by Stella Riley
‘Is my son here?’ asked Eden.
‘Yes, Colonel. He is also in the kitchen.’ Henry permitted himself a small smile. ‘In fact, saving only myself, the entire household is in the kitchen.’
‘Then I may as well join it.’ And he walked off without waiting for an answer.
The door to the large kitchen stood open and Eden remained there unnoticed for a time, observing the hive of industry within. Tables and counters were laden with various kinds of foodstuffs and on the floor all around the edges of the room were numerous large baskets, each bearing a label. In the midst of all this, Mistress Pyke, Nancy, Tam, Madge and Jude were stocking the baskets in response to Lydia’s instructions. It looked like utter chaos. Knowing Lydia, Eden suspected it wasn’t.
Jude was the first person to notice him. He said, ‘Father! Have you come to help?’
‘I’m not sure.’ He strolled towards Lydia, observing the sheaf of lists in her hands and the fact that the thick, glossy hair was escaping its pins. ‘I might if I knew what you are doing.’
She looked at him, her expression faintly harassed and, as if it was perfectly obvious, said, ‘It’s the Yule baskets.’
‘Ah. The Yule baskets. Of course.’
Lydia shook her head, dislodging yet another lock of hair which she shoved impatiently behind her ear. ‘For the Duck Lane and Strand Alley families.’
‘I see.’ He looked around him again. ‘It looks … complicated.’
‘It is,’ Jude told him eagerly. ‘They’re nearly all different so Mistress Neville has special lists for what goes in them.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Eden, his eyes still on Lydia. ‘Mistress Neville would have.’
She smiled at him then. ‘If you want to help, nobody’s taken charge of the pickles yet. They’re on the counter over there.’
‘So I see. And they go where?’
‘A pot in each basket. It’s one of the few things that everyone gets.’
‘You don’t think I can manage anything more complex?’
Her smile grew and gathered a note of mischief.
‘It’s your first time. We wouldn’t want to tax you.’
‘How thoughtful.’ He looked at his son. ‘It’s your first time, as well. Presumably, you’re not being taxed either?’ And when Jude grinned, ‘No. Don’t tell me. I’m demoralised enough already.’
It was a further two hours before the baskets were filled to Lydia’s satisfaction and, leaving Mistress Pyke to organise the tidying of the kitchen, she led Eden and Jude up to the parlour for some well-earned refreshment.
Sipping a glass of wine while his son demolished a dish of small pastries, Eden said, ‘How are the baskets delivered?’
‘Peter will hire a cart and take them in two separate loads.’
‘And you do this every year?’
‘Yes. I know we’re not supposed to celebrate Christmas any more but, to a greater or lesser degree, most people still mark the occasion. The baskets help.’ She turned to Jude and said, ‘I’ll be sending them out tomorrow. If you’d like to give Peter a hand, I’m sure he’d appreciate it.’
The boy nodded. ‘We’re not leaving till the next day – so yes, please. I’d like to.’
‘About that,’ said Eden reluctantly. ‘Leaving, I mean. I know I said I’d come with you if I could … but it turns out that I can’t.’
‘Oh.’ The hazel eyes, so like his own, reflected resignation rather than disappointment. ‘Why not?’
‘Major-General Lambert has other plans for me, I’m afraid. I’m sorry.’ He paused and then, hoping it might help, said, ‘I’ve been ordered to join the Tower garrison for a time.’
Resignation was replaced with interest. ‘Really?’
‘Really. And past experience tells me it’s not likely to be nearly as much fun as you might think.’
Lydia tried not to be glad that the Colonel would be spending Yule in London rather than in Oxfordshire with his family. She failed. Keeping her voice perfectly neutral, she said, ‘Will that mean lodging in the Tower?’
‘No, thank God. My off-duty hours – whatever they may be – will remain my own.’
A thought occurred to her but she put it to one side, deciding that this wasn’t the best time to suggest it. Instead, for want of something better, she said, ‘Is your brother fully recovered now?’
‘He is – and I think I preferred him enfeebled.’ Eden watched Jude eat the last of the pastries and, with devious intent, said mildly, ‘I recognise that you’re still growing – but I was looking forward to trying one of those.’
‘Oh.’ A half-guilty grin. ‘Sorry.’
‘There are more in the kitchen,’ offered Lydia. ‘Go and ask Mistress Pyke.’
He nodded and, clutching the empty plate, hastened from the room.
‘I can only apologise for him,’ sighed Eden. ‘Clearly, he has his Uncle Toby’s appetite.’
‘He’s a delight,’ replied Lydia without thinking. And narrowly avoided adding, And more like you than I think you realise. ‘You’ll miss him, I daresay.’
‘Yes.’ He hadn’t really wanted a pastry. He’d hoped for a few minutes alone with her but stupidly, now he had them, he didn’t know what to do with them – since pulling the remaining pins from her hair and filling his hands with the heavy silk of it wasn’t an option. So he said, ‘I’m not sorry, however, to be staying in London at this time.’
‘Oh,’ she said again, trying not to hope it meant what she’d like it to mean. ‘You’re not?’
He held her gaze with his own.
‘No. If there are any further incidents – and I think we can be sure that sooner or later there will be – I know you’ll send me word. But, that matter aside, I wondered if our friendship is now such that – like Mr Wakefield – I, too, might be invited to supper one evening?’
The silvery-blue eyes widened and colour bloomed in her cheeks.
‘Of course. You may come whenever you wish.’ She hesitated and then said impetuously, ‘And, unlike Mr Wakefield, I won’t feel it necessary to engage Aubrey’s services as a chaperone.’
‘Won’t you?’ Eden stood up and gave her a decidedly wicked smile. ‘Dear me. I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.’
Lydia stared back at him, uncertain and flustered.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Well, either I’m a dull, staid fellow who would never dream of taking advantage … or I’m not and you don’t mind. Upon which note,’ he finished blandly, ‘I should probably rescue your cook from my son and take my leave.’
* * *
Two days later, Tobias and Jude left for Thorne Ash, their saddle-bags bulging with Yuletide gifts and Colonel Maxwell prepared for another eight hours of tedium kicking his heels with Ned Moulton at the Tower.
The day improved when he arrived home and Nicholas handed him a note from Lydia.
Perhaps, she wrote, having been prevented from joining your family for Yule, you would care to spend the day with Aubrey and me – if your work permits it, of course. Wassail may be in short supply but we can guarantee a good dinner. And below her signature, as if in afterthought, I should add that, since you are clearly a dashing fellow with whom no woman is safe, Nicholas and Colonel Brandon are also invited.
Eden didn’t know how many sheets of paper Lydia had ruined in the writing of this – or that, as soon as Nicholas had pocketed it and set off for Cheapside, she’d wanted to run after him and demand it back. Neither did he know that she’d spent the rest of the day worrying about whether she’d embarrassed him as well as herself. He merely read her words again and grinned. He recognised the joke, of course. But he wondered if she recognised the challenge implicit within it.
Still smiling, he dashed off a reply.
Thank you for your kind invitation which I will be delighted to accept. Your care for my reputation is also much appreciated.
* * *
The fact that Christmas had been banned by Act of Parliament ten y
ears ago and anyone caught celebrating it was liable to be arrested had merely driven the festival underground. There was much surreptitious gathering of greenery and secret boiling of plum puddings. Some people even risked quietly humming carols. Lydia, Nancy and Mistress Pyke were three of them as they toiled in the steamy kitchen preparing the feast, safe in the knowledge that Henry was upstairs in the hall ready to repel any chance visitors.
On the day itself, Lydia rose at first light and laid out her newest gown. Then, clad in her night-rail and wrapper, she set about putting the finishing touches to the garlands Aubrey and Peter had hung in the dining-parlour, laid the table with the best candlesticks and pewter and checked on progress in the kitchen. Finally, when she was satisfied that everything that could be done had been done, she went up to her chamber with Nancy and set about readying herself for the occasion.
‘Do you think,’ she asked later, standing in front of the mirror, ‘that I may have over-done it a trifle?’
Nancy subjected her to a critical stare which encompassed the cunningly-piled hair and the gown of shell-pink shot-silk, trimmed with pearl beading.
‘No. I think you’ll make the Colonel’s mouth water. But if that’s not what you want and you don’t mind still being up here dithering when your guests arrive, I can always dig out your old grey damask. That hides pretty much everything. So what’s it to be?’
There was a brief, indecisive silence. Then, ‘I’ll go down,’ Lydia muttered.
‘Good. And stay out of the kitchen. Mistress Pyke has everything under control and splashes of goose fat won’t improve that gown.’
When she entered the parlour, Aubrey subjected her to a gaze every bit as critical as Nancy’s had been. Finally, he said, ‘Is it true, then?’
‘Is what true?’
‘That there’s something going on between you and Colonel Maxwell. Is there?’
‘No.’ Her colour rose a little. ‘What on earth gave you that idea?’
‘Something his brother said.’ He shrugged. ‘The Colonel denied it, of course – but then I suppose he’d do that even if it was true.’
‘Well, it isn’t. Just because I’m wearing a new gown doesn’t mean --’ Her words were cut off by the pealing of the door-bell. ‘They’re here. Please try not to say anything idiotic.’
In fact, only Nicholas and Colonel Brandon had arrived. Nicholas handed her a box of candied fruit tied in red ribbon while Gabriel set down a small crate holding an assortment of bottles, saying, ‘Don’t worry. This is neither an insult to your hospitality nor an indication that we intend to get utterly cupshot – merely that we felt a small contribution was in order.’
‘Thank you. That was thoughtful.’ She swallowed the obvious question and said, ‘Come in to the fire. We have mulled some wine, if you’d care for it.’
‘Perfect,’ grinned Nicholas. ‘Eden will be here as soon as he’s put in what he hopes will only be a token appearance at the Tower.’
‘Of course.’ She busied herself pouring the wine. ‘Is there really a threat?’
‘No. There’s merely the vague possibility of one,’ returned Gabriel. ‘The idea of anyone attacking the Tower is frankly ludicrous. Eden will be bored witless.’
Lydia handed all three gentlemen a glass before taking a seat herself so they could do likewise. She said, ‘He’s been posted there before, I think?’
‘We both were after the war in ’48. Eden managed to stay on the right side of the bars – which was fortunate since I didn’t.’
Aubrey stared at him. ‘You were locked up in the Tower?’
‘Yes.’
‘May we know why?’ asked Nicholas, looking interested.
‘I crossed Henry Ireton once too often,’ replied Gabriel lightly. ‘The charges were never going to amount to much but the timing was unfortunate. They let me out the day they cut off the King’s head.’
There was a brief, thoughtful silence.
Then, ‘You’d spoken against it?’ asked Lydia.
‘Yes.’ In truth, he’d done more than merely speak against it. Also, other memories of that time still cut deep so he said, ‘Forgive me – but I think a change of subject is called for.’
She nodded. ‘And I have been remiss. I haven’t yet thanked you for your part in rescuing my women. It was --’
‘Since it was the most fun I’ve had since leaving Yorkshire, no thanks are necessary,’ he replied calmly. ‘My hours in the House are no more entertaining than Eden’s ones at the Tower. Ah … and speaking of Eden …’
Lydia had also heard sounds betokening another arrival. She stood up without thinking and was equally unaware of the change in her expression.
Colonel Maxwell walked in wearing a faint frown which melted away the instant he saw her. God. She shouldn’t look at me like that. I might forget to be sensible. But he bowed and said, ‘Forgive me. I’d hoped to be here before this but, as usual, someone had other ideas.’
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. You’re here now and can hopefully stay?’
‘I can and I will. Major Moulton knows where I am – but will keep the information to himself if he knows what’s good for him.’ He glanced round. ‘I see the rest of you decided to start without me. Is that spiced wine I smell?’
‘Yes.’ Lydia filled another glass and handed it to him.
His fingers slid against hers, though whether by accident or design, she couldn’t tell because, having thanked her, he immediately turned to Colonel Brandon and said, ‘They’ve increased the size of the garrison. Again.’
‘Today? By how many?’
‘A further three hundred. And they’re planting cannon in Whitehall.’
‘Ah. Doubtless you have the feeling there’s something they’re not telling you?’
‘Either that or Cromwell’s nerves are completely shot. Whatever the cause, I’m not aware of any new arrests … for which I and numerous other people can be duly grateful.’ Looking back at Lydia, he said, ‘And that, you will be glad to hear, is the end of politics for today.’
The mood, once everyone was assembled around the table, became increasingly relaxed and convivial. Over roasted goose, ham glazed with honey and studded with cloves, buttered parsnips, leeks extravagantly flavoured with ginger and half a dozen other dishes, all washed down with Mr Fisher’s excellent wine, conversation eddied and flowed in a myriad of directions. And throughout it all, Lydia fought to stop her eyes straying towards Eden more often than was seemly … and had no idea he was fighting a similar battle himself.
He felt oddly unsettled. He watched her conversing easily with Gabriel or laughing at something Nicholas said or moving gracefully about the room, seeing to everyone’s needs. Judging by the distant sounds drifting up from below stairs, Henry and the rest of them were having their own celebration which Lydia had no intention of marring by allowing them to do their usual work. He realised he shouldn’t be surprised. The business with the Yule baskets ought to have been sufficient to teach him that she never did anything by halves. Anyone else – assuming they’d thought of sending baskets at all – would have been content simply to put the same items in all of them. Lydia hadn’t. She made each one personal for the family in question. Truly, the better he got to know her, the more remarkable she became.
Inevitably, looking at her now, her shoulders revealed by the pale pink gown, he wanted to touch her. Naturally. Any man would. But more than that he wanted to have her to himself; to talk to her as he couldn’t do in company … to make her laugh for him alone. And he found himself wishing Gabriel and the rest of them at the devil.
Lydia glanced across the room and encountered a gaze so intense she found herself unable to look away until Colonel Brandon broke the spell by asking an apparently casual question about Major-General Lambert’s passion for tulips.
A few minutes later, while Lydia was obligingly hunting for a pack of cards for Aubrey and Nicholas, Gabriel said quietly, ‘Be careful, Eden. If you’ve no intentions in that di
rection --’
‘I’ve no intentions in any direction,’ came the irritable reply, ‘and you’re imagining things. I was merely thinking of something else.’
‘Yes. That much was apparent.’ Gabriel fell silent for a moment and then said, ‘Very well. Since we have a moment to ourselves, the latest debates in the House are leaning towards reducing the cost of the Army by disbanding twenty-seven thousand men.’
‘That’s nonsense. With so many troops overseas, it can’t be done.’
‘It can if the resulting shortfall is made up by the Militia – which, as you may imagine is a very attractive idea to the Puritan country gentlemen in Parliament who control those forces.’
‘Cromwell won’t let it happen.’
‘The way things are going, he may be left with only one way of stopping it. And the day is fast approaching when he can use it.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Parliament has to sit for a minimum of five months … and it was convened on the third of September. Do I really need to spell it out?’ Gabriel broke off as Lydia left Nicholas and Aubrey to their game and crossed the room towards himself and Eden. Rising, he said, ‘This has been an extremely enjoyable day, Mistress Neville and I thank you for letting me share it. Unfortunately, I must go. There’s an early sitting of the House tomorrow and I have a quantity of paperwork to complete before then. I hope you’ll forgive me.’
Smiling, she held out her hand and said, ‘Of course. And the pleasure has been mine.’ Then, ‘I’m sure Venetia must have missed having you at home – just as you must have regretted not being there.’
‘My dear,’ sighed Gabriel, ‘you have no idea.’
In the absence of Henry, Lydia saw the Colonel to the door herself. When it closed behind him, she turned round to find Eden standing four paces away. He said simply, ‘I have been thinking how delightful you look.’
‘Oh.’ The unexpectedness of it plucked at her nerves and caused her to tumble into rapid speech. ‘Thank you. It – the gown is new. Venetia helped choose the material and the beading was made by Jenny Sutton. It’s pretty, isn’t it?’
