Page 37 of The Twelve Days of Christmas

She enjoyed sewing. It was one of the only tasks she enjoyed as a housemaid at Wakely Hall.

Unlike the others (except Lowdie – so she recently had discovered during their unexpected conversations of late), Prudence did not enjoy her role in servitude.

Having been raised by her grandmother, with only a little money to secure their comfort, Prudence’s childhood had still been a happy one – the old lady had taught her all the domesticities required of a small household, including the art of embroidery at which Prudence had grown quite adept.

She had been perfectly content to keep house for her grandmother until the occasion of her death, whereupon Prudence had had little recourse but to seek a role in service.

As a Merrywake local, she did not have to go far, but it was with deep sadness that she left behind the cosy little cottage of her childhood and ever since, Prudence had craved the freedom of a life outside the confines of Wakely Hall.

The idea that Mr Hodge might offer her that life had become as precious to her as the glass vase upstairs in her room.

That the dream should have shattered so cruelly was a tragedy beyond compare.

It was at that moment there came from outside an all-too-familiar sound.

Prudence could never mistake those cartwheels on the flagstone yard, nor the heavy clump of Mr Hodge’s shire horse.

And then there was little Buck with his excitable yaps, for Mrs Denby was always sure to give him a bone of mutton.

‘Aye up,’ drawled Ralph, from where he stood at the tiny window by the dresser on which Mrs Denby had spread out the ingredients for the annual Twelfth Night Cake. ‘Look who it is, Prue – Mr Carroty-Pate, come to grace us with his loping company.’

A heat rose up Prudence’s neck, where it settled hot and stinging in the crest of her cheeks.

‘You hush now, Ralph! You hush this instant!’

The valet turned, a small pout on his bow lips.

‘Ah, come now, Prue – I meant no harm.’

‘Nor did you the other day so you said, but look what harm it did anyway.’

At this Ralph raised a finger to his nose and winked. ‘Just you wait, Miss Prudence. You may be pleasantly surprised.’

Prudence blinked at him, unsure of his meaning or how to respond, but then there was no chance to as Katherine opened the kitchen door to reveal Mr Hodge – her beloved Nathaniel – standing awkwardly on the threshold.

She tried to catch his gaze, but to her anguish the farmer again refused to meet her eyes. Instead, he made his quiet perfunctory greetings to Mrs Denby, but for the most part kept his attention focused in its entirety on the kitchen floor.

There came then a commotion, not out of the ordinary for a noonday delivery; Nash unloaded the cart of baskets filled with dead geese and rabbits, fresh milk and eggs, and other commodities of the vegetable variety that Mrs Denby had ordered, and he proceeded to spread the bounty upon the table.

Katherine presented Mr Hodge with a cup of soup from the pot heating on the range, Mrs Wilson appeared and wasted no time making a tally of the items received, and when the housekeeper retreated to her room to collect Mr Hodge’s weekly pay, to Prudence’s horror, Ralph sidled over to the farmer in a manner (to her eyes) particularly sly, long arms laced behind his back.

‘How do, Hodge? Did you find that lamb of yours?’

Mr Hodge hesitated.

‘Aye. Up on the boundary wall.’

‘Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it? Can’t have little lambs lost, not in this weather.’ Ralph tilted his head. ‘And how do you fare, this lovely New Year’s Day?’

Prudence saw the farmer’s chin clench.

‘Well enough.’

‘Only that?’ came the glib reply. ‘’Tis a great shame, it being the time for festive cheer.

Isn’t that right, Prue?’ Mr Hornby added, turning to her with a jesting expression on his handsome face which Prudence did not like.

When she said nothing and neither did Mr Hodge, the valet turned back front.

‘Of course, I suppose living up there on that breezy old hill all alone you can’t but feel a little maudlin this time of year. It’s company you be needing, something to cheer your spirits.’

‘Ralph …’ Prudence tried, for she could see how uncomfortable Mr Hodge looked, but her fellow servant had no mind for her.

‘You should come to the ball!’ Ralph exclaimed. ‘Everyone needs a bit of dancing. Prue likes a good dance, don’t you, Prue?’

In that moment Prudence could have hit him.

How could he be so inconsiderate? How could he be so shamelessly brazen?

Ralph knew precisely what he was about – he was riling Mr Hodge, goading him for a reaction, and Prudence could see plain that one was forthcoming; she could tell by the pink in the farmer’s cheeks, the tic in his strong jaw, the curling of his fingers into a fist, and it made her want to cry.

‘Servants do not go to balls,’ was what he said now. His voice was quiet, but there was a hardness to it, a tone filled with abject dislike.

‘They go to this one,’ the valet replied.

‘The Twelfth Night Ball and servants’ ball is one and the same, here.

Something of a tradition where all the aristos and riff-raff come together for a night, and I pretend I didn’t shine the viscount’s shoes that morning.

Lots of fun, plenty of dancing as I said.

’ To Prudence’s horror the valet pushed Mr Hodge’s shoulder in what might be deemed to be a friendly shove, to which the farmer’s lips thinned into a dangerous line.

‘Why,’ exclaimed Ralph, ‘you could dance with Prue! She’s a trifle too short for me so we discovered in the woods, but for you …

well, I think she’d fit in your arms rather admirably, don’t you think?

Of course, that limp of yours might make a jig a bit difficult, but—’

‘Hornby.’

The valet turned, so too Prudence, to see Mrs Wilson standing behind them, a leather pouch in hand, and Prudence released a sigh of relief, for Mr Hodge’s fist had started to rise and she was quite sure the farmer meant to strike Ralph had it not been for the timely interruption.

‘I would prefer it if you didn’t keep Mr Hodge chattering away when I’m sure he has his own business to attend to. Just as you do, I believe?’

Ralph smiled, all politeness.

‘Indeed I do, Mrs Wilson.’

‘Then get to it.’

The valet inclined his head in assent, turned away from Mr Hodge, and as he did so bestowed upon Prudence a wink.

He looked jolly pleased with himself, she thought, as he disappeared into the servants’ corridor, though she could not imagine why.

All Ralph had done was succeed in irritating Mr Hodge further.

Nothing was said to commend her kindly to his thoughts.

If Mrs Wilson had not interrupted as she had …

The housekeeper was at that moment handing the leather pouch to the farmer, who weighed it in his hand, and then he was thanking her, he was turning, and oh!

he was leaving, she realised. Mr Hodge was leaving, and had not looked at her once.

Quite unable to stop the tears forming in her eyes, Prudence watched the man she loved shut the kitchen door behind him and with a sob catching in her throat, she sank back into her chair, the spool of burgundy cotton still clutched tight in her hand.

It was only then she realised that she had an audience.

‘For pity’s sake, Prue,’ said Nash, tapping his pencil on the open page of his journal, ‘go after him!’

‘I can’t,’ Prudence whispered. ‘I am so ashamed.’

‘Of what?’ asked Katherine, folding her arms in front of her chest like a stern schoolmistress. ‘You did nothing wrong. ’Twas only Ralph up to his games.’

‘But Mr Hodge does not know that!’

‘Because you have not told him.’

‘I know,’ sniffled Prudence, ‘but—’

‘But nothing!’ called Lowdie from where she stood in the scullery, hands deep in the Belfast sink. ‘You go after him, else I will. I don’t think I can stand your sulking one day longer. I like you, Prudence B, but you’re lucky I’ve not clobbered you and put us all out of our misery.’

Katherine spun on her heel. ‘Loveday,’ she scolded, and the footman stifled a snort.

‘Well,’ the scullery maid shot back, brass as bells, ‘don’t say I’m the only one to think it. I don’t know how poor Mol is coping, sharing a room with you. I’d as lief share it with a wounded ferret as listen to you snivelling away into the early hours.’

‘Loveday,’ said Katherine again, with rather more force, ‘what have we discussed? Manage your words,’ to which Lowdie coloured.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered, and resumed her dishes. Mrs Denby – who was at that moment busying herself with plucking the newly delivered goose – gave Prudence a kindly smile.

‘Lowdie does have a point, pet. How can Mr Hodge know how you feel unless you tell him? Look at Miss Partridge and the reverend. It was a misunderstanding that drew them apart. If they had only spoken to one another about what happened between them, they would never have wasted so many years. Are you willing to do the same?’ When Prudence looked unsure, the cook shook her head.

‘As I see it, you have two choices – you either say nothing and suffer, or you go after that young man and tell him how you truly feel. To be sure, you nor none of us shall get any peace until you do.’