A Partridge in a Pear Tree

by MCCABE, AMANDA

  “Yes. Or the game may be over before it really begins.”

  **

  Gertrude bit her lip as she studied her brother's worried expression. William never looked tired or worried, at least not in front of her. He usually maintained a merriment, a lightheartedness that reassured her in the darkest hours.

  And, in the last year, there had been many dark hours indeed.

  She'd hoped that this journey to Kirkwood Manor would help take away all of that, help her forget. Last night, she had forgotten, caught up in the fun of making the pear tree and the excitement of the parakeet and the feathers. She had felt like a part of a group again, not like an outsider always peering into life. It had felt like a true Christmas spirit, as she had once felt when her mother was alive, and William would come home from school, and all was well.

  Now she looked around the tea shop table, at her solemn brother, at quiet, pretty Miss Gordon, and at the laughing twins she wished so much might like her. If there was only something she could do to help...

  As if in answer to her hopes, she heard voices from a nearby table. They seemed to float to her ears above all the other conversations in the crowded room.

  “As-tu vu le bonnet qu'elle portrait hier?' a woman's high-pitched, excited voice said.

  Gertrude, who enjoyed her French lessons with her governess, translated in her mind. “Did you see the bonnet she was wearing yesterday?”

  “Cinq annees demode!” another woman said with a soft tsk.

  A third chimed in. “Je ne l'aurais pas cree!”

  “Des plumes oranges,” the first woman clucked in disapproval.

  “Tout a fait ridicule.”

  Gertrude wished she could have seen the unfashionable bonnet with the orange plumes. It sounded most interesting. She craned her neck to try and find the speakers.

  The three ladies sat at a table not very far away, next to the window. They seemed a matched set, almost like the twins except they were obviously of different ages. All three were short and plump, with glossy dark curls and stylish pelisses and gowns. Each wore the same style but different colors, violet, yellow, and bright blue.

  As she watched them, sipping their tea and disapproving the orange plumes, a wonderful idea too shape in Gertrude's mind. She slid off her chair and walked over to them, weaving her way past tables and chairs. She was so caught up in her idea she quite forgot to be shy.

  She stopped beside the lady in violet, and gave a little curtsy when the ladies looked at her in curiosity. “Excusez-moi, mesdames,” she said. “Mais etes-vous peut-etre de la Bretange?”

  The women laughed in delight, and clapped their white, plump hands. “Ah, quelle jeune fille intelligente!” the one in yellow said.

  Gertrude blushed at being called a clever girl, which sent them into more peals of merry laughter.

  “Et si jolie, aussi!” the one in blue, the youngest of the three, said. “Tu es francais, ma petite?”

  “Non,” Gertrude answered, then went on in English. “I am English, but I am studying French. I knew you were from Brittany because of your accents. I am Miss Gertrude Bradford.”

  “We are very happy to meet such a pretty petite anglais,” the woman in violet said in heavily accented English. “I am Mademoiselle Sophie Millais, and these are my sisters, Mademoiselle Antoinette and Mademoiselle Margot.”

  “How do you do,” Gertrude said with another curtsy.

  “Won't you sit down for a moment, cherie?” said Antoinette. “And have a cake with us?”

  Gertrude glanced back at her own table. The twins were watching her with curiosity, but William and Miss Gordon were talking together quietly, their heads bent together. They didn't seem to notice anything but each other. “Merci, mesdames,” she said, sitting down in the fourth chair at their little table. “Have you been long in the neighborhood?”

  Margot slid a very large, pink iced cake onto Gertrude's plate. “Ah, not long at all. We have come with Sophie to meet her, how do you say, lettres-ami, the Reverend Mr. Johnstone at his new church. He came to speak at our church at home last year, since these terrible wars are ended, and we enjoyed his words. Sophie the most of all, of course.”

  Sophie giggled at the mention of her “letter friend.” “We only write of his charitable concerns, of course.”

  “But now they will meet in person again, and surely soon marry,” Margot said.

  Gertrude was fascinated by this romantic story. She nibbled at her cake, and listened to them as they talked about the handsome reverend. She noticed that her brother was now looking around for her. Her time was growing short.

  “I wonder, mesdames,” she said, marveling at her own boldness. “If I might ask you for a very great favor...”

  Chapter Five

  Four Colly Birds

  “That was marvelous, Gertrude!” Allison said as they strolled along to escort Mademoiselle Sophie to meet her Mr. Johnstone. William walked ahead with the three sisters clustered about him like bright, chattering flowers. “Very clever of you to find us three French hens.”

  Gertrude blushed, and ducked her chin into the fur collar of her spencer. “Thank you, Miss Gordon. But it was nothing at all.”

  “Nothing at all?” Jane exclaimed. “Why, you spoke French like the veriest Parisian. I wish I had such a lovely accent.”

  “Your accent would be a good deal more elegant if you would just do your lessons,” Allison said with a teasing laugh.

  “Pah!” said Kitty. “If we studied for ten years, we could not sound like Gertrude. Perhaps you would teach us some of those words, Gertrude?”

  Gertrude bit her lip, and glanced ahead to where her brother walked. Then she slowly nodded, and the three girls hurried off together, arm in arm.

  Allison strolled on by herself, watching William as he charmed the French sisters with his effortless smiles and charm. They hung on his arms, giggling, enraptured by his attention. Allison very much feared that she herself looked that whenever his gaze turned her way. Silly and giggling.

  She'd felt so nervous about seeing him again after all those years, remembering her schoolgirl crush. She'd wondered if those feelings would come back again. And so they had. Only stronger. Much stronger.

  When last they met, she had only been a girl, swooning over the first handsome young man she ever met, longing for his fleeting, teasing attentions. Now life had intervened in the passing years, life that was so seldom easy and fun. She no longer felt like that naïve girl; William wasn't that teasing boy. They were grown-up now, sadder, wiser, and she loved sharing time with him. Laughing with him. Hearing him speak.

  But she had no dowry to speak of, nothing to offer a husband even if William thought of her in such a serious way. They only had a few more days of Christmas left. Then she would go back to the cottage and her mother, and to real life.

  She watched William and the French ladies turn though the churchyard gate, him gallantly holding it open while they fluttered past him. The sunlight gleamed on his bright hair, and his smile flashed. Well, then, she decided. If they only had a few days left, she would make sure they were the best, most memorable ones possible!

  “Are you coming with us, Allison?” he called, still holding the gate. He gave her one of those smiles, just for her.

  She hurried towards him. “Oh, yes! I assuredly am.”

  **

  The Reverend Mr. Johnstone turned out to be a perfect match for Mademoiselle Sophie, a round little man with pink cheeks and a merry countenance that belied his stark black coat and plain cravat. He rubbed his plump hands together in glee when he saw the large party his intended brought with her to his church.

  “Oh, my stars!” he said, bowing right and left. “How very grand! You must all come to the vicarage and have some tea. My curate, Mr. Ellis, is here, as well as two old school friends of mine who are now settled in their own livings. My housekeeper has laid out far too many cakes and sandwiches for just the four of us, so it is blessed Providence that you have arri
ved.”

  “Oh, we couldn't possibly intrude...” Allison began.

  “Nonsense!” Mr. Johnstone answered. “I will certainly be most insulted if you do not come inside and join us. Is that not right, my dear Mademoiselle Millais?”

  Sophie beamed at him from under the frilled edge of her bonnet. “Mais oui!”

  And so they gratefully accepted the invitation, despite the repast they just consumed at the tea shop. Except for the twins and Gertrude, who were soon engaged in a vigorous game of hide-and-seek amid the ancient headstones of the churchyard.

  Later, happily sipping tea in the cozy sitting room of the vicarage, Allison studied the four vicars in their black coats next to the bright, chattering French ladies. She thought, with a flash of delighted fancy, that they looked like a flock of blackbirds among parrots...

  Blackbirds! Four colly birds. Of course!

  **

  “Now, everyone. What do you have for me tonight?” Lady Kirkwood, seated once again on her throne, said with a bang of her cane. “You may go first, Reginald.”

  Allison had consumed two glasses of wine at supper, far more than her usual sips, but she still felt rather nervous. The three French hens and four colly birds waited upstairs in her sitting room, excited to be part of a holiday game. She had no doubt they would all do their very best—but what if Sir Reginald had come up with something brilliant?

  It seemed doubtful. Letitia looked as bored as ever, languorously fanning herself by the fire. Her turban boasted no feathers tonight, but a nice, flat bow. Edward and his Miss Bates shared a bowl of sweetmeats in the corner. Only Sir Reginald looked as if he cared at all about the outcome of their game as he wiped at his brow with one of his lacy handkerchiefs.

  Allison glanced at William, who gave her a reassuring smile. She smiled back, instantly feeling more at ease.

  “Of course, Aunt Harriet,” Reginald said, rising unsteadily to his feet. He threw open the drawing room doors, and shouted, “Bring them in now!”

  A moment of deep silence followed, and Allison was worried all over again. Then the silence was broken by a great dissonance. A footman carried in a large cage, where three fat chickens clucked and gobbled. He was followed by another footman, also bearing a cage, this one filled with four giant blackbirds, cawing and flapping their great, glossy wings.

  Allison drew back as they passed, for large tufts of feathers flew out from the cages and landed on the satin chairs and Aubusson rugs. It appeared the birds had done what came naturally to them, and used the bottom of the cages as chamber pots. The rich, overpowering smell of a country barnyard filled the air, overpowering the cozy holiday scents of pine boughs, wood smoke, and Letitia's expensive perfume.

  “Ugh!” Kitty groaned, burying her nose in the lace cuff of her dress.

  Jane also groaned, but Gertrude was too polite. Her little nose just quivered and wrinkled. Allison passed her a handkerchief.

  “What is this, Reginald?” Lady Kirkwood said, casting a distrustful glare on the livestock.

  “Three French hens and four colly birds, of course,” Reginald answered, his face turning a rather interesting shade of scarlet. “Just what you asked for! Bought at some expense, I might add.”

  “I never asked for anyone to bring an entire farmyard into my drawing room. Heaven only knows where you got the poor creatures,” Lady Kirkwood said disdainfully.

  “I sent all the way to France for the hens,” Reginald protested.

  “Did you indeed? They look amazingly like the ones Farmer Martin down the lane raises.” Lady Kirkwood waved her cane toward the footmen. “Take them away now, please, before they utterly ruin my furniture.”

  As the cages went away amid much squawking and squealing, Reginald stamped his foot like a toddler having a fit. “Aunt Harriet, I must protest! I have played your absurd game according to your very own rules, and now you just...”

  Lady Kirkwood froze his tantrum with one sharp glance. He collected himself with a visible effort and retreated to the settee next to his wife.

  “Fool!” Letitia hissed, turning her turbaned head away from him.

  Lady Kirkwood looked to Allison and William. “Well? What do you two have for me? Nothing quite so odorous, I do hope.”

  William gave Allison another smile, and squeezed her hand under the cover of a fold of her skirt. “No, indeed, Lady Kirkwood,” he said, nodding to Gertrude to bring in their own offerings. “I think you will find them slightly better behaved.”

  Their French hens and colly birds entered the room with quite as much noise as the real birds had, but with a considerably better fragrance. The mademoiselles had changed into bright silk evening gowns, and fluttered with exclamations about the lovely furnishings and festive holiday decorations. They were followed by the cluster of four clergymen, more subdued but obviously just as excited to be at Kirkwood Manor. Their best black coats and starched cravats stood out beautifully against the ladies' brilliant gowns.

  “Well, now,” Lady Kirkwood said with a small smile. “This is rather more like it. How do you do, everyone?”

  Sir Reginald glared, but Allison barely noticed. Because William's hand closed warmly over hers, and his fingers tightened in a soft caress.

  Chapter Six

  Five Gold Rings

  “Rose, I think what Kirkwood Manor needs now is a ball,” Lady Kirkwood announced to her maid.

  Rose paused in brushing Lady Kirkwood's white hair, staring at her in the dressing table mirror. “A ball, my lady? But there hasn't been dancing here in ever so long.”

  “Four years. That was the last one, right before my dear husband died. I have not felt like dancing since then.” She touched one wrinkled fingertips tenderly to the miniature portrait on her table. The painted image of the handsome gentleman smiled back.

  “What has changed your mind, my lady?”

  “Watching the young people, of course. It has been a very long time since young people have been at Kirkwood manor! They are so energetic, so enthusiastic about everything. They make me laugh; they make me want to hear music again. So we shall have a lovely Christmas ball. Fetch me my lap desk, Rose.”

  While the maid scrambled to find the desk, Lady Kirkwood took a small key from her jewel case and unlocked the bottom drawer of the dressing table. She withdrew a small, exquisitely made music box.

  A gilt goose made up the main portion, a glittering creature with emerald eyes surrounded by five other, smaller geese encrusted with pearls. When she turned a knob, the geese rotated in a circle to the tinny strains of “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” The largest one then laid a perfect emerald egg.

  “Oh, my lady,” Rose cried. “It's beautiful.”

  “It is, isn't it?” Lady Kirkwood murmured. “It was gift from my husband on our last Christmas together. I want you to do something for me, Rose.”

  “What is it, my lady?”

  “Take this to Miss Gordon's room and leave it for her. But don't tell her it's from me.” Lady Kirkwood's eyes narrowed as she watched the golden geese float in their circle. “I have grown rather fond of the girl, and of that handsome Mr. Bradford. And I have a feeling they will be needing this far more than I.”

  **

  Allison's small sitting room was very crowded indeed for after-supper tea. None of their “twelve days” had yet gone home, and they all sat around on chairs, hassocks, and settees, drinking tea, chatting, playing cards. Mademoiselle Sophie flirted with her vicar, while the other French hens sketched some Parisian fashions for Gertrude and the twins, who were in turn munching on leftover marzipan pears. The turtle doves, Bertie and Susan, cooed about their wedding plans in the window seat. The colly birds played a cutthroat game of whist by the fire.

  Allison sat in a relatively quiet corner next to William, a piece of embroidery forgotten in her hands. She watched the people crowded around her, listened to their laughter. It had been so long since she was in such company. Usually it was just her mother and the twins. So much happine
ss and noise was almost intoxicating.

  She was so enthralled by the scene before her that she didn't even notice when a skein of thread fell from her lap to the floor, until William scooped it up and held it out to her.

  His hand brushed hers as he carefully placed the pink silk on her palm, making her shiver.

  She felt her cheeks turn warm, as they always did when she was with him, and she quickly looked away to tuck the thread into her workbox. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  William grinned at her, and leaned closer, propping his elbow on the arm of her chair. Why, oh why, did he have to look so very lovely in the firelight, as if he was gilded? “It's quite a crowd we have gathered here, isn't it, Allison?”

  “Indeed it is!” She seized on the excuse to look away from his all-seeing blue eyes. “But I fear that now they are all ensconced here at Kirkwood Manor, they will never want to leave.”

  He shrugged, his dark blue coat rippling attractively over his strong shoulders. “Who can blame them? Good food, comfortable feather beds, servants everywhere. Why, I am tempted to stay here myself!”

  Allison had begun to think the same thing about the house. The food and fine beds were seductive indeed, not to mention the fun of having people around again. But she had her mother and the cottage to look after. Kirkwood Manor could only be a dream. “We may have to stay here forever,” she said, trying to sound light and uncaring. Quite as if she did not yearn for things she could never have. “We have only found four of the days of Christmas, and the holiday is rushing upon us. Sir Reginald and his family might get far ahead of us.”

  William laughed, and she knew what she would miss most of all when she left this place. That very sound. “We beat old Reggie most handily last night. Did you see how Lady Kirkwood pinched her nose shut when all those smelly animals came squawking into her drawing room?”

  Allison also laughed to remember it all. “It was terribly smelly! But Sir Reginald gave me such a smug look as we were leaving the drawing room. As if he had some secret up his sleeve.”