by M. C. Beaton
“This is my home,” interrupted the colonel. “And when I am in residence, the Harringtons will always be welcome. But I have had enough. Now I am going to pack. I am going back to my regiment.”
Lady Harrington saw the suddenly bewildered and lost look on Mrs. Tenby’s face and felt a reluctant pang of sympathy.
“Good day to you all,” she said, and turning on her heel, she left the room, and left a stricken silence behind her.
Chapter 7
The girls were busy in the kitchens with Lady Harrington on Christmas eve while Sir John went out with the men from the village to supervise the dragging home of the Yule log.
Lady Harrington said she always baked the mince pie herself. Her recipe required these ingredients: one pheasant, one hare, one capon, two pigeons, and two rabbits. The meat was separated from the bone and minced into a fine hash. The livers and hearts of all these birds and animals were added along with two sheep’s kidneys, little meat balls of beef and eggs and pickled mushrooms, salt, pepper, vinegar, and various spices, and the broth in which the bones were cooked. All this was ladled into a large piecrust and baked.
It was the custom, explained Lady Harrington as she worked busily away, to make a wish on the first bite of a mince pie. Perhaps the most famous of all Christmas pies, she said, was the one into which Jack Horner stuck his thumb:
“Little Jack Horner
Sat in a corner
Eating his Christmas pie;
He put in his thumb,
And pulled out a plum
And said what a good boy am I.”
Begged to tell the story, she said the rhyme described how Jack Horner, a steward to Richard Whiting, the last abbot of Glastonbury, was sent to London at the time of the dissolution of the monasteries with a large Christmas pie as a gift for Henry VIII. Under the pastry were the title deeds to twelve manors belonging to the monastery, the abbot hoping to curry favor with the king. On the journey up to London, Jack Horner is said to have discovered the secret of the pie, and extracted for himself the title deeds to the manor of Mells in Somerset, where he went to live after the dissolution of Glastonbury.
“Is it not strange that a great number of so-called nursery rhymes were actually political satire?” said Jilly. “But in a world where children grow old and wizened before their time, it is not at all odd, I suppose.”
To distract her mind from gloomy thoughts, Lady Harrington said, “We have an amusing local tradition. Have you heard of dumb cakes?”
“Now, what on earth is a dumb cake?” asked Mandy.
“Oh, it is for young girls who want to know who is going to marry them.” At that moment Sir John walked into the kitchen and sat down at the scrubbed table. How easy and friendly the Harringtons were, thought Jilly for about the hundredth time. In what other household would the master sit easily in his kitchens with the servants?
“I was just telling them about dumb cakes, my dear,” said Lady Harrington. “The girls have to make the cakes in absolute silence. Then they put the cakes in the oven and open the kitchen door. Their future husbands are supposed to walk in at midnight and turn the cake. Here, the girl puts her initials on the cake, and the future husband is supposed to take a sharp knife and prick his initials next to hers. Why do you not do it this evening?”
“Who will come?” asked Mandy, a shadow in her eyes.
“Probably no one,” said Lady Harrington comfortably. “But you should make them just the same. Remember, Christmas is a magical time. You take an eggshell full of salt, another of wheatmeal, and a third of barley.”
Mandy wrinkled her nose. “It does not sound very nice.”
Lady Harrington laughed. “It is all fun. I have never seen anyone actually eat one of the things.”
Jilly and Mandy almost forgot their sore hearts as the bustle went on about them in the kitchens while they helped the cook and the maids to chop vegetables and roll pastry.
Suspended from the ceiling on a hook was an enormous Norfolk turkey. Although turkeys had first been introduced from New England, they got their name from the merchants from the Levant or Turkey who brought them over. By the end of the eighteenth century Norwich alone was sending a thousand turkeys a day up to London. Charles Lamb, the great essayist, wrote to a friend who was spending the Christmas of 1815 in China, “You have no turkeys; you would not desecrate the festival by offering up a withered Chinese bantam instead of the savoury grand Norfolcian holocaust that smokes all around my nostrils at this moment from a thousand firesides.”
But turkey was still only to be found on the tables of the comfortably off, the poorer contenting themselves with goose or capon.
On a dresser under the window was the Christmas pudding maturing away in its bowl.
Then Lady Harrington, having seen her pie tenderly placed in one of the ovens, suggested it was time for them to change and go to church.
Jilly and Mandy wished they could attend a church like the one at Benham St. Anne’s when they got home. It was so jolly and friendly with everyone calling out “Happy Christmas” across the fir-bedecked aisles, and the pulpit was gay with shiny green holly with scarlet berries. The squire, Sir William Black, and his family came back with them after church, and the schoolteacher came and the vicar and the curate, all to share Sir John’s punch or a tankard filled from the wassail bowl. The day gathered pace, full of noise and music. The waits came round to sing Christmas carols at the open door. Feathery flakes of snow were beginning to fall, and it was all so beautiful that Jilly felt tears rising to her eyes.
Then there were the presents to wrap and place on a table beside the tree.
Oh, that tree! The girls thought they would never forget the wonder of it when James Harrington lit the thin taper candles on the wide green branches while Sir John extinguished the lamps in the drawing room and snuffed the candles so that there was only the tree, shining and splendid in the darkness.
More people from the village began to arrive, for the Harringtons kept open house on Christmas eve, and the girls and Lady Harrington helped the maids by running here and there with trays of sandwiches, sugar plums, and cakes. Before the last guests left at eleven to trudge out through the shining, fluttering, whirling snow, the wassail bowl had had to be refilled several times and the Yule log dragged forward several more inches into the heart of the fire.
For a moment Jilly and Mandy stood side by side with Sir John and Lady Harrington, waving good-bye and shouting “Happy Christmas” and yet trying not to hope too fiercely to see two gentlemen riding up on horseback. Lady Harrington had told them that Jimmy had found out that Lord Ranger and Lord Paul had gone to stay with a friend at Chipping Norton.
Surely they would return to the Tenbys’ for Christmas day, thought Jilly, and surely they would drop in, if only to say Happy Christmas.
But one by one the twinkling lamps of the guests vanished into the night and left only darkness and swirling snow.
Lady Harrington gave a little sigh as if she, too, was disappointed.
But she turned to the girls and said, “Off to the kitchens with you and bake those cakes. Cook has left the recipe and instructions on the kitchen table.”
When the girls had gone she walked back into the drawing room with her husband and picked up the candle snuffer and began to extinguish the lights on the Christmas tree one by one while her husband lit the lamps.
“Did you tell them about Lucinda writing to their parents?” asked Sir John.
“Not yet. Why ruin Christmas by seeing the fear in their eyes or watching them cringe every time they hear a carriage on the road? Boxing Day. I will tell them on Boxing Day. If there were any way I could legally adopt those girls, then I would, but can you imagine the battle in the courts? It would be such a scandal.”
She went to the window and drew back the curtains and looked out at the falling snow. “I keep praying for a miracle,” she said. “They will soon go out of our lives and we shall never see or hear from them again. They will each
be married off to grim Puritans and grow old before their time.”
“Everyone should have good memories,” said Sir John. “You have given them Christmas and they will never forget it. Good memories make one brave. They will be stronger in spirit because of it.”
Down in the kitchens, Jilly and Mandy were taking turns to stir the mixture in the bowl. “I hope this is all right,” said Jilly, peering at the unappetizing-looking mixture.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Mandy. “No one’s going to eat the things. Are we going to open the kitchen door at midnight?”
“Why not?” said Jilly. “It’s all part of the tradition. As soon as midnight is past, let us go to bed. We must rise early tomorrow to help Lady Harrington. Where does she get the energy from?”
The mixture being finished and put into tins and placed in the oven, they sat down at the table. “How long does the recipe say they take?” asked Jilly.
“Only fifteen minutes in a very hot oven,” said Mandy, “and the oven is very hot. They are more like little biscuits than cakes.”
“Then we will just have time to put our initials on them,” said Jilly. “Oh, dear. It won’t work anyway.”
“Why not?”
“They are dumb cakes. We were supposed to bake them in silence. Now no one will come.”
Mandy began to laugh. “I think we are become bewitched, believing in such stories. Who is going to call now?”
Lord Paul and Lord Ranger had left their friend Gully’s home late and with reluctance. Had Gully not had a visitation from a large party of his relatives that evening who needed all the rooms, then both men would have stayed and forgotten the Tenbys.
They were riding down on horseback from Chipping Norton in the now thick, swirling snow. “Why didn’t we take the carriage?” called Lord Ranger.
“Because we were frightened that Harriet and Lucinda might place themselves in it. Isn’t Greenbanks around here?”
“You know very well that it is. Benham St. Anne’s is to the left. Where are you going?”
“Demme, let’s go to the Harringtons’. Use the snow as an excuse and be damned to Sir John!”
Sir John was coming back from the stables. The church bells were tolling the Old Lad’s Passing Bell. The bell, which tolled the three days before Christmas from eleven until midnight, rang out for the death of the devil and the approaching birth of Christ.
And then Sir John stiffened and stood with his head on one side. He was sure he could hear the jingle of harness.
It was surely nearly midnight.
And then he heard the sound of horses, their hooves muffled by the snow. Lord Ranger and Lord Paul rode up to him and swung down from the saddle. “Our apologies, sir,” said Lord Ranger, looking towards the darkened windows of the house. “I fear we have come too late.”
“Never too late,” said Sir John cheerfully. He suddenly saw a way he could make amends to his wife for having interfered in Jilly and Mandy’s love life. “Tell you what. I see a light is still on in the kitchens. Jilly and Mandy are baking cakes. They put their initials on them, and the first person to arrive must put his initials beside theirs.”
Lord Ranger looked towards the kitchens, which were on the ground floor to the side of the house in the old manner rather than in the basement. “Why?” he asked.
“Goodness knows,” said Sir John easily. “Half the reasons for these old traditions have been lost in time. Off with you. No! I will attend to your horses. Used to it. Like horses. Oh, do go on!”
The door to the kitchens stood open.
“Thank goodness it is midnight,” said Mandy. “I am so cold. When the bell finishes tolling, we can shut the door and go upstairs and get warm.”
“There are voices in the yard,” said Jilly. “Hush!”
“Someone is coming,” said Mandy, turning quite pale. “Do you think…?”
“No,” said Jilly sharply. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
And then Lord Ranger and Lord Paul walked in through the open doorway.
“Where are these cakes?” asked Lord Ranger, swinging off his snow-covered cloak.
“M-Mine are here,” said Jilly. “And Mandy’s there.”
Lord Ranger picked up a small vegetable knife from the kitchen table and solemnly pricked out his initials next to Jilly’s, and Lord Paul put his next to Mandy’s just as the church bell struck the last note.
“Now what happens?” asked Lord Ranger. “Do we turn into toads or something? I asked Sir John to explain the tradition, but he did not know.”
So Sir John was the reason they had so miraculously appeared at the right moment.
Jilly flashed Mandy a little warning look. “We don’t know either,” she said. “Come upstairs. There is still some punch in the bowl to warm you.”
Sir John was already in the drawing room, lighting a branch of candles. “Can’t be bothered lighting those pesky lamps again,” he said. “Punch, gentlemen?”
“Thank you,” said Lord Ranger.
“Put your initials on the cakes, hey?” demanded Sir John.
“We did,” said Lord Paul. “But the girls don’t know the reason for the ritual either.”
How do I handle this? thought Sir John. Do I tell them and scare them off? Leave it to the wife.
“You do Christmas in style, sir,” said Lord Ranger, looking with appreciation round the room, at the decorations and the huge tree, at the presents piled on a table next to it, and at the Yule log, one end of which was in the fire and the other end out in the hall.
“But no mistletoe,” said Lord Paul.
Sir John brightened. He knew his wife had warned everyone off kissing when there were only two berries left on the bough. He knew that she hoped that when the lords arrived—if they arrived—then those two last berries would be put to good use.
“We have a mistletoe bough over the entrance,” said Sir John. “You came in at the wrong door.”
“Then we must find some way of coming in at the right door tomorrow,” teased Lord Ranger.
“Probably won’t do much good,” said Sir John slyly. “Only two berries left, and after the berries have gone, the kissing has to stop.”
Lord Ranger looked at Jilly. She was wearing a plain gown covered with a green baize apron. There was a smudge of flour on her nose. He thought she looked enchanting.
“We must make use of them now,” he said. “What do you say, Sir John?”
“A great idea,” said Sir John. “And it will get rid of those berries. I had to kiss old Mrs. Chumley yesterday, and she was threatening to come back today to get another berry and another kiss.”
Shyly Jilly and Mandy were escorted to the doorway.
Lord Ranger reached up and plucked one berry. He pulled Jilly close and the snow swirled around them. Then he bent and kissed her on the mouth. A jolt of raw passion went right through him. He forgot where he was, his mind as dizzy as the turning snow, his body on fire like the Yule log as his mouth sank deeper into the soft one beneath his own.
Mandy looked shyly up at Lord Paul, who was staring at his friend in surprise. He took down a berry and put it in his pocket. He gently kissed her on the lips. He was overcome with a feeling of protective tenderness such as he had never known before. He wanted to hold her so very close and keep the world away.
Sir John stood, shuffling from one foot to the other, wondering what to do.
Then he heard his wife’s voice from the landing. “Why aren’t those girl in their beds?”
The couples broke apart. Jilly reached out and took Mandy by the hand. “Good night,” they both said shyly.
Both men stood in a sort of daze and watched them go.
Jilly and Mandy awoke early to the triumphant sound of the church bells. They dressed hurriedly, but neither of them talked about those kisses of the night before, as if to talk about the experience would diminish the glory of it.
Privately each hoped the miracle would go on, that in some way Lord Ranger and Lord Paul had dec
ided to stay for Christmas day and not return to the Tenbys’. But then they could hear Lady Harrington calling for them and went down to the warmth of the kitchens to help with the final preparations for the enormous Christmas dinner, which was to be served at two in the afternoon.
Jilly and Mandy were preparing the vegetables to go with the turkey, and Lady Harrington was mixing a bowl of chestnut stuffing, when Sir John came into the kitchen with the two lords. Both girls immediately became conscious of their old dresses and that their hair had not been put up.
“No slackers or loungers here,” said Lady Harrington. “All must help.” Aprons were produced for the gentlemen, who complained that they were not supposed to do any work on Christmas day whatsoever.
Lord Ranger sat down at the kitchen table next to Jilly. Her face was flushed with the heat from the kitchen fire, and that glorious hair of hers cascaded down her back. Lord Paul sat next to Mandy, and both men were given bowls of potatoes to peel.
Then they were all ordered upstairs to dress for church. Jilly felt so elated, so breathless and excited, she thought she might cry. Off they went to church in pelisses trimmed with rich fur from one of Lady Harrington’s old cloaks to sing carols and listen to the Christmas message.
As they walked back to Greenbanks after the service, Jilly with Lord Ranger and Mandy with Lord Paul, Jilly stopped suddenly and gave a little shiver.
“What is the matter?” asked Lord Ranger, looking curiously down at her.
“I felt suddenly cold,” said Jilly, “as if something bad were about to happen.”
“It is quite warm,” he said, looking up at the bright sky. “Almost springlike and the snow is melting. Mrs. Tenby is going to be as cross as a bear, for the roads are clearing rapidly and we really have no excuse now to stay.”
“But you will?”
He smiled down at her in a way that made her feel weak at the knees. “Yes, I will.”
He tucked her arm in his and walked on. The bad moment had passed.
Jilly was never to forget that splendid Christmas dinner: the table groaning with food, Sir John at the end, benevolently carving the steaming turkey, Lady Harrington, now in her best gown and jewels, looking very grand as if she would not even know where her own kitchens were let alone go into them, and her own sharp awareness of Lord Ranger next to her.
