Carols and Chaos

by Cindy Anstey

  “Really?”

  “Indeed.” Marie sniffed with great superiority. “A stroll down Main Street, looking in the store windows, would provide you with any number of possibilities.”

  “True enough, true enough. Finding the time ta shop, though, that might be a problem.”

  “Your problem, not—” Marie began.

  “Christmas Day is not until a week from Thursday; still plenty of time,” Kate talked over Marie’s peevish rejoinder. “And we still have one more market day before Christmas.”

  Marie grumbled, Johnny sighed, and Matt shrugged with one shoulder while Kate observed the day.

  The walk back to Shackleford Park was exceptionally pleasant—not for the conversation, as Johnny took over and proceeded to discuss all manner of things that pertained to Musson House, with very little relevance to Tishdale. And it could not be said that the general mood of the group was agreeable, as Marie continued to huff and scowl. Nor did the weather contribute to the enjoyment, as the wind had picked up and the temperature started to drop. Kate’s toes were frigid and the tips of her ears were starting to hurt … until Matt grabbed her hood and yanked it up over her head.

  Yes, perhaps that was the moment when Kate decided that it was a wonderful day. The wind was more of a blow than a howl, Marie didn’t look quite as disgruntled … well, she did, but somehow Kate could ignore it without distress. And Johnny seemed more obtuse than self-serving.

  And Matt? Well, he said little, but his smiles and sparkling eyes spoke volumes. There was an otherworld sense to the woods and fields, as if friendly fairies or tree elves watched from the shadows. Yes, an exceptionally pleasant walk.

  Kate grinned and decided that this might well be her favorite time of year.

  Unfortunately, Shackleford Park came into view, looming large and important, bringing reality back to the fore. As the group turned down the service road, they saw two figures approaching. Kate knew them to be Pippa and one of the laundry maids, Gwen, on their half day. Mrs. Lundy often let the girls leave a little early on such occasions.

  The two had their heads together; their giggles carried on the wind, rushing ahead of them. But when they looked up, spotting the returning churchgoers, they stilled. Laughter died and silence reigned as the group approached. The girls’ lips were curled, but their smiles were wooden.

  “Have a good afternoon,” Kate called as they passed. She was puzzled by the awkwardness in the girls’ stance. Her confusion heightened when the giggles continued behind their backs. Glancing at Marie, Kate looked for an explanation.

  Marie lifted her shoulders, not in nonchalance but in an I have no idea gesture.

  Leading the way, Matt opened and held the service door as they slipped inside. While the hall offered no warmth, no longer having to contend with the wind brought great relief. Kate knew that by the time she gained her own little room, her toes would no longer be stiff and frozen.

  Pushing the hood off her head, Kate’s boots clicked across the tiled floors as she walked toward the back stairs with the others in her wake. A familiar laugh echoed down the corridor from the servants’ hall and hit Kate full in the face. She blinked in horror and felt a rush of blood to her cheeks. No. It couldn’t be.

  Redirecting her steps, aware that the others hesitated to follow, Kate marched into the large, mostly empty room. In a space meant to house the entire staff for their early afternoon dinner, two women sat on a bench nearest the fire, chatting in easy conversation.

  It was a scene that should not have caused Kate acute embarrassment, but it did. It most certainly did! Mrs. Lundy was entertaining Kate’s mother … which was not in itself a disaster. But there was a familiar two-handled pot sitting at her mother’s elbow. She had come to Shackleford Park on St. Thomas Day looking for cooked wheat—as if she were a poor widow in need of charity! Kate was ready to melt into the floor. This was an insult to her brothers, who took care of all her mother’s material needs. In her loneliness and looking for sympathy, her mother had brought shame with her to the manor.

  Kate must have made a sound of some sort—likely a squeak of dismay—for both women suddenly turned.

  “Katey-bird!” Mam jumped to her feet and rushed around the table to where Kate stood, unable to move.

  “Mam, what are you doing here?” Kate swallowed the lump in her throat and realized that her mother had been planning this all along. Her parting comment two days ago now made sense.

  “I brought over one o’ them pilla covers that I was workin’ on. Wanted Mrs. Lundy to know they was done. She’s goin’ to send someone over ta pick the other linens up.”

  Without saying anything, Kate turned her gaze to the pot.

  “Oh, an’ I thought I might have some wheat while I was here. Been thinkin’ of makin’ a pudding or two.”

  “You could have asked Ross, Mam. There was no need to disturb Mrs. Lundy. Ross would have brought you some wheat if you needed it.”

  “Not to worry, Kate my dear. There is enough for everyone. Mrs. Beeswanger will not mind in the least.” Mrs. Lundy had crossed to her side of the room and clearly understood the source of Kate’s distress.

  “O’ course she wouldna mind. It be St. Thomas Day.” Kate’s mother wore a defiant expression. “An’ I be a widow.”

  “I’ll take your pot in to Cook, shall I, Dame Darby? Give you a chance to have a quick word with Kate before she has to rush upstairs and help the misses out of their church clothes.” And so saying, Mrs. Lundy squeezed Kate’s arm and left the room—pot in hand.

  Kate turned to see that the corridor was empty behind her. Marie and Johnny and, thankfully, Matt had melted away. No one wanted to witness her humiliation.

  “In all the years that I have worked here, Mam, you have never come to the manor looking for charity. Not when I was a scullery maid and not when I was a housemaid … and now, you chose now to come begging. I am a lady’s maid, an upper servant. I have a position of prestige and you have just brought me down, brought me low, in the eyes of each and every person below stairs! And for what?”

  “But, Katey, I just wanted to make a puddin’ or two.”

  “Ross could have brought you the wheat you needed, you know that! You have three strapping sons, all proud tenant farmers. They have provided for you ever since Da died. We love you; we visit you; we take care of you. I have spent every half day, every holiday with you. But I cannot be with you all the time. I have already imposed on Mrs. Lundy’s goodwill three times in as many months. Dropped everything to rush to you, only to find that your urgent need is not at all urgent. If I lose this position, we won’t be able to buy a dress shop.”

  “We can work from the cottage, Katey-bird, in Vyse.”

  “No, no, and no. We have gone over this time and time again. A shop in town can bring in a living—mending while sitting at the table in Vyse cannot.”

  “But it’s takin’ too long, Katey-bird. I’m lonely.”

  “I am sorry that you are lonely, Mam. But this … this bid to mortify me will do nothing other than harden my resolve. I will not quit. I will not lose my dream because you don’t like the cozy little house Henry found you. Your claim that no one visits you rings hollow, when not a day goes by without company; I am heartily disappointed, Mam, that you would seek to embarrass me, embarrass the family.”

  “That not be my intent.” Kate’s mother lifted her chin, looking defiant. “I just wanted to—”

  “Make a puddin’ or two. Yes, so you said. Ah, and here is Mrs. Lundy with your wheat.”

  Kate curled her lips up as she thanked the housekeeper for the generosity; she even managed to not grimace when Mrs. Lundy reminded her mother about the Staff Day open house in the barn. However, it was near impossible for her to offer an affectionate kiss on her mother’s upturned cheek; it was a dutiful kiss and nothing more. She did not walk her mother to the door but hurried away—to hide her shame.

  The general perception would be either that poor Dame Darby was neglected—
how could Kate be so heartless! Or Dame Darby was as dotty as they come—poor Kate, what a trial. Yes, her mother would have all the sympathy and attention she desired, at Kate’s expense.

  It would take some time before the giggles behind her back subsided.

  * * *

  “DEAR, DEAR.” COOK tsked and shook her head as she reached for the ham platter. She served herself a generous second helping. “It’s an omen, for certain.”

  Norbert nodded emphatically. “Exactly what I said. There is no clearer sign of bad luck than a wild bird fluttering around the house—”

  “Or a black cat crossing your path,” Cook pointed out. “Or a horseshoe hanging upside down or—”

  “Indeed.” Norbert frowned, interrupting to regain control of the conversation. “It flew right in the front door of Hendred Manor. The poor squire. Who knows what terrible incident is coming his way.”

  “It was cold today,” Matt said reasonably, settling back in his chair. “The bird might simply have been looking for a little warmth—not a harbinger of disaster at all.” He glanced in Kate’s direction, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

  Kate inwardly sighed in relief; she could discern no change in Matt’s attitude toward her … unlike the others.

  At tea, Walker had clicked his tongue in disgust when he looked down his nose at Kate, which was not, in fact, a change, but he added a snort and a grin to get his message across. A successful attempt to deride her—Kate shrugged for anyone watching. Cook’s attitude was unintentionally worse. She took Kate’s hands, gave them a squeeze, and asked if there was anything she could do to help with the difficult family situation. Kate assured her all was well.

  Bernie and Charles, the footmen, had danced a circle around her just before supper, chanting, “Wheat, wheat, give me wheat.” Kate joined them but changed the words to “treat, treat, Christmas treat” and led them into the kitchen. Cook smacked their fingers as they reached for the marzipan cookies heading for the servants’ hall.

  But with Matt there seemed to be no change. He did not look askance at her, and more important, there was no pity in his gaze.

  “Can never be too careful at this time of year,” Mrs. Lundy said.

  Kate looked to the head of the table with a frown. She had forgotten the topic of conversation.

  “Yes, especially now,” Cook agreed. “The least little thin’ could start up the bad luck. We need ta be careful and watchful. Nip it in the bud.”

  “Mrs. Lundy,” a small voice broke into the conversation. Little Livy, the scullery maid, had been clearing the housekeeper’s plate. “I saw Pippa sweepin’ dirt out the front door after the sun be down yesterday.”

  Cook gasped.

  “No, no, I’m sure it will be fine,” Mrs. Lundy reassured Livy and the older retainers.

  Matt, Marie, and Kate wore matching skeptical expressions—not for the reassurance but for the concern.

  “I’ll have Pippa walk backward through the front door tomorrow. That sort of damage is easily fixed. Yes, yes, nothing to worry about, child.”

  “Jane cracked her looking glass this mornin’.” Livy seemed determined to see trouble brewing.

  Again, Cook gasped.

  “Really?” Mrs. Lundy swallowed, starting to look uncomfortable.

  “Who is Jane?” Matt asked, likely trying to redirect the conversation rather than suffering from a need to know who had been so foolish as to crack her mirror just before the change of the year.

  “Our dairy maid,” Kate explained.

  “Well, I won’t worry.” Mrs. Lundy stared at the far wall. “Dust, a looking glass. No … all should be well. If there were a third, though…”

  “The salt spilled yesterday,” Cook reminded the housekeeper.

  “Yes, but we cast it over our shoulders immediately; bad luck had no time to form.”

  “Of course.” Cook looked relieved. She sat back, nodding, and allowed Livy to take her plate as well.

  “I don’t know if I should mention it, but I placed my bonnet on the bed before I put it on for church this morning.” Marie’s eyes sparkled with mischief and she studiously ignored Kate’s warning stare. “I didn’t mean to attract bad luck.”

  “Your bonnet?” Cook remarked. “Nothing to worry about—if it had been a hat … well, that would be an entirely different manner.”

  “I may have laid my hat on the bed,” Walker added in a deceptively reasonable tone.

  There was a sudden silence as those dictated by the Fates blinked fearfully.

  “When would that have been, Mr. Walker? You have not been out of doors this entire week,” Kate reminded him and all those taken in by the butler’s sudden sociability. She ignored his glare.

  “Oh my, yes,” laughed Cook. “You had me goin’ there for a minute, Mr. Walker.” She batted her hand in the air. “You be funnin’.” So good-natured, Cook never heard the barbs in Mr. Walker’s words.

  “Still…” Mrs. Lundy paused for thought before continuing. “Let’s send Teddy out to the stables and have him check on the cats. Make sure they are behaving as they ought to. Cats are particularly sensitive to the exceptional forces around us.” She glanced toward the dark window where most of the upper servants were reflected back at her. “In the morning—it’s too late to see anything now.”

  “Teddy will be busy with the master’s boots first thing in—” Walker began.

  “Just after he has set the kitchen fire, Mr. Walker.” Mrs. Lundy’s tone brooked no argument.

  “Of course.” Mr. Walker shrugged—acquiescing much too easily.

  Kate wondered if Teddy would be directed to see odd cat behavior, no matter what the truth. It would be a subtle but effective way to put Mrs. Lundy in a heightened state of anxiety.

  With a sigh that brought Matt’s eyes in her direction, Kate shook her head. If nothing else, this nonsense was a welcome distraction from her mother’s antics. She looked to the foot of the table and found Walker staring back. The curl of his mouth made it clear that he did not appreciate her earlier interference.

  “How did your mother like her wheat?” the butler asked in a light, breezy tone that was undercut with ice.

  chapter 5

  In which Matt consigns the person responsible for Mr. Ben’s packing to the fiery pits of the underworld

  MONDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1817

  Matt sat in his room by the window, waiting on the narrow chair with an uninteresting book in hand—some sort of poetry that Mr. Ernest had thought worthy of high praise … but it was a little too florid for Matt’s taste. He had been waiting most of the morning, only showing his face at the breakfast table. The difficulty was that Miss Imogene had not specified when Mr. Ben was due to arrive from Canterbury, and Matt wanted to be at the ready.

  Not only would he have to unpack Mr. Ben’s luggage, Matt would have to assess the damage—he was certain there would be damage—to Mr. Ben’s various coats, waistcoats, boots … and likely his neckcloths. Yes, there was much to do in order to have Mr. Ben in top order by the time he went down to dinner this evening.

  Matt wanted to show Mr. Ben off to his best advantage … though, if he were to admit it, there was some doubt as to whether or not Miss Imogene would notice. But Matt would! Matt would see wrinkles and cringe. No, Matt would not let Mr. Ben step foot outside his room in a wrinkled coat. Therefore … yes, he had to add pressing to his list of immediate duties. The sooner Mr. Ben arrived, the more likely Matt would get all that was absolutely necessary complete on time.

  Being in a constant state of preparedness meant that Matt had rushed into Mr. Ben’s room twice when sounds indicated that there was something about next door. Teddy, plunking the coalscuttle down noisily beside the fireplace, had caused the first thump. The young lad had looked up in shock at Matt’s hurried entrance but answered with a grin when Matt inquired about skittish cats. He could think of little else to say.

  “Nothin’ odd that I could see, Mr. Harlow. Though Mr. Walker thoug
ht that jumpin’ at one another was worrisome. I told him cats do that all the time, pouncin’ and playin’. No … the cats be just fine. No odd goings-on.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Walker was pleased to hear that.”

  “He didna seem to be—though, Mrs. Lundy thanked me right enough.”

  Matt smiled, nodded, and returned to his room, and his seat, and his uninteresting book.

  Pippa, the saucy red-haired maid, caused the next foray when she brought up an extra blanket to place at the foot of Mr. Ben’s bed. Matt backed out as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb her. He had almost made it back to his room when she ran into the hall and asked if there was anything that she could get him—tea, coffee, small beer. He thought not … nor did he need a new towel or new set of sheets. Yes, his coat was made of a fine material. No, he had no sweetheart waiting for him in Chotsdown. Matt closed his door with, perhaps, a little more force than was called for. He reopened it, leaving it slightly ajar, when he was certain Pippa had gone.

  And yet, Pippa’s words had provided a distraction. While he had truthfully addressed her query—he had no sweetheart in Chotsdown—Matt’s thoughts were quite firmly fixed on a girl at Shackleford Park, one Miss Kate Darby. He enjoyed Kate’s company to such a degree that he was even now listening for her footsteps. She had a light, almost skipping gait, lithe and full of energy … well, that would be whenever Mrs. Darby—Dame Darby as everyone was disposed to call her at the Park—was not causing some sort of to-do.

  Matt didn’t know what to think of Mrs. Darby; he had little experience with mothers. His own had died bringing him into the world. Papa rarely mentioned her and they had functioned quite well with just the two of them. The Harlow Tailor Shop and their apartment above had been run with efficiency, though, lacking any feminine touch. Matt had learned the tailoring trade at his father’s side until he was almost thirteen. They had shared in the household duties at night while tending to their gentlemen customers during the day. Sir Andrew Steeple had been a regular patron … until Matt had walked into the shop one day to find his father clutching at his chest and turning a ghastly color.