Authors: Father Christmas
No, she didn’t even notice the duke’s absence, except when the vicar forbade her to put the evergreen garlands in his church, and made sure their cost was added to her side of the ledger. And she didn’t wish Ware would come back soon, except for the children’s incessant questions: “When is Collie coming home?” and “Do you think he’ll bring us something?” No, she didn’t miss him at all.
Christmas came, as it usually did, whether anyone was ready for it or not. Had there been more time, in fact, Graceanne would have found more to do. Now that it was the afternoon of Christmas Eve, all she had to accomplish was a dress rehearsal of the Nativity play in the empty church, minor repairs on the twins’ costumes, and a nap. The boys couldn’t be expected to stay up later than their usual bedtime without a longer than usual nap; nor could they be expected to understand that concept, especially as agitated as they were. Leland’s return hadn’t done much to dim their excitement, not when he mentioned a surprise or two for good little boys—tomorrow.
Every other minute a dark head would pop up from the pillows to ask if it was tomorrow yet.
Finally Graceanne took them down to her own room, where the three of them could share her bed. She cuddled their little bodies next to her, pulled a quilt over them all, and started to tell stories and sing carols.
When she awoke, Willy smelled of her rosewater and Les was wearing her new slippers on his hands. They must have slept some, for her slippers didn’t smell of rosewater yet and the rest of the room was more or less intact. At least Graceanne was refreshed. And at least it was now time to get the boys bathed and dressed, with Meg’s help.
Then it was Graceanne’s turn, with no help. She tried to ask Prudence which gown she should wear that night, which to save for Christmas Day, the velvet or the merino. Pru was too busy complaining that Mary had to wear a shawl on her head, and how was she supposed to go out caroling with the choir later if she looked like a scarecrow?
Graceanne chose the velvet, with its satin ribbons. She put on the pearls Tony had given her in honor of the twins’ birth and went down to supper, to her father’s lecture about the pitfalls of vanity, avarice, and trying to catch Lord Ware’s eye. Prudence came in for her share of strictures on modesty and filial obedience. Even Mrs. Beckwith was censured for getting above herself, entertaining gentry, and serving three courses at supper. Of course, Graceanne noted, her father didn’t turn down any of the new cook’s offerings. They all said, “Yes, Papa,” and “No, Mr. Beckwith,” and went on eating the best food to grace this table in anyone’s memory. The silence was broken only when Beckwith remembered another fault, another sin.
Graceanne couldn’t help contrasting this meal, with its varied selections, to the plain fare at the nursery dinner, where the children laughed and sang and chattered about everything. Perhaps she should take her meals there from now on, she considered. What were a few spills or stains?
Then it was time to put on their warmest cloaks and walk across the path to the church. Even Mrs. Beckwith was going, all wrapped up and leaning on the arm of the new maid. Sick or well, servant or master, young or old, everyone in the little village of Warefield would be attending church that night. The twins skipped ahead of Meg, darting off into the darkness, then giggling at the nursemaid’s frantic calls. Graceanne didn’t want to call them to heel yet; better they expend those high spirits outside the church doors.
The party from the manse separated once they were inside the stone church, where the sexton already had the candles lighted, reflected in the stained glass windows. The vicar took up his robe and stood by the pulpit, meditating. Mrs. Beckwith settled onto the bench reserved for the minister’s family, along the wall nearest the lectern, while the servants filed into back pews. Prudence took her seat in the small choir section behind the vicar, where the chairs had been pushed to one side to leave room for a few bales of hay, a makeshift manger, and a ladder draped in dark fabric.
Graceanne and the boys stayed in the tiny vestry, gathering the other Sunday-school students who were to be actors for this night. While the congregation assembled in the church, she adjusted headpieces and located props and soothed anxious nerves. Just before her father started the service, she handed out the children’s Christmas gifts, their mittens, little tops, and clothespin dolls, to keep them quiet. One of the mothers was to stay with the cast while Graceanne joined the choir for the first hymn.
From where she was sitting she could look past her father’s rigid back to her mother’s uncertain smile. Graceanne nodded in reassurance. Past them, nearly every row of the small church was filled, both sides of the aisle, with some parishioners standing by the door in the rear. That was more to make an easy exit when the vicar got going, she knew, than from lack of seats. The unfortunates in the first few rows had no such option, sitting almost immediately under the vicar’s watchful eye. They couldn’t even choose to sit farther back in the darker recesses, where one might have a catnap during Beckwith’s orations, since these parishioners had their names on the pews, like Squire’s family. Graceanne saw that Lucy Maxton had brought her betrothed along, but she couldn’t see what had Prudence in such a swivet about him. The young man had no chin. And Mrs. Maxton must have purposely forgotten to air her furs until that afternoon again, for she was swathed in beady-eyed boas, and Squire was already sneezing and wiping his eyes. Graceanne knew from her childhood that the wheezing was bound to get worse halfway through the vicar’s sermon. She used to make mental wagers over which would give out sooner, her father’s voice or Squire’s patience.
The very first row, of course, was reserved for the Warringtons. If His Grace got up and walked out, it wouldn’t be his mortal soul in danger but the vicar’s job, so for tonight, at least, they were assured a shorter than usual harangue. Thank goodness, she thought, for the children’s sakes. And then she thought, Goodness, didn’t His Grace look fine tonight!
He wore cream-colored pantaloons and a brown velvet coat that almost matched the color of his hair. His shirtpoints weren’t as high as Lucy’s intended’s, nor his gleaming neckcloth so intricate, but Leland was the one who seemed better dressed and more confident in his attire. Besides, he had a strong, firm chin, with just the hint of indentation. He was definitely a man to the fiancé’s youth.
As much as Graceanne had been studying His Grace during the invocations, he had been watching her watching him, and now he smiled. Mortified, Graceanne quickly lowered her eyes to the prayer book in her lap. But she knew it by heart, and soon enough her mind started to wander again, right in his direction. It must be the diamond in his neckcloth that drew her eye, or the heavy gold ring on his finger that flashed when he turned the pages, or the tiny sprig of holly in his buttonhole. Or the light in his eye when he caught her staring again. This time he winked.
Graceanne forced her concentration back to the matter at hand. This was church, and Christmas! She had no business staring at one of the worshippers, no matter how attractive. Besides, it was time for the next hymn.
At least the choir was paying attention, Pru’s and Liam’s voices melding gracefully around the others’. So they had practiced, contrary to her fears. The only jarring notes to the ancient hymn came from the congregation: Mrs. Maxton’s warbly soprano and Ware’s aunt Eudora’s off-key squawk trying to drown her out. Graceanne looked up—she just couldn’t help herself—to see that Ware was mouthing the words, with no sound coming out that she could hear.
Tony had been tone deaf; most likely the duke was, too. Somehow that made Graceanne feel better, that he wasn’t entirely perfect. She also felt better when she noticed the black armband he wore in respect for his cousin. Good, she thought. If he respected Tony’s memory, he would respect Tony’s widow. There would be no more of his shockingly indecent proposals.
Papa had begun his sermon while Graceanne daydreamed of what being such a man’s mistress could mean.
“I see faces I haven’t seen in this church since last Easter. What, does God celebrate only holidays? I hear voices I know have taken the Lord’s name in vain. Are you not ashamed now to sing His praises? I know there are those of you who have lusted and coveted and lied and cheated. Repent of your sins, I say, lest you burn in the hellfires of eternity.”
A less self-righteous man might have figured out by then why he saw some of his parishioners so infrequently. Not Papa. But how could even Papa be talking of sin on this of all days, when he was supposed to rejoice with his flock in the birth of hope? Then again, she’d been thinking of sin, so she was just as guilty. Squire started coughing again.
“I know there are those among you”—the vicar’s eyes were fixed on the first pew, and Graceanne didn’t think he meant Aunt Eudora—”who have gambled and fornicated. On Sundays!”
Squire harrumphed, and Pru giggled from beside Graceanne. Gracious, whatever the duke said to Papa that day in the study must have been dire indeed, to call down such retribution. His Grace was looking thunderclouds back.
“And I know there are those among you who would profane the sanctity of Christ’s birth with merrymaking and overindulgence, with pagan rituals and self-serving avarice.”
Now a great deal of the congregation began squirming. Maybe they’d been sitting too long; maybe they’d been thinking of the lamb’s wool back home, the goose dinners, and the presents.
Just when the vicar was winding himself up for the grand finale of calling damnation down on all their heads if they didn’t repent, a small voice from the back of the church called out: “Mama, is it time to go home yet? We’re going to miss Christmas!”
Graceanne mightn’t know which child it was wandering down the center aisle, but she definitely knew whose child. With her face as red as the new mittens her son wore, Graceanne watched Meg dive for the child and miss. Two footmen in the duke’s livery managed to corner the boy between them and lead him back to the vestry while the rest of the parishioners laughed.
So furious he could hardly speak, the vicar pounded on the lectern, but it was too late. No one was listening, no one was going to take him seriously when his own family didn’t. Glaring at his elder daughter, he signaled for the final hymn.
With the closing refrains, the choir began to walk down the aisle toward the back of the church, and the sexton dimmed some of the candles, enough that the congregation could pretend not to see the frantic scurrying as the chairs were moved back and the hay bales were moved forward.
Then Squire’s youngest son took his place at the lectern and began to read: “And it came to pass…”
When he reached the lines where the shepherds were out minding their sheep, the blacksmith’s boy, with white robes and crook, herded his small flock down the center aisle. The matching lambs, woolly headpieces, red mittens, and all, gamboled in front of him making sure their furry tails wagged.
“And, lo! A star arose.”
From the top of the shrouded ladder a silver star appeared. One of the lambs breathed “Ooh!” but the shepherd managed to get in his lines about being amazed.
“And an angel spoke to them.”
The Anstruther girl was atop the ladder now, her brother holding on to her ankles. One wing was lower than the other and her halo kept falling into her eyes, but she told the shepherd to follow the star, so Toby Moon did, herding his little lambs around the perimeter of the church and back to the vestry. One lamb baaed the whole way, one woofed.
Then it was Mary and Joseph’s turn. Pru’s pillow stuffing was realistic, and she drooped convincingly over Joseph’s arm as they wearily limped toward the altar, where the Anstruther boy came out from behind the ladder to point toward the hay bales. There was no room at the inn. But there was a cow. Timmy and George Bindle could still be heard arguing over who should be the front end, forgetting to moo. Annie Carruthers was the horse. Her father’s prize Percheron had a shorter tail now. There were two feathered creatures who alternately quacked and honked, and one pig in a dyed-pink pillowslip who was so embarrassed, he refused to oink.
Mary was masterful, though, kicking the pillows aside and retrieving the blanket-wrapped “infant” from behind the bales of hay while all eyes were on the animals and their antics. As she placed the baby in the rough manger, the star rose again and the angel’s sweet young voice rose in a song of joyful adoration. Mary gazed adoringly—at the redheaded Irish Joseph, who still had his arm around her. They sang a duet of rejoicing.
The shepherd and his lambs followed the star again, then the three kings, bearing gifts and retrieving fallen crowns, wandered toward the altar and made their speeches. By this time one of the lambs remembered the spinning top in his pocket, and the other remembered he hadn’t relieved himself after dinner. As the rest of the choir filed back in for a reprise of the angel’s hallelujah, this time carrying lighted candles, Graceanne grabbed Willy and his top. Then she looked around helplessly, wondering what to do with him while she took Leslie outside. She couldn’t hand him to her father, that was for sure, unless she wanted poor Willy served up as mutton, and Meg was all the way in the rear of the church.
“Rejoice, rejoice, a King is born,” sang the choir, the kings, the congregants. “Mama, I’ve got to—”
The duke stood and took Willy from her, and sat back down with the child in his lap as casually as if he’d taken a pinch of snuff, one-handed. He winked again as she fled outside with her other son through the nearby side door.
Graceanne reentered the church just in time for the closing benediction. The duke must have been watching for her, since he nodded and patted the empty space next to him. Lady Eudora was still cackling on his other side. Gathering up the remains of the duke’s quizzing glass first, Graceanne put Leslie down in that spot next to Ware and started to move farther into the pew. The duke merely lifted Les onto his other knee and gave her an innocent smile. The vicar cleared his throat. Graceanne sat.
For the very first time, Tony’s widow and sons took their places in the Warrington pew with the duke’s family while her father blessed them all. Not a one of them believed he meant it.