christmas caper coming up next 

 

---

[1] There was no Bishop of Chelmsford then, so he is a fictional character and may be bent, folded, stapled and mutilated at my whim.

Master of Gothic House 12

 

Chapter 12

 

Esther sighed when Angela and Jeb came into the boudoir with arms full of greenery.

“You’re not actually going to put all that mess around the place, are you?” she demanded.

“Mr. Curtis, should we pin some holly onto this statue?” asked Angela. “It seems static.”

“I fear it might be a sleeping dog, and you know what they say about letting sleeping dogs lie,” said Jeb Curtis.

“Well, I wager that’s the closest Miss Mortimer has ever come to being called a bitch in public,” giggled Angela. “And if you didn’t mean it like that, Mr. Curtis, as I perceive from your shock you did not, I think it very funny.”

“You’re the bitch,” said Esther. “Why are you flirting with my beau?”

“The one who grubs in the dirt and wants to make you mess about with dirty animals, whom you would not marry if he was the last man on earth, that beau?” asked Angela.

Esther flounced.

“I wouldn’t marry her now for all the tea in china, having seen her true colours,” said Jeb Curtis. “Oh, look, I’ve found a tiny sprig of mistletoe, Miss Cubitt, do you suppose we should appease it?”

“It’s a very tiny sprig, Mr. Curtis, its appeasement should be equally tiny,” said Angela. “You may kiss the corner of my mouth, no more, without a larger bunch.”

“Oh, I shall have to be content, then,” said Jeb, dropping a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Well, he’s a pretty inconstant swain, or maybe swine,” said Esther. “He’ll drop you if he finds a woman with a decent dowry.”

“Not a woman who can cite the advantages of different kinds of sheep for different lands,” said Jeb. “You might want to go into the dining room, though, Hymes is setting out a buffet luncheon for when we finish decorating.”

“I wonder if we might not need to find a better clump of mistletoe?” said Angela. “I hope you do not think me too fast to suggest it, Mr. Curtis?”

“Yes,” said Esther.

“I am shocked at my own feelings, to be honest,” said Jeb, ushering her out of the boudoir. “You looked up at me when I came to see if I could help, and I thought you looked like an angel on earth.”

“Red hair and all?” laughed Angela.

“I admire your hair,” said Jeb. “It is a wild, free, untamed thing, and I want it to choose to stay with me because it wants me, not because it is tamed.”

Angela blushed, and her breathing was a little fast.

“Why, Mr. Curtis, you are a poet,” she said.

He blushed.

“I write a little,” he confessed. “I would not dare tell Esther, she would tease me as I’m not learned enough to write according to any rules. But I like to write. I am toying with some ideas about your fiery locks setting my heart ablaze.”

“Well, in that case we must find a clump of mistletoe, for that’s almost a proposal, so long as you aren’t mistaking me for a prize Tamworth sow with their ginger bristles.”

“Comparison is a silly one,” said Jeb.

They found another clump of mistletoe in the vestibule, and Jeb drew Angela into his arms and kissed her tenderly. Angela clung to him.

“Will you marry me?” asked Jeb.

“Yes, Jeb!” said Angela.

“I can only give you my tiepin as a token for now,” said Jeb, taking it from his tie, and pinning it to Angela’s sensible cashmere bosom, “But I will have a brooch made which is mistletoe, in gold, with pearls for the berries.”

“You do have the soul of a poet,” said Angela, and then her belly gurgled.  “Oh dear, and my digestion is neither lady-like nor romantic.”

“It will be much better fed on bread, paté, and pickles,” said Jeb.

“A romantic man who is practical as well. I don’t think a girl could be luckier,” said Angela.

 

 

Esther was even more determined to leave, and to leave some revenge as well. She drifted into the dining-room.

“I believe I will go back to bed,” she said. “I do not feel well. Perhaps someone will bring me dinner on a tray.”

“I’ll bring you some,” said Clara. “I hope you will sleep well and feel better.”

Esther made a good meal, and went to bed, to sleep well then, instead of overnight. She had not slept well the previous night, and was glad that someone had provided her with two hot bricks and made up her fire; she did not realise that the other two young women and the servants were prepared to cosset her in order to keep her happily out of the way.

She awoke to a knock on the door, and Clara came in with covered plates on a tray. Esther could smell rich gravy, and her belly growled.

“Thank you,” she managed.

Clara left her to it. There was no laudanum in the glass of claret, though Clara had been tempted. She ran down to take her own place at the table, just in time for Edwin to say the Grace before eating.

It was not a meal to grace a dinner party, but it was a meal in which Mrs. Hymes had risen to the occasion, even though there was only one remove, the dried pea soup starter removed with the Beef Bourguignon, which was the main attraction, making the most of the oft-times tough salt beef by tenderising it with the red wine. Cooked in a sauce with vegetables, it was delicious, and on the table at the same time were roast potatoes, baked onions, roast honey-glazed parsnips, raised pies, rabbit stew, from the rabbit Will had taken down with a catapult the day before, and an egg, cheese, and bacon open pie, in the French manner.   The savouries were removed for a boiled pudding made with dried fruit, and opened ahead of Christmas to provide something sweet, covered in a rich creamy sauce.

Will was sent for by Edwin, to thank him for the rabbit.

“I done take down rabbits at times for the butcher to pay me,” said Will.

“You’ll get a vail in your monthly pay,” said Edwin. “I don’t have a bailiff, according to Hymes, so as far as I am concerned, you can take as many rabbits as you like and I’ll pay for them. Ram Gopal will teach you to shoot when you are tall enough to handle a gun easily.”

Will reckoned he was in clover.

 

“If it’s all the same to you, sir, my sergeant and I are going to turn in early,” said Lt. Wickes. “We are hoping for an early start.”

Edwin put his head on one side, and raised an eyebrow as Wickes rose, but said nothing. However, he followed the two soldiers out of the room.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asked.

“To be honest, sir, I was going to have a word with Ram Gopal,” said Thomas Wickes. “He being more than able to see through a brick wall. That Miss Mortimer was spinning a Banbury tale to one o’ your grooms, and wanted him to be ready tomorrow morning very early, as my sergeant overheard. Now, if she wants to go home, I thought to myself, why not just ask? Why declare that Mrs. Clitheroe is part of a conspiracy against her? I didn’t like it.”

“I see,” said Edwin. “I wondered why you were in a hurry to be off, and my aunt looking stricken at the thought, after you had been assiduous in your courtesies towards her.”

“I admire the lady very much,” said Wickes. “I don’t suppose I’m good enough to court her, but I’ve enough impudence to try.”

“Oh, she likes a bit of constructive impudence,” said Edwin. “So, what did you plan to do?”

“Watch Miss Mortimer leave, and make sure she’s safely gone,” said Wickes. “And perhaps you’d advise the other ladies to lock their doors. I don’t guarantee she might not try to hurt them to alienate them from you by spoiling their looks.”

“Wouldn’t that defeat her escape?”  asked Edwin. “They would surely scream.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

“And it would take a few minutes for someone get up – and she might escape in the confusion,” said Wickes. Edwin nodded.

“Not very efficient, but I can understand that she’s the sort to be vindictive over nothing at all,” he said.

“Hardly nothing,” said Wickes, dryly. “It’s apparent that you’ve chosen one of the ladies, and the gentleman Miss Mortimer swears she is escaping from, but is still her recent beau, has chosen t’other.”

“Leaving Miss Mortimer the only one who is unwanted; and I confess, I hoped something like that would happen, to teach her a lesson.”

“But people like that hoity-toity miss cannot bear to be left out, even if only denied the opportunity to spurn you both,” said Wickes. “And you can depend on it, her story when she gets home is that you were not good enough for her.”

“Unlike Miss Snowe, who has every excuse to spurn me, for putting her through fear of being in the same shoes as her dead parents,” said Edwin. “But I hope she will not.”

“Her looks towards you when you are not looking are warm,” said Wickes.

Edwin seized his hand and pumped it enthusiastically.

“I believe I may also go to bed early and rise equally early. I will tell Ram Gopal,” said Edwin.

 

He slipped back into the dining room.

“You ladies should lock your doors tonight,” he said. “We might have trouble.”

“What sort of trouble?” asked Clara, sharply.

“Vindictive trouble looking to spoil looks,” said Edwin.

“Understood,” said Clara.

“Would she go so far?” asked Angela.

“I don’t rule it out,” said Edwin.

“Are you keeping a watch?” asked Jeb. “Because I’m in; if those two army types are up for it, we can all go into the master bedroom and have one man on watch at a time.”

Edwin nodded.

“I think that is a most excellent plan,” he said.

 

oOoOo

 

Esther finished her dinner, and waited for the tray to be removed, feigning sleep.  She was too excited to sleep, but she did decide to doze. She was sure she would not oversleep.

In point of fact, she did not sleep deeply, because her mind was so busy, making her plans and thinking about exactly what she was going to do. She listened to Clara put Tommy to bed, and then go down again for an hour or so. She listened to Clara and Angela come to bed, speaking in hushed tones, and then Elinor Clitheroe coming to bed, giving quiet orders to Betty. Esther considered the idea of setting a fire on the corridor to trap all the women in their beds, but concluded regretfully that the old bat, as she privately called Elinor, would be bound to smell the smoke and might manage to get it put out before it got a good hold. She dragged herself out of her doze, and got dressed. That made sure she was fully awake; and she checked her travel clock. Two-thirty, or just after. Elinor had come up at midnight.

Esther packed methodically, folding a quilt to tuck through the handles of her valise.  She might as well be warm in whatever conveyance Ezra took. She carried it, and one of her cooling hot bricks in its old piece of blanket downstairs.  She set her valise by the kitchen back door, and put her brick in the hot oven, throwing into the stove a cord of wood to increase the heat, incidentally making the rising bread in the slow oven collapse for over-heating it, as Mrs. Hymes had left a minimal amount of coals in to keep some warmth in the stove.

Esther searched the kitchen for some lamp oil and took the bottle to the base of the stairs. She took a cord of wood upstairs as well, to get her own fire burning merrily, and transferred all the glowing coals to the small coal skuttle. This she also carried downstairs, cursing mentally how awkward it was.

 

oOoOo

 

Elinor sat up in bed.  She thought she might smell smoke!

Had Esther not used the cord of wood to bring her fire to life, Elinor might not have woken, but life is about choices. Elinor did not dismiss her fears out of hand, but went to investigate, taking the poker from the fire irons of her room.

She could definitely smell smoke. Esther Mortimer had left her door open; and Elinor looked inside. No Esther. No valise, and not much fire left in the grate either.

Elinor returned to her room to shake Betty awake, and get hurriedly dressed herself, before going to knock sharply on the door of the room the two young ladies shared with Tommy.

“Get up and dress!” she called, sharply, and headed for the stair up to the upper level for the servants.

 

oOoOo

 

It was Jeb who was on watch when the stair creaked, and he eased open the door to see Esther go down with her valise.  Well, if that was all she was up to, nothing to worry about, he thought.

He looked out again when she returned upstairs, and watched in horror as she manhandled the skuttle with its merrily burning coals down the stairs shortly thereafter, held in the blanket of her other hot brick to prevent herself from burning her hands, something Esther was becoming increasingly worried about. In the end, she set the skuttle down half-way down the stairs, and went the rest of the way without it.

Jeb woke the others with a hand over their mouths.

“She’s raising fire,” he said. “On the stairs.”  

“My responsibility is to the ladies,” said Edwin, “And to the servants. If you can, go down the servants’ stair; if you cannot, go through the linen closet to the porch room, there is a ladder there to the porch. Run round and raise the stable hands.”

“I’ve another idea,” said Wickes, grimly. “You others do as his lordship says, I’m going to see if I can’t fight the fire another way.” He pulled one of the woollen blankets off the bed and poured water from the ewer into it.

By this time, Esther had thrown a load of lamp oil around, and managed to use a spit from the old, open hearth to pull the skuttle down with a clatter. She went into the kitchen to retrieve her hot brick and fairly ran out of the back door, leaving it open, with her valise to meet with Ezra, who was just harnessing horses to the shooting brake.

“Well done!” said Esther, leaping up beside him, placing the brick at her feet and arranging her quilt over her knees. “Let’s go!”