Page 49 of A Winter’s Romance
T he heavy outwear necessary for the weather soon covered the finery of the two members of the company who had any to cover. Mr. Fortescue shrugged on his caped coat and took up his hat, gloves, and cane. Miss Wilberforce wrapped her shawl around her head and over her shoulders, then put on a heavy cloak that completely enveloped her. Her father donned an ancient woolen garment and hat that must have been purchased in the previous century. Wilf at first objected to going to church at all, and said he’d “stay wiv the ‘orses.” But after a frown from his master, he resignedly buttoned up his livery coat and put on his cap.
The four set out to walk to the church, Elisabeth at first urging her father to take her arm in case of ice patches. But when she herself slipped and had to be steadied by Mr. Fortescue, the pairing changed. Mr. Wilberforce walked with his hand on Wilf’s shoulder, the diminutive tiger declaring he “‘adn’t never slipped on nuffin in ‘is life,” and Elisabeth took Mr. Fortescue’s arm. She experienced the same thrill as she had before at holding onto an arm that felt as strong as iron, and for the first time in her life thought how nice it was to have someone to lean on.
“Have you lived here long?” ventured the gentleman once they had gone a little way. His curiosity was more powerful than his upbringing, which normally forbade personal questions. Elisabeth Wilberforce was by birth no country woman, he was sure.
“A little over ten years,” she replied. “We came here when Papa had some difficulty… oh, I may as well tell you! It’s ancient history now. Papa used to write articles for magazines and newspapers. Political and social commentary, that sort of thing. Then he made the mistake of saying something that an important man took exception to. He sued for libel and was able to prove that father’s remarks were a personal attack. That was entirely false: Papa never had any such intention. But the barrister we hired to plead his case was incompetent and the opposing Counsel very good. We lost all our money and had to sell our house. We had to leave London. It killed my poor mama. She died the first year we were here.”
She told him she was fourteen when they moved to the village. She’d been educated at home by her parents. Her mother was the daughter of a cleric, an intelligent woman who helped and fully supported her husband in his writing. She did not tell him that though they were not by any means members of the ton , she had until that point expected her life to be like that of the other young women she knew: introduction into society, marriage and children. But things had worked out very differently.
“We are not country folk,” she said, “but on the whole, I’m happy here. What I really miss is someone to talk to. We socialize with very few people. We rely on letters from friends. Nowadays my father counts on me more and more. He’s a dear, but becoming dreadfully vague.”
“I see,” was all Mr. Fortescue said, and changed the subject.
This was the first time Elisabeth had spoken to anyone so frankly about her family’s misfortune, but she was glad to have done so now. Mr. Fortescue was easy to talk to and made no comment. She wanted no commiseration and certainly no pity. And her story was safe with him. He was only passing through. Once his phaeton was repaired, he’d be gone for good.
As they neared the village, Elisabeth suddenly said, “There’s the wheelwright’s house. I’ll just run in and ask him to see to your vehicle as soon as he can.” She ran off, but he caught up with her in a couple of long strides.
“I can take care of it, you know, Miss Wilberforce.”
“Oh! I’m used to doing everything myself, and it never occurred to me I was being interfering! I’m so sorry!”
“And I’m used to having everything done for me, I’m afraid, but in this instance I insist on being allowed to rise to the occasion.”
Elisabeth stayed where she was, thinking about his words. She had already guessed he was a man of means, but he wasn’t so high in the instep that he wouldn’t cut her holly for her. And his readiness to accept their humble hospitality confused her. She was still thinking about it when he returned.
“It’s just as you said. He didn’t want to work on Christmas day. But I was able to persuade him to at least haul the phaeton into his yard tomorrow afternoon so he can get to it at once on Boxing Day.”
“Goodness! You must be very persuasive!”
Mr. Fortescue laughed. “I think my pocketbook was more persuasive than I, Miss Wilberforce!”
This response by no means lessened her confusion, and they resumed their walk in silence.
Soon they could hear snatches of carols, interspersed with loud good wishes in slurred voices that displayed the over-consumption of hot alcohol on a cold night.
“You see why I’m glad we’re first on the list,” remarked Elisabeth. “But I don’t blame them. They have few opportunities to enjoy themselves. The lord of the manor stands them a meal at the end of the harvest, but that’s about it.”
“There’s a lord of the manor?”
“Yes. Lord Brookstone. He has a big house a couple of miles up the road. But he spends most of his time in London. It’s a pity you didn’t break your wheel closer to them. They would have been able to put you up in much more suitable conditions, although, come to think of it, I don’t think the family is here at the moment.”
“I don’t know why you think I need more suitable lodging.” Her partner looked at her. “I’m very happy where I am. Though I can see it would have been better for you not to have to turn out of your room to accommodate me.”
“That’s not what I mean at all, Mr. Fortescue! I’ve told you I don’t mind sleeping in my father’s room on the little bed. I’ve done so often.”
“Well, all I can do is thank you again. I wish I knew how I am to repay you.”
“Cutting down the holly was payment enough. I should have scratched myself to ribbons! And we still have to bring in the Yule Log. I shall need you for that. It’s too big for me. In fact, I don’t know what I should have done without you. I would have had to ask one of the carolers, and then ply him with more mulled cider and mince pies!” She smiled up at him and he thought he would gladly bring in a thousand Yule Logs, whatever they were, if she would smile at him again like that.