Page 11 of A Sea View Christmas (On Devonshire Shores)

SEVEN

Mirth and laughter wild, free and sportive as a child.

Hope with eager sparkling eyes, and easy faith, and soft surprize.

—Charles Hague, Glees, Rounds & Canons

On Monday afternoon, Sarah and Viola walked to the London Inn to attend the committee meeting of the Poor’s Friend Society.

With St. Thomas Day rapidly approaching, the ladies of the charity had decided that instead of the parish’s elderly widows having to go around town as “mumpers,” seeking gifts of food and coins as was done in many communities, the community would go to them.

After the formal meeting with the governors, the ladies reconvened at Sea View, where Mamma and Emily joined them.

Over tea and fruit tarts Sarah had made, they reviewed and divided the names of the elderly poor between them.

They made plans to deliver food, warm clothing, and a few coins to each person on the list.

Sarah and her family were happy to do their part, claiming the residents of the poor house for their special attention.

Noticing a familiar name on the list, Mamma offered to visit an additional widow who, according to Mrs. Fulford, was not only poor but also in poor health.

“Do you know her, Mamma?” Emily asked.

“I am not sure, but I once knew a Miss Limbrick, so I am curious. It’s a surname I heard often when we lived in Gloucestershire but not since. It’s possible Mrs. Limbrick is related to her. Has she been in Sidmouth long?”

“About a year now, I believe,” Mrs. Fulford replied. “Perhaps a bit longer. She came here as an invalid, hoping for a cure, as many do. Sadly, she has been primarily housebound since the summer.”

“I see. Has she no family?”

“Only a granddaughter, as far as I know. Attends the Sidmouth School.”

“Well. I shall look forward to meeting her.”

During Claire and Sarah’s trip north, Viola and Mamma—with a little, albeit imperfect, help from Emily and Georgiana—had already knitted scarves, mittens, and wool stockings, much as they had for the school children.

Sarah now got busy in her workroom off the main kitchen, and over the next few days prepared doughs and fillings for biscuits, sugar cakes, gingerbread, and mincemeat pies, which she would bake fresh in advance of the big day.

Claire came over while she worked and watched, impressed, as Sarah measured, stirred, kneaded, and divided the different batters.

With a glance toward the door to make sure they were alone, Claire began, “So Mr. Henshall came here for Christmas. Is that not wonderful?”

“I suppose Georgie told you. Or Emily?”

“He told me himself. Paid a call at Broadbridge’s to meet William and me. I imagine Georgie told him where to find us.”

“Did he indeed?”

Claire nodded. “Said he wanted to thank us for calling at his home in Scotland, and to apologize for not being able to receive us.”

“Goodness.”

“And he is just as handsome as Emily described.” A playful grin teased Claire’s lips. “How is it going with him staying here?”

“Oh. Fine. He’s ... a very easy guest.”

“Easy? Is that all you have to say?”

Sarah had half expected Mr. Henshall to hover nearby, seek her out often, and make his presence felt, but he and Effie kept busy shopping, sightseeing, treating Georgie to tea and cake at the York Hotel, visiting Mr. and Mrs. Hornbeam and being invited to stay not only for a game of chess but also for a meal, and now, she learned, paying a call on Claire and William as well.

Sarah shrugged. “We don’t see as much of him as I might have thought.”

Claire’s fair eyebrows rose. “Really? I wonder why?”

Sarah wondered as well. Was he having second thoughts now that he had returned? “Well, I did tell him I would be busy preparing for Christmas.”

Claire clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Sarah, Sarah, Sarah ... Come now. It’s me. Tell me what is going on in that head of yours.”

Sarah considered. “When he first arrived, I was stunned and pleased and hopeful. I thought there might be a future for us. That I might be able to leave here and...” She broke off.

“Then I learned James and Emily will only be here two days a week in future, so we will have far less of her help. And I keep thinking about how far away Scotland is. How long it would take to get here should something happen.”

“But how do you feel about him ?”

“I ... admire him and am certainly attracted to him. But how well do I really know him? It’s been a year and a half. Perhaps his sister-in-law was right and he is pursuing a neighbor of theirs.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No.”

“Well, even if he was interested in someone else, he’s surely thought the better of it to come all this way.”

“I hope you’re right. Even so, I feel like I need to become better acquainted with him.” To herself, Sarah added, Before I risk moving so far away.

“That’s only natural,” Claire replied. “And now he’s here, you shall have the opportunity to do so—if you stop working now and then to spend time with him. How long is he planning to stay?”

“Through Epiphany, I believe. I did not like to press him.”

“My guess is that he’ll stay as long as it takes.”

“As long as it takes to ... what?”

“To win your heart.” Claire cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes in thought. “Though I doubt your heart will be the problem. Your practical mind and sense of family duty shall pose the bigger obstacles.”

Sarah slowly shook her head. “You know me too well.”

Their other guests had departed earlier in the day, so that evening, Mr. Henshall and Effie joined them for dinner. They were a relatively small group with only seven around the table: Mamma, Georgiana, Mr. Henshall and Effie, Emily and James, and Sarah—if she ever sat down long enough to eat.

“Do sit, Miss Sarah,” Mr. Gwilt gently insisted, taking a serving dish from her. “Jessie and I can manage, we can.”

“Very well. Thank you, Mr. Gwilt.”

She noticed Mr. Henshall and Effie eye the small Welshman with interest. Mr. Gwilt had not been in their employ when last they were here.

He had been a fellow guest, and an odd one at that.

He’d arrived at Sea View with a stuffed parrot in a cage and had the disconcerting habit of speaking to it as though it were still alive.

Thankfully that tendency had diminished over the last year as Mr. Gwilt found his place at Sea View.

Mr. Henshall nodded to him. “Mr. Gwilt. A pleasure to see ye again.”

“And you, sir. And Miss Effie as well.”

“You’re a servant here now?” Effie asked, with her usual bluntness.

“That I am.” He displayed no embarrassment at having moved from guest to retainer. In fact, he looked rather proud.

“We quite depend on Mr. Gwilt,” Emily said. “He’s practically one of the family.”

Mr. Gwilt beamed.

“And where’s Parry?” Effie asked.

“In my room belowstairs. Snug as a bee in a box, he is. And so am I.”

Emily added, “Mr. Gwilt has written a wonderful children’s book of Parry’s adventures. No doubt to be published one day.”

“Oh, now. That was Miss Emily’s doing, mostly. I don’t expect anything to come of it, I don’t. But a pleasure to put it down in writing, all the same.” He smiled and finished serving the meal.

As they ate, Sarah gazed across the table at Callum Henshall and felt almost dizzy, as if she had walked up from the kitchen in December 1820 and stepped back in time to the dining room from the summer of 1819.

Mr. Henshall met her gaze. “Like old times, aye?”

Had he read her mind?

He turned to include the others, adding, “It’s good to be at your table again. Thank ye for havin’ us.”

“As long as ye don’t start telling all them old legends about Vikings and thistles and such,” Effie warned.

“Ah! Thank ye for remindin’ me. That brings to mind another tale—”

“Oh, no ye don’t.” Effie raised a bread roll as though to throw it at him, her threat clear.

He raised a placating hand. “Very well, then. I shall have mercy on ye tonight. But no guarantees come Christmas, ye ken? And then Hogmanay! Prepare yourselves.”

“What’s Hogmanay?” Georgie asked around a bite of bread.

Effie groaned and shook her head. “Don’t get him started!”

With a tolerant grin at his stepdaughter, he replied, “For poor Effie’s sake, I’ll say only that it refers to the Scottish New Year. In Gaelic it means something like ‘New morning.’ An important holiday in our homeland.”

“And how do you celebrate it?”

Mr. Henshall glanced at his stepdaughter again and then sent Georgiana a conspiratorial wink. “I shall tell ye later.”

Remembering her talk with Claire about becoming better acquainted with the man, Sarah said, “I think we all enjoyed hearing about your life in Scotland last time. Perhaps just one story?”

“No legends, though!” Effie insisted.

Mr. Henshall considered, fair eyes alight with nostalgia.

“Well, I doubt it’s diverting, but I shall describe a memorable Christmas from my boyhood.

My aunt, uncle, and cousin Alistair arrived for the holiday just as a winter storm struck.

Snow and ice and so cold the streams froze over and the pump too.

We had to carry in buckets of snow to melt for washing and cooking.

It was too icy to risk riding the horses into town to visit the butcher or baker or chandler.

No delivery wagons went out either. We made do with what we had in the larder and conserved our candles by spending a great deal of time together at one table.

Instead of gifts from the shops, we told tales and shared favorite memories.

There were no carolers or mummers that year, but we played our instruments by the fire and games by candlelight.

On Christmas Day, Da’ read from the Bible and we all sang carols.

How we could harmonize. Mam even danced a jig right there in the parlour. ”

He chuckled at the memory. “We had no Christmas goose, no oranges or peppermints. No sallying forth for parties with friends or services at the kirk. Yet it lives on in my memory as one of the best Christmases of my life.”

Mr. Henshall stopped speaking, although his gaze remained distant. A reverent silence followed. Then, recalled to his surroundings, he looked at Georgiana and said, “Though this year will no doubt be just as memorable.”

Sarah sent him a grateful look.

Effie sighed. “I wish I had known your parents.”

“So do I. Ye would have liked them, and they would have doted on ye.”

Sarah asked, “Your cousin Alistair ... Is that the cousin you mentioned who will inherit Whinstone Hall one day ...?” She bit back the words barring a son of your own .

“Aye.”

Sarah nodded, then let the subject drop.

After dinner, James and Emily retired, since James had to rise early to make the long drive to Killerton. The couple had decided to continue living at Sea View until after the New Year, despite Sarah’s protests that they need not delay on her account.

The others moved into the parlour. Georgiana and Effie sat at the table playing a game of draughts, while Mamma sat with a cup of tea and chatted with Mr. Henshall. After Sarah helped tidy up, she joined them.

Mamma said, “Sarah mentioned your sister-in-law lives with you, and serves as your housekeeper. Was she not sad to be left alone at Christmastime?”

“She’s not alone. Isla had been estranged from her father, which is why she came to live with us in the first place, but he recently extended an olive branch and invited her to come back.

Apparently their rift is at an end.” With a glance at the girls enmeshed in their game and paying their conversation no heed, he added, “And despite her fondness for Effie, she was eager to return home.”

“Good for her, but not for you,” Mamma said. “I imagine you were sorry to see her go.”

With another glance at the girls, he lowered his voice. “Effie was sorry. I was ... less so.”

“Might I ask why?”

He shifted uneasily. “I don’t wish to speak ill of Effie’s aunt. She is well-intentioned and truly wanted to help. But she was neither organized nor good with the servants, sorry to say. Between us, her departure is something of a relief. Though we will of course visit her when we can.”

Sarah nodded her understanding but remained silent. She felt oddly relieved at the news but could not say why. Or at least she refused to admit the reason even to herself.