The Christmas Caper 7

 

VII Christmas and weddings

 

It may be supposed that Lady Frideswide had had a considerable say in the carols to be sung, and she knew what the congregation liked.  The midnight service was largely attended by the local gentry, since livestock still needed caring for a few short hours after its ending. The stars shone frosty and bright, and the hoar frost crunched underfoot, as Jeremy put blankets and quilted jackets on the horses, Frid being too frail to walk the half mile to the church, and the ladies not having suitable footwear. Beatrice was wearing one of the two gowns which had belonged to Annabelle whilst other gowns were made over, and Lily wore the other; and Cecily had brought decent gowns herself, but Lily and Beatrice were closer in size.

As it was not, generally speaking, the greater part of the congregation, they sang carols the country folk found harder, like ‘Adam lay Ybounden,’ ‘Adeste Fideles,’ and ‘In Dulci Jubilo.’ William spoke of the hopes of the gift of the Saviour, and gave prayers for the health of the king, which was poor.

Frid sang quietly to herself on the way home; she had managed to get through the service, but poor Moffatt was likely in for a bad night.

“Will she fret if we don’t take her to the service?” asked Beatrice. “She seems so frail.”

“She’ll sleep in, and if she regrets it later, perhaps you will all come and sing the carols she loves to her,” said Moffatt, touched that the flighty young men had chosen kindly girls who cared.

 

Christmas day showed no promise of a decently white Christmas, but instead produced that most unpleasant of compromises, a mix of rain and sleet. Frid slept in, and the younger people drove down to the church to a fuller congregation, and a somewhat individualistic interpretation of Grandsire triples being rung on what was an impressive ring for a village church of seven bells.

“Frid told me that one of the bells was donated by a Jacobite she helped escape,” said Simon. “Being Frid, I don’t even doubt it.”

“Oh, the one who served wine to the officer searching for him whilst dressed as her maid,” said Cecily.

“Stap me! I didn’t hear that one, but it doesn’t surprise me,” said Simon.

They sang ‘While Shepherds watched their flocks by night,’ ‘Hark! How all the Welkin rings,’ ‘Joy to the World,’ ‘The Cherry Tree Carol,’ and ‘Love Divine.’ William managed to squeeze in most of the traditional nine readings, without making his congregation work too hard on having to sing nine carols. Christmas dinner was cooking in the oven, and they returned to delicious smells.

First, they went to sing to Frid, who looked a tiny, forlorn figure in a dressing gown in her bed. She perked up with the singing, almost all carols she had been singing all her long life.

She made a good meal of goose and all the trimmings, and was sufficiently recovered on Sunday, which was a day off for the servants, to demand that the brides stay home during church to receive a very earthy set of instructions about the marriage bed.

The brides probably had a more enjoyable time than the bridesgrooms, even if frequently embarrassed.

 

Monday morning saw three young ladies arrayed in hastily altered gowns which had started life as chemises a la reine, and looked a picture as they stood to exchange their vows with their bridegrooms. William whisked through the prayer book three times, and the Viscountess Cecily Wrothling signed her new name, followed my Mrs. Nicholas Derwent, and Mrs. Simon Haveshall.

The wedding breakfast was short and disposed of efficiently for the married couples to retire to their respective chambers.

 

“You know,” said Cecily, a long time later, “I don’t see why Mama says that men are disgusting. I enjoyed that very much indeed. Can we do it again?”

“Only when I’ve had a long drink of water,” said Jeremy. “Be kind; if you want more than four goes, I have to have a good long drink.”

 

Beatrice sighed happily and snuggled at Nicky.

“I have read the medical treatises on the act of procreation, to help explain growing up to young girls, but I am glad to discover that they are all wrong.”

“They are?” said Nicholas, bemused.

“Indeed; they are all written in the third party, that the male part does this, and the female part does that, as though the personality attached to them has no say in it at all. How splendid it is to be involved in it all, not an adjunct to self-willed procreative organs.”

“My self-willed procreative organs think it’s time we tested this scientific hypothesis again,” said Nicky.

 

“I’m glad I lost my temper,” said Lily.  “I’ve had it drummed into me all my life that being red I have to fight against my temper as it is wild and animalistic.”

“I don’t know about your temper, but if red hair makes you so passionate, I’m very glad of it,” said Simon.

“I’m glad you don’t mind,” said Lily.

“Mind? I’m delighted,” said Simon. “And by the way, as your father tried to threaten me with being charged with abducting an heiress, I’ve written to my lawyer to sue him for being an unnatural parent, and the cost of the gowns, bonnets, music lessons and so on that you should have had. It’s very petty.”

“And I adore you for it,” said Lily. “Let’s go to the assemblies in the New Year and cut my family dead.”

“And nobody can say you’re abducted if you’re seen about town being happy,” said Simon. “Splendid idea! But I do want to come back to spend time with Aunt Frid.”

“Yes, she is suddenly very old,” said Lily.

 

Lily and Simon danced in the assembly rooms, and the fashionable Mrs. Havershall would have nothing to do with the Hendrys; and Annabelle had hysterics so loudly that her parents were asked not to bring her again until she was old enough to behave.

“You mean, when she has learned, ‘sit!’ ‘stay!’ and ‘walk to heel!’” said Simon, who could be quite as cutting as Jeremy when he chose.

The implication that Annabelle was a female canine caused much mirth.  The winter season was cut short, however when the king died at the end of January, and it was the end of a long era; and Frid sighed for the more robust era of her youth.

There was no Amelia Spottiswode on the town, since there was no more any fortune to make her approximately tolerable to those who needed her father’s money. Once ruined, on Frid’s orders, they were no more problem.

 

Frid clung to life long enough to see Cecily brought to bed with twins, an heir, named Adam, for Frid’s favourite lover, and his sister, Frideswide; a daughter to Beatrice named Marion Frideswide; and a son to Lily, named Jeremy Nicholas. Frid caught a chill after going out in the rain to pick flowers, which turned to pneumonia, and carried her off quietly before winter fairly set in. She was buried in the local churchyard, and Simon completed his novelised version of her life, which was sufficiently frisky that it had to be published in France.

It was an immediate best seller. 

 

next up a story in need of a permanent title instead of ghosts, pirates and treasure, Oh my!