Jo Beverley - [Rogue ]

by Christmas Angel

  "No need," said Nicholas. "There'll be a ship going somewhere, and he'll be on it. This will be a first Christmas with our families for both of us. I promise you, nothing on earth will get in the way of it."

  * * *

  On Sunday, Judith attended church with Eleanor, and found that after all simple country churches were more to her taste than cathedrals. They all walked the crisp mile to the village, and joined the congregation. It was a simple, ancient church, floor trodden down by tens of generations, walls crumbling a little under the pressures of time. At the front there was that charming French import, a crèche—Mary, Joseph, ox, ass, and angels all waiting for the blessed day when Jesus would come to earth.

  There was no trained choir here, but just the congregation composed of all degrees of country folk, and of all ages. Encouraged by a number of other discordant voices, Judith joined in lustily as they sang such Advent songs as "O Come, Emmanuel," and "On Jordan's Bank."

  Gazing into the crèche Judith knew this wasn't the season to hold back the gift of love. Perhaps she couldn't speak of it to Leander, but she would show her love in every way possible, and trust that he would not find it too hard a gift to accept.

  * * *

  By Monday, there was some hope that Leander and Nicholas would return, but only if they had completed their business with incredible speed. Judith tried not to watch the road for travelers, but found herself fidgety beyond belief. In their brief acquaintance, she and Leander had never been apart for a day until now, and she found she hated it.

  She needed something to do to make the waiting bearable.

  She realized she wanted to start the daunting task of taming the Temple.

  She felt nervous about going there without Leander, but if she waited until his return, there would be little chance of preparing properly for Christmas. She put it to the children.

  "Oh, yes, Mama. Let's!"

  When Judith told Eleanor, Eleanor insisted on coming, too. "I'm fidgety, too, waiting for Nicholas to return. We haven't been apart for nearly a year. Anyway, I've always longed to see the famous Temple Knollis. We'll take some of our staff in case you haven't enough. It will be great fun."

  * * *

  The next day they set off in two carriages: one for Judith, her children, and a maid; the other for Eleanor, Arabel, and Arabel's nurse. For the child did have one, though Judith suspected the post must be close to a sinecure. A cart had gone ahead earlier with more servants and provisions. As well as Judith's baking, Eleanor had contributed some of Redoaks's supplies.

  When Temple Knollis came into view, Judith appreciated again its perfection, but it only served to emphasize the magnitude of the task she was setting herself. She might as well try to move the river with a spoon. She'd do it, though.

  She was delighted to see a person crossing the courtyard, evidence of human occupation. Perhaps Aunt Lucy had managed to find some servants.

  After a hesitation, she directed the coaches into the courtyard, so they could all enter the house by the magnificent hall, and see it in all its glory.

  "Oh my," said Eleanor, once they were inside. "It's magnificent. But it is rather terrifying, isn't it? And very cold." Her breath puffed out as she spoke.

  "Heavens," said Judith. "I should never have let you come. I very much fear we'll end up camping out in the kitchen like Leander's family."

  Bastian and Rosie stood staring, awestruck, but Arabel gave a crow of delight and set off to capture the jewel lights cast by the windows. After a moment, the older children followed.

  Footsteps clattered and a plump maid hurried in and stood bobbing a curtsy. "Milady?" she ventured, looking between them for hints.

  Judith hesitated, then realized this was her house and her responsibility. "I am Lady Charrington. What is your name?" she asked the woman.

  "Jenny Flint, ma'am."

  "This is Mrs. Delaney, Jenny. The older children are mine, Master Bastian and Miss Rosie. The little one is Miss Arabel Delaney. Now, how many servants do we have here?"

  The woman bobbed again nervously. "There be only ten yet, milady, plus the ones that came over in the cart. Most of us ones 'as worked here afore, so we knows the place. I'm feared there's no upper servants, though, milady. They all moved on to other places, see?"

  "Is the Charles Knollis family still in residence?"

  "No, milady. They be gone to Coverley, they be. But Mrs. Knollis said to tell you it's close by if you need aught."

  "At the moment we need bedrooms prepared. What can be made available, Jenny?"

  "All the beds are aired, milady. Mrs. Knollis arranged it. It's but to light fires."

  Judith smiled. "Bless Aunt Lucy." She thought of the vast, magnificent drawing room, and how long it would take to warm. "Is there a relatively small room we could use as a parlor, Lucy?"

  The woman looked understandably dubious. Small rooms and the Temple did not go together. "There's the casket, milady," she offered in the end.

  Judith and Eleanor shared a bewildered glance, but Judith said, "Lead us to it."

  They gathered the children and went down a corridor paneled in gleaming golden wood, with borders finely carved. The walls were hung with glowing pictures, and precious objects graced each stand and bureau. Awed again, the children tiptoed cautiously, and even Arabel stayed quiet in Eleanor's arms, studiously sucking her thumb.

  The maid opened the door to a room. It was quite dark. She bustled in and flung back shutters to let in some light. It was still rather dark. This was because all the walls and the ceiling were covered with dark paintings in panels.

  "Oh my," said Judith. She had a feeling she'd be saying that a lot. But the room was small, only twice the size of her parlor at the cottage—and it contained chairs and a fireplace.

  "Please, Jenny, send someone to light a fire in here, and then serve tea."

  The maid hurried off. The children gazed around, wide-eyed, then went to sit on the window seat and look out at the river. No one took off their coats.

  "Do you know," said Eleanor, inspecting a wall, "I think all these paintings are real. I mean, old. They've virtually been used to paper the walls."

  "Extraordinary, isn't it?" Judith responded. "But I quite like it. It's like being in a jewel box." She walked about to keep warm. "You can see how hard it's going to be to make this place into a home, though, especially for me."

  "Why especially for you?" Eleanor asked.

  "Because I'm not accustomed to this."

  "But that could be your advantage. Don't be awed by the place. Do just what you want."

  Judith laughed shakily. "I'm not sure I dare. My tastes and Leander's are not always in accord." She told Eleanor the story of the elderberry wine, and they ended up in whoops.

  "But that's the point," Eleanor declared. "I'll go odds he loves the stuff when he finally tastes it."

  Judith wished she could be so sure.

  A lad scuttled in and built a fire, then lit it. In moments it was crackling merrily, and the Temple at least proved its quality, for the chimney drew excellently.

  Soon the chill was off the small room, and once they had tea everyone was feeling much more comfortable. "The problem is," said Judith, "I doubt we can all live in here."

  She and Eleanor left the children with the two maids, put on their cloaks, and explored. Though Temple Knollis was not a spectacularly large house, it had winding corridors, and they often got lost but they pressed on, and always found the central hall eventually. As the house was built around it, it provided a focus.

  There were ten good bedrooms, two clearly intended for master and mistress. In fact the master bedroom was the only one that showed signs of having been used at all, presumably by the first earl. Judith wasn't entirely sure Leander would want to sleep there, but she allocated it to him anyway, complete with a massive bed festooned with carved cherubs and his coat of arms, and walls frescoed with scenes of Venice.

  Her bedroom continued the Venetian theme in that it had a bed th
at resembled nothing so much as a gilded gondola. The pointed headboard swooped up to support pale green silk draperies bunched back against the walls, again frescoed with outdoor scenes. She might never make love outdoors, but she would feel as if she were.

  The other rooms were more normal, but decorated with hand-painted wallpaper, or paintings, or tapestries. The carpets and draperies were of the finest quality, and obviously individually made for each chamber. Framed paintings, sculpture, and objets d'art were scattered with deceptive casualness.

  Eleanor picked a room at random, and the one next to it for Arabel and her nurse. "Though I fear the girl won't be satisfied with the nursery at Redoaks after sleeping in such splendor."

  Judith ordered fires lit in the rooms, then asked Eleanor, "Do you think there is any chance of there being a nursery or schoolroom here?"

  They asked, and there was. When Judith saw the children's quarters, her heart was touched. Old Lord Charrington, in the midst of his grandiose plans, had included a perfect nursery. It was even on the plain side for the Temple, though he had not been able to resist some pretty bas-reliefs of cherubs on the walls.

  Close by was a schoolroom, large enough for play, but small enough for comfort, and allowed excellent light through large windows. There were also four simple bedrooms suitable for children, two of them having child-size beds, and even smaller rooms for the nursery and schoolroom servants.

  The first earl had hoped for children here, and not the children of Charles Knollis, but the children of his heir. What a sad, almost tragic, family this had been.

  She swallowed before she said, "I think I'll see if the children will be happy to move in up here, with some servants to keep them company. They may as well start as they will go on."

  To her surprise, Bastian and Rosie were delighted. They clearly found the main part of the house oppressively grand, and liked the idea of their special domain. It was arranged that two of the local maids would sleep nearby and take care of them.

  That settled, they all went on a full tour of the house. It was mostly conducted in silence because their exclamations of astonishment became repetitious. It was all perfect, beautiful, and full of carefully chosen, precious items. Judith could understand how it had oppressed Charles and Lucy, for to change anything would be to destroy. And yet, as it was now, it was a dead thing.

  What on earth was she to do?

  The main rooms were still unheated, and so they ate in the little casket, and lingered there until it was time for bed.

  That night Judith climbed into her ridiculous bed, wishing desperately that Leander was here to help her with the house. When she sank into a luxurious down mattress she burst into laughter, but there was a distinct element of tears along with it.

  She did not sleep well, but she spent the time tussling with the problem of this overwhelming house. In the end she decided a brash direct attack was the only solution, and with that decision made, she fell asleep.

  * * *

  The next day, Judith summoned her troops, that is, everyone in the house, into the main hall. She had shaped a speech in her head, and now she delivered it, though she was taken aback at the resonant echo the hall produced. The natural inclination was to whisper in this churchlike space, and she thought her firm tone made it sound as if she were giving a sermon.

  "Temple Knollis," she said, "is a very beautiful house that has been many years in the building. Now, however, it is finished, and it is time it became a home. To be a home, we must all be comfortable in it."

  She tried to gauge the reaction of the servants, but their solid country faces told her nothing. She was concerned that they, too, might regard this place as an inviolate shrine.

  "We must all care for the precious things here," she said, "but in a home one must expect wear, and even damage. That will no longer be a disaster." There was a stir among the servants, but she couldn't interpret it. "To ensure our comfort," she continued boldly, "there will doubtless need to be changes. You must come to me with any changes you think should be made."

  She left a pause in case someone should wish to make a comment, but no one did. On the whole, she thought, it was good that the upper servants had left. None of these people would dare oppose her, and the servants she hired would be her own.

  "The first thing I want is a fire in every hearth. We must drive the chill out of the house. If there are not enough logs, they must be obtained. The word must go out that I will pay for well-trimmed firewood." That did sight a spark in many eyes. These were hard times, and money would be short. "I also want more servants, so if you know any seeking a place, have them come to see me."

  That brought cautious smiles.

  "Next, I want all these plinths in the hall, and their pots, moved to the corridor leading to the ballroom." At least, she assumed that was what the large mirrored room was.

  Still no mutiny.

  "Then," she said, "most of us are going out to gather greenery. I want this place to look ready for Christmas. Those behind can prepare mince pies and rum punch for our return."

  She saw a distinct brightening among the servants, and knew it was going to be all right.

  Since they were so short of servants, Judith and Eleanor unpacked for themselves while the hall was being cleared. Some of Judith's possessions had not been touched since she packed them in the cottage and now they seemed absurdly out of place. What was she to do with a pottery cat Bastian had won at the Michaelmas fair last year? She felt very inclined to put it in pride of place in the drawing room, but that would be going too far.

  In the end, she placed such items in the children's quarters, or in her own room. When she came to Sebastian's portrait, however, she didn't know what to do. Her inclination was to hide it away, or perhaps put it in the schoolroom, and yet that wasn't right. She felt so guilty at the way his memory was being pushed aside.

  Then she thought of the library. It would surely be appropriate to have a poet's portrait there, and that rich but formal room was hardly likely to be a favorite haunt. Unlike Beth and Lucien, she and Leander were not particularly bookish.

  She summoned a footman and had the picture carried down and mounted in place of a French landscape. The landscape by Poussin was undoubtedly a better, and more expensive, painting, but her conscience was eased. Her first husband could forever gaze into the distance, seeking inspiration among these ranks of richly bound and pristine classics. With any luck, she wouldn't have to look at him more than once or twice a year.

  Guilt tickled at her again, but she hurried off to continue her conquest of the Temple.

  The whole place was already a great deal warmer, though she was still glad of a wool shawl. The last of the hazardous plinths was being carried out of the hall. The general bustle and the voices of the children were already dispelling the formality.

  At the sight of the stripped room, she had a moment's doubt, and wondered if Leander would object. But he clearly hadn't liked the house as it was, and she was doing nothing that could not be reversed. With great satisfaction, she told the children they could now play with a ball here.

  Next, she headed to the kitchens for she feared the provisions must be very low. She arrived there and consulted with Mrs. Pardoe, the woman who was serving as cook.

  "I tell you true, milady, I'm no fancy cook. I can roast a joint and bake a pie, but I'm not trained to fancy food." She had three large apple pies awaiting their tops.

  "Then I think it very kind of you to step into the breach, Mrs. Pardoe, and good English food is just what we want. The question is, what do we need by way of supplies, and where may they be obtained?"

  "We have the ordinary stuff, milady. Mrs. Knollis saw to that, and there's fruit and such in the stores. What we don't have is foreign stuff, such as almonds, oranges, and lemons. Nor do we have much in the way of poultry. There's no home farm here, you know, and the local farms haven't been in the way of providing much for the big house."

  Judith sighed. "Well, send word I'll bu
y what there is. We'll make do." She wondered how long the money Leander had given her would last at this rate, and when he would be here to provide more. Presumably the estate itself produced money, but she didn't feel she had the right to dip into that, or how to do so. She supposed the Temple credit was good, but she didn't like to owe money to simple folks.

  She filched an apple slice and said wistfully, "I do wish we could have a goose for Christmas."

  Like an answer to a prayer, George walked in and dumped a hissing, crated goose on the floor. "What do you want done with this, then, Millie?" Then he saw Judith and touched his forelock. "Afternoon, milady."

  "Good afternoon, George. Where did that come from?"

  The man grinned. "From London, milady, by post no less. I've never seen anything like it. A whole post-chaise full of food!"

  "A post-chaise!" Judith exclaimed. "Whoever did such a thing?"

  The man hid a grin. "The earl, milady."

  Judith burst out laughing. "Rarefied indeed. Bring it in, then." She watched with a foolish grin as ducks and chickens, cheeses and potted meats, a ham and a smoked salmon were carried in. Then came huge bags of nuts and fruits.

  "Well, Mrs. Pardoe," said Judith. "I don't think we'll starve over Christmas."

  The woman grinned. "That we won't, milady. I have mince pies a-baking, and soon you'll have the best lemon tarts this side of London."

  Judith went off to relate this story to Eleanor.

  "Sending supplies post? How wonderful. Nicholas said Leander lived in his own rarefied world."

  Judith's own thought. Leander's natural métier was a world of treasures and palaces, and she was deliberately rubbing the gloss off this one.

  She looked around anxiously at the drawing room.

  A few delicate items had been removed, and chairs had been rearranged for comfort not elegance. An infant's blanket draped a gold satin sofa and a rag doll graced the carpet. Magpie was curled up in front of the fire. "Oh dear," she said.

  Eleanor touched her gently. "He won't mind. No one could want to live in this place as it was before. It's coming to life."