Page 15 of The Twelve Days of Christmas

She blinked, clearly not expecting such a reply; and nor, it must be said, had William, who stared at Ralph with no little surprise. Prudence, who had been watching the exchange with a nervous expression upon her face, tugged at Molly’s arm.

‘Come on, Mol,’ she said. ‘Our job will be far more fun together, and the faster we do it the faster we’ll be home.’

‘Easy for you to say,’ sniped the housemaid. ‘You don’t have a mansionful of beds to make when you get back.’

‘No, but I do have chamber pots to empty. Out of your chores and mine, I know which I prefer …’

And with that Prudence tugged at Molly’s arm once more, to which the upper housemaid reluctantly consented to being pulled into the depths of Wakely Forest, leaving William and Ralph quite alone, except for the blackbird which still perched unperturbed upon the frosted holly branch.

Aside from a few instances where Ralph had been obliged to convey a request from Mrs Wilson or, on occasion, the viscount himself, the valet had never been alone with William before, for their circles at Wakely Hall were very different.

As Mr Cobb’s assistant it was rare for William to cross paths with Ralph Hornby at all beyond their sharing a table at mealtimes.

Ralph was a man of comfort and order; William was a man of outdoor pursuits, and he took his duties very seriously.

Mr Cobb had been kind to him since he arrived in Merrywake three years ago, and with this being the first time the gardener had relinquished a task typically undertaken by him, William was determined not to let the gardener down.

‘Well, then,’ said he awkwardly to the valet, brandishing the long-handled shears. ‘Do you want to advise me which to cut?’

Ralph, who had been standing with his arms crossed over his chest assessing the holly bush with a look of contemplation on his handsome face (and he really was handsome, Will thought, with his shock of coal-black hair that fell so attractively across his fine forehead), came to stand next to him.

The valet did not appear to notice the faint blush that had bloomed upon William’s cheeks, instead reaching out his arm to point at a branch heavily laden with spiked leaves.

‘This one. Lots of foliage.’

With care William clipped the suggested branch, deposited it in the wheelbarrow.

‘And that one too,’ said Ralph, pointing. ‘Nice bend to it. The one above has a good shape as well. The trick is,’ the valet added, ‘to consider how the branches might rest on a mantelpiece. Those have just the right amount of curvature.’

William cut the branches as bidden. He supposed, he thought grudgingly, that the branches did have a pleasing shape – if it had been left purely up to him, William would have simply cut some of the lower branches and had done with it.

It was as he was depositing these branches too into the wheelbarrow that Ralph pressed his arm.

‘And there,’ he said, gesturing to one higher up, ‘that one still has its berries. Viscount Pépin likes a little shot of red in his garlands.’

It took a moment for William to answer, for Ralph’s hand on his arm had distracted him; the valet’s touch was gentle in a way William had not expected (although, as the viscount’s dresser, one must suppose Ralph had to be gentle), and it made him more nervous than he already was.

Swallowing hard, he took a stronger grip on the shears.

‘Very good.’

William raised the shears, and as he did, above them, the blackbird offered a few notes of song which made him pause.

He liked blackbirds. Any bird, in point of fact; indeed, any animal.

His father once called him too soft for harbouring such ‘feminine fancies’, but of all the positions Mrs Wilson could have offered him, gardener’s assistant was the one best suited to his constitution; after the brutality of the family butcher’s, it was a relief to work within the beautiful grounds of Wakely Hall every day, to hear the soothing sound of birdsong and witness new life in spring – such joy William experienced when he first found a nest of wood mice within the rose border, the chirrup of chicks in the yew trees!

It was as if, when he came to Wakely, he could finally become a little more himself.

‘I’m surprised,’ murmured William as he cut the branch, ‘that there are still berries left. The birds should have eaten them by now. Here …’ and he plucked one, offered it up to the colly. ‘This belongs to you, really.’

The blackbird cocked its head. Like Ralph, its colouring was coal. A male then.

‘Ah, don’t be a cork-brain, Will. It won’t come—’

But it did. Down the bird flew onto his gloved hand, and took the berry in its beak. It looked at William then with such keenness, as if to thank him, before flitting away at speed into the forest.

Ralph let out a low whistle.

‘ Well, well , you’re a dark horse, aren’t you?

Quite literally charming the birds from the trees,’ and the teasing way the valet said the words made William colour.

‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ he laughed, nudging his arm again which made William’s blush worse.

‘Wait until I tell the ladies. They’ll all be cock-a-whoop when they hear.

Women like a gentle soul, and you’re not a bad-looking fellow … Not bad at all.’

William pushed past him, the branch still in his other hand, and put it in the wheelbarrow with the others.

‘I don’t want attention from any lady,’ he muttered.

‘You don’t?’

His back was turned and so he could not see the valet’s face, but William could hear plain the surprise in Ralph’s voice.

‘I … I don’t have time for it.’

There came then a heavy pause. A snow-crunched step behind him.

‘You don’t have time ? Ain’t that a fine excuse.

I’m sure if you wanted a lady love enough, you’d make time.

Shew any of them that little trick of yours and they’d flock to you.

’ William said nothing. Ralph rounded the wheelbarrow to look at him.

‘In fact, let’s step into the village on our next afternoon off.

We can go to the Crown. What a good-looking pair we’ll make.

Two black-haired devils, ready to shew Merrywake’s girls a little bit of heaven! ’

William’s insides churned, both with mortification and that other feeling, the one he had taken great pains to bury deep but was presently failing to control.

‘Why must it always be about women with you, Hornby?’ William snapped, wishing now he had not sent Molly and Prudence into Wakely Forest, and his tone pulled Ralph up short.

‘Why must you be so churlish? Life is too short to be churlish.’

‘I’m not churlish.’

‘But you are,’ insisted Ralph, ‘especially with me. I mean …’ and here the valet moved to stand directly in front of William so he was forced to look at him.

‘What was all that with Mol earlier? I’d be wary if I were you ,’ he mimicked with a raising of his black brows.

‘’Tis only harmless flirting, and that’s all I’m suggesting we do, really. It’s just a bit of fun.’

‘To you, perhaps,’ countered William. ‘But …’

‘But what?’

‘But …’

Oh, but William could not find the words!

And what could he say, really? Because William was churlish to Ralph – from the moment he’d met the charming valet and discovered not only his predilection for flirting and the cavalier way in which he did it, but William’s consequent feelings about the matter, he made a point of being so.

To be churlish towards Ralph Hornby was the only way in which William knew how to hide the truth, to deny the deadly fact that would, if anyone were to discover it, be the means to see him hang:

Backgammon player. Indorser. Sodomite.

His father had called him all of these, and worse.

Ralph was watching him. The teasing expression was no longer there, replaced instead with a thoughtful one which left William frightened. Had the valet, in that moment, guessed? But no, surely not, and somehow William mustered the strength to shrug.

‘I simply do not consider playing with the hearts of ladies entertaining. Let us finish with the holly,’ he added, brisk. ‘A few more branches should do it, I think?’ and with that William turned his attention back to the bush.

To his relief the valet said nothing further but turned to the task at hand; soon they had relieved the holly of four more branches and were following the sound of chatter through the winding path of Wakely Forest.

‘Is it true,’ came Prudence’s voice, ‘that Miss Juliette—’

‘Seigneuresse Toussaint,’ came Molly’s haughty correction.

‘Yes, Seg-nur …’ Prudence struggled over the word before discarding it. ‘Well, is it true she has taken charge of the little girl?’

‘’Tis true. I had to make up the cot bed in the old schoolroom, and what a fuss the seigneuresse made over her!

Treated her like a doll, she did. Queer little thing, but the Pépins have quite taken to her and that silly old Frenchman let the child sleep with one of his hens last night. Can you imagine?’

As William and Ralph emerged from the trees, Prudence was adding a twig of fir to the small pile at her feet. Wide-eyed she exclaimed she had never heard the like, to which Molly agreed vigorously, but before they could continue the conversation Ralph cleared his throat.

‘How do, ladies? Let’s see what you’ve conjured up.’

Presently the holly branches in William’s wheelbarrow were joined by a healthy collection of pine cones and fir stems, at which Ralph announced there would be quite enough for Viscount Pépin’s festive garlands.

‘Are you sure?’ Molly asked, eyeing the wheelbarrow dubiously. ‘I’m sure something is missing …’

‘I’ll fetch the rest from the garden,’ Will replied, keen now to return to Wakely Hall, where he might seclude himself away from temptation. ‘It’s only rosemary, bay and box we need now.’

‘It isn’t,’ replied Molly coyly. ‘What about the mistletoe?’