A Christmas Spirit of Forgiveness

by Carolynn Carey

  Anna pulled up a stool and seated herself. “I’m sorry to hear you’re sick, Mark. Have you eaten anything unusual today?”

  “What do you mean, Miss?”

  “Anything different from your usual breakfast?”

  “Just the currants for the rout cakes, Miss Anna.”

  “Did Cook give you those currants, Mark?”

  “Sort of, Miss Anna. She’d soaked them in brandy and then recalled that Lady Rachel doesn’t care for brandy so she told me to feed them to the pigs, but that seemed like a waste so I ate them instead.”

  “And when was that?”

  “Early this morning, Miss.”

  “And you haven’t thrown up for the last half hour or so?”

  “No, Miss.”

  “Then I’d suggest you confine your meals to bread and cheese for the remainder of the day. If you do that, I predict you will feel fine by tonight.”

  “What are ye going to tell Cook, Miss Anna?”

  She reached down to smooth hair back off the child’s forehead. “Just that you’re on the mend. But I want you to promise me something.”

  “What, Miss?”

  “That you won’t eat any more garbage that is intended for the pigs, especially if it’s something that’s been soaked in brandy. Better to let them get intoxicated rather than you, don’t you think?”

  Mark nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, Miss.”

  “In that case, I’ll leave you to sleep a while longer. I suspect that will help more than anything at the moment.” She stood and smiled at the boy.

  He yawned, then returned her smile. “Yes, Miss. Thank you.”

  Five minutes later Anna was seated at the kitchen table. Gunther sat at her left and Mrs. Ballard to her right. Both cradled cups of tea and wore matching frowns. Gunther spoke first. “So his lordship says he isn’t interested in making peace with the neighbors, Miss Anna?”

  Anna clasped her hands in front of her on the table. “That’s correct. He’s only here because his sister asked him to come.”

  “Aye,” Mrs. Ballard said. “He didn’t come last year at Christmas because Lady Rachel was in mourning and wouldn’t travel. She’d lost her husband, you know.”

  “Yes, so his lordship said.” Anna stared at her clasped hands. “This snowstorm is going to delay her arrival, which may result in his staying longer.”

  Gunther echoed Anna’s sigh. “I’m afraid you’re right, Miss Anna. But what can we do about it?”

  “Very little, I’m afraid.” Anna looked up suddenly. “But he doesn’t appear to hold any animosity toward the people who worked here when he and his sister were children after their mother died. Could you not talk to him?”

  Gunther answered quickly. “Oh no, Miss. He was just a lad when he left. There’s no reason he should remember much about us at all.”

  “Well, his sister was younger and she still wants to return here for Christmas every year. Besides, I’ve noticed you still refer to her as ‘Lady Rachel’ rather than using her current title. Surely this indicates some degree of familiarity exists between her and the people of Ashworth.”

  Mrs. Ballard shook her head. “It’s more habit than anything, Miss Anna. We should be calling her Lady Nettelford but we forget, and she’s kind enough not to correct us. Unfortunately, she was so little when her father moved the children to London, I don’t see how she could have any fond memories of this place.”

  “Then what does she do when she comes here at Christmas? Does she help decorate the house with greenery? Does she appear to enjoy the Yule Log? Does she request special Christmas puddings or cakes?”

  Mrs. Ballard shrugged. “She doesn’t do a lot, Miss Anna. She spends much of her time outside riding or walking about the estate. Sometimes, she will ask one of the footmen to accompany her to gather greenery, and then she’ll oversee its placement on the mantels and the tables.”

  “What about on Christmas morning? I know she doesn’t go to church, or I would have seen her there.”

  “She usually goes to the little chapel on the grounds, but she doesn’t stay long. She doesn’t ask to have a fire built, so it’s bound to be cold and damp and dreary in there.”

  Anna placed her right hand onto her forehead. She was definitely developing a headache, something that was a rarity for her. “None of this makes sense. Why would she want to return to Ashworth and insist that her brother join her if neither of them has any particular fondness for the place? And, most especially, when neither of them seems to enjoy any portion of the visit?”

  Both Anna’s companions shook their heads, but Mrs. Ballard was the one to respond. “There’s no answer to your questions, Miss Anna. We’ve asked ourselves the same thing time and again until we decided it didn’t really matter anyway. We knew we needn’t worry about Lady Rachel and his lordship returning occasionally because we were always forewarned of their coming and knew how long they would stay.”

  “But this year is different,” Gunther added. “This horrible snowstorm and Lady Rachel being delayed is dragging everything out and I’m not sure how long we can keep our activities hidden.”

  “Nor am I,” Anna added, flinching as her headache strengthened. “But we’ll manage somehow. Did you get Mrs. Cauldwell moved to the north wing?”

  “Aye, we did, Miss Anna,” Mrs. Ballard responded. “But she’s not happy, being in a different part of the house.”

  “I don’t suppose Molly has been able to come see her?”

  “No, nor is she likely to try until the weather moderates. She knows we’ll take good care of her aunt and she has no need to worry.”

  Anna flinched yet again as another pain lanced across her forehead. “I wish I could say the same.”

  “You need to take one of your own potions, Miss Anna, and lie down for a while.” Mrs. Ballard patted her on the arm. “Or maybe we could make a poultice for your forehead. Should I put some water on to boil?”

  Anna pushed back from the table and stood. “Thank you, no. I’ll just lie down for a while. If my headache persists after I rest for an hour or so, I’ll take something for it then.”

  Another pain preceded a wave of dizziness so strong that Anna was forced to put a hand on the table to maintain her balance. For a split second she thought she saw movement in the hallway beyond the kitchen door, but another surge of pain convinced her it was naught but her imagination.

  Squaring her shoulders, she marched across the kitchen, then paused. “Mrs. Ballard, if I’m not up by midafternoon, please ask Betsy to come and wake me.”

  And then she walked through the house and up the stairs to her chamber, eager to climb into her soft bed and forget her worries for a few hours in some much-needed rest.

  Phillip stepped back into the shadows and watched as Miss Marshall hurried down the corridor, her head bent while she massaged her forehead with the fingertips of her right hand. He’d felt strangely desolate when Anna left the library. After a few minutes of attempting to read, he decided to follow her to the kitchen just in case the cook was giving her some grief about her silly kitten.

  Or at least that had been his excuse for following her.

  But when he arrived at the kitchen door, the kitten had been curled up on a bed made of rags, washing itself while Anna, his butler, and his housekeeper huddled around a kitchen table. Without understanding why, he’d stepped to one side and held his breath, listening to the quiet conversation going on between his longtime servants and this female he’d so recently met under strange circumstances.

  From what he’d been able to overhear, they were all involved in something to do with his estate, something they wanted to hide from him. Who, he wondered, was this Mrs. Cauldwell they’d mentioned, and why was she being moved to the north wing? What had been going on at Ashworth in his absence?

  As soon as Miss Marshall disappeared toward the front of the house and the staircase, he scuffed his boots on the floor to give warning of his presence, then watched as Gunther and Mrs. Ballard jum
ped up from their chairs. They spun toward the sound of his approach with ridiculously guilty expressions on their faces.

  Mrs. Ballard sketched a hasty curtsy that was so clumsy she had to catch herself on the table to keep from losing her balance. Gunther bit his lip, bowed deeply, and then forced a pathetic excuse for a smile. “Good afternoon, eh, I mean, good morning, your lordship. Did you require something from the kitchen?”

  Phillip tried to maintain a calm tone and bland expression. “Not at all, Gunther. I was merely wondering if the grooms are making it through the snow to take their meals here in the house.”

  Gunther gulped before he nodded. “They’ve managed to keep a path cleared, my lord.”

  “Very good. Well then, I think I’ll return to the library and read by the fire for a while.”

  Gunther’s sigh of relief was slight but still obvious. “Ring if you require anything at all, my lord.”

  “I will, Gunther. Thank you.”

  Phillip ambled away, trying to appear casually bored. He heard a soft murmur of voices behind him. Strangely, considering how little he knew of Miss Marshall, he was experiencing a deep disappointment in her. She was apparently an unscrupulous female who was conspiring with his servants to deceive him. Why he felt this fresh wave of an emotion resembling grief was a mystery considering he’d known all along that she was a deceiver. Hadn’t she proved that clearly enough when she’d changed her story about why she’d ventured out into the storm?

  So why had he felt such a strong attraction to her almost from the moment of their first touch? He couldn’t explain his feelings, but he was absolutely determined to ignore them. First, however, he had to find out what role she played in whatever trickery was taking place on his estate.

  As soon as he was out of sight of the kitchen, he quickened his steps and made his way back to the library. After spending a few minutes sitting in front of the fire, just in case he was being watched, Phillip slipped out into the corridor and made his way up the stairs. At the top, instead of turning right as though headed toward his chamber, he turned to the left, toward the north wing.

  His Aunt Gertrude had occupied the north wing during the years she spent here, which had been reason enough for Phillip to avoid going there. He’d wanted no reminders of his aunt and her unkindness toward Rachel and him.

  But now apparently the wing housed a woman named Mrs. Cauldwell who had been moved there from somewhere else in the house in hopes he would not discover her presence.

  The door leading into the wing stuck for a few seconds, then creaked when Phillip pushed it open. The hallway beyond smelled musty and dank. He took a couple of steps into the corridor, then paused to listen, hoping to hear voices or perhaps even the crackle of a fire that was warming one of the chambers. He heard nothing.

  He ventured a few steps more. Doors on either side of the hallway for several feet ahead were closed, but he detected a wash of light that appeared to come from a doorway opening into a chamber on the far end of the corridor. He moved quietly, thankful for the runner of carpet that muffled the sound of his boots. Finally he reached the very last room and then paused to peer around the edge of the doorframe.

  The bedchamber contained a minimum of furniture. A large bed was situated with the headboard against the wall between the hallway and the outside wall. A bedside table held a pitcher and a glass, and a straight chair was positioned near the fireplace, where a few logs smoldered.

  A woman, tiny and wrinkled, lay in the bed, propped up on pillows. A bed cap covered her hair, although a few gray wisps stuck out on either side. Dark eyes, brightly alert, stared at him. He stepped fully into the room. “Mrs. Cauldwell, I presume?”

  Her voice wavered but carried well enough. “And who might you be, young man?”

  “I’m Ashington.” He waited for her reaction with interest. Would she be frightened of him? Or angry perhaps? He had not expected her broad smile.

  “Come in, my lord, and pull that chair up to the bedside. I’ve been left here alone most of the morning, and I’m starved for conversation.”

  “Very well.” Although slightly bemused, Phillip took time to toss another log on the fire because the room was growing chilly. Then he picked up the straight chair and carried it to the bed where he positioned it so that he could talk Mrs. Cauldwell. “Do you need anything before I sit down?” he asked.

  “Thank you, no, my lord. For I’ve had my breakfast and no doubt little Mark will fetch some supper to me later on. But I miss my niece, don’t you know, as well as my neighbors who were always good to drop in on me for a visit when I lived at home.”

  “And why aren’t you living there now, Mrs. Cauldwell?”

  “Why, because of the fire, you see. It burned my cottage right to the ground, and I wasn’t able to get out with a thing but the clothes on my back. My niece, Molly, would have taken me in but she’s in a motherly way and hasn’t an extra bed in her cottage anyhow. So Miss Anna said I should come here until the weather gets better and arrangements can be made to build my cottage back.”

  “Miss Marshall said that?”

  “Why, yes. She watches over us, don’t you know?”

  “Us? Who do you refer to when you say us?”

  Why, us in the village and the surroundings, you see. She’s a good girl, is Miss Anna, and she has taken up where her aunt left off.”

  “Her aunt, the healer, you mean?”

  “Aye, Miss Cora Benton. She’s getting some age on her and her joints are failing, so she can’t walk the fields and trails like she once did. Lucky for us, she taught Miss Anna everything she knows.”

  “I see.”

  “Maybe you do and maybe you don’t. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear you say that Miss Anna had no right to move me into your house. On the other hand, I also figure you won’t give her a lot of grief about it.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because you were a good boy, and good boys usually grow up to be good men.”

  Phillip frowned in concentration. He didn’t remember anyone by the look or name of Mrs. Cauldwell from the years he’d lived at Ashworth. “Should I know you?”

  “Not necessarily and not by my married name. When you was a boy, I was a maid at Ashworth. I was still here when your Papa moved you and Lady Rachel away. I stayed on for quite some time before I married the miller, Mr. Cauldwell, two years after his first wife died. Mr. Cauldwell passed on nearly ten years ago, may God rest his soul.”

  “And what was your name when you worked at Ashworth, Mrs. Cauldwell?”

  “I was Beth Farrar then. I used to help hide you behind the draperies in the drawing room whenever you’d got yourself in trouble of some sort.”

  Memories of the maid rushed back, along with emotions that hadn’t troubled Phillip in years. He’d forgotten how it felt to be small and at the mercy of someone much larger. If it hadn’t been for the maid named Beth helping him hide, he suspected he’d have received many a thrashing from his father or his half brother.

  His smile was instant and sincere. “In that case, I’m indebted to Miss Marshall for bringing you here. But I must ask you a question.”

  “Ask away, my lord.”

  “Does Miss Marshall make a habit of installing guests in vacant rooms in Ashworth?”

  Mrs. Cauldwell frowned, then reached up to scratch her temple. “I wouldn’t call it a habit, my lord. It’s rare that anybody in the village is without a place to stay, and I’m sure Miss Anna would have taken me to her aunt’s house if she could. But everybody knows they’ve barely enough wood and food to see them through the winter, and I wouldn’t have agreed to impose on them under those circumstances.”

  Phillip straightened in his chair. He’d rarely given the Benton woman any thought, but her house was the largest in the district next to Ashworth and he was surprised to hear she had to scrape to get by. On the other hand, the house had appeared a little dilapidated even when he was a boy. He hadn’t paid it any attention since then.r />
  He pushed that concern to the back of his mind for the moment and returned his attention to Mrs. Cauldwell. “Were you hurt when your cottage burned?”

  “You mean because I’m tucked up in bed here?” She shot him a cheeky grin. “I’m mostly here to stay warm and because my joints are a little stiff most days, so I don’t walk real easy.”

  “Would you like to go to the kitchen where you’d have some company?”

  “I would but everybody thinks I should stay hid from you lest you toss me out in the snow.”

  Phillip knew his jaw dropped but he couldn’t help it. He’d never dreamed his reputation had sunk to this level. “My God. Do people really think I’m such an ogre as that?”

  “I never did and I told everybody so, but folks have long memories and they figure you grew up to be like your father. He was never a neighborly one, you know.”

  Actually, Phillip didn’t know. His father had spent very little time at Ashworth after Phillip was old enough to remember. He decided to change the subject, and the topic of most interest to him at the moment was Anna Marshall.

  “Tell me, Mrs. Cauldwell, when you said Miss Marshall looks after the people around here, what exactly did you mean?”

  “Ah well, it depends, don’t you know, on what people need. She spends a lot of time in the woods finding herbs and such to fix her remedies but she also tries to help if there’s trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Like last winter when Patrick Norton broke his leg and couldn’t provide for his family. Miss Anna made sure there was food on his table until he got well enough to go back to work.”

  “And how did she do this?”

  Mrs. Cauldwell’s eyes grew large and she pulled in a deep breath, just as though she knew she’d said something she shouldn’t and was wondering how to extract herself from a mire of her own making.

  But Phillip really didn’t need a response because he was positive he already knew the answer to his question. The camaraderie he’d observed between Miss Marshall and his servants spoke volumes of their past associations. He’d bet his estate that Miss Marshall had been using his resources to help the people in the neighborhood.