Page 10 of The Twelve Days of Christmas

STAVE III.

Faith, Hope not that their clawed toes might be cold upon the hoarfrost, or their pin-bright eyes should sting from the icy breeze, for they were creatures familiar in constitution to the great and wild outdoors.

If they had belonged to anyone other than Monsieur de Fortgibu, there would have been much surprise to be had; but just as it was no secret that the Frenchman had a penchant for plum pudding, it was also no secret that the monsieur’s greatest pleasure was keeping chickens as pets, even during those fateful wars (it was a wicked luxury to always have an egg for breakfast in his tent, but Beno?t was quite convinced his life had been prolonged from the habit of doing so).

In fact, his hens were his pride and joy, and he treated them as he would have treated his own children, if he and Sophie had ever the good fortune to produce them.

‘ Alors , Espoir,’ said now the monsieur. ‘Is this not the most splendid weather for December?’

The bird turned its black head at the sound of his master’s voice; Beno?t grinned.

‘You do not answer, but I see you agree. Look how you prance, my petit Houdan!’

Espoir’s wings stretched in reply, and satisfied, the monsieur turned his attention to his La Flèche.

‘And what of you, little Foi? What say you?’

But it was not the brown hen which answered but the white, in a series of charming little trills.

‘Ah, Charité, my little angel. ’Tis a glorious winter’s day, n’est-ce pas ?’

And so it was. Beno?t was at that moment taking a turn about the pretty walk alongside the boundary wall of Wakely Hall, where he took great delight in the frost which had settled on the foliage, glittering away in the sunlight like minuscule diamonds.

He took delight too in the way the clouds made sumptuous pillows in the blue sky, the smell of ice in the air, the song of four blackbirds perched high in the towering trees.

After experiencing so many atrocities during his deployment, the monsieur made it a course of habit to find delight in everything wherever and whenever he could.

After all, life – one must concur – was to be enjoyed, not suffered.

Determined, then, to not think upon recent years and to commit himself to this more positive frame of mind, Beno?t walked down the country lane abutting the estate, his three hens waddling on their leads, until he reached a small gateway.

This gateway presented him with a choice: turn left and complete the circle that would take him back to the entranceway of Wakely Hall, or turn right down the lane that passed through an iron gate and into the woodland, thence out onto the fields adjoining Hodge Farm, and, well, it being such a glorious winter’s day, he chose the latter.

It was, considering his resolve to be cheery, the correct choice; three of Fernand Pépin’s five daughters had begun to stretch the monsieur’s usually long patience, and if being absent from the hall a trifle longer than planned ensured his continued good spirits into teatime, then it was all for the better.

‘Come, my little beaks,’ chivvied Beno?t as they reached the gate. ‘Through you go.’

One by one he guided his hens through the narrow gap, lifting their leather leads high above the iron bars so he might squeeze through himself without entanglement. Alas, the Frenchman’s fingers being not as nimble as they used to be, one of the leads slipped through them.

‘Foi! Come back here this instant!’

The brown hen ignored the plea – off went the La Flèche into the trees, and with a grumble Beno?t gave pursuit.

Out of all his hens, Foi was the most precocious.

And fast, too, Beno?t thought as she diverted from the frosted path into Wakely Forest, Charité and Espoir trundling behind with little excitable trills.

Once or twice he had to wait for them to catch up with him, and so Beno?t began to grow concerned when, after ten minutes of wandering, he had yet to find his third feathered pet.

But then, just as the Frenchman feared Foi had become lost, he heard a single loud cluck .

Beno?t stopped. Such a sound was not typical of Foi.

Hens clucked, of course, but the manner in which Foi had done so indicated there was cause for alarm.

Afeared for her safety (for Beno?t did so adore his hens), he followed the direction from which the sound came until he found himself in a small clearing.