Page 38 of The Twelve Days of Christmas

Oh, but she was right, of course! They all were.

But how – and here Prudence worried her bottom lip with her teeth – might she contrive of a reason to follow Mr Hodge when Mrs Wilson needed her here?

With Molly Hart still confined to the lower floors of Wakely Hall on account of that ghastly business with the Duke of Morley (where was she, in point of fact?

Prudence had not seen her since breakfast), Prudence was required to take on some of the upper housemaid’s chores.

Why, she still had Lady Falshaw’s linens to change, for the woman had insisted on sleeping in that morning on account of having imbibed too much sherry the night before.

But as if providence heard Prudence’s plight, in rushed the housekeeper, carrying in her arms one of Viscountess Pépin’s Christmas boxes.

‘Is Mr Hodge still here?’ she asked in a huff of expelled air.

Katherine shook her head. ‘The cart just left.’

‘Drat,’ came the reply. ‘I forgot to give him this, and I promised the viscountess I would. But perhaps he can still be caught …’

Nash stood, looked pointedly at Prudence. ‘I’m sure he can be.’

‘Well, then,’ Mrs Wilson said, and though she had appeared to the servants of Wakely less short-tempered of late (she had even spared them a smile or two), remnants of her prior sternness remained. ‘Who will take it?’

‘I will!’ cried Prudence.

Mrs Wilson blinked. ‘You? Marmery here would be faster.’ Tis a heavy box, after all.’

But Prudence was shaking her head.

‘I will take it,’ she said, a little calmer, ‘I can manage perfectly well,’ and so with a raise of her eyebrow, Mrs Wilson handed Prudence Nathaniel Hodge’s Christmas box.

‘Well, then,’ she said again. ‘Off you go.’

He was halfway up the country lane that bordered Wakely Hall by the time Prudence caught up with him.

She had navigated the snow with rather less difficulty than she expected, and when she reached the curving path of the lane found that it had melted there, enabling her to pick up speed.

Her afternoon walks on her two days off a month were certainly to her credit; she was only a little out of breath by the time Mr Hodge’s cart hove into view, though her arms ached with the weight of the box, and so she was able to call his name without too much exertion.

She was not sure at first if he had heard her, but then little Buck turned about and barked, his short tail wagging furiously, and Prudence cried out with relief when the cart slowed to a halt. Heart in mouth she ran the short distance to where Mr Hodge had stopped, clutching the box to her, tight.

‘Oh, Mr Hodge,’ she exclaimed, breathless. ‘Please. I wish to apologise. I wish to explain.’

The farmer stared straight ahead, soliciting in Prudence a sharp stab of hurt.

Did he not see how much he meant to her?

Why else would she race to catch him? He knew her nature, knew this wanton behaviour went against it.

Surely he should see that, and no matter what Mr Hodge felt in that moment there was no need to be so rude!

‘I’m sure there’s nothing to explain,’ said he, in tones worryingly flat. ‘Who you spend your time with in Wakely Forest is no one’s business but your own.’

‘But you are mistaken!’ Prudence cried, and Buck too gave a little indignant yip . ‘What you saw that day was nothing but Ralph – Mr Hornby that is – being, well …’

She paused. How could she explain the valet’s behaviour? He flirted with all the female servants at Wakely Hall, always had, but there was nothing to any of it, she found – his flirtations were always in jest.

‘Ralph Hornby is an incorrigible flirt,’ she settled on saying. ‘If he had not danced with me, it would have been Mol. I daresay he would have danced with William Moss too if the notion took him.’

At this, Mr Hodge turned his head slightly. He did not quite look at her, but Prudence felt that this small motion was a positive sign.

‘It was not as if he and I were alone, as you saw. We were collecting garlands for the hall, and enjoying an hour’s peace.

You know how busy it is this time of year, and Ralph was only being jolly.

But I promise, I’ve never thought of him in any way beyond his being a fellow servant. He … he makes me laugh. That is all.’

The farmer hesitated.

‘Do you laugh when he says such mean-spirited things to me?’

Prudence sucked in her breath, appalled he should think such a terrible thing of her.

‘Of course I do not. I scold him.’

Mr Hodge said nothing to that. Buck uttered a tiny whine and looked between his master and Prudence, as if wondering what the matter was.

‘I am sorry he is so beastly sometimes. I do not think he means anything by it. In fact, I often wonder if Mr Hornby knows why he says the things he does at all.’

The farmer shifted in his seat and then, finally, turned to look at her. His cheeks were pink, his brown eyes soft and curious. He looked as nervous as Prudence felt.

‘Do you really enjoy dancing?’

‘Why yes! I do not have the opportunity to dance often but when I do I enjoy it immensely.’

‘I … I am not much of a dancer.’

He gestured to his injured leg, but Prudence chose to ignore the implication and smiled brightly.

‘Nor I. But I find that one does not have to dance well to dance. One simply has to enjoy the moment. You would enjoy the Twelfth Night Ball, I am sure of it. If you came, we could dance monstrous ill together and laugh at it heartily.’

Mr Hodge bestowed upon her then a small smile of his own, and with relief Prudence stepped closer to the cart.

‘Are we friends again? Please do say that we are.’

Nathaniel, in that moment, felt his tentative smile freeze on his face.

He did not want to be friends with Prudence Brown. He wanted far more than that. But even if he had been mistaken about Mr Hornby, had he been mistaken on another matter? Did she only wish friendship from him?

The thought was too awful to comprehend, and instead he asked:

‘What’s that?’

He nodded at the box Miss Brown held in her arms. A look of confusion crossed her face, followed by hurt, before she seemed to shake herself.

‘A Christmas box, from Viscountess Pépin. She gave them to all of Wakely’s servants the day after Christmas.’

Nathaniel blinked. ‘But I am not one of her servants.’

‘No,’ Miss Brown said, ‘but you serve Wakely Hall by providing us with supplies each week.’ She hesitated, licked her pretty bud lips, and the sight made Nathaniel’s throat constrict.

‘I understand your Pa would refuse the box each year – on principle, he said. But we always get such lovely things in our boxes. ’Twould be a shame if you refused yours. ’

He did not know what to say. Abraham Hodge had never told Nathaniel of such a gift.

Perhaps his father felt that – not being a servant of Wakely Hall – he had no right to accept it.

Nor then should Nathaniel. But he was his own man now.

The farm was his and his alone. What harm was there in accepting?

Miss Brown shifted in the snow. She was waiting on a reply, he realised, and realised too that he had not spoken for one whole minute.

‘Yes,’ Nathaniel mumbled – shy, embarrassed, unsure. ‘Thank you.’

‘Shall I … shall I put it on the cart, then?’

She looked up at him so sweetly, her eyes so clear and pleading, that Nathaniel knew then he could not leave matters as they were.

He wished to know for sure if Miss Brown did indeed think of him only as a friend, and it was not a conversation he felt could be had halfway down a country lane in the bitter cold.

‘Please do,’ he said, ‘but you come up as well. I … I want to shew you something. Back at the farm. If you’ve time?’

Prudence’s heart thumped wildly. She did not have time.

If she were to come back to Wakely Hall late, Mrs Wilson would be so cross.

But in that moment Prudence knew instinctively that to refuse him would somehow harm the progress she had made in repairing the breach, and despite not knowing quite what that progress was (for Mr Hodge had not acceded to her enquiry of friendship), she was not willing to risk the injury.

With a nod she pushed the Christmas box up onto the cart, rounded the other side, and took the farmer’s proffered hand to guide her. Buck, excitable again, consented to being moved onto Prudence’s lap, and together the three of them trundled their way towards Hodge Farm.

The journey was completed in nervous silence, and not wishing to make things more awkward than they already were by breaking it, Prudence watched instead the snowy landscape of Merrywake pass them by.

Though she had been familiar with the village and its environs all her life, there was something magical about it in winter, when the fields were crisp with snow and the branches of trees adorned with sparkling white clusters.

The higher they went, the more the whole of Merrywake was visible – there was the frosted spire of Wakely Church, the Reverend Soppe’s rambling parsonage; there too was the bustling marketplace, and the Crown Lodge just off the square.

Prudence could even spy Mr Jenkins’ toyshop, and just behind it his little cottage, the very same cottage she had once called home.

She turned her face and swallowed the lump in her throat, thankful to find Hodge Farm rising before them on the crest of the hill.