ONCE UPON A REGENCY CHRISTMAS

by Various

  Inside the kitchen, though, it was warm and cosy. And Alice was indulging in a rebellious fantasy of carrying a bucket of coal up to her bedroom and lighting a fire, while there was nobody here to forbid it. Oh, how lovely it would be to sit before it, basking in solitude. How luxurious to air her clothes before putting them on.

  Billy’s face looked as if he was imagining something equally pleasant, as he sat watching the snowflakes whirling madly beyond the window.

  ‘That pudding what’s boiling now,’ said Susan, proving that she, too, had been busy with her own plots and plans, ‘will serve for dinner, won’t it?’

  ‘It certainly will,’ said Alice. She was looking forward to sampling the experiment she’d helped create and which was releasing delicious aromas into the kitchen.

  ‘With custard,’ said Susan defiantly. ‘I’d like to have a go at making custard.’

  ‘We ain’t gonna live on pudding till Mrs H. comes back, are we?’ said Billy.

  ‘I’d like to see you make any kind of pudding,’ said Susan. Face flushed, she started clearing the empty plates from the table. ‘You can’t do nothing, you can’t.’

  ‘I make the fires and clean the boots,’ said Billy truculently.

  ‘And today,’ Alice said to him firmly, ‘you will be washing the pots.’

  ‘That’s ’er job,’ he protested, jerking his head at Susan.

  ‘Not today,’ said Alice. She sympathised with Billy, but it wasn’t fair to expect her and Susan to do all the work. ‘Today, Susan is the cook. Have you ever seen a cook do the dishes?’

  Just as Billy opened his mouth to protest, there came the sound of someone pounding on the front door.

  Susan screamed and dropped the plates. Fortunately they landed on the table, so there were no breakages.

  ‘Whatever are you screaming for?’ asked Alice, puzzled.

  ‘Burglars,’ she cried.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Billy scornfully. ‘Burglars don’t knock on the front door. They climb in at night, through the winders.’

  That turned out not to have been a very sensible thing to say, since Susan screamed again and looked wildly round at the windows.

  ‘Come to murder us in our beds!’

  ‘That’s even sillier than your last remark,’ snapped Alice. ‘Since we are none of us in our beds.’ And to be completely truthful, Billy didn’t even have a bed. At night, he spread a rug under the kitchen table and slept there.

  ‘Nobody up to any good would be out in this weather though, would they?’ said Billy, casting an anxious glance out of the window.

  ‘I don’t know where you two get your horrid ideas from,’ said Alice. ‘Billy, just go and open the door, will you please?’

  ‘I ain’t allowed to show meself to visitors,’ he retorted.

  ‘I thought you agreed with Susan that they must be burglars,’ she couldn’t resist pointing out. ‘Not visitors.’

  Billy stuck his hands in his pockets and thrust out his lower lip. ‘Burglars or visitors, it’s all the same. I ain’t allowed to show meself to nobody what comes in at the front.’

  ‘Oh, good grief.’ She was about to explain that surely the rules could be relaxed while Mrs Hughes and the family were away when the pounding on the front door started up again.

  ‘I suppose I’d better go,’ she said. She probably was the only one qualified to deal with whoever was out there. Neither Susan nor Billy had the training to greet a genuine visitor to the house. Nor would either of them dare stand up to anyone who really was up to no good.

  She got to her feet, pausing only to take up a shawl from the hook by the door that led into the front hall. Not only was the kitchen the only room in which there was a fire now, but the direction from which the wind was blowing would mean that the moment she opened the front door, a good deal of snow was likely to swirl inside.

  The thick iron bolts which fastened the front door shut were heavy and cold to the touch. She wrapped the shawl round her fingers after a bit, but it still took her a further minute or two to work them through the tight-fitting loops.

  But the moment she lifted the latch, the door burst inwards, thrusting her backwards and to one side as a cloud of snow and two large men carrying muskets barged inside.

  Chapter Two

  For a moment Alice was so shocked all she could do was gape at the intruders. She’d told Billy that burglars couldn’t possibly knock on the front door, but what kind of men would burst in like this, carrying weapons?

  ‘We saw your light,’ said the taller of the two, taking another stride into the hall.

  Behind the men were two enormous horses which could have been of any colour, they were so densely covered in snow. As the men advanced, the horses too inched forward, as though intending to follow the humans into the house.

  She couldn’t help retreating a step, wishing she’d paused to pick up a poker as well as a shawl before she’d left the kitchen. Though what good one poker would be against two burglars armed with muskets she couldn’t think. Especially the dark, dangerous-looking one who appeared to be the leader. His face was hard. His eyes were cold as steel. His mouth an uncompromising slash chiselled into a firm jaw.

  ‘There’s nothing worth stealing here,’ she said.

  * * *

  ‘Stealing?’ Captain Jack Grayling frowned at the girl in the drab brown dress and shawl. ‘Why should you think we have come to steal anything? We just need shelter. For the children and the horses.’

  ‘Children?’ Now it was the housemaid’s turn to look confused. Which perhaps wasn’t that surprising, considering he was carrying Harry inside his greatcoat, while Sergeant Hopkins had Isabella tucked snugly inside his.

  He supposed he couldn’t blame her for being a bit scared. She was only a little slip of a thing, who’d struggled to even get the door unbolted. He’d listened impatiently from the doorstep, wondering if she’d ever get the squeakily protesting bolts undone.

  She’d probably be less wary of him if she could see that he was telling the truth about the children. So he unbuttoned his greatcoat and motioned to Hopkins to do likewise.

  Her dark eyes widened at the sight of Harry, who was clinging to his neck like a monkey. Then flashed with what looked like outrage.

  ‘You took children outside in this weather?’

  He flinched. He’d half hoped that the moment she saw his son, she’d apologise for ever thinking he could be a criminal. Instead, she’d hit on the very thing he’d been berating himself for these past several hours.

  ‘It wasn’t snowing when we set out,’ he said to soothe his own guilty conscience more than through any need to explain his actions to her.

  ‘Not much, leastways,’ added Hopkins.

  One good thing had come from her flash of anger. It had completely demolished her fear of him.

  ‘You’d better bring the children into the kitchen,’ she said. And then, at last with a hint of apology, ‘It’s the warmest room in the house.’

  Not exactly the apology he’d hoped for. But at least she was no longer treating him as an intruder, but a guest.

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind taking your little girl now, Captain,’ said Hopkins, ‘I’ll see to getting the horses into shelter. If you can point me to the stables, miss,’ he addressed the little housemaid.

  ‘Go round to your right,’ she said, ‘and follow the path until it goes under a gated arch. The stable and coach house are just across that yard. Only—’ she frowned ‘—I’m sorry, there’s nobody to help you with the horses. Mr Bayliss—that’s the coachman—is away, you see. He’s taken the family to a house party. Nobody will be back until after Twelfth Night.’

  She then sucked her lower lip into her mouth, briefly chewing on it in agitation. As though she wished she hadn’t blurted out the
fact that the owners of the house were away. While he was still trying to think of the best way to reassure her, Hopkins continued.

  ‘We tried that way before, but the gate was locked.’

  ‘What?’ She looked confused, briefly. And then her face cleared. ‘The back gate isn’t locked. It just tends to stick a bit in damp weather. You need to give it a hefty shove.’

  ‘Had we really been ruffians,’ Jack hastened to point out, ‘we would have kicked the gate down in the first place, rather than coming all the way round to the front of the house and knocking on the door.’

  She reared back as though he’d struck her. Then she lowered her head so that a hank of her dark brown hair slid forward, obscuring her face.

  Dammit, he hadn’t meant the remark as a rebuke. He’d just been trying to reassure her that they meant no harm.

  ‘And it doesn’t matter about the lack of a coachman,’ he continued, deliberately gentling his voice. Because, according to his in-laws, the way he delivered every remark as though it was an order barked out across a parade ground could be intimidating. ‘Sergeant Hopkins is well able to see to the horses. Provided there is fodder and straw for them?’

  ‘Well, I suppose there must be,’ she said, raising her head and tucking her hair behind her ear again. ‘That is, I don’t really know.’

  ‘If the coachman is worth his salt he’ll have provender for his own livestock ready against his return,’ put in Hopkins. Then he adjusted his hold on Isabella and held her out to the Captain.

  ‘No!’ All trace of wariness vanished from the housemaid as she sprang forward. ‘His coat is covered in snow. If he takes the little girl she’ll get soaked. Let me take her.’ She held out her arms. Even though she was such a slight woman, he didn’t think she’d have any difficulty carrying his daughter, since Isabella herself was little more than a bundle of clothing and a mass of golden curls. Provided Isabella would permit it, that was. She didn’t take to strangers easily. But the maid was right about his coat, so he nodded. ‘That’s very sensible of you. My thanks.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she murmured.

  Nothing? It wasn’t nothing. She’d stood up to a man of whom she’d been terrified not two minutes ago, in order to protect a child. Not many servants would have the nerve.

  Isabella barely reacted as Hopkins handed her over to the maid. And even though she opened her eyes, they looked alarmingly vague.

  ‘Please hurry and close the door, Sergeant Hopkins,’ the maid said, rather sternly. ‘We need to get the little ones warmed up as quickly as possible.’

  Hopkins snapped to attention, looking as though he barely refrained from saluting before striding out and shutting the door carefully behind him.

  ‘Come on,’ said the little housemaid. ‘It’s this way to the kitchen.’ She turned and set off along a short passage that led deeper into the house. The place wasn’t as big as it had looked on their way up here. It was its position at the top of the hill that had made it look so imposing. It was certainly built to withstand whatever the elements threw at it, rather than for beauty, with its tiny windows and thick walls of grey stone. And therefore, to his soldier’s eye, it had looked the perfect place to shelter from the snowstorm.

  ‘It’s the only room with a fire, I’m afraid,’ she admitted. ‘What with the family all being away, we had no reason to light one in any of the better rooms.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘So long as I can get my children out of the storm.’

  She glanced over her shoulder, frowning down at the musket he clutched in his free hand.

  ‘We didn’t mean to frighten you,’ he said. ‘We were just so desperate to get in out of the snow, I never thought what effect our muskets might have. I have been on active duty until very recently, you see, and therefore in the habit of carrying a weapon to hand when travelling through unknown terrain.’

  She raised one eyebrow in disbelief, as though regarding his decision to travel armed through Yorkshire as the height of absurdity.

  But then she’d never walked into an ambush. Seen men mown down because of the carelessness of their commanding officer. And, yes, this might be England, but who was to say the roads nowadays were free from armed robbers? Better to be prepared, than risk the safety of those in his care.

  ‘If you saw the light from our kitchen window,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘you must have been travelling along the road that winds through the valley to Tadburne.’

  ‘Tadburne?’ He frowned. ‘Never heard of the place. We were on our way to stay with some friends for Christmas. They live just outside a place called Mexworth.’

  ‘Oh, Mexworth. Yes, we aren’t all that far from Mexworth.’

  ‘So I wasn’t wrong to think I could reach my destination in an easy day’s ride.’ He sighed with relief. ‘We would have made it if not for the snow. It blew up so suddenly, and fell so thickly that within half an hour we couldn’t tell what was road and what was moorland.’

  ‘It does tend to blow up suddenly in these parts,’ she said kindly.

  ‘And blows over just as quickly?’

  ‘Um, no, sorry. According to Jem—he is our local weather prophet and he’s rarely wrong—it is likely to keep on snowing for a couple of days. I don’t think it will be safe for you to continue your journey. Not with the children, anyway.’

  ‘No matter.’

  ‘Well, you might change your mind when you hear that the only servants who haven’t gone away to visit relatives for Christmas are the scullery maid and the boot boy, who cannot do so, since they came here from the orphan wing of the workhouse in Mexworth and therefore have no family to visit. And that the larder is almost empty. I’m afraid you are going to find conditions here a bit, um, Spartan.’

  They reached the end of the passage and the maid gestured with her shoulder for him to open the door, since she had her hands full of Isabella. There was an awkward moment when they shuffled round each other in the narrow space. He couldn’t help breathing in her scent, which was slightly floral. And very appealing.

  He stepped past her swiftly, banishing the rogue thought about her feminine appeal in self-disgust. He had no business reacting to females at a time like this. He needed to check if conditions really were as bad as she had implied. Focus on his children’s needs.

  He examined the room, noting the closed stove which was pouring out heat and the delicious scent of something simmering in a pan on its top. A young girl was cowering behind an even younger boy, who was puffing out his chest in an attempt to look as though he wasn’t scared. Both were dressed in clean, if simple clothing.

  ‘This isn’t my idea of Spartan,’ he said, at least it wasn’t compared to some of the hovels in which he’d taken shelter in the past. ‘I’ve been a serving soldier all my adult life, so this looks to me like a most commodious billet.’

  ‘Susan, Billy,’ said the housemaid, stepping into the kitchen behind him, and shutting the hall door. ‘This is Captain...er...’

  ‘Grayling,’ he said. Because until very recently that had been who he was. And it had been his identity for so long that he wasn’t ready to let it go. Not until he absolutely had to. Which was why he’d told Hopkins not to ‘my lord’ him when the lawyers had given him the news that, through a series of unfortunate accidents to men who hadn’t had the foresight to marry and beget heirs, he’d inherited a title and a fortune.

  And because he just didn’t feel like an earl.

  And because he shuddered at the thought of these people bowing and scraping and calling him ‘my lord’. It would be far more comfortable for everyone if he remained Captain Grayling for however long he had to stay here.

  ‘And his children,’ she was saying, while he was still justifying his decision to be a touch economical with the truth. ‘They were out in the storm and saw our light. They need shelter.’


  Susan and Billy looked at his children, and their faces, too, went from trepidation to disapproval.

  ‘This would happen, the first day I have complete charge of them,’ he muttered, as he propped his musket by the door and removed his hat.

  The maid, who should have known better than to question a guest in her employer’s home, said, ‘Your first day in charge of your own children? How can that be?’

  ‘I left their mother in England, after Corunna, so that she’d never have to suffer the hardships of life on the march again,’ he found himself saying, though it was none of her business. He banged his hat against his knee in irritation, as much as to dislodge the snow. ‘Since then they have been with her parents...’

  What the devil was he doing, blurting all this out to a complete stranger? The snow must have got into his brain, or something. And was melting his common sense, the way the snow that he’d just knocked to the floor was oozing into the cracks between the stone flags.

  ‘You have been serving abroad?’

  He nodded, absurdly relieved that all she showed on her face was sympathy. ‘I only sold out very recently. Not so much need for me now that Wellington is pushing up through France. And besides...’ He glanced down at the little boy clinging to his neck. ‘Other priorities,’ he finished shortly.

  She nodded, as though coming to a decision about him. A favourable one, if he was any judge.

  ‘Susan,’ she said, turning to the other maid. ‘Why don’t you fetch some cushions from the front parlour and put them on the floor in front of the stove? Then the children can warm themselves in comfort.’

  ‘Mrs H. will have my hide,’ said Susan.

  ‘Mrs H. would ask you to do the exact same if she was here,’ said his little housemaid firmly.