The three boys looked at the sorry specimen, all big ears and sad brown eyes and skinny legs.
“God must have been getting tired by the day He created donkeys,” Jasper pronounced. “But I suppose we just helped the Lord out a little, right, Martin?”
“Right. Now all we have to do is keep Baby alive.” Benjy’s toothless grin faded. “Mama will know how.”
Which reminded the others of the further consequence of Baby’s purchase. “Now we’ll never be able to buy Mama the velvet for Christmas.”
Jasper sighed and expressed the thought none of them had wanted to put into words, for fear of jinxing the wondrous notion: “And the viscount is used to fancy ladies in satin and lace. That’s what Molly said.” They glumly marched on. Then Benjy asked, “Do you think he’ll take up with Miss Viola?”
Martin squared his shoulders. “If he does, then he’s not the man for Mama anyway.”
They put Chocolate in her stall next to their mother’s gelding, and tried to get the donkey to take some water. Soon they were all sopping wet. They gave up and sent Benjy to sneak the trim from the wreath Sabina had placed on the front gate. In a few minutes they all trooped in to the little parlor, three bedraggled, dripping boys and one ribbon-bedecked, dazed, and half-dead donkey.
“Here, Mama. Look what we bought you for Christmas. Her name is Velvet.”
7
Sabina used to wish her husband’s cottage wasn’t so isolated, being nearer to the castle than the village. That evening she was relieved no neighbors were kept up long into the night the way she was, listening to the new arrival’s complaints. Her own babies hadn’t set up such a racket. They hadn’t cried ee-aw either.
She’d done what she could for the poor thing, mixing up some mash and trying to teach Velvet to eat from a dish. More of the concoction was on her, Sabina knew, than in the donkey. Then, with the boys’ help, she’d made a warm nest of straw in the corner of the little stable, with bales of hay to keep the creature penned. She’d tried barricading their old hound, Beau, in with Velvet, but after licking up the spilled mash, Beau headed back to his warm blanket next to the kitchen stove. Sabina couldn’t blame him; she felt too old for this, too.
Now she lay awake, wondering how she was going to feed this new mouth—and clean up after it. In a few years, she supposed, she might teach Velvet to pull her light rig, so the boys could ride her gelding. Martin was ready for a full-size horse now, and Jasper would be by then. They should each have their own mount, she believed, angry all over again at the miserly trustees and her dead husband for not deeming her capable of knowing what was best for their sons. Connor Hamilton would never make his children share one old pony. Whatever else his faults, he was generous and kind, offering to take her sons skating as soon as the pond froze over, if he was still here. He remembered that childhood should be fun. He’d likely spoil his progeny dreadfully, Sabina thought, especially if he had a little girl, a dainty little charmer with dimples—and red hair.
Now that kind of thinking would never do, Sabina told herself. The donkey’s plaintive braying was bad enough without her own maudlin musings. Then she realized that the noise from the barn had stopped. Velvet had exhausted herself, finally. Unless she was too weak to cry anymore. Perhaps she was sick, or worse. Good heavens, the boys would be distraught. Sabina put on her heavy robe, then her cloak over that. She pulled on her boots, awkwardly wrapped a scarf over her head with her bandaged hand, and lit the lantern by the kitchen door. She had no idea what she could do if the little jenny was expiring, nor what she could tell the boys. If ever there was a time she wished for another to share the burdens of life, this was it. Someone who knew about horses and such, and wouldn’t mind leaving a warm bed to go traipsing across the yard in frigid December temperatures. Instead, old Beau wasn’t even around to accompany her on the dire mission.
Sabina hurried to the barn as fast as she could without jeopardizing the lantern’s light. She pushed open the door, dreading what she might find, and held the light aloft, so she could inspect the makeshift enclosure. She couldn’t even see the donkey, surrounded as Velvet was by three sleeping boys, two barn cats, and one comfort-seeking hound. Her sons were tumbled together in the straw with quilts from their beds and, yes, that was her old shawl that she saved for cleaning stalls. She straightened the covers as best she could, feeling her throat tighten at the sight of her beautiful, big-hearted boys. They were perfect, no matter what anyone in the village said, or what certain toplofty aristocrats accused them of. She wouldn’t change a hair on their red heads.
Beau lifted his muzzle from the pile of arms, legs, and donkey, then went back to snoring. All was right with the world.
*
Some women could stay up all night, worrying over donkeys and bank deposits, and still look beautiful in the morning. Sabina was not one of them. She looked haggard, in fact, with her complexion as dull and gray as the faded, shapeless gown she wore. A limp cap covered every inch of the red hair that would have enlivened her appearance, but she hadn’t had the energy to brush it out and pin it up on her aching head. Her hand was paining her, and Benjamin was covered with a rash from the straw. At least she hoped it was a rash and not flea bites from the barn cats.
Since she did not have to work on the pageant costumes, Sabina had taken up her mending again this morning, trying to see what she could salvage of her sons’ adventures yesterday. Not much. At this rate, they’d be running around like half-naked savages by spring. At least the weather would be warmer. Sabina moved her chair closer to the fire and huddled into her shawl, hoping she wasn’t sickening for something. Who would look after the boys then, or the baby jenny? Her thoughts were as dismal as her dress.
Altogether, she was not pleased to see Viscount Royce that next morning. He was looking bang up to the mark, as Martin would say, with his Hessians shining brighter than any surface in her house. Not a dog hair clung to his burgundy coat, not a scratch or worn spot marred his buckskin breeches. Well, she thought, ten minutes here, and Connor would be embarrassed to be seen at his clubs, since that was about how long clean clothes seemed to last in her household.
Connor’s first words were not what a female wanted to hear from an attractive, affluent, aristocratic gentleman. “Gads, you look like last week’s laundry. What has you so blue-deviled?”
“The ass,” she snapped back.
“Snavely? Is that bounder bothering you or the boys again? I warned the makebait that I’d toss him off the property next time. I hadn’t wanted to evict him yet, because his wife seems a decent sort.”
“No, Wilfred is not bothering me. It’s Velvet, my ass.”
She couldn’t be saying what Connor thought he was hearing—or thinking. “Excuse me?”
“I own a donkey, you gudgeon. Her name is Velvet, and my sons gave her to me for Christmas.”
He tried to hide his smile since she seemed so moped about it. “Odd, I always gave my mother a box of comfits.”
“I don’t like comfits,” she said, lest he think poorly of the boys’ choice.
“But you do like donkeys? I’ll make a note of that for my Christmas list.”
“Oh, stop teasing, do. They meant well.”
Connor inspected his sleeve for lint. “I do believe I have heard that phrase before, in reference to the threesome. More harm has been done in the name of good intentions than Satan himself could imagine.”
“So you are still blaming my sons for your arrival at Espinham? You are not faring so poorly, that I can see. You and the duke must be rubbing along well together, else you would have left days ago, once you saw he was not truly ailing.”
“We manage. His Grace and I play games. Chess, backgammon, and pretend. He pretends all the silly young chits he invites to the castle are not there for my inspection. I pretend he is not an interfering old matchmaker.”
“Then your coming was not such a bad thing, after all.”
“I haven’t decided yet.” He didn’t want to
talk about it, either. “Tell me about the ass.”
Sabina frowned. “She’s an orphaned infant that won’t eat properly and cries all night. She might have colic for all I know. I understand babies, not big-eared beasts!”
“I’ll take it up to the castle, then. There’s bound to be a mare in milk. Some will let another foal suckle. My grooms can stay up with it, otherwise. I don’t know much about asses myself.” He couldn’t help grinning.
“No, I want to keep her here. The boys would be heartbroken, and they’d think I didn’t like their gift.”
“Then I’ll send someone down to see what’s needed.”
“I cannot be so deeply in your debt. You have already done enough for us, Connor—my lord. Why, having Sophia Townsend to sew the costumes was a godsend. She’s at the vicar’s right now, taking measurements for new choir robes. It seems she always wanted to help, but could not feel comfortable offering her services whilst in your father’s employ.”
“She should have asked. Father would have let her—” He paused at her raised eyebrows. “Well, perhaps not. Still, he is mellowing, which is one of the other reasons for my call. I have actually come to beg a favor of you, so you need not feel indebted at all if I provide assistance with the donkey. Tit for tat, don’t you know.”
“What is the favor? If it involves the duke, I am not in good odor with him, you know. He always blamed me for your leaving, and has taken his ire out on my boys. I believe he referred to my sons as mannerless mongrels the last time we spoke.”
“And you called him a stiff-rumped old stick. Yes, I’ve heard. But calling on you for aid was his idea. The thing is, he wishes to reinstate the old Christmas festivities at the castle, in honor of the bishop’s visit. Remember how the Great Hall was thrown open to all the villagers and tenants and everyone else for miles around, with feasting and dancing? His Grace is afraid this will be his last Christmas, and wants to see it done up right.”
“Nonsense, he wants to show his son off to the countryside, is all. He just won’t admit it.”
Connor laughed. “Either way, he’s put me in charge. The problem is, I’m no hand at decorating and such, and no one at the castle remembers how it should be. The housekeeper is new since the last grand celebration, before my mother moved to Bath for her health.”
“She moved to Bath to avoid His Grace, and everyone knows it.”
He shrugged. “Theirs was an arranged marriage. Her Grace felt she’d done her duty by producing the heir. Of course, no one else would dare to mention the family’s dirty linen, Sabina. I cannot tell you how refreshing it is to find a woman who speaks her mind, after the simpering debs my father keeps finding. But to return to my difficulty, the attics must be filled with all the old ornaments and stuff, but I have no idea where to begin. I am begging you to come help.”
Sabina remembered how the hall was festooned with ribbons, and candles lit every corner. Tables had been spread along one wall, piled high with food, and there was still room for anyone who wanted to dance. She and Connor had watched many a fete from the minstrels’ gallery before they were old enough to join the company. The servants had smuggled cakes and punch to them. Such sweet memories…
“You’ll be staying, though?” she asked. “You don’t mean I should decorate the castle so you can go back to London?”
“No, I am staying, through Twelfth Night, at least. After that, who knows? There are two factors that need to be decided. It’s too soon to tell. For now, I want to stay to see how the duke goes on, and the party will give me a chance to meet the rest of the tenants and local gentry. I’m sure that was His Grace’s plan, but how can I deny him when he claims to be hearing Gabriel’s trumpet?”
“Shall you mind?’ Sabina wanted to know.
“Mind? I’ve always loved the country. But Espinwall never let me do anything, not even hold an opinion of my own. Do you know that the first time I defeated His Grace at chess last week, and he complimented me on a good game, that was the first bit of praise I have ever heard from his lips? I was as useless here as the arrow slits on the castle turrets. That was one of the reasons I had to leave then, to find something to do with my life. I had thought the army might be it. Now I discover I am busy every moment with some estate matter or other, and I am enjoying it. Which is not to say that I would be content to spend every last one of my days immured in the countryside.”
“Of course not. A gentleman cannot be without his tailor for long.”
He flashed the dimple at her. “Must be à la mode for the milch cows, don’t you know. Seriously, though, even if I do not stay year round, I won’t be gone entirely again. I see nothing wrong with enjoying the theater, the galleries, and one’s friends betwixt the beets and beef. Have you ever considered visiting the city?”
The opera, the shops, the book-lenders! She’d considered it many times, in her dreams. Sabina sighed. “London has always sounded marvelous, and the boys would be in alt to see Astley’s Amphitheater and the Tower Menagerie, but can you imagine loosing my sons on the streets there? Why, I’d never have a moment’s peace, worrying that they’d be kidnapped…or arrested.”
“But if they had a competent tutor?”
“Ah, then London would be a delight. And educational, too. But if wishes were horses, my lord, I wouldn’t have a baby donkey in my barn.”
8
Sabina could not spend the necessary hours at the castle if it meant leaving her sons unsupervised. So the viscount had to do some hard bargaining.
Having heard about Snavely’s dastardly extortion of their Christmas money, Connor offered the Greene boys a fair wage if they would come to the castle with their mother and assist her in decorating. They’d also have to help him gather the branches and such she’d want, and climb trees after the mistletoe required for the kissing boughs. In addition, they just might be drafted to help exercise the horses if the stable grooms were too busy to ride. In return, he promised them enough blunt to purchase the velvet for their mother’s dress.
“And if you stick close by me, so I am never left alone with any of the young misses, I’ll even get Sophia Townsend to sew the dress, so it will be a real surprise. Your mother might be too busy, and her hand is still bandaged. That way she’ll have her new velvet gown to wear for the party.”
“Red?” Benjy wanted to be sure. “It’s got to be red.”
With Sabina’s hair? She’d look like a forest fire—or a wanton. “I’ll try, but the shops just might be out of red, what with the holidays and all. How would you feel about a nice dark green, to match her eyes?” Martin and Jasper allowed how their mother would look beautiful in anything. Benjy wasn’t so easy to convince, until his older brothers kicked him. “The viscount knows all about ladies’ clothes,” they whispered. “You heard Molly.”
So they solemnly shook hands all around. “But, my lord,” Martin felt compelled to tell Connor, “we would have helped for nothing, you know.”
“I know, lad. And I would have bought the dress for your mother whether you helped or not, so we are even.”
*
Sabina worked feverishly to transform the Great Hall from a great barracks to a grand ballroom. She also worked hard to keep her darlings out of mischief, which meant out of the duke’s way. They wanted to play with the ancient weapons on the walls, slide down the banisters, try all the antique instruments. Coming to the castle was a mistake, she began to realize. Then the viscount came to help. He was all thumbs at braiding swags of pine boughs, but he was a marvel at entertaining small boys. He took them with him to fetch the mistletoe and the Yule log, to deliver hampers of foodstuffs to his tenants, to visit the stables and the kennels and the dovecotes. This was the best holiday her sons had ever had, and it wasn’t even Christmas yet. What a good father Connor would make—to some other woman’s children. Coming to the castle was a dreadful mistake.
But the place was beginning to take on a festive appearance. They’d found filigree candleholders and gilded pinecones in
the attics, along with boxes of bows and bells and blown-glass icicles. Sabina found places for everything, as well as the forest of greenery Connor and the boys brought in for her to wrap around newel posts and knights in their dented armor. Soon each old warrior had a wreath around his neck, or a clove-studded orange skewered on his sword, or a red ribbon on his arm, like a lady’s favor. The duke grumbled about the sacrilege to his ancestors’ memories, but also reminded Sabina that at least four kissing boughs were needed.
“Four, Your Grace?”
“Aye, to ensure I get to kiss all the pretty ladies without having to walk too far.”
So Sabina made four balls of twined vines and ribbons, with clusters of mistletoe hanging from each. The enormous chandelier was lowered so she could hang garlands of holly and ivy, with red and green and gold silk streamers trailing to the edges of the vast chamber. Between times, she looked over the menus with the chef, inspected the silver serving pieces with the butler, and assigned guest rooms with the housekeeper. All the servants were deferring to her opinion, and even the duke allowed as to how the place was beginning to look like Christmas the way he remembered it.
Sabina left the castle—in the viscount’s carriage—only to rehearse the village children for the pageant. Then she went home to her cottage that was looking tinier and shabbier every day, by comparison, and fell into her bed without ever hanging one ribbon or sprig of holly in her own parlor. Ah well, she thought in the instant before falling asleep, the boys will have enough of Christmas at the castle. What more could they ask?
“What are you going to wish for on Christmas Eve, Martin?” Jasper inquired of his brother as they were making paper chains to decorate the little barn for Chocolate, Velvet, and her new foster mother, a placid bay mare. “A horse of your own?”
Martin knew that was an impossibility. As the eldest, he was more aware of their straitened circumstances. Besides, now that they could ride the viscount’s cattle sometimes, having a horse of one’s very own wasn’t quite as important. Or so he told himself. “I suppose I’ll wish for a book. That way I won’t be disappointed. Mama always buys us books for Christmas. Then I can tell her my wish came true.”
Greetings of the Season and Other Stories Page 18
