Page 26 of The Twelve Days of Christmas

Esther shifted the basket, made her way across to the other side of the house – through the portrait gallery, thence through the passageway and up another flight of stairs.

So lost was she in her thoughts that she found herself at the rosewood glass-paned cabinet which contained the golden cherub in no time at all, and it was just as she was reaching into the basket to remove the sixth and final egg that she heard a distant but great and wretched sob.

Her hand paused. Esther turned her head.

The second-floor landing was situated just within the divide which separated the rest of the hall from the corridor of family bedrooms, but not so close to them that placing the last egg there should be an invasion of their privacy.

Still, that pitiful-sounding sob must have been extremely loud for Esther to hear it, which was concerning indeed.

Silence fell, and after hesitating a moment she turned once more to the task at hand.

But when she again attempted to touch the last golden goose egg, a series of muffled cries erupted down the corridor, and unable now to ignore them Esther followed the heartbreaking sounds until she found herself standing in front of the youngest Pépin daughter’s chamber.

‘Miss Rosalie? ’Tis Mrs Wilson. Might I come in?’

There came an almighty sniff. Esther pressed her ear against the wood.

‘Miss Rosalie?’

For one drawn-out second the housekeeper did not think the girl would answer, but then, on the tail of a hiccough, there came an unsteady ‘Yes’.

Esther opened the bedroom door. The room was steeped in shadow, for Miss Rosalie had neglected to open the curtains.

It smelt stale and stuffy. Her bed (in which the girl was sitting up), Esther was wholly unsurprised to see resembled a blackbird’s nest – the sheets were scrunched up about her scrawny legs, and the coverlet of plum damask lay in a crumpled heap upon the floor, and as for Miss Rosalie herself …

Well, it would be kindest for one to simply say that she did not look at her best.

‘Mrs Wilson,’ the girl hiccoughed, raising a shaking hand to her unruly hair which stuck to her head in greasy clumps. ‘If Maman wishes me downstairs, please do tell her I am taken ill.’

Esther shut the bedroom door, laid her basket on the rug.

‘I am very sorry to hear that, Miss Rosalie. You appeared perfectly well yesterday, and you have not – so I am aware – been outside and caught a chill.’

Miss Rosalie, in her childlike manner, tucked her knees beneath her chin (which had, so Esther could plainly see, an angry pimple on its tip).

‘I was perfectly well, Mrs Wilson, until last night when Maman contrived to be so cruel.’

‘Cruel?’

Here Esther frowned, since for all Viscountess Pépin’s faults, the housekeeper could not say she was a cruel woman.

‘ Maman ,’ came the grave reply, ‘forbids me to marry the duke.’

The words were barely out of the girl’s mouth before she collapsed into sobs once again, and covered her face with shaking hands.

Esther pursed her lips. She had certainly never cried quite so much as Miss Rosalie did now, and she had suffered far worse.

But diligently the housekeeper held her tongue, approached the bed, and took the liberty to sit down upon it and place a hand on the poor girl’s shoulder to console her with an awkward pat.

‘There, there, miss.’

Miss Rosalie did not appear to hear her, so wrapt up was she in crying, but presently the girl pressed her weeping nose into the sleeve of her nightgown, and looked up at Esther with wet red-rimmed eyes.

‘I love him, Mrs Wilson,’ she said soulfully.

‘He is everything I could wish for in a husband – rich, handsome, amusing! He has been most attentive to me, and my parents should be nothing but pleased I have attained such an advantageous match, but Maman says the duke is not an honourable man. That she saw him in a dalliance with another young lady in Bath. How can that possibly be true?’

Ah. So Viscountess Pépin had not revealed to her daughter that the Duke of Morley had also been caught in a liaison with one of the housemaids. How then, thought Esther, was she to proceed?

She could commiserate, of course, and say something neutral to cheer the girl without committing to a lie.

But that, then, would be the wrong thing to do.

Certainly, it would gall Esther to make the girl think her mother were in the wrong, when she knew full well the viscountess was correct, and Esther would never encourage Miss Rosalie to pursue the duke now she knew the man to be an unmitigated rake.

However, her position in the Pépin household – though Esther was not always contented in it – was not one she dared risk by stating outright her true feelings on the matter.

No, a more tactful approach would be more fitting.

‘It is an upsetting situation, Miss Rosalie, I do concede.’ Esther hesitated.

‘I can only declare that your mother is not a woman who would say a thing and not have just cause. The Duke of Morley is a gentleman much older than you, after all, and it is not unusual for a man of fortune and position to not be as wholly, ah, innocent, as yourself.’

Miss Rosalie’s expression darkened.

‘I am not quite so innocent as you suppose, Mrs Wilson. Thanks be to Mrs Radcliffe’s novels, I am under no illusions as to the shadier side of a man’s desires.

’ (At this declaration Esther blinked.) ‘But Sir Robert is not like that, I am sure of it. Why would fate throw him in my direction if I were not destined to marry him? I almost caught Juliette’s wedding bouquet, you know, and would have if I had not stepped on my skirts.

Miss Brown caught it instead, but the roses were meant for me, and considering how the duke has gone out of his way to be so solicitous towards me since he arrived … ’

Miss Rosalie went on for such a time, Esther was prevailed upon to suppress an almighty sigh.

Dear oh dear, the girl had truly taken up a fancy and run wild with it.

No, no, such lofty notions would not do at all.

With an inward wince she remembered her thoughts of not an hour before – what would she give to witness any of the Pépins experience a single ounce of the problems she had contended with over the years! What satisfaction would she thus have!

Well, while the context of this situation might not be quite what she meant, the similarities were striking, and not one bit of satisfaction on her part was to be had on account of it.

But perhaps, mused Esther, as the youngest Pépin daughter came to the end of her fanciful tirade, in that vein, she should attempt another tack.

‘Miss Rosalie—’

Esther swallowed. Oh, but ’twas hard. The housekeeper took a deep breath and tried again.

‘Miss Rosalie,’ said she, with more strength than before. ‘Many years ago, I knew a girl much like yourself – young, romantic, impulsive. She thought herself in love with a man above her station in both fortune and rank. He … he made her believe he cared for her.’

The youngest Pépin daughter stared through spiky eyelashes, and before Esther lost her nerve, she cleared her throat.

‘He promised to elevate her. To marry her. She believed him, only to find that when he had satisfied himself, he had lied. He never intended to marry the girl at all.’

The pit of Esther’s stomach twisted. It had been many years since she had thought on such unpleasant memories, and remembering them – even in such basic terms – left her feeling quite unwell.

‘If the girl had been older,’ the housekeeper continued, ‘if she had been wiser, had known more of the world, and more gentlemen within it, perhaps she might not have been taken with such foolish fancies. But alas, in her innocence she became too far entangled, and it almost led to her ruin.’

Miss Rosalie brought the bedsheet up to her mouth. ‘What happened?’ she whispered into it, and Esther hesitated. This was a memory she did not wish to relive, for it led to others that made her bitter, still, even now.

‘The girl became with child, and the gentleman refused to make arrangements for their care. ’Twas only the actions of another man which saved her from complete ruination.

He married her, and though the union gave her safety and respectability, she did not love him.

And to make matters worse, the child died before it came to term, and so the girl led a rather unhappy existence thereafter until her husband died …

’ Esther trailed off. Attempted a smile.

She squeezed Miss Rosalie’s shoulder before reclaiming her own hand and clasping it tightly in the other.

‘What I am trying to tell you, miss, is that though the duke has appeared outwardly to treat you with every courtesy and respect, you cannot know quite for sure of his character when it appears there is already doubt shed upon it. You must be absolutely convinced of Sir Robert, and if there is any doubt on your part, no matter how small, you must be mindful of it. If you are not …’

Esther’s unsaid words were clear, and Miss Rosalie now stared at her rumpled bedsheets. Her tears had ceased, but her nose still shone, her cheeks were blotched red, and the little spot on her chin glowed furiously.

‘And please do forgive me for saying so,’ added the housekeeper, ‘but you are still very young. To rush into anything at this point would be unwise.’

Deeply wistful, the youngest Pépin daughter sighed. ‘But the wedding bouquet …’