Chapter 14
'Twas the night before Christmas.
Meg awoke late, and with the distinct feeling her head had suffered some terrible misfortune before she’d laid it on her pillow.
“Here you are, miss,” Betty said, after plumping her pillows. “Tea and toast. You get that down you and you’ll feel much more the thing.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Meg said faintly.
“Don’t be daft. You’ve a busy day, remember, for you volunteered to pack the Christmas hampers with Lady Della.”
Meg made a pained sound, touching her fingers to her head. “I did, didn’t I?”
She stared at the breakfast in dismay. Resolutely, she picked up a triangle of buttered toast and took a bite.
“That’s it, miss. You finish that, and you’ll be right as a trivet.
I’ll lay out your green gown and flannel petticoat, for that’s nice and warm.
You’ll be wanting a shawl too, though. It’s freezing today and you’ll find the storerooms downstairs are chilly.
The snow’s gone for now, but I reckon there’ll be more before nightfall. ”
Rather to Meg’s surprise, by the time she had finished every crumb of her breakfast, under Betty’s watchful eye, and washed and dressed, she felt almost herself again. Well enough, at least, to keep her promise to help with the hampers.
Making her way below stairs upon the instruction of Howard, she found Della already hard at work.
“Good heavens, how do you do it?” Meg asked her, astonished to see Della looking as bright and fresh as always and clearly having been up for some time.
“You’ve never had a season, have you?” Della replied with a laugh. “I can do half a dozen balls in one week at the height of the season and then be up in the mornings for walks in the park or riding or picnics. It’s not for the faint of heart.”
“Gracious. I never realised how fortunate I had been,” Meg said in surprise. “Just think, all these years I so longed for parties and society, and I would never have survived it.”
“Of course you would. You just need to build up your stamina, that’s all.
Now, if you would be so good as to bring a jar of calf’s foot jelly—vile stuff, but Granny swears by it—and a jar of the strawberry conserve and add one of each to every hamper.
Then there’s just the meat and dairy and the cake and biscuits to add. ”
“How many hampers are there?” Meg asked, wide-eyed as she looked around the room and saw what looked to be a military campaign in action.
“Five and fifty,” Della said promptly. “And there’s a ham, tea and sugar, butter, cheddar, a fruitcake, a pork pie, a jar of pickles, the two jars you’ll add, and a box of shortbread in each one,” she said, ticking the items off on her list.
“They’ll be given out tomorrow?” Meg asked.
Della nodded. “We usually get the mummers mid-afternoon, and we give out many of the boxes then. The rest will be delivered during the day or on Boxing Day to those too elderly or sick to come to the house.”
“The dowager is a generous soul.”
“She is. The mummers will get money too, and Hawkney says she loves them to come, for they tell her all the town gossip,” Della said fondly.
“And if she hears of anyone in need who hasn’t been provided for, she’ll see to it, you may be sure.
Though don’t think it’s entirely charitable, for she adores interfering.
Reverend Honeywell told her about a large family all crammed into one little cottage, over on the other side of the town, near the Dog and Duck—you’ll have not been there.
She’s at war with the landlord now, for she says his rent is too high for what amounts to a hovel and she’s demanding he makes repairs or sells her the property so she may do so. ”
“I can well believe it.” Meg smiled, glad to know the dowager was so active in her charitable enterprises.
Della nodded. “She adores it, and a good row livens her right up.”
Once the hampers were all packed and done up, Meg made her way back up to the entrance hall, delighted to discover Nat just coming down the stairs.
“You’ve not just got up!” she exclaimed, hurrying up to him.
“No, brat, I was out riding before you had even stirred,” he told her, giving her a narrow-eyed once over. “How’s your head?”
Meg looked sheepish. “Oh, it was awful when I woke up, but I feel better now.”
“That’s the spirit. Now, you’d best come along, for Gee-Gee has summoned us both.”
“Oh? Very well,” she said hesitantly.
At frowned at her. “What is it?”
Meg twisted her fingers together. “It’s just that it’s Christmas tomorrow, and… I’ve no presents for anyone, Nat. I shall feel so awkward.”
“Ah,” he said, understanding at once. “Well, as my wife, you are entitled to your own money. If your father were alive, he would deal with the marriage settlements, but as it is, you’ll have to trust me. I’ll see you well provided for, I promise.”
Meg blushed. “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“You didn’t!” Nat took her hands. “You came to me with nothing but yourself, love, but that is so much more than I ever expected to have. Let me do this small thing for you, please? It would make me happy to do so.”
“It would?”
Nat looked around to see if anyone was watching before leaning in and pressing a kiss to her lips.
A strange fizzing sensation shivered beneath Meg’s skin, everything inside her quivering as she remembered they were to be married the day after tomorrow.
“It would,” Nat said quietly, pulling back to look into her eyes.
He looked pleased by what he saw and put her hand on his arm again.
“Come on then, love. Let us see what my dreadful relation has been up to this time.”
“Why do you think she’s been up to something?” Meg asked cautiously.
“Because she looked far too pleased with herself,” he said with a laugh, and escorted her into the parlour.
As they entered, they saw the dowager was not alone. Hawkney was with her, as was the man the dowager had insisted on introducing them to last night. The one Meg had danced with.
“Mr Bartlett,” Meg said, smiling warmly at him, for he had been a kind man, and she had enjoyed speaking with him as they danced. “I did not realise you were staying at the hall. How lovely to see you again.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” he said, taking her proffered hand and bowing over it. “I am staying at The Swan, actually, but the dowager was good enough to invite me to stay on for your wedding. I hope you do not mind it.”
Meg was a little surprised but had no objection, so she shook her head. “Of course not. We should be delighted for you to join us. Wouldn’t we, Nat?”
Nat nodded his agreement, but was staring so hard at the fellow Meg elbowed him, afraid he was being rather rude.
“I am afraid we—I—have not been entirely honest with you,” the fellow went on, his expression becoming serious. “So I if you wish to withdraw the invitation once you have heard my explanation, I would not be entirely surprised.”
Meg looked from him to the dowager in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“I am not Mr Bartlett,” he said gently. “I am George Fairchild, your cousin.”
Meg gasped, relieved when Nat grasped her hand, steadying her.
The fellow smiled ruefully. “I can only imagine your shock at hearing that, for I felt it myself when I received the letter informing me of your existence. The dowager was so very kind as to get in touch with me, and I confess I was uncertain of what I would find. The story of your mother’s disappearance has never been fully explained to our generation, and now that I am head of the family, I did not wish to commit us to acknowledging the relationship if… if….”
“If I was dreadful?” Meg suggested.
He returned a wry smile. “I hope you can forgive me and accept that I knew I had nothing to worry about from the moment we met. I regret my deception but hope you can comprehend it.”
“Of course I can,” Meg replied, still reeling. “But you mean to say you don’t know what happened to my mother?”
He shook his head. “She was never spoken of, I’m afraid.
As far as any of us knew, she simply disappeared.
No reason was given, though I suppose we all made assumptions.
I believe her father, who was my father’s younger brother, tried to find her in the months after she left, but he failed.
As far as I know, he never knew that she had married, let alone that she had a daughter.
I wish he were here to explain himself to you, but he died some years ago, and your grandmother long before he went. ”
Meg nodded, finding she felt rather strange. “I… I think I’d like to sit down,” she said with a little laugh.
“Come, love,” Nat said gently, guiding her to the settee and sitting close beside her, keeping a firm grip on her hand.
Mr Fairchild sat too, looking rather uncomfortable. “I’m afraid it’s a lot to take in.”
“It is,” the dowager said crisply. “Hawkney, I think we all need a brandy.”
Hawkney, rather to Meg’s surprise, made no comment at this rather peremptory demand and submitted to pouring them all drinks.
He handed the first one to Meg, his austere gaze meeting hers. “I would like it clarified that I had no part in this. I did not know Mr Fairchild’s real identity until this morning, or I would have made my feelings known.”
“Yes, yes, we all know you disapprove of anything that smacks of intrigue,” the dowager said, waving this concern away much like she would a small gnat.
Hawkney’s lips twitched, so slightly Meg might not have noticed if she’d not been looking at him, but he said nothing, and returned to handing the drinks around.
Meg sipped hers, trying to absorb all she had heard. “So, do I have more family?” she asked cautiously.
“You do,” Mr Fairchild replied, looking rather more at ease now that she looked less like swooning. “Quite a number, I might add. I must also tell you I had a look through the family archives upon receiving her grace’s letter and found this. You are the image of your mother, you know.”