Page 9 of The Twelve Days of Christmas

The viscountess sighed. ‘Well, there is nothing to be done about the broken pieces now. But please, Loveday,’ she added, her voice softening once again, ‘do be more careful. That set, as you now know, carries a great deal of meaning for both of us.’

For Lowdie Lucas to feel overcome with emotion was a very rare thing indeed, and so – quite incapable was she now of forming a suitable answer – she merely offered one tearful nod of her head.

‘I shall tell Mrs Wilson you are to stay,’ were Viscountess Pépin’s next words, ‘and that she should see a vast improvement in your behaviour henceforward. I shall also ensure you have something to eat this evening – I will not have my servants starved. No, no,’ she added as Lowdie attempted to return the rather sodden handkerchief, ‘keep it. But enough tears. This is cause to be happy, is it not?’

‘Yes, m’lady,’ whispered Lowdie, still overcome. ‘Thank you, m’lady.’

‘Very good.’ There was a brief pause in which the viscountess bit her lower lip. ‘Loveday, I assume you heard that Miss Partridge, my abigail, is to be married?’

Lowdie dabbed at her eyes. ‘Yes, m’lady.’

‘This means,’ Viscountess Pépin continued, ‘that I shall soon be without a lady’s maid.

I shall need to hire out for another, but I thought, perhaps, that one day you might suit the role.

You have some way to go before I can offer you the position, but may I presume you might be interested a few years from now? ’

Lowdie stared. Lady’s maid? Well, now, there was a mighty thing.

Would not her ma be proud? And while Lowdie’s silence in the face of such an offer might have indicated she was not receptive to the notion, the opposite was clearly writ upon the maid’s blushing face, and so the viscountess simply smiled and pushed the wrapt box across the desk.

‘This is for you,’ she said, and it took a moment for Lowdie to gather her surprise.

‘For me?’

Viscountess Pépin proffered a nod. ‘It is tradition on the second day of Christmastide that all Wakely Hall’s servants receive a gift box. This is yours, and there is one gift in particular I should like you to be mindful of.’

‘M’lady?’

The viscountess softly tapped her fingers together.

‘They come in pairs, and often appear when one finds oneself at a standstill in one’s life.

They offer peace, love and friendship, if you chuse to open your heart.

Remember, Loveday, that no matter how far we think we have strayed from our path, one can always be guided back to what matters most. We can start again.

Your mother reminded me of that, when I was feeling particularly maudlin.

It was she who gave them to me when Edmond died, and I should like you to have them now. ’

It was then she stood, prompting Lowdie – rather awkwardly – to do the same.

‘Merry Christmas,’ the viscountess said, and clasping the box and handkerchief to her breast Lowdie found she could barely contain the flutterings of her heart.

‘Merry Christmas, your ladyship.’

Katherine was troubled when Molly told her that Viscountess Pépin had called the scullery maid to her sitting room.

All through dinner she sat silently nursing her plate of capon and parsnips, hoping against hope that the viscountess had interpreted her pleading look and not dismissed Lowdie.

Later, Nash had attempted to raise her spirits with a dalliance in the larder, but Katherine had not the patience to bear his honeyed kisses and in a huff he left her to compose riddles in his new journal, whereupon she was left to apply herself to her evening chores in the most distracted of tempers.

It was in the cold store that Mrs Wilson found her, precariously pushing the syllabubs she had prepared onto one of the topmost shelves, and when the housekeeper said her name it was all Katherine could do not to drop them.

‘Mrs Wilson.’

Katherine chewed her inner cheek. Her bravado from earlier had quite vanished, and while she did not regret her actions Katherine did regret the potential result of them. What punishment was Old Hag Mulligrub going to inflict for her impudence?

‘I hope, missy,’ said the housekeeper in scathing tones, ‘you are proud of yourself,’ to which Katherine dared say nothing.

‘Since it is, apparently, the season of festive cheer and forgiveness I shall not take matters further, but in future you will keep your nose and tongue out of household business or you’ll find yourself on the doorstep, do you understand? ’

Of course, Mrs Denby would put up a mighty great fight if the housekeeper dared even try to turn her only kitchen maid out, but Mrs Wilson was a force to be reckoned with nonetheless and Katherine had no wish to risk dismissal and so, swallowing hard, she uttered a very quiet and contrite ‘Yes’.

Mrs Wilson clasped her hands to her front. ‘That’s better. Keep a civil tongue in one’s head, Katherine Allen. Remember that.’

‘Yes, Mrs Wilson.’

‘Good.’

‘Mrs Wilson?’

The housekeeper, who had already made to leave, turned in the doorway of the cold store. In the shadowed light her smallpox scars shewed particularly deep.

‘Will … Will Lowdie be dismissed?’

Mrs Wilson glowered.

‘It appears that her ladyship has decided to ignore my advice.’ The housekeeper paused. ‘Miss Lucas is a very lucky girl. How long she continues to be so, remains to be seen.’ And with one last disparaging look, Mrs Wilson vacated the threshold.

So profound was Katherine’s relief that she did not hesitate to make a hasty retreat to her bedroom as soon as she was able, whereupon she found Lowdie sitting cross-legged on her bed, an empty plate and the contents of her Christmas box dotted about her on the coverlet.

‘Oh, you’ve eaten. I am glad,’ she exclaimed with a broad smile. ‘And you have your box! What did you get?’ But in that moment of crossing the room she heard the distinct sound of a forlorn sniff, and Katherine’s smile fell swift as flight from her face.

‘Lowdie! Why are you weeping? Mrs Wilson says you are not to be dismissed after all, so surely there can be no cause for tears?’

When all Lowdie could manage was a hiccoughed sob in reply – and that into a rather limp-looking handkerchief – Katherine sat down heavily on the scullery maid’s bed. ‘Oh, Lowdie, please do say.’

Another hiccough came forth, and it was some moments before Lowdie could compose herself enough to answer.

‘The viscountess,’ she whispered, ‘was awful kind. She told me such nice things.’

‘Well,’ Katherine replied, ‘she is always kind and says nice things. And so generous, too,’ she added, gesturing to the box upon the bed.

‘Tell me, what special gift did she give you? We all got the same, except for one particular thing that – so the viscountess said – was unique to us.’ Lowdie did not answer.

Indeed, she was not even looking at her, and impatiently Katherine shifted on the coverlet.

‘I got some silk ribbons for my hair, you know how unruly it is, Nash got a writing journal, and Prue was given a little vase for the bouquet she caught yesterday.’ Still, Lowdie did not speak.

Katherine frowned. ‘Well? What about you?’

Finally Lowdie raised her eyes, but the words that came out of her mouth were not ones which Katherine expected to hear.

‘Do you think I’m unlikeable?’

‘Un … likeable?’

Oh dear. Such a question to be asked! Had she not earlier that day confessed to herself she found Lowdie Lucas somewhat trying? Had not Nash declared Lowdie to be that very word? But how to answer?

The struggle must have shewn upon Katherine’s face, for Lowdie turned hers and uttered a desolate groan.

‘I do not mean to be. But Pa always used to tell me that it did no good to be weak. Don’t let anyone walk over you , he said. Weakness kills , he said. It was what killed Ma, and I must believe it for she died having me.’

It was the first glimpse of Lowdie’s former life Katherine had ever been allowed; it felt as though she had uncovered a closely guarded secret, and Katherine was conscious then of feeling humbled that Lowdie should share that secret with her.

‘No matter what your pa said,’ Katherine replied gently, ‘there is a difference between being weak and being nice. You do not have to fight us tooth and nail. When you first came here, we were all ready to be your friend, but Lowdie … you made it so difficult.’

‘I know I did.’ Lowdie lowered the handkerchief. ‘Kate?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m afraid.’

‘Why?’

‘Because even if I were to be nicer, I do not think anyone would wish to be friends with me now. I’ve been too disagreeable to suppose it would be possible.’

Katherine hesitated. ‘Perhaps, at first. But in time …’

Lowdie’s lip twisted, and she turned a little so that Katherine was able to glimpse something nestled within the folds of her new Holland smock. It was to this Lowdie reached, and she placed – to her surprise – two small birds side by side between them.

‘Turtle doves,’ said Lowdie, to which Katherine frowned.

‘Turtle doves?’

‘You asked what the viscountess gave me.’

At Lowdie’s nod Katherine reached out to take them.

Now she held them in her palm, she saw that the doves were made of finely embroidered grey wool, and they were the prettiest little pin brooches Katherine had seen.

But why should Viscountess Pépin give such a gift to Lowdie?

As if sensing her unspoken question, Lowdie sighed long and low.

‘She told me my ma gave them to her.’

Katherine looked at her, confused. ‘Your ma?’

Lowdie nodded. ‘She was her midwife, long ago.’

‘Well, that certainly explains things,’ said Katherine, and Lowdie smiled a little, soft and sad.

‘The viscountess told me that doves offered friendship, if I chose to open my heart. I think her ladyship meant for me to give one of the doves to somebody, but if no one wishes to be my friend they are useless. I have no one.’

These words were said in so forlorn a manner that Katherine felt a tiny pull of sadness in her chest. Very gently, Katherine reached for Lowdie’s hand and pressed the little brooches so they sat snugly between their palms.

‘Tush, Lowdie Lucas. You have me.’

‘I do?’

‘Of course you do. You might make me despair whenever you dare open your mouth … but Lowdie,’ Katherine said with a giggle, ‘I’m not altogether sure what I’d do without you now.’

‘Oh, Kate!’ said Lowdie, eyes shining. ‘Do you really mean it?’

And Katherine did mean it, she truly did.

Nash and the other servants might dislike the scullery maid …

with fair reason, too … but Lowdie was not a bad sort at all – it was clear now that she had a pure heart beneath that rough exterior and ribald tongue, and as Lowdie – positively beaming from ear to ear – pinned one of the little embroidered doves to Katherine’s breast, Katherine was quite determined that before the end of Twelfth Night they would all know it.