Page 7 of The Twelve Days of Christmas

It would seem in that moment that Katherine’s anguish had been heard from up-high, for not one moment later the trilling of excitable chatter wended its way through the servants’ corridor, and into the kitchen swept the viscountess herself, followed by three of her five daughters – Miss Maria, Miss Louisa and Miss Rosalie – each carrying two large baskets laden with boxes wrapt in crisp brown paper.

Immediately Nash removed his arms from Katherine’s waist, all of Wakely’s servants dipped a curtsey or bent in a bow, and with a bright smile Viscountess Pépin waved them up.

‘Good afternoon to you all!’

‘Good afternoon,’ came the chorus of replies, making the viscountess beam all the more. With a flourish of her pretty skirts (such a vibrant shot of teal satin amid the drab earthen colours of the kitchen), she looked at her servants and said:

‘I wanted to visit you here to tell you personally just how much the viscount and I and our daughters – not to mention all our esteemed guests – appreciate how hard you have been working.’ She nodded at her words, fair curls bobbing merrily either side of her ears.

‘From the wonderful food you have provided for us, to the lighting of fires and the making of beds, to the preparation of our baths and the cleaning of Wakely’s vast rooms, your efforts have all been noted and appreciated.

This season’s festivities would not have been possible without you. ’

There were murmurs of gratitude about the servants’ hall.

The Misses Maria, Louisa and Rosalie all smiled and nodded in agreement with their mother, who spread her hands in a kindly gesture just as Mrs Wilson slipped discreetly back into the room, and Katherine could not help but narrow her eyes at the housekeeper.

How dare she, Katherine thought. How dare she!

‘You have been so very patient with us,’ Viscountess Pépin continued.

‘I am fully aware that these past days have not been easy, nor will the next week be as our annual Twelfth Night Ball draws near, and so I wish to say just how much we all value each and every one of you.’ The viscountess looked then to her daughters who raised their laden baskets.

‘To express our thanks – as is tradition the day after Christmas – we present you all with a festive box. Each item within has been chosen in the hope they will be of use to you … and this time we included a more personal token of our esteem, each individual to its owner.’

Katherine and Nash shared a surprised look.

Every year the viscountess delivered a gift box to her servants.

It was a mark of her goodness, a perfect example of just how different the estates of Wakely Hall and Heysten Park were – at Wakely, servants were paid well and never received an unkind word or look or gesture from their master or mistresses.

Their rooms were amply furnished and never cold.

They were given two free days a month. And Christmas was always, always, marked with a small box of gifts.

Katherine knew what to expect – she would receive a sweet plum cake (for she baked them), a small jar of honey from the viscount’s hives, a beeswax candle, a shiny sixpence, and a brand-new smock.

Nash would receive the same, except in place of a Holland he would have a linen necktie.

These little items always touched Katherine’s heart and she never expected nor wanted more.

So, for Viscountess Pépin to include something else?

Well, ’twas a most unprecedented and delightful surprise.

‘Please,’ said the viscountess now. ‘We shall call out your names one by one.’

And thus, she did. First came Mrs Wilson, then Mrs Denby; next Viscount Pépin’s valet, Ralph.

As the rest of the servants collected their gifts, Katherine tried to ignore the spiteful thought that the housekeeper did not deserve a box at all, and was still mulling over her peevishness when Viscountess Pépin called out Lowdie’s name.

The viscountess looked about her in confusion when the scullery maid did not step forwards.

‘Where is Loveday Lucas?’

Katherine curled her toes inside her damp stockings.

Her pulse quickened. It was as if a spark of fire had set ablaze in her chest. It was as if, too, Nash could sense it, for he put upon Katherine such a look of warning!

But it was too late – she could not help herself – and Katherine cleared her throat.

‘Mrs Wilson sent Lowdie to her room, my lady.’ Then, quite deliberately, she added, ‘Without dinner or supper.’

Katherine sensed rather than saw the furious look directed at her from the vicinity of the housekeeper’s stiff-backed stance on the other side of the servants’ hall; it was to the viscountess that Katherine directed her gaze, who blinked back at her in shock.

‘Without dinner or supper?’ she echoed, then turned to address Mrs Wilson. ‘Why has Loveday been sent to her room?’

Mrs Wilson (and in that moment Katherine thought her quite the Old Hag Mulligrub Lowdie always called her), pursed her prune-like lips.

‘In disgrace, my lady. She broke one of the blue china plates.’

Viscountess Pépin’s shoulders dropped.

‘Oh dear,’ said she with a sad shake of her finely curled head. ‘Not another one of my periwinkles?’

‘Just so, my lady. And Miss Lucas shewed not one bit of remorse, either.’ Mrs Wilson cleared her throat. ‘If you would be so kind as to spare me a moment, I should like to discuss her behaviour with you.’

‘I see.’ The viscountess returned Lowdie’s box to Miss Maria’s basket. ‘Very well, Mrs Wilson. But first,’ she said, face brightening, ‘we must finish distributing the boxes. Prudence Brown?’

And as Prudence came eagerly forwards Katherine heard Nash breathe a heavy sigh of disappointment, saw quite clearly this time the angry look Mrs Wilson sent her way.

But when it was Katherine’s turn to accept her own Christmas box she held her head high and bestowed upon Viscountess Pépin an expression of pleading, and by the manner in which that lady’s fair brows drew together, Katherine felt assured her mistress had understood the message she had attempted to impart.

It was in those moments of gift-giving that Loveday Lucas lay upon her bed.

It would appear at first if one were to regard the scullery maid in such repose that she did not care one bit she had been sent to her room with no prospect of either dinner or supper (for here, at least, her wish of a little time off had been granted) but the truth of it was rather different.

Lowdie did care that she had been sent to her room with no prospect of either dinner or supper, for deep down in the pit of her (rather peckish) belly, it upset her greatly that she should be subject to such unfair punishment.

It was just a plate, Lowdie thought, and an ugly plate to boot.

That she had perhaps deserved it to a degree on account of her quarrelsome tongue was a thought that impinged furtively upon her mind, and Lowdie sucked the cut on her finger as she stared at the whitewashed ceiling.

Katherine had hung a sprig of holly from one of the beams to incite some festive spirit, but at that very moment Lowdie felt none.

She knew perfectly well her behaviour caused discord between her and her fellow servants, but so often Lowdie found herself unable to curb it.

This was what came from growing up in a houseful of boys with no mother to protect her from their teasing; this was what came of never playing with dolls or tea-sets and possessing not one single friend of the female sex.

This was what came of reaching the grand old age of twenty with as much freedom as one could shake a bonnet at, then being forced to curtail oneself in a place so far away from all she had ever cared for.

She missed her pa, and she especially missed her brothers, but with each of them lost to the battlefield and as a consequence her father to the bottle …

well, there had been no other choice but to come here.

How would Old Hag Mulligrub feel if she had lost all those she loved so very dearly?

How would she feel, to be so lonely and so very misunderstood?

Lowdie was sure Mrs Wilson would not be so boorish if she knew of her history, but it was something she had never divulged – not to the housekeeper, nor to anyone.

The sun – which had already been weak in its efforts to shine that day – gradually disappeared from the room.

The sprig of holly became a mere shadow against the now-black beam.

Below, the faint bustle of evening chores in the servants’ hall sounded in muffled resonance, and ignoring the rumble in her stomach, she felt herself begin to drift off to sleep.

It was just as Lowdie had turned to a position that felt most comfortable to instil slumber that there came a soft tap upon the oak door, and without waiting for any call to invite entry, it swung wide open.

If it were Kate, she would have come into the room without preamble, and certainly would not have bothered herself to knock, so it was with surprise that Lowdie peeked blearily at the silhouette now standing at the threshold.

‘Who is that?’

‘’Tis Mol.’

‘Oh,’ Lowdie huffed, and though her tone might to Molly Hart be construed as churlish, it was in fact one of relief that it was not Mrs Wilson who stood at the door. But before she might say anything further, Molly took breath.

‘The mistress has sent for you.’

Like a shot, up Lowdie sat.

‘Lawds! You do not mean it?’

Oh, but this was a disaster. Mrs Wilson had always threatened Lowdie with dismissal, but she never truly thought that Viscountess Pépin would allow it – she had always struck Lowdie as being too soft, too nice , and it had made Lowdie (she grudgingly admitted to herself) complacent.

Was it not the viscountess, after all, who had offered her the position here at Wakely Hall to begin with?