by L G Rollins
“No.” The word leapt from Martha’s tongue. “That is, thank you for the offer, sir, but we will find a way.”
“Might I recommend you take the position, then?”
They certainly needed the extra bit of money.
He must have sensed her wavering, for Mr. Jakob pressed on. “There are many small paths which lead to the church house but cannot be seen from the road. It is not hard to reach this place or leave without being seen.”
A small bit of hope blossomed in her—the first taste she’d had of that particular emotion in months. “All right. I accept.”
Mr. Jakob’s smile grew. “I am pleased to hear it. I will tell Mrs. Gale to expect you tomorrow morning.”
Martha curtsied and then hurried inside. The room was full of gossiping neighbors. Martha, however, paid them little heed. She had a position. She would be bringing home some extra money.
Of course, if she were ever found out, she would be ostracized most vehemently. She’d lost most of her friends when Grandfather had first turned to trade to make ends meet. If it were made known that she had done the same, they’d all very quickly end up even more friendless and alone.
But Mr. Jakob was correct. There were several ways to get to the church unseen. Martha certainly didn’t mind working hard. Indeed, she rather liked the thought of having an active task to apply herself to.
Now, if only she could be sure taking this position wouldn’t ruin the Cratchit name for good.
Chapter Two
“Pardon me, Your Grace,” a footman squeaked.
Hugh De Ath, Duke of Pembroke, slowly lowered his paper and scowled wordlessly at the annoying man.
At least the footman had the good sense to grow a bit paler under his gaze. Hugh could even see the man’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
“Mr. Harris is here to see you.”
Hugh let out a grunt and waved for the footman to show Harris in. He wasn’t overly fond of his staff—he wasn’t overly fond of a single soul in all England, for that matter—but at least they all had brains enough to interpret his silent commands. It was the one fact that kept him from replacing the lot of them.
Harris, the duke’s steward, entered not two minutes later, a depressingly large stack of papers under his arm and an insipid smile on his lips.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” he said jovially.
Hugh only grunted, motioning for Harris to sit across from him.
“I have the reports you requested.” He passed the stack of paper over.
Hugh took it and began reading over them quickly. The harvest had been profitable that year, but he had no intention of waiting until spring to guarantee that next year proved equally as good.
“The crops we rotated last year produced a greater yield than anyone predicted,” Harris said. “If you turn the page, you’ll see several differing recommendations for next year.”
Harris continued to speak, going over in detail the various benefits and possible downsides to the different plans he’d contrived. Hugh generally found Harris’s detailed and well-thought-out plans most interesting, though he’d never admit as much. Harris liked to talk far too much. The praise would likely bring on even more of the man’s incessant chatter.
Church bells sounded outside, and Hugh looked up, glancing out the window. The vicarage was his neighbor to the North—and a peaceful one at that. As long as Hugh stayed indoors on Sunday. He'd once ventured out for a ride, skirting the edge of his property just as Sunday services had ended. The cacophony of friends and families greeting one another as they left was near overwhelming.
Despite the cold outside, Hugh imagined the scene today was similar. Why anyone would wish to gather and gossip outside the church house on such a bitter day as this, he would never understand. Fools, that’s what they were.
Hugh refocused his mind, ignoring the bells, and instead listened only to Harris. The man had his thoughts well collected and explained every plan in just under an hour. After hearing all his steward had to say, Hugh pulled out the sheet of paper that delineated the plan he liked most. It included rotating a greater number of crops this year while not overly disturbing the sheep flock. He folded the other papers up while holding out the plan he liked most to Harris.
“This one, Your Grace?”
Hugh nodded.
“Very well. I will see that the various farmers are informed immediately.” He stood and bowed. “Thank you for your time, and I hope you have a pleasant sabbath.” Turning, he strode toward the door.
Pleasant sabbath indeed.
Hugh stood and, despite his better judgment, he crossed to the window and pulled the heavy curtain aside. If he looked far to the left, he could just make out the doors to the church. Though services had ended some time ago, and despite the cold, late-November air, several people still loitered about.
They’d better not be bothering Mr. Jakob. The vicar was too kind to tell anyone in the neighborhood to take themselves off. Nonetheless, Hugh couldn’t help but worry for the man sometimes. He was getting quite old, and though Mr. Jakob was quick to deny it, he wouldn’t be able to continue as vicar much longer.
Hugh shook his head and turned away from the window.
He may not be any man’s idea of ‘cheerful,’ but he’d been more blue-deviled than usual as of late. He strode from his study and out into the corridor. Now that he admitted as much to himself, he immediately knew why as well. It was that blasted Christmas house party he’d been needled into hosting.
His feet moved quickly, his boots striking the floor in a steady thump-thump-thump which echoed throughout the silent house. More than once, he caught sight of a maid scurrying out of sight as he turned a corner.
His steps did not slow until he reached the long easternmost corridor. With large floor to ceiling windows along one wall, the other was crowded to overflowing with portraits. Family members going back over six generations sat cramped up next to one another, barely any wall showing between the frames.
Hugh stopped in front of his favorite picture. It was of his mother just before she passed. She was sitting with a guitar, her favorite instrument, resting on her lap. Her dress was of a style long out of fashion, and her hair was piled up incredibly high atop her head. Hugh had no idea how any woman ever got her hair to stay that way, nor did he have any notion why a woman would want to powder it pink. Nonetheless, it wasn’t the style or fashion or even the instrument that he cared about. It was her eyes. And her soft smile.
She had been the only person in his life who demanded he speak. The single individual who hadn’t put up with his silence, with his hand waving, his grunts and wordless commands. More still, she’d been the only individual who wasn’t bothered by the unnatural way his words came out when he did talk.
He and Mother used to sit beneath the cherry trees and talk for hours. He couldn’t remember any of the things he’d said to her as a little boy, but he did remember it was the only time he hadn't felt embarrassed by speaking aloud.
When she’d died, his will to converse had died with her.
Hugh folded his arms. He hadn’t thought of her often this past twelve-month; that realization brought with it no small pang of guilt. But then Mother’s life-long friend, Lady Fitzroy, had written him a few months ago. She had insisted over and over again that it was his turn to host the winter house party she and his mother made a tradition so many years ago. Of course, he refused at first, but the constant letters only made it harder to ignore the memories which were all the more potent when the weather turned cold.
Mother had died just before Christmas. Not two months later, the late Duke of Pembroke had joined her, succumbing to cholera just as his wife had.
Perhaps Lady Fitzroy was correct in that this would be an apt way to celebrate Mother’s memory. With that thought in mind, he had eventually consented.
But how the blazes was he to survive a house full of pompous meddlers and nitwits? The guests had always been his mother’s friends—ne
ver his.
No answers were forthcoming, neither from his own head nor from the lifeless portrait.
Hugh cursed himself and turned his steps away from the many faces looking down at him, some in pity, some in contempt. Only one ever smiled at him. He didn’t even want to see that one today.
He needed some time in the church house. If only there weren’t still people about.
Blast, but he hated people sometimes.
More often than just sometimes, truth be told.
Dinner was passed in its usual way—noiselessly.
Each week, he wrote down what he wished to eat, so he never had to speak with his chef or even his housekeeper about the meals. The man was from Italy—or so he claimed—and always prepared a most satisfying meal.
Hugh finished the night off as he always did, with a small glass of port and a bit of reading.
Morning came, and the only individuals who dared speak in Hugh’s presence were the birds.
After getting dressed and sending his valet away, Hugh pulled on his greatcoat, his warmest hat, and took hold of his favorite walking stick. No one said a thing to him as he strode out the door and down the road.
The cold air tingled in his chest. It was fresh and filled with a hint of pine tree. He always missed this most whenever he went to Town during the summer. Nothing compared to the wildness and stubbornness of evergreens in winter. Hugh couldn’t help but respect the silent sentinels that filled the forests surrounding his home.
The church house came into view. Thanks to one of the small paths that led directly from his house to here, he’d never once been caught during any of his many comings and goings. He suspected Mr. Jakob knew he liked to visit the church when it was empty, but he highly doubted anyone else in all the surrounding land had any idea whatsoever.
Hugh avoided the front door—it was too easily seen from the road—and instead worked his way through the cemetery and toward the small door in the back.
He opened it only a bit and listened. He didn’t normally come this early as he did not care at all to be seen by the vicar’s housekeeper. Nonetheless, not a sound came from inside the church. The housekeeper had probably already been here and left. Any experienced maid would know how to get through cleaning a church house before sunrise.
Hugh stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Immediately, the small hallway sank into darkness. He didn’t need a candle, however, to find his way to the main worship room.
Hugh stepped through a side door—one that was clearly only ever meant for the vicar himself—and into the chapel. The windows stretched from just above Hugh’s head toward the ceiling, ending in a pointed arch. They were elegant, he could not deny it. He especially loved the scissor arches at the front and back of the space; he could not help but look up whenever he entered the room.
The church house was by no means opulent—it certainly didn’t compare to the cathedrals and monasteries elsewhere in England. But it was his church, the one place he still found peace.
Hugh moved over to a pew right in the center of the room and sat down. He rested his forearms against the pew in front of him, letting his hands dangle downward even as his gaze was drawn up.
“It’s that time of ye—ye—year again.” He drew in a deep breath and tried to ease the tension that always crept up whenever he spoke. Even when he spoke to himself, here, alone.
“I suppose it’s foolish, but I can’t . . .” This time, the next word didn’t come at all. His mouth stayed open, but no sound came out. He focused. After all, he needed to tell someone. With his mother gone, God listened better than anyone else.
“I can’t help but miss her. Does that make me a—a dimwit?”
If it did, there was nothing he could do about it now.
Standing briefly, he pulled his greatcoat off. Thankfully, it wasn’t too cold inside, though it certainly wasn’t warm. He folded it up and placed it on the pew. Then he sat, turned, and stretched his legs down the wooden seat and lay down. His greatcoat made a rather fine pillow; he’d have to be sure and bring it every time he came.
Hugh shifted about a bit until he was more comfortable. It wasn’t as soft as his bed, but it sure was nice to be free to speak. Back at Stonewell Castle, there was always a very real risk of being overheard by a servant.
Here, there was nothing but soaring arches and elegant windows. And neither arches nor windows ridiculed a man for the way he spoke.
“Is she up there with you, Lord? If e—e—ever there was a woman who deserved to go to heaven, it was her. If only for putting up with me. I suppose she knows by now that it was me who put that nest of mice in the chambermaid’s boots.” He chuckled at the memory. “Gads, but she made such an uproar over that. And Mother just smoothed it all over. I never could figure out how she always managed to please everyone. I guess it wasn’t Thy will she stay on earth long enough to teach me.” He shook a finger toward the arched ceiling. “Now, I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, I’m just suggesting that maybe you should have given Mother at least enough time to teach me that.”
Hugh shook his head at himself, settling even more heavily against the pew. “Maybe she was just too much of an angel, and you couldn’t justify keeping her here on earth among the muck and filth any longer.” That was the excuse his nursemaid had given him on the day they buried Mother. It had brought Hugh comfort. It still did.
“Just so you know, I am thankful she was my mother. I don’t know if that was . . . because you knew what sort of a boy I would turn out to be, or if I just got lucky. But I do have to ask. If you were able to make one so wonderful as she, why not make more?”
His eyelids felt heavy, so he allowed them to shut.
“I’m just saying that the world would be a far better place if there were more people like her in it.”
That’s really what the world needed.
Morning sunlight spilling in through one of the tall windows rested against him, warming him gently.
Gentlemen in Parliament were forever crying out that laws had to be changed. Vicars and Bishops never stopped proselyting and preaching. Nursemaids said the world would be fixed if little children simply minded their elders.
All the world needed, though, was a few more women like the late Duchess of Pembroke.
“Truly, Lord . . .” Hugh’s voice started to drag as sleep pulled him down. “Sometimes, I cannot understand your logic.”
Chapter Three
Martha hurried down the path, nearly at a run. Her feet stung with each step from the cold, but she pressed on, regardless. Heaven help her, but she was frightfully late. Her first day of work, too. Grandfather had been moving slow that morning—the cold often made his joints stiff—and he’d needed her help more than usual.
She crossed through the cemetery, and for the first time since her parents had passed, she didn’t stop to pay her respects. Hopefully, they would understand. Hopefully, they weren’t deeply displeased that their only daughter had agreed to work as a maid, part-time though it was. Surely they would understand that she only wanted Peter and Tim to have food in their stomachs and someplace warm to sleep at night.
Martha rushed past the church house and directly up to the vicarage. She lifted a hand, ready to knock, then stopped herself.
She was at the main door. Slowly, her hand dropped to her side. She wasn’t here to call on Mr. Jakob. She was here to work. She ought to be using the servants’ entrance.
Realization of how low she’d fallen and what she had agreed to do swept over her anew. Moving far more slowly now, she stepped away from the front door and circled around to the back.
She’d never knocked at a servants’ entrance in her life. Her stomach was in knots as she approached the far simpler door with a much narrower path leading up to it. Suppose someone should learn of her decision? Suppose she should utterly fail, and Mrs. Gale would fire her?
Martha skewered the simple door with a determined stare. Well, if she lost this position then she�
��d be no worse off than she was now. And if others heard of it, then there would be nothing stopping her from seeking out other, perhaps even better-paying positions.
Squaring her shoulders, she moved quickly up to the door and gave it three solid raps.
It opened almost immediately. The thin, grimacing Mrs. Gale stood on the other side.
“You’re late,” she said.
Martha’s hands clutched at her skirt; how she wished she could hold onto her determination as easily as she could a bit of fabric. What little resolve she had seemed to slip through her fingers too quickly to stop.
“Listen closely, girl,” Mrs. Gale continued. “I know you’re a miss, and I’m nothing but a housekeeper. But so long as you’re working for Mr. Jakob, you answer to me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’ll receive no leniency from me just because of your parentage. I expect you to arrive well before the sun each day and work hard until the tasks are all completed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And I mean work until all the tasks are fully completed. Understood? No balking off halfway through and leavin’ the rest to me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Martha’s willingness to capitulate seemed to please the cross woman for she lifted her chin and gave Martha a satisfied nod. “Very well. You’ll start today by polishing all the pews.”
All the pews?
Mrs. Gale watched her closely, however, so Martha only stood up all the straighter. “I look forward to seeing them shine when I’m done, ma’am.”
Not ten minutes later, Martha found herself alone in the chapel, several rags in one hand, a tin of wax blend in the other, and Mrs. Gale’s last warning ringing in her mind. If I find one bit of wood that doesn’t shine when I get back, don’t bother returning tomorrow morning.
No one had ever explained to Martha exactly how one went about polishing a piece of furniture. It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing her governess had instructed her on. Nonetheless, if Martha could learn to command the French language, surely she could learn to command a rag and bit of wax.