Chapter 26
Phoebe flattened herself against the door as the unruly pack charged past, tumbling into the kitchen garden. Their reedy, childish voices rose to an excited din as they dashed between the neat rows bisecting the snow-covered beds. Before she could stop them, three boys ran around the corner of the manor, shrieking as they chased each other right under the window of Lucas's study.
She sighed. Lucas hardly needed a noisy game of tag disrupting his work. She knew better than anyone the burdens that weighed on him, and the last thing she wished to do was test his admittedly formidable patience any more than she had to.
Not that he had been anything but affectionate this morning, although she sensed the emotional distance between them. She was coming to learn that while her husband easily manifested displays of physical affection, he shied away from declarations of loveâeither in the giving or the receiving. Whether that resulted from his reluctance to let go the wounds of the past, or from the fact that he did not love her, Phoebe could not tell.
“Goodness! Such a noise,” exclaimed Mrs. Knaggs as she bustled out from the kitchen passage. “I'll round up those naughty boys, my lady, if you wish to wait here in the garden.”
Phoebe nodded her approval before turning her attention to the four girls dancing around her, all talking at once as they vied for her attention. The boys ignored the girls, of course, too excited to do anything but tromp up and down between the vegetable beds, seeing who could make the biggest footprints in the snow. Today was a rare treat for them. An outing devoted solely to fun, ending in the manor's kitchen with a feast of tea, scones, gingerbread, and even, Cook had promised, a piece of plum cake for everyone.
She ran an assessing gaze over the little ones, worried they might yet suffer from the cold. The children had arrived at the manor a tattered, poorly dressed lot, and Phoebe had felt compelled to voice her concern to the vicar's wife.
“I know,” Mrs. Knaggs had replied with a grimace. “But you mustn't think their parents fare any better. Worse, in fact. I thought twice about letting some of them come today, especially with the snow, but I knew their little hearts would be crushed if I kept them back.”
Phoebe understood, but she could not allow the children to go out in the bitter cold so poorly dressed. She had dashed upstairs, calling for Maggie, and the two of them had quickly rummaged through her wardrobe for extra gloves, a muff, and several of her thickest wool shawls. Then she had dashed into Lucas's room and bullied Mr. Popham into relinquishing a number of her husband's warmest scarves. The valet had been stunned, clutching the expensive lengths of soft wool to his horrified breast, but Phoebe eventually prevailed.
After swaddling the children in the mismatched collection of warm clothingânaturally, some of the boys had protested vociferouslyâshe finished the job with extra pairs of gloves donated by some of the household staff. The results were comical, since the children resembled nothing so much as unkempt spindles of yarn, but at least the poor mites would be able to keep warm. And with the exception of Mr. Popham, all the servants had gotten into the spirit of giving, eager to contribute and chatting gaily as they helped the children prepare for their adventure.
“Well, Lady Merritt,” puffed Mrs. Knaggs as she steamed around the corner of the manor, her charges in tow, “I think we're ready.”
Phoebe glanced out to the manor's broad lawn, where two groundskeepers patiently waited with the necessary tools and the cart to carry the greens they would collect, along with the Yule log. Will, the footman, came rushing out of the back door to join them.
“All set?” Phoebe asked him.
“Yes, my lady. And very happy to be here. The old earl was much too sick the last few years for any such festive goings-on. We had nary a sprig of greenery about the place. Everyone is right looking forward to seeing the old place tricked out as it used to be, and that's a fact.” He beamed at her. “Especially the mistletoe. Everyone sorely missed that.”
“Why the mistletoe in particular?” Phoebe asked as they tromped off in the direction of the apple orchards, the children gamboling behind them like clumsy lambs following their shepherds.
Will threw her a startled look. “My lady, surely you know what to do if you're caught standing under a sprig of mistletoe.”
Phoebe shook her head. She had no idea.
The young man's face reddened as he cleared his throat. “Ah, well . . .” He trailed off, casting a helpless glance at Mrs. Knaggs.
The woman nodded. “Nothing to be shy about, Will. Even the vicar has been known to catch me under the mistletoe.”
Mrs. Knaggs smiled at Phoebe's mystified glance. “If a young man catches a girl under the mistletoe, the girl must give him a kiss,” she explained. “For each kiss the man collects a berry, and when all the berries are gone, then the privilege is revoked.” Her eyes twinkled. “If there's a lot of mistletoe hanging in the house, there can be quite a lot of kissing.”
Phoebe opened her mouth, then shut it, not sure how to respond. Mrs. Knaggs laughed. “I know it sounds shocking, but it's harmless fun. It's tradition and, after all, you do live in Mistletoe Manor. You have a reputation to uphold.”
“Oh, yes. I . . . I am sure we do,” Phoebe replied faintly. As if anyone at Mistletoe Manor needed any encouragement with
that
sort of thing, if their interest in the intimate relations between the master and the mistress was any indication.
Mrs. Knaggs edged closer, dropping her voice to a confidential murmur. “And I'll wager his lordship won't mind catching you under the mistletoe now and again, will he, my lady?” She sighed. “And such a fine, strapping man, too. Lady Merritt, if I wasn't so happily married, I might envy you.”
“Ah, thank you,” Phoebe replied with a weak smile.
Mrs. Knaggs was as free in her opinions as the servants, which seemed unusual in a vicar's wife. Then again, every adult Phoebe had met since arriving at Mistletoe Manor was remarkably forthright on any number of issuesâoften to the point of indiscretion. With the exception of the smuggling issue, unfortunately.
When they reached the orchards, Phoebe split the children into groups, one to help each groundskeeper as he gathered up the mistletoe. She watched, fascinated, as the men severed the boughs of the plant from the apple trees, which served as hosts.
“I did not realize the plant grew directly from the branches and trunks of the trees,” she said to Mrs. Knaggs.
“Oh, yes. The mistletoe plant loves apple trees. And since Kent is full of them, now you know how both the manor and the village got their names.”
“The plant depends on the tree for sustenance, just as the village and the manor are inextricably linked.” Phoebe smiled. “I like that image very much.”
The vicar's wife gave her a thoughtful nod. “That's always been the way, as far back as anyone can remember. And like the manor and the village, when the mistletoe is neglected it can overwhelm the tree and choke the life out of it. Then both will suffer and die.” She hesitated, looking as if she wished to say more, but closed her lips.
Phoebe reached out a quick hand and touched her arm. “I understand, and I assure you the earl does as well. Neither the plant nor the tree will be neglected any longer.”
“Mr. Knaggs and I are so relieved, my lady. We've seen many dark days here in the village.” The older woman blinked several times as she pulled a large white handkerchief out from her sleeve and loudly blew her nose. Then she gave Phoebe a watery smile. “You and his lordship have brought us hope, and at the best time of year, too. You can see it in the village. Our people finally have something to celebrate this Christmas.”
Phoebe glanced around. The children and the men had moved on to the next stand of trees and out of earshot. Since Mrs. Knaggs had conveniently raised the issue about the struggles of the villagers, perhaps she might finally be willing to talk about the smuggling. “Mrs. Knaggs, I wonderedâ”
“Here now, Becky,” Mrs. Knaggs called out loudly. “Don't let the branches hit the ground. Put them right in the cart as soon as the men hand them to you.”
The woman gave Phoebe an apologetic grimace. “Sorry to yell, but it's bad luck to let the boughs touch the ground once cut from the tree. I think we'd best go over and help the children.”
Phoebe tamped down her frustration and trudged with Mrs. Knaggs to the handcart, now partly stacked with mistletoe. “You do not really believe that kind of superstition, do you?”
“No, but they do,” the older woman said, gesturing to the others. “It won't do to break with tradition, especially when it comes to the mistletoe.”
“And the mistletoe should be the last greenery out of the house after Candlemas, ain't that right, Mrs. Knaggs?” asked one of the smaller boys as he struggled with a particularly large bough.
“
Isn't
that right,” corrected Mrs. Knaggs. “And yes, Peter. The mistletoe is always the last of the greens to be burned when the celebrations are concluded.”
Phoebe eyed the rapidly filling cart. “I believe we have enough mistletoe to build a bonfire. Do we not also need to collect some holly and some other greenery?”
“Yes, my lady,” answered Griffin, the senior groundskeeper. “I be thinkin' we've got ourselves enough mistletoe for this year.”
Phoebe nodded her agreement. If they mounted even half the pile resting in the cart, there would be so much kissing going on at the manor she doubted anyone would have time to work.
Although she enjoyed the prospect of Lucas catching her under the mistletoe. Of course, now that their estrangement had ended, she doubted he needed any excuses to kiss her.
They set off for the home wood, following Griffin's lead. “We'll be sure to find a proper Yule log not too far in, my lady,” he said. “There were some fierce storms this summer, and a few ash trees came down, along with some branches from the bigger oaks.”
She nodded. “The children must stay together in their groups. I do not want anyone wandering off and getting lost, especially in this cold.”
Griffin, a burly man in his middle years, with a steady, comfortable manner, smiled at her. “Lord love you, m'lady. There ain't one of these nippers that don't know his way blindfolded through these woods. Most of 'em have been comin' and goin' on manor lands since the day they started walkin'. Not much fear of them gettin' lost.”
He paused to study her, rubbing his bristled chin as if deep in thought. “If you don't mind me sayin' so, m'lady, you be the one who stands a fair chance of gettin' lost. Best stick close to me or young Will.”
“Very well,” Phoebe said. Though Griffin's manner was a bit forward, he was no doubt correct.
They approached the woods across open lawnâsheened a brilliant white with the dusting of snowâand made for the first copse of trees. Trailing behind the others, Phoebe turned to gaze up the wide expanse of gently sloping lawn to Mistletoe Manor, set on the highest point of land for several miles. She had not ever seen the manor from this vantage point, and she paused to take it in.
From this vantage point it seemed magnificent, a noble building with irregular wings and chimneys, and turrets that spoke of its ancient heritage. Diamond-paned windows glistened in the sunshine, and the stone balustrade that surrounded the back terrace of the house gleamed with its coating of snow. The bulky shapes of urns and the occasional statue of an angel or fawn, all coated in white, broke the stately, formal lines of the house. The garden shrubbery and yew hedgesâsquat and bulky under their thin veil of snowâgave the manor an almost whimsical appearance.
As Phoebe gazed at the old pile, a surge of affection and pride flowed through her veins. Yes, it was cold, drafty, and starting to crumble around them, but it was beautiful, nonetheless. She could be happy here, with the man she had come to love, and who would, God willing, give her the children she longed for. They had a roof over their heads, fertile soil beneath their feet, and loyal, hardworking people to help them. Everything she and Lucas needed to live a peaceful and happy life could be found at Mistletoe Manor.
Of course, whether Lucas saw it that way remained a question. Where she saw blessings, he perceived only burdens and responsibilities. She could only hope that her husband would eventually come to see the riches God had placed before them.
She turned and headed to the woods, striding to catch up with the others. They had all disappeared into the thick stand of oaks, but she easily followed their voices and their trail through the snow. The rough ground, littered with dead leaves and twigs, forced her to pick her way around the windblown shrubs covering the forest floor. Eventually, she came upon a narrow trail, and a few minutes of brisk walking brought her into a small clearing. Mrs. Knaggs and some of the children clustered about Griffin, collecting the evergreen branches he was sawing off the trees.
“There you are, my lady,” said Mrs. Knaggs. “We were just about to send out a search party.”