Page 53 of A Winter’s Romance
E lisabeth brought down some quilts for Wilf, who had been prepared to stay awake all night watching the Yule Log.
“You don’t need to do that!” she said. “You need your sleep as much as the rest of us. How else will you have the energy to pursue the village maidens?”
“Me, persoo them? Not on yer life, Miss. They wants me, they’ll ‘ave to come and persoo me.”
She laughed.
“For heaven’s sake don’t encourage him,” said Mr. Fortescue. “The last thing I need is having to deal with his amatory adventures!”
You’re busy enough with your own, it seems , thought Elisabeth, though that did not make her laugh.
They all went upstairs soon after. Mr. Fortescue sank with gratitude into his bed, his feet against the warm brick. He lay in the candlelight for a few minutes, looking around the low, timbered ceiling that sloped almost to the floor on the front side of the cottage. The nightgown behind the door was gone. He could hear muffled voices from the other bedroom and imagined Elisabeth wearing it, climbing into her narrow bed and wishing her father goodnight. Then, except for the occasional scratching from the small animals who made their home in the thatch, it was very quiet.
This was a peace Mr. Fortescue rarely experienced at home in London, where outside the streets were hardly ever silent, and inside the servants, who slept on the top floor of the house, seemed to be always on the move. It took an army of them to keep everything going. How did Miss Wilberforce – Elisabeth–manage? There was a maid, apparently, but her absence was hardly noticed. He was used to a host of helpers: people to prepare his food, wash and iron his clothes, brush his boots – even to help him dress–then make his bed, clean his rooms… dammit, he hadn’t even been able to pack his bag properly! For the first time in his life, he realized he was almost as helpless as a babe. It was a sobering thought and one he pondered for some time before falling into a dreamless sleep.
Quiet it might be in the country at night, but morning was a different matter. He was woken by the cocks crowing as soon as day began to break, and not long after he heard someone descending the stairs. He guessed it must be Elisabeth, for her father did not seem the type to bestir himself. Soon after he heard Wilf’s voice, and then Elisabeth’s, though not clearly enough to understand the words. Then he heard her laugh. He lay in bed wondering what to do. He couldn’t appear downstairs without getting dressed, and he couldn’t get dressed without first shaving. But to shave he needed hot water. There was of course no bell rope to pull for service. Should he just shout for Wilf from his bedroom door? He decided no: Mr. Wilberforce might still be sleeping, and anyway, that seemed unmannerly. He would just stay where he was, though it confirmed the conclusion he had come to the night before: he was helpless.
He was just beginning to think he would have to ignore good manners and shout, when after a brief knock, Wilf appeared at the door with an enamel ewer in his hand.
“Miss ‘Lizbeth said to bring yer ‘ot water to shave an’ says yer welcome t’stay in bed. Just call down when yer wants breakfast.”
“Please thank her and say I’ll be down in about forty minutes but please not to do anything that she would not normally do for breakfast.”
“Don’t know ‘bout that, Guv’nor. She’s cut some bacon off a flitch she’s got in th’ larder and she’ a-mixin’ up somethin’ in the kitchen. I’m orf t’ get some eggs from the ‘en ‘ouse.”
Mr. Fortescue’s stomach growled at the idea of bacon and eggs. He was hungry, he realized.
“Once you’ve got the eggs, see what you can do with these boots.” He thrust his Hessians at Wilf. “But if Miss Wilberforce needs you, help her first. The boots can wait.”
It was over forty minutes before Mr. Fortescue appeared downstairs. He sniffed appreciatively at the smell of bacon and coffee, though he felt he hardly deserved it. He had actually attempted to make his bed, something he had never done in his life. But nothing he did seemed to make the covers lie as smoothly as they had before he’d got into bed. He was also ashamed of the creases in his clothes and the imperfectly cleaned boots that Wilf had brought back.
His hostess seemed to notice nothing. She was once again enveloped in her large apron, and the same brown and yellow gown as the day before. Her curls were springing forth from loose braids and her face was pink from standing over the fire.
“Happy Christmas Day, Mr. Fortescue! I hope you slept well?” she said gaily. “Please sit down at the table. I’m just going to take a tray up to Papa. He likes to read in bed in the mornings and frankly, I find it easier to do the housework without him underfoot. Then I’ll bring in your breakfast.”
“My best wishes to you, Miss Wilberforce and yes, I was very comfortable. I hope the same can be said of you. I am more than ever conscious of your goodness in taking in strangers at this time of the year when you have no one to help you in the house. May I at least take that up for you?”
“But Christmas is the perfect time of year to welcome strangers! And thank you, that would be very kind. I’ll fry your eggs while you take father’s tray up. Assuming you’d like eggs?”
“I would. I’m unusually hungry this morning. But I hope you haven’t gone to any special lengths for me. I would be happy with anything.” This from a man who, when his eggs were not exactly as he required them, regularly told his butler to go to the devil and take that damned mess with him.
“But it’s Christmas Day! If we don’t go to special length today, then when?”
“I hope at least you will sit and eat with me. I could not be comfortable being waited on.”
“I shall. Wilf has eaten and is very kindly bringing in wood for the fires. Look! The Yule Log did just as we hoped. It just smoldered and can now sit at the back of the hearth until we bring it forward again tonight. Wilf has been so helpful with the fires! He’s not big, but he’s strong! You must value his se rvice.”
Mr. Fortescue rarely thought about Wilf at all, except to give him orders about the horses, but he said, “Er, yes. He’s very willing.” And as he said it, he realized this was so. His tiger didn’t, in fact, need to be told what to do. He was always one step ahead. His master now wondered why he hadn’t noticed that before.
He followed his hostess into the kitchen, with its wonderful breakfast smells, and received the tray for Mr. Wilberforce. Apart from eggs and bacon, there was a roll, a dish of butter and another of jam, a jug of coffee, a smaller one of cream and a dish of sugar. Elisabeth saw him looking at the tray and said, “We don’t have jam and coffee every day, but for Christmas morning, I’m afraid we do rather spoil ourselves.”
“It all looks delicious,” replied Mr. Fortescue. His hunger had now reached raging proportions, exacerbated by looking at the tray. He had never looked forward to a meal so much in his life.
Mr. Wilberforce was inclined to want to talk, but their visitor excused himself on the grounds that his own breakfast was on the table, so it was only a few minutes later that he was downstairs again. He walked into the kitchen. Wilf was stacking logs in the alcove next to the hearth and hailed him.
“’Ello Guv’nor! You’re up early. I ain’t never seen you about this time of the mornin’ afore.”
“What nonsense!” replied his master with some heat, annoyed at being shown up for the sluggard he in fact was, “I’m often up betimes. To go to Gentleman Jackson’s, or exercise the horses, for example. Stop telling such tales and get on with your work.”
Wilf muttered something under his breath and Elisabeth laughed as she carried plates of food into the main room.
“An interesting difference of opinion,” she said.