Page 24 of The Twelve Days of Christmas

STAVE VI.

The Humbled Heart

S IX G EESE A L AYING

It was a long-held tradition that every thirtieth of December, six golden eggs were hidden about the interior of Wakely Hall.

The notion – it can be of no surprise – was concocted by Viscount Pépin.

Already there had been a game of Hoop and Hide, Cards and Dice, and a rather hectic hour of Bullet Pudding, whereupon Miss Louisa forfeited in her endeavour and made a dreadful mess of flour on the parquet floor of the tea room.

Indeed, games such as these were a festive staple for the family and guests of Wakely, but a mighty inconvenience for Mrs Esther Wilson and her servants who were required to tidy up after them.

Such Christmas traditions held no joy for the housekeeper and were (in Esther’s opinion) a ridiculous waste of one’s time.

With a huff, she placed the goose eggs into the basket, not stopping to admire how fine a job Mr Hornby had made of the gold paintwork, for such niceties were below the housekeeper’s attentions, especially today, when Esther found herself particularly vexed.

Ordinarily she would have instructed Miss Hart to hide the eggs, but the maid was currently forbidden from venturing upstairs unaccompanied, and since Esther could not spare one of the other maids on account of the household being so very busy, it fell upon her to complete the task herself.

What a revelation, to find that Molly Hart had been discovered in a dalliance with the Duke of Morley!

These past two years the girl had been prone to flirtations – despite rigorous scoldings on the subject – but never had the housemaid shewn herself to act upon them.

Miss Hart never used to act in so forward a manner, and what facilitated this change Esther could not say, but to risk her virtue and position, for a man of such superior rank who could offer her nothing, was most foolish.

If it had been any other of her girls she would have ordered their dismissal immediately, but as Miss Hart was her longest-standing housemaid, Esther was loath to put the suggestion to Viscountess Pépin.

Even if she had demanded Miss Hart’s dismissal, Esther knew she would have been overruled, for the viscountess was altogether too soft-hearted when it came to her servants.

Take, for instance, Loveday Lucas. Never in all her years of service had Esther encountered such a wilful, disobliging creature.

She glanced at the scullery maid at work on the other side of the servants’ hall.

It must be said that the girl’s behaviour was improved these past few days.

Esther noticed faults like a hawk and never missed mistakes that any of her servants made; but had Miss Lucas not polished all the saucepans admirably?

What of the stove, which she blackened beautifully the other day without a single word of complaint?

And had Esther not seen Miss Lucas attempting to cheer Miss Brown (whose recent fits of melancholy had set the housekeeper’s teeth on edge), where before the girls had avoided one another?

Even Mr Marmery seemed a little more inclined to smile at the scullery maid, though this was no doubt due to the interference of one Miss Allen; she and Miss Lucas were, it seemed, quite as thick as thieves.

Esther was still irked that the kitchen maid had undermined her on the day of the Christmas boxes.

Friendship , the Viscountess Pépin said.

Katherine had only acted in friendship .

Esther scowled. She preferred to keep all aspects of her life professional, preferred to dedicate herself to the running of Wakely Hall and its servants and nothing more.

Order was important – in a life of service there was no room for friendship or emotional entanglements of any kind.

They clouded judgement. They made one weak.

‘Mrs Wilson? Is everything all right?’

Bess Denby was watching her over a half-plucked goose.

‘Why should it not be?’

The cook raised her sparse brows. ‘Well, you looked ever so displeased just now. If I can help with anything at all—’

‘You can help, Mrs Denby, by minding the preparations for this evening’s dinner rather than minding me.’

At Esther’s sharp retort the other woman’s face shuttered, and for one brief moment the housekeeper felt a small flicker of regret.

Of all Wakely Hall’s servants, Mrs Denby could always be relied upon to perform her duties well.

Even at this time of year, when the cook found such merriment so very difficult.

Her comment had been uncharitable, Esther knew, but instead of offering an apology she turned to Miss Allen who at that moment was removing butter from a cow-shaped mould.

‘Where is Marmery?’ she snapped. ‘I cannot hide the eggs without the riddles to go with them.’

Miss Allen hesitated and fiddled with a small brooch upon her collar.

Esther was just about to scold her for wearing an item that so clearly was not suitable for kitchen work when the footman, better known to the other servants as the more dashingly monikered ‘Nash’ on account of his rather idealistic notion of becoming a Romantic Poet (a notion of utter nonsense, so thought Esther), appeared at the doorway of the dry larder, brandishing in his hand six slips of paper.

‘Here I am.’

Esther frowned at him. Such writerly endeavours – though the housekeeper could not fathom why – were encouraged by the Pépins, particularly at Christmastime.

His festive box had contained a fine leatherbound journal, which he waved about in so insufferable a manner at the dinner table later that same evening, Esther had been prevailed upon to confiscate it until the next morning.

Now, with a self-satisfied grin, Mr Marmery held out the papers on which were written his riddles and proclaimed:

‘I’m mighty proud of them, Mrs Wilson. Pray, would you like to hear one?’

‘No, I would not,’ replied Esther, taking the slips unceremoniously from him and dropping them in the basket without a glance.

‘I have no time for such nonsense. I just hope for your sake the riddles can be understood. Last year Miss Maria puzzled over them for hours and no one won the crown. I dare say it ruined the Christmas festivities.’

The footman’s grin slipped. He stood up straighter in his buckled pumps.

‘I can assure you, Mrs Wilson, they are most clever but not in the least bit difficult. My writing has vastly improved this past twelvemonth.’

He glanced at Miss Allen, who sent him an encouraging smile over a line of eight buttery cows, prettily displayed on a pewter dish. Esther sniffed.

‘Well, let us hope Viscount Pépin agrees with you. And,’ she added in a sharper tone, ‘speaking of the viscount … Hornby – are you not supposed to be pressing his lordship’s breeches?’

The viscount’s valet was, at that precise moment, lingering at the kitchen door, conversing in low tones with Mr Moss, whose swarthy cheeks were flushed as if he were hot.

Which was perfectly impossible since the snow had not let up since daybreak.

‘Yes, Mrs Wilson,’ came the grudging reply.

‘Then get to it and stop letting the cold air in.’ Esther paused, sent his companion a withering look. ‘I thought better of you, Moss. ’Tis not like you to shirk your duties, and you’ve no time to either what with Cobb still sick.’

It came to her attention then that the other servants had dwindled in their own duties to watch this exchange, and with a purse of her lips Esther clicked her fingers.

‘Back to work, all of you,’ ordered she, and like sheep at the famer’s whistle they scattered. The housekeeper watched them recommence their tasks with a vigilant scowl.

The servants of Wakely Hall did not like Mrs Esther Wilson.

The housekeeper knew they did not like her, but was their liking of her so very necessary?

Their obedience was far more important – and though Esther was perhaps a trifle harsh and sharp-mouthed at times, she was above all things just and judicious, a statement which (she was sure) could not be doubted.

No, indeed, the housekeeper of Wakely Hall did not require her servants to like her, and Esther was by now quite used to solitude; most evenings she sat alone in her neat and tidy housekeeper’s room with a pot of tea and her Bible, and thought herself vastly contented …

But in truth, deep down, Esther was not content at all.

She should be, she thought as she climbed the servants’ stairs and pushed open the green baize door leading into the grand entrance hall.

She had everything she could ever require in life – a comfortable and lucrative position in a prestigious household, where she wanted for nothing.

But oh, how lonely she often was, and how frustrating to have her good advice ignored by the viscountess over and over again!

Were her years of loyal service not enough to garner respect?

’Twas true much had changed since her time at Heysten Park where rules were so often broken and servants forced to suffer the—

Esther stopped. Frowned.

Mistletoe. Beneath the stairs.

Well! thought the housekeeper, tugging it free of its hook.

What would Mr Hornby say (who was undoubtedly the culprit of such a folly, for was it not he who festooned Wakely with its winter foliage?) if he knew that Miss Hart had found herself in an indelicate position because he had acted so imprudently?