Lady Osbaldestone’s Christmas Goose Read online

  “Indeed.” Therese could guess where his mind had taken him. “Although there are five more days to Christmas, Mrs. Haggerty will need time to clean and pluck the bird and properly dress it, so in fact we really have at most four days. If we don’t find the flock by the twenty-third, I believe we’ll need to give up.”

  “But not yet, Grandmama!” George and Lottie chorused.

  “We should at least search until then,” Jamie said. “And when you think of it, it’s like long ago when everyone had to hunt for their meals. We’re doing the same thing.”

  Somewhat relieved—for how she would occupy them if they weren’t amusing themselves with the search, she had absolutely no idea—Therese regally inclined her head. “Very well. Our search goes on.” She paused, envisaging the map of the area. “I suggest that tomorrow, you and however many of the other children you can collect should search the woods north of Swindon Hall. That’s opposite Tooks Farm, across the road to Romsey and the Wellows. I can’t remember why we didn’t search there earlier, but we haven’t, and we should. It’s a large enough area that a flock could hide there and not be seen by anyone for some time.”

  Jamie and George nodded eagerly. “We can start in the morning,” George said, “as long as it isn’t raining.”

  Therese had had the thick curtains drawn tight against the icy cold of another brilliantly clear night sky. “I doubt we’ll have rain, but we will have frost—possibly a hoar frost—by morning. It’s been edging toward a deep freeze over the past days. I think tonight will see even the lake freeze hard. It’s already frozen over, but Dick Mountjoy keeps an eye on it—he’s more or less the official arbiter of when the village can skate on the lake, and he told me today that he thinks the freeze tonight will do it. If so, he’ll put up a sign in the shop window, so we’ll all know the village skating party is on. The whole village gathers every year on the twentieth, as long as Dick says we can skate.”

  “Skating!” George cheered.

  “And we packed our skates, too!” Jamie added.

  “Mine are new.” Lottie looked up at Therese. “I can skate all by myself, but my feet grew bigger, and I had to get new ones.”

  Therese smiled and passed her hand over Lottie’s sleek head. “That’s wonderful, my dear. I’ll be able to watch you all.” She looked at the boys and added, “Just as long as Dick gives us the all clear. The village rule is that there’s strictly no skating unless and until Dick says it’s safe.”

  Jamie and George returned her gaze solemnly. “Yes, Grandmama.”

  She eyed them for a second, then nodded. “Good. Now let’s turn our mind to our other campaign.”

  Lottie looked up. “Is that the one where we help Lord Longfellow and Miss Fitzgibbon to see that they like each other?”

  Therese looked down into her granddaughter’s face and smiled. “Succinctly put, poppet—it is, indeed. And if the weather cooperates, we can hope for another event on the village calendar.”

  “The skating party.” George rocked back and forth, a frown slowly forming on his face. “We managed at the re-enactment with Henry’s help, but how are we to get them properly together on the ice?”

  Slowly, Therese nodded. “A very good question. I believe that at the skating party, we’ll have to rely on careful observation and our own quick wits to make the most of any opportunity that presents itself.” She eyed her three helpers. “Which means we’ll have to trust in Fate and be ready to seize whatever opening she gives us.”

  Chapter 10

  The boys’ morning search proved entirely unproductive. They returned to the manor for luncheon to learn that Dick Mountjoy had, indeed, declared the lake properly and solidly frozen over, and the village skating party was therefore convened for two o’clock that afternoon.

  The news cheered them up wonderfully.

  The entire household gathered in the front hall at a quarter to two. Excitement glimmered in many an eye, and anticipation abounded.

  Using a large basket wrapped up in an old blanket, Mrs. Haggerty carried mince pies fresh from the oven; the aroma wafted through the air and made everyone’s mouths water. Crimmins had his arms around a bundle of flagons wrapped in cloths to keep them warm—mulled wine for the adults and light cider for the children. Mrs. Crimmins and Orneby made sure all three youngsters were well wrapped up in their thick coats, hats, scarves, and gloves and were wearing their heavy outdoor shoes to which their skates could be attached.

  Therese noted with approval that the three imps—although bouncing on their toes with excitement—bore with the women’s fussing and checking with commendable patience.

  She had to find her own portion of patience when Orneby, behaving as the first-class dresser she was, insisted on resettling Therese’s warm winter bonnet more firmly over her ears and retying the fine woolen scarf draped over the bonnet to secure it.

  From the corner of her eye, Therese saw her grandchildren grin at the sight of her submitting so tamely to Orneby’s ministrations.

  Finally, Mrs. Crimmins and Orneby picked up small piles of extra shawls and blankets, Therese nodded to Crimmins, and he opened the front door.

  John Simms stood waiting on the front porch, with a stout staff in one hand and a pack on his back. The other members of the small household were also waiting—Ned Foley, the gardener, who lived with his brother and his family at Crossley Farm, Tilly Johnson, the scullery maid whose family owned Witcherly Farm, and Dulcie Wiggins, who was the orphaned niece of Martha Tooks and still lived with her aunt’s family. All three had walked in as usual that morning and had redonned their heavy winter coats and boots and, in Tilly’s and Dulcie’s cases, were swinging the skates they’d brought in anticipation of the skating party going ahead.

  “Right, then.” Therese paused on the threshold, raised her cane, and pointed down the drive. “To the lake!”

  The children cheered, Tilly and Dulcie giggled, everyone grinned, and they set off.

  John walked ahead, using his staff to break up any small sheets of ice. The children skipped and frolicked behind him, with Tilly and Dulcie following close behind. With Orneby, the Crimminses, and Mrs. Haggerty, Therese strolled more slowly, using her cane infrequently, but grateful for the added stability nonetheless.

  The sky above was ice blue with a thin veil of pearly clouds draped over the expanse by some celestial hand. The sun no doubt shone, but its light was diffused by the clouds; very little warmth penetrated the layer of chill cold that seemed to have smothered the surface of the earth.

  As Therese had predicted, they’d had a hoar frost overnight, and with the temperature so low, the ice hadn’t melted. It hung in icicles from the bare branches of trees, glistened on every blade of grass, and provided a constant crunch underfoot.

  They reached the lane and crossed over, then walked on past the church and vicarage to turn onto the village green. Many other villagers were walking in small groups over the green, all making for the rise at the far end, beyond which lay the lake.

  Therese and those of her household nodded and called greetings to the others and were greeted in return. The farther they walked, the more the company swelled. The Colebatches joined them.

  “Henrietta saw you walk past,” Reverend Colebatch said somewhat breathlessly. “I was working on my sermon and had quite forgotten the time.”

  Mrs. Colebatch smiled fondly at her spouse. “And it would never do to miss the village skating party. Everyone will be there.”

  Both Colebatches, Therese noticed, were carrying skates.

  The rise at the far end of the village green was formed by a natural fold in the land. On the other side of the rise, the land fell gently away into a shallow valley along the bottom of which the lake spread. It was fed by several small streams running through the thick woods that bordered the lake on three sides; outliers of the New Forest, the woods were a hodgepodge of oaks, beeches, yews, and hollies, in this season forming a backdrop of stark browns and dark greens. The approach from the vill
age green had long ago been cleared and was now a wide, grassy, gentle slope that led down to the lake’s eastern shore.

  The lake had been full before it had frozen, and the shimmering silver-white sheet of ice extended unbroken across the surface. The sight, lit by the soft glow of the cold afternoon sun, had everyone pausing in instinctive appreciation as they crested the rise.

  Nature, her hand, seemed very close; nothing about the scene held man’s touch, yet the beauty was undeniable, and they all paused to pay homage.

  Then on a wave of eager excitement, the children in the various groups rushed on down the slope. The adults, smiling fondly, followed in their wake.

  Being natural, the lake wasn’t circular. There was a wide sweep to the left, along the southern shore, where in summer a small beach lay exposed and tempting. To the north, the lake curved east and narrowed and deepened toward the inlet from the largest stream. In Therese’s mind, the lake was shaped like a pear, with the base to the south and the stalk to the north. Consequently, as along with the village’s other adults, she and her household set down their burdens along the eastern shore and John Simms produced folding stools from his pack, the vista that lay directly before them was that of the widest part of the lake.

  It was on that large and open expanse that the children and the others sufficiently adventurous would skate, in full view of all those settling on the shore to watch the fun.

  Within ten minutes, most of the village and the families from the surrounding farms had arrived. Children quickly strapped on their skates and slid out on the ice, laughing and shouting. Tilly, Dulcie, and their friends were soon gliding on the ice, too, while many of their parents, and others like the Colebatches, rather more slowly followed.

  It had been many years since Therese had skated. She’d loved the freedom, the speed and the rush of gliding so fast through the air, but the years had stiffened her joints and weakened her muscles to the point she no longer dared. But she still enjoyed watching others skate—living vicariously, she supposed.

  She watched Jamie, George, and Lottie skate confidently out; even Lottie showed no hesitation, much less trepidation. They joined the others of their age on the ice—all obeying the injunctions of several mothers not to go out too far. Therese humphed to herself; she wondered how long that would last.

  She glanced around and nodded to the Swindons, who came to join her.

  “Always an enjoyable excursion, what?” The major set a folding stool for his wife alongside Therese. “I don’t think we’ve missed one skating party since we’ve been at the Hall.”

  Mrs. Swindon sat and smiled up at him. “And you’ve never missed the chance to tie on your skates and get out on the ice, either.” She waved him away. “Off you go, dear. I’ll be perfectly comfortable here beside her ladyship.”

  “Good-oh!” The major nodded a farewell to them both and, whistling, headed for the ice.

  Therese and Mrs. Swindon amused themselves by spotting the village adults who had ventured forth and passing humorous judgment on their form.

  “Oh, look!” Mrs. Swindon pointed. “There’s dear Eugenia and Henry.”

  Therese saw the pair, skating fast and confidently, streak out toward the center of the lake. She craned her neck and looked along the shore and spotted several of the staff from Fulsom Hall strapping on skates. She frowned, then looked out to where Eugenia and Henry were twirling. “I’m surprised Henry’s four friends haven’t put in an appearance. I would have thought having the chance to show off before a crowd would tempt them.”

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Swindon leant forward, peering at the skaters. “Eugenia mentioned they—Henry’s friends—weren’t leaving until the twenty-third.” She sat back. “Perhaps their ennui was too great to allow them to participate.”

  Therese laughed. She continued searching the crowd—both the skaters and those on the bank. After several moments, she frowned. “I can see Jiggs—Lord Longfellow’s groom—on the ice, but I can’t see his lordship anywhere.”

  “Isn’t that his man—his majordomo—just arriving, along with Mrs. Wright, and their cook, and Jeffers? Jeffers was the old lord’s footman.”

  Therese looked, saw, and imperiously waved.

  Hendricks saw. He nodded to her, then spent a minute seeing his small band settled on the shore. Then Hendricks straightened and lumbered across to Therese.

  Halting beside her, he bowed. “My lady.”

  She nodded regally back. “I noticed young Jiggs has taken to the ice. Aren’t you tempted?” Hendricks hadn’t brought skates.

  Hendricks cast a wistful glance at the joyful, laughing crowd on the ice. “Aye—I’d like to be out there. But his lordship warned that this early in the season, although frozen over, the ice sheet’s not that thick, and too much weight in any one spot might crack through it.” Still staring at the lake, Hendricks concluded, “His lordship’s not one you could call over-cautious, but he’s always had a sixth sense about danger, so I decided to heed his advice. I wouldn’t want to stand still out there and have the ice go under my feet and get dumped in the drink.” Hendricks looked down and met Therese’s eyes. “I’ll wait until the ice builds a bit more before giving Jiggs a run for his money.”

  Smiling, Therese nodded approvingly, then glanced past Hendricks at the opening to the wide path through the wood from which he and the rest of the Grange household had emerged; there was no one else walking out of the trees. “And his lordship?” She raised her gaze to Hendricks’s face. “Is he coming?”

  Hendricks’s expression set, and frustration glimmered in his eyes. “No. He told me he didn’t like skating, but according to Mrs. Wright, he’s a devil on the ice—or was…” Hendricks shrugged. “Perhaps now he can’t, he doesn’t want to watch others doing it.”

  But you don’t believe that’s the case. You think he’s simply hiding. Still.

  Therese looked out at the skaters on the frozen lake. “With regard to your master, it appears we have our work cut out for us. Leave it with me, Hendricks, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Hendricks inclined his big head. “I’ll wish you good luck, my lady, but short of dragging him…”

  “Here.” Therese held up the box of mince pies Mrs. Haggerty had handed her. “Have a pie.”

  Hendricks gladly helped himself to one, then, with a polite nod to Therese and Mrs. Swindon, lumbered off.

  As if somehow alerted that the mince pies had been broached, Jamie, George, and Lottie, all sporting wide grins, bright eyes, and decidedly rosy cheeks, came rushing up, followed rather more slowly by the major, equally infused with the joy of simple pleasures. All four were full of delight over the sport to be had sliding about the lake; clearly, they viewed their mince-pie break as merely an intermission.

  Licking crumbs from his fingers, George looked at Therese. “Miss Eugenia is out there, but we haven’t seen his lordship anywhere.”

  “He’s not even among those by the shore,” Jamie added.

  With a sidelong glance confirming that Mrs. Swindon was absorbed chatting with the major, Therese told them what she’d learned from Hendricks.

  Jamie frowned. “That makes it very hard for us to advance with our secondary campaign.”

  “Indeed.” Therese fixed him with an entirely sincere, questioning look. “Do you have any suggestions?” After learning of Jamie’s discussion with Henry and having witnessed the outcome, she was rather intrigued to learn what else Jamie might, if encouraged, come up with.

  Still frowning, Jamie slowly said, “I think I should go and speak with him.”

  About what? Therese bit back the words. The look on Jamie’s face reminded her so strongly of the way Gerald had looked when plotting some devious strategy…

  Jamie’s face cleared, and his chin set. “Leave it to me.” He set his skates down beside Therese’s stool. He glanced at her, then at George and Lottie. “I’ll just slip up to the Grange and have a quick word—I won’t be long.”

  Therese nodded. She p
ointed along the shore to where the Grange household were gathered. “Ask Hendricks to show you the path up to the Grange—there’s no need to go back to the lane.”

  Jamie straightened his coat, nodded to his grandmother, then trotted over to where Hendricks stood.

  Armed not only with the direction of the bridle path through the woods but also with the information that his lordship was holed up in his library, Jamie walked and trotted through the woods, then cut through the stable yard and the Grange gardens to fetch up on the terrace outside the library windows.

  He had to tap twice before Christian appeared, stared at him through the glass, then unlocked the French doors and let him slip inside.

  Relatching the doors, Christian eyed him suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

  Jamie shrugged. “The others are all at the lake, having fun skating. But I heard you were here, and I thought I would come and stay with you until it’s time to go home.”

  Christian studied him. Jamie kept his expression open and unclouded and allowed Christian to scrutinize it.

  Finally, Christian asked, “Don’t you like skating?”

  Jamie looked down. “Not really,” he mumbled.

  “Why not?”

  Jamie shuffled, shifted. Eventually, he said in a rather small voice, “I fell. Hard. Last year.”

  Which was true. Of course, once he’d regained his wits and the use of his limbs, he’d gone straight back onto the ice, to the dismay of his mother and the approbation of his father. “It was on the lake at home at the Abbey. I knocked myself out, they said.” Still not meeting Christian’s eyes, he lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t like to skate anymore.”

  Christian remained silent for several seconds, then firmly said, “All boys like skating. You’re just afraid of falling over again—of not being as confident as you used to be. But trust me, you’ll be perfectly all right once you get back out there—at least after the first ten minutes.” He paused, then added, “It might take a bit of courage, but hiding away from the challenge will do you no good at all.”