Greetings of the Season and Other Stories

by Barbara Metzger

  Jasper nodded. Their mother was working so hard, helping the duke get ready for his party, that she’d have no time to buy them toys, even if she could afford them. But Viscount Royce had given them the run of his old nursery, so they had tops and darts and balls aplenty, for once. “I s’pose I’ll wish for new mittens, then. I saw her knitting them last month.”

  Perhaps Benjy was too young to understand nobility and sacrifice. Perhaps he was simply more honest, or more hopeful. “I’m going to wish for a castle!” he announced.

  “Don’t be a cake, Benjy. You might as well wish for a piece of the moon. You might get it sooner than a castle of your own.”

  “I didn’t say it had to be my own, did I? I want the duke’s castle. I want us to live there, forever.”

  “Maybe if we all wish for the same thing…”

  *

  Everything was as ready as it was going to be. The castle looked like an enchanted kingdom, waiting for a fairy princess. And Sabina almost felt like the eldritch being in her green velvet dress. The boys proudly presented it to her on the afternoon of Christmas Eve so she could wear it to church, and then to the duke’s party. The gown was simple in style, with long sleeves and a slim skirt that fell from a fashionably high waist. But there was nothing simple about the fit, or the neckline. No little boy had selected this dress, she knew. It was the work of a man, a connoisseur of women.

  Sabina felt indecently exposed. Decadent, in fact—deliciously so. Never had she worn so daring a décolletage. Never had she had more of her out of a dress than in it. Never had she felt more beautiful, more womanly. She spent almost an hour with her hair, gathering most of it onto her head with a coronet of ivy, but leaving a few long tendrils to trail down her nearly bare shoulders, against her pale skin. And she wore her locket. The gown needed some ornamentation, Sabina told herself, to distract the eye from the obvious evidence that she’d nursed three infants. She’d have her cloak over it anyway, during church at least. But she wouldn’t feel like a country dowd later, at the castle, among Lord Royce’s elegant friends. She’d feel almost…seductive, she thought, her hand rubbing against the soft nap, as if she’d dressed to please a man. Which she hadn’t, of course. Furthermore, those were not proper thoughts for a widowed lady on her way to church for this holiest of times. She was a mother, for heaven’s sake, not in the muslin-company. If she needed any reminder of her place, Sabina was brought back from her daydreams by Jasper’s announcement that he was feeling poorly. He was anxious about his part in the play, and Lord only knew what they’d been feeding him at the duke’s kitchens. Marzipan pigs for luncheon, most likely. “Mama, I am going to be sick.”

  “Not in the duke’s carriage, you won’t,” she firmly ordered. “Not on my new gown.”

  The Espinham carriage was coming to fetch the entire Green ménage to church, then carry them on to the castle, where they were to spend the night. That way the boys could enjoy more of the festivities, and Sabina could stay till the end of the party, in case there was a problem with provisions or proceedings. Of course the duke’s household had managed very well without her all these years. Sabina was certain the competent staff was well enough trained to cope with any difficulty. They’d been managing the irascible duke for years, hadn’t they? Still, they seemed to be counting on her.

  She was counting on seeing Connor’s blue eyes light up when he saw her in, and partly out of, her new gown later, when they reached the castle and she removed her cloak. Then she’d see if her secret Christmas wish had any chance of coming true. No, she told herself, almost as firmly as she’d commanded Jasper not to be sick—she would limit her wish to one dance, one dance with him to remind her of the girl she once was, and how it had felt to be cherished. That ought to be enough for the long winter, without chasing after moonbeams.

  The enormous coach, with the Hamilton family coat of arms emblazoned on the side panels, brought them to the church early, by design. Sabina and Molly joined with Sophia Townsend, the seamstress, to help the village children into their costumes, smooth ragged nerves, and repeat forgotten lines.

  Then it was time for Sabina to take her seat in the church, as nervous as Jasper over the coming performance. The little chapel was so crowded with townspeople and farmers filling every pew and aisle that the rear doors had to be propped open, so those left outside could hear the service. Surely, the bishop would be impressed that Chipping Espy needed a new church. Mrs. Marsden slid closer to her husband, making a space for Sabina in the second row. The only other empty seats were in the first row, the Duke of Espinwall’s family pew. All Sabina could see in front of her were two broad backs in midnight superfine. The bishop was seated at the altar, looking out of place in his fine robes. Sabina prayed for the vicar’s sake that he approved their service.

  The children’s Nativity pageant went first, so the children did not have to wait on tenterhooks through the sermon and hymns. Martin walked in from the rear door first, moved to the lectern, and began to tell the story of the infant’s birth. Sabina felt tears well in her eyes.

  Next came Joseph and Mary, riding her ass into Bethlehem. Mary, Georginia Marsden with a pillow-stuffed stomach, was having a fit of the giggles because redheaded Joseph’s spectacles kept sliding down his nose. And she wasn’t actually riding the ass, either. Jasper was tugging on Velvet’s lead, begging the little donkey to come along and stop embarrassing them all, between muttered threats to squire’s youngest daughter. An angel, one of the tenants’ girls, recited a short verse and danced across the altar with her paper star, urging everyone to come worship the newborn babe. The shepherd followed the star. Benjy led poor, patient Beau with a sheepskin tied around his neck up to the makeshift manger. The hound threw himself down on a bale of hay with an exhausted sigh and began snoring; Luckily, everyone was watching the three kings with their gilt-trimmed robes and crowns march in, their hands filled with gifts. Even Young Wilfred Snavely remembered to lay his chest at the foot of the manger. He’d refused to be an ox again this year.

  When all the children, innkeeper, animals and angels, were present, they stood together to sing “Gather ye, Shepherds, Gather ye, Kings.” Surely, Sabina thought, heaven was a little closer to all of them this evening, as the pure, sweet voices rejoiced.

  While the children were singing, Mary was supposed to reach behind her and put the hidden infant Jesus in the hay-filled manger. But the manger was already occupied. Velvet had climbed into the soft crib and was half asleep there. Georgina was about to bash the little donkey over the head with her doll, while everyone, even the bishop, laughed. Jasper took the doll away and tucked it next to Velvet in the creche. Martin improvised: “And the donkey made a pillow for the infant.”

  Sabina was weeping during the last children’s hymn, and could barely see the handkerchief Connor handed over the back of the pew to her. Then the children all scurried to seats on the floor or on parents’ laps, and it was time for Vicar Davenport’s reading and sermon. He said all the right words, Sabina was certain, but she couldn’t concentrate on the message. Was everything as it should be at the castle? Would the duke approve her efforts? Was her gown too coming? Perhaps she ought to change when they dropped Beau and Velvet back at the cottage.

  Sabina wasn’t the only member of the congregation paying scant attention. Benjy had his head in her lap, and Squire Marsden was sliding farther and farther down his seat, while his wife poked him awake. Even the bishop seemed to be nodding off. At last it was time for the choir, with their familiar hymns and traditional carols. The entire congregation joined in. This was the real Christmas, Sabina thought, wrapping Benjy in her cloak and smoothing back Jasper’s hair, then touching Martin’s cheek—not the food and gifts and decorations.

  9

  As soon as the last note of the last hymn was sung, the organ sounded. All eyes turned to Mrs. Greene. Yes, Sabina was still in the second row, her hand bandaged. Then who…? They all craned their necks to look into the organ recess, where exquisite mu
sic was being created that no one was listening to.

  “By George, it’s the Gaines woman,” Squire exclaimed, slapping his knee. “In church. Ain’t that a rare ’un!”

  Such a performance was rare, indeed. Miss Viola Gaines was playing to perfection, and she knew it. She knew they were all whispering about her, and smiled over her shoulder at the congregation while her fingers found the correct keys.

  Miss Viola’s improbably blond hair was braided atop her head to resemble a halo, with enough feather plumes stuck in it to waft a small angel to heaven. Her gown was decorous, thank goodness, Sabina thought, not as daringly cut as her own and in the same dark plum-colored fabric as the choir’s new robes. The woman sincerely seemed to be enjoying herself and the music. Sabina closed her eyes to enjoy the masterful performance, too.

  “’Tain’t right, I says,” a voice from the rear of the church called out, “one such as her playing in our church on Christmas Eve. Sacrilege, that’s what it is.” Other whispers could be heard, along with foot shuffling. Reverend Davenport mopped at the sweat pouring down his forehead, and it was still cold in the chapel. Some of his congregants were gathering their children and their hymnals, preparing to leave. “This is Christmas, time of forgiveness,” he reminded them, shouting to be heard over the continuing organ music, “as the Lord forgave us.”

  Still there were mutters, and one starched-up matron did leave.

  “Such talent is a gift from God,” the vicar called out, but he was losing them, he knew, and his hopes for a bigger church.

  Then Sabina stood up. “Mama, you can’t leave!” wailed Jasper.

  “No, darling,” she said, tucking her cloak more firmly around Benjy, asleep on the bench. “I am only going to help turn Miss Gaines’s pages for her.” Sabina forgot that her new gown—and her bosom—would now be exposed to all eyes. She remembered when she heard Connor’s indrawn breath as she passed in front of him on her way to the organ niche, and when she heard Wilfred Snavely shout out, “And there’s another of the straw sisterhood. I don’t want my wife being exposed to such blasphemy. If you won’t throw ’em out, Vicar, I’ll be leaving. Come on, Mavis.”

  The duke got up, too, and shook his head. “The man’s a maggot, but he’s right. Can’t have Chatworth’s castoff playing the organ in church. And the Greene gel will be tarred with the same brush. Too bad, but that’s the way of it. Come along then, Royce.” As usual, he spoke loudly enough that most of the assembly could hear him over the organ.

  The viscount stood, and Sabina held her breath, but Connor put his strong hand on his father’s shoulder and pushed him back to his seat. “Sit, Father,” he said. “We are staying. Or are you so righteous that you cannot bend a little on Christmas Eve?” The duke knew what his stubbornness had cost him in the past; he saw what he could lose in the future. He sat.

  Connor turned to face the congregation. “Let him without sin cast the first stone,” he told them, “and that goes doubly for you, Snavely. One more insult to either of these ladies and you’ll have me to answer to. Miss Gaines has kindly offered to share her remarkable musical talent with us at the castle fete later, so let us permit her to finish here.”

  Everyone knew what he was saying—that if they walked out now, they weren’t invited to the party.

  “Oh, sit down and shut your trap, Wilfred,” Mavis Snavely was heard to say. “There’s already one jackass in church. Iffen I don’t get my dance with our handsome lordship, you’ll be eating cold porridge the rest of your days.”

  “And sleeping in a cold bed,” another voice called out, laughing.

  Sabina was grateful to the viscount, and proud of him for standing up to his father without a confrontation, but she had to worry about his reasons. He was a rake; his motives had to be suspect. He had to have known that her own standing in town could have stood the test, so Connor was really defending Viola Gaines, a beautiful, talented woman some five or six years younger than Sabina, and many years older in knowing how to please a man. Suddenly, Sabina felt that it wasn’t fairy dust that had been sprinkled over her tonight, but the sands of time, running out.

  Then Viscount Royce reached over the carved back of the pew and lifted sleeping Benjamin in his arms, her cloak and all, and sat with him next to the duke. With that one gesture he stated his intentions, made his claim. Sabina’s heart soared with the music.

  *

  A huge candle-lit procession wended its way back to the castle, carriages and carts, farm wagons piled high with hay and drowsy children, sturdy village men carrying torches. They all sang carols as they went, and looked up to see if they could find the Christmas star, or a snowflake. They all fell silent when they caught sight of the castle, even Sabina, who’d known what to expect. The whole pile was lit by candles in every window, and Chinese lanterns strung from the battlements, and a bonfire in the front, where the moat used to be. Inside looked just as magical. The wassail bowls were filled, the tables were invisible under the platters of foods, and the hired musicians were tuning their instruments.

  The duke led off the first dance, a stately minuet, with Lady Arbuthnot from the next shire. Then Connor shouted, “Now let the real dancing begin!” and ordered the orchestra to play reels and contra dances and fast, frenzied jigs everyone could join in, from the oldest grandmother to the youngest toddler. The swords on the walls rattled with the music and the pounding of hundreds of pairs of feet. The castle had never been merrier. Sabina had never been happier. Her sons were playing snapdragon, watched by a hundred doting castle servants, and Viola Gaines was being drooled over by Lord Arbuthnot. Sabina danced with the squire and had her feet stepped on by the blacksmith. She went down the lines with the baker and the banker and bald Lord Quigley. Then the orchestra struck the first chords of a waltz.

  “This is my dance, I believe?” Connor was bowing before her.

  “No, it’s my Christmas wish,” was all she could say. He laughed and led her onto the cleared area set aside for dancing. “You are beautiful tonight, in case none of the two thousand other men you’ve danced with haven’t told you. And you are quite, quite tipsy, I believe. No more lamb’s wool for you, my girl.” And no more words as she floated in his arms, her eyes closed.

  When she opened them, they stood in an alcove, partially hidden by tapestries. She was suddenly shy, afraid to ruin the moment with a wrong word. “The, ah, duke seems to be enjoying himself. Having you here has done wonders for his health.”

  “The old faker will live to be a hundred, I’d guess, just to spite the devil. He’ll be fine.”

  “Then you are free to leave again?” She had always known he’d return to his pleasure-seeking ways, his gaming and opera-dancers.

  She must have spoken aloud, for he answered, “I find that my pleasure is here, Sabina, and always has been. Besides, someone has to be around to look after the boys so you don’t coddle them too much. Will you marry me, Sabina?”

  “What, so you can have my sons? I know you’ve grown fond of them, and they of you, but surely—”

  “Don’t be a peagoose, my precious. You are all I want, all I’ve ever wanted. The boys are simply an added bonus.”

  Sabina waved her hand around at the room, the opulence, the wealth beyond measure. “It would still be an unequal match. Everyone would talk.”

  “Very well, if you think your boys are worth more, I’ll deed the London house to you, too.”

  “No, silly, you know very well what I mean. You have everything—”

  “Except the one thing I need most. You can give it to me, Sabina, only you.” His hands were stroking up and down her arms, setting fires in cold, dark places.

  “You said there were two conditions to be met before you’d stay.”

  “You are the first. I wouldn’t, couldn’t stay here if you won’t stay with me. I cannot see you without wanting you, don’t you understand that, sweetheart?”

  She was beginning to, as his hands reached higher, to the bare skin of her shoulders and
the locket around her neck. “I never could, never will, no matter how hard I tried to forget you.”

  She sighed. “And I, too, never loved another.”

  She thought he’d kiss her then, but Connor wanted to explain more. “The other reason I could not swear to remain was the duke. I couldn’t subject your sons to his choleric temper. That’s why I wanted them around the castle so much this past sennight, to see if he could be livable with three boys in the house. If he couldn’t, then I’d have done my damnedest to convince you—all of you—to run away with me. This time I would not have taken no for an answer, my girl.”

  “You wouldn’t have had to.” She gestured toward the nearby corner of the room, where the duke was holding court from his thronelike chair, his gouty foot propped on satin pillows. Martin and Jasper were leaning over his shoulders, rapt in the stud book he held. Benjamin was asleep in his lap, peppermint-sticky face pressed against the duke’s previously pristine white waistcoat.

  “So will you, my darling Sabina—will you finally be my wife after a very long engagement?”

  “Of course I will, Connor. That’s what I really wanted for Christmas, you know,” she confessed with a tender smile. “Not one measly waltz. I wanted your love, for all time, as you’ve got mine.”

  “And I really want a red-haired choir of my own,” he said, before finally sealing their vows with a kiss that had waited more than a decade.

  *

  The enormous clock in the hall started chiming the hour, and the church bells in the village started tolling. It was twelve o’clock, and Christmas had finally arrived. Everyone had collected their wraps and their children for the trek back home, as soon as one more toast was made. The wassail cups were all refilled as the duke signaled for the company to gather near the vast hearth.