Page 4 of A Sea View Christmas (On Devonshire Shores)

THREE

Puddings gained status during the early eighteenth century during the reign of George I, the “Pudding King.”

—Jeri Quinzio, Pudding: A Global History

Miss Georgiana Summers stood in the center of Fort Field, kite string in hand.

Nearby, young Mira Hammond, her niece through marriage, held another such string.

Georgiana had helped the girl send the kite into the air and then ran to launch a kite of her own.

She had not flown a kite since early summer, but the autumn day had dawned warm and sunny with a steady wind—not too light, not too gusty—perfect for kite flying.

In the weeks since Claire and Mira’s father had left on their wedding trip, Georgiana had been collecting Mira from Broadbridge’s a few times a week, a welcome respite for her uncle and his new wife, who were busy overseeing the boarding house as well as caring for Mira.

And a welcome change for Mira, who spent far too much time indoors, in Georgiana’s opinion.

Armaan and Sonali knew and trusted her, and Mira liked her. Georgiana liked the girl too and was enjoying the new experience of acting the part of doting older sister, instead of the youngest, as she was in her immediate family.

Together she and Mira had gone for walks along the beach, collected seashells, and played games together.

They also played fetch with Chips, the local stray that followed Georgiana wherever she went.

The dog was slowly coming to trust Mira as well, although the girl’s happy shrieks during play still frightened him.

Currently Chips sat hunched several yards away, sniffing a discarded wad of butcher’s paper in hopes of a treat.

Mira was too young to join the boisterous outdoor games at the charity school, but Georgiana had begun to teach her a few games so she might one day join her there. In fact, a cricket bat and ball lay on the grass nearby, awaiting their turn.

Georgiana still went and played with the students as often as she could, although she had less free time with Sarah gone.

During her absence, they all shared Sarah’s usual duties.

Thankfully, Mamma had recovered her strength and was able to act the part of gracious hostess to their guests.

Emily helped in the office with guest correspondence and room assignments.

Bibi Cordey, the fisherman’s daughter who came over to clean and make beds, added a few more hours to her weekly schedule, and Georgiana assisted her and performed other tasks as well, even serving at table when needed—although she was not very good at it.

Thankfully, between their maid, Jessie, and efficient Mr. Gwilt, her help was not often needed in the dining room.

Georgie truly did not mind helping but chafed at being confined indoors during glorious autumn afternoons.

She’d much rather traipse around the countryside greeting other walkers or talk with their fishermen neighbors, admiring their catches and occasionally going out in their boats with them. Or even fly a kite, as she was now.

Suddenly the wind lulled. Georgiana managed to adjust the string tension and keep her kite aloft, but Mira’s faltered and crashed to the ground.

“Oh no!” the girl exclaimed.

“That’s all right,” Georgie assured her. “You kept it up a good long while.”

A young man came strolling across the field, taking the back way from the eastern town to the west. It was Colin Hutton, carrying a shiny leather valise.

He was fashionably dressed in a long greatcoat, brushed beaver hat, and polished black-and-red shoes.

He walked with the confident swagger of a strutting peacock, but Georgiana could not deny the man drew the eye.

Her sister Viola was married to his brother, Jack. Major Hutton’s younger brother might be a dandy, but he was sweet and funny and wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“Colin!” she called and raised her hand. Mira joined her in waving.

He waved back and diverted his course to join them, a sincere, boyish smile on his handsome face.

“Ah! Miss Georgiana and Miss Mira. What a pleasure.” Reaching them, he removed his hat, exposing wavy golden hair, and gave them a formal bow.

Mira giggled.

“How fortunate I am that yours should be the first familiar faces I see in Sidmouth. I’ve just arrived by coach.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Come for the Christmas season, of course. Thought I’d come early.”

“And your father?”

“He’ll join us in a few weeks, closer to Christmas Eve.” He tilted his head, gazing up at the single kite still aloft. “Kites, ey? Haven’t flown one in ages.”

Georgie pointed to the one on the ground. “Want to see if you remember how it’s done?”

“Why not?” He set down his valise and picked up the kite. He tossed the silk diamond into the air, but it quickly fell to the grass.

“Keep your back to the wind,” Georgie advised.

He did so, but still the thing would not fly.

“Try a running start.”

He ran, holding the line, and the kite rose with a jerk behind him. “There we go!”

It turned a few frantic circles above his head and then dove to the ground.

He picked it up and returned it. “Ah well. More of a cricket man, myself.”

“I remember that. And you’re just in time. I was about to show Mira how to bat.” She pointed to the cricket things on the ground.

“Now that’s more like it.”

Reeling in her kite, Georgiana exchanged it for bat and ball.

Holding the cricket bat in one hand, she tossed up the ball with the other, quickly shifted the bat into both hands, and gave the ball a whack that sent it a dozen yards.

Chips tore himself away from the wad of butcher’s paper to chase after it, returning the ball to Georgiana in a matter of seconds.

“Good boy.”

Then it was Colin’s turn. He did the same, tossing up the ball and smartly smacking it across the field. It sailed over the fence, past the esplanade, and onto the shingle beach beyond.

Mira cheered, but Colin sent Georgiana an apologetic frown.

“Sorry. I have a few new balls in my bag and will replace it.”

“No need.”

Chips bounded through the gate and across the esplanade, then disappeared down the rise to shore.

“He’ll never find it among all those rocks and pebbles,” Colin said.

“Don’t underestimate him. He has an excellent nose.”

Sure enough, a minute later the scraggly terrier ran back through the gate and trotted up to Colin, depositing the ball at his finely shod feet.

“I say, that’s quite a fielder you have there. Ought to recruit him for the next fishermen-versus-visitors match.” Colin leaned down and patted the dog’s head, then wiped his glove with a handkerchief.

Georgie said, “Unfortunately, he would field balls for both teams, indiscriminately.”

“Perhaps we could train him.”

“He is not highly trainable, I’ve found.”

“Ah well. Neither am I.” Colin winked. “Now, shall I bowl? It’s Mira’s turn to bat.”

He tugged off his greatcoat and hung it neatly over the fence. Then he stood several yards in front of Mira while Georgie showed her how to stand. From behind, Georgie put her arms around the girl and helped her position the bat, resting its lower end on the ground, and prepared to help her swing.

“Gently now,” she told Colin.

Colin obliged with an easy lob of the ball. Georgie guided Mira’s hold on the bat and struck the ball with a satisfying thwack.

“Well done!” he praised.

They practiced until Mira managed to hit the ball once unaided, then Colin straightened, looked at his pocket watch, and said, “This has been pleasant, but I had better continue on to Westmount. I’ll need an hour to wash and change before dinner.”

Georgie wrinkled her nose. “Good heavens. That’s twice as long as I take.”

He pulled on his coat and straightened his cravat. “Well, you are not the swell I am. People have certain expectations.”

Georgiana rolled her eyes, then said, “That’s all right. It’s time I took Mira home anyway. Her father and Claire are still away on their wedding trip but should return any day now, and Sarah with them.”

He nodded. “I shall look forward to seeing them all again, and spending Christmastide with you.”

Sarah, Claire, and William returned to Sidmouth the third week of November, in time to prepare for the first item on Sarah’s Christmastide task list: Stir-Up Sunday.

She informed her family in calm, resigned tones that they had not seen Mr. Henshall or Effie. Unfortunate, but understandable, considering their ailing relative. She deflected their sympathy and avoided probing questions. Of course it was a disappointment, but she was not bereft. Of course not.

On the last Sunday before Advent, Sarah, with help from their cook, Martha Besley, compiled the necessary tools and ingredients to make a plum or “figgy” pudding, although the recipe called for neither plums nor figs, but rather other dried fruits like raisins, currants, and candied orange peel.

In the workroom off the kitchen, which Sarah had long ago claimed as her own, she laid out all in readiness for that afternoon’s project.

While Sarah cut the cheesecloth, their elderly manservant, Lowen, grated the suet and sugar, and Mr. Gwilt filled a large pot with water, ready to set to boil later.

Then the family set out for church together. Claire, William, and Mira, as well as Viola and Jack, along with Jack’s brother, Colin, met them there.

During the service, Sarah felt distracted, her mind wandering to the many things she had to do. Christmas Day was less than a month away.

With effort, she returned her focus to the service long enough to hear the part of the liturgy that had given the day its colloquial name.

The vicar read the familiar words from the Book of Common Prayer, “Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people; that they, plenteously bringing forth the fruit of good works, may of Thee be plenteously rewarded, through Jesus Christ our Lord.”