Chapter Six #2
“If I may have your attention, please, ladies and gentlemen?” A small, white-haired lady stood erect in the centre of the makeshift stage. She leaned on a cane, but her voice was sharp and clear.
“Ah.” Sir Rodney moved away from the table. “That’s Miss Wellworthy, the schoolteacher. Best do as she says. She remembers everyone here. And some of us not too fondly.”
Prudence noticed Reid grinning as his father slunk off to his seat beside Lady Jocelyn. “She taught your father?”
Reid nodded. “And it wasn’t an easy relationship, I understand.”
Prudence smiled. “Perhaps you should find me a seat and then join them?”
“Not at all. We shall sit together and enjoy the performance.” He led her to a couple of seats off to one side.
“Performance?” She sat and arranged her shawl behind her.
“Yes. It’s the annual Nativity play.” He shot her a mischievous grin. “Prepare to be hugely entertained.”
She settled back as the candles were dimmed, leaving only the ones circling the stage.
Two tall lads emerged and fastened an appropriate cloth to the wall.
On it, small hands had painted a kind of stable, some very interesting green plants and what probably was meant to be a donkey. It was strangely appealing.
“Were you involved in anything like this?” Reid leaned close and whispered in her ear.
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered back. “We sang carols and lit a Yule log, but never did any Nativity plays.”
“Enjoy this, then. It’s unique.”
And indeed it was.
Prudence was charmed as a little girl in blue came out and sat on a small box. Then another girl with big feathery wings and a gold wreath danced out as Miss Wellworthy began the tale of Christmas, introducing Mary and setting the scene.
The Angel Gabriel announced the coming of a special child, Mary and Joseph – a young lad whose beard kept falling off – were denied a room at the Inn and eventually arrived at the stable.
There was a tiny but enthusiastic gathering of musicians, and Prudence sang along with Hark the Herald, humming the verses she couldn’t remember.
The story was familiar, but seeing it through the eyes of these children, so excited and happy and proud to be performing…
with the exception of poor Joseph and the beard…
it brought something new into Prudence’s life.
A realisation of innocence. And something she had never thought of – or missed – the joy of sharing something special with one’s family.
She had no mother. Not even a name. Nor a father that she knew of. She’d never felt the lack of them though, thanks to Aunt Dorothea. And how she would have enjoyed this little play.
She laughed along with the audience as the shepherds brought in their sheep, wooden shapes with wheels and tufts of wool lovingly stuck to their heads.
She oohed and aahed as the three Wise Men presented their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, as represented by some shiny buttons, an empty perfume bottle and a lump of soap, rather the worse for wear.
The next hymn was new to her, The Holly and the Ivy.
She listened to the clear young voices soaring into the rafters, unaccompanied this time since it was evident that the music was new to the rest of the audience as well.
It was lyrical, musically pleasing and she smiled at the enthusiasm of this young choir.
At last the performance drew to an end with all the children gathered around Mary and the baby in her arms. She was heard to tell Joseph to “git yer mitts off of ma doll”, but other than that slight deviation from the script, all went according to plan.
The room stood to celebrate the season and the play by singing Oh Come All Ye Faithful, and the final rousing notes were the cue for a huge round of applause and cheers.
Prudence expected chaos to erupt following the performance, but the audience sat once more. Curious, she noticed a girl, one of the older schoolchildren most probably, walk onto the stage. In her hands she held a large wreath.
Silence fell.
“To begin our Chrithtmath theason, Little Chillendale would like to offer thith weeth…”
“Wreath,” hissed Miss Wellworthy.
“Yeth…wereath…”
Miss Wellworthy sighed audibly but waved the girl on.
“We’re gonna give it to Mithter Reid.”
Obviously, the confusion of pronunciation along with the lisp had eliminated the balance of the formal declaration, but the meaning remained clear.
Reid touched her arm. “Excuse me. That’s my cue.”
He rose and walked steadily to the stage. “I gladly accept, Jenny. On behalf of the Chillendales of Chillendale Hall, I will take this wreath and wear it with pride.”
Prudence watched not only Reid, but the faces of the people in the hall as he made his acceptance. They were smiling, some teary eyed, others staring in awe as Mr. Reid himself knelt down in front of little Jenny, the butcher’s daughter, and let her place the weeth on his head.
Then he stood, straightened it a little so that it was less likely to poke out an eye, reached for Jenny’s hand and turned them both to face the audience.
“Let the Christmas revels begin.” His voice echoed over the entire assembled crowd.
And that was when all hell broke loose.
The mistletoe branches in the wreath were a little scratchy, but Reid ignored it as he walked to the large chair which had been uncovered and prepared for his arrival. It was green, of course, and more mistletoe, along with holly and ivy, had been twined around the ornate carvings.
He had to watch how he sat on it, since the abundance of greenery might end up under his breeches if he wasn’t careful. That wouldn’t have mattered much unless it was holly – an experience he’d prefer not to have on this particular evening.
Aware of his duties, he felt more than a little frustration at not being able to return to Prudence and remain at her side. But that was not the place for the Mistletoe Marquess.
The children made that fact quite clear as they lined up in a ragged queue waiting for him.
Beside the chair was a large chest filled with prettily wrapped packages, sporting bows and ribbons and the occasional piece of sparkly paper. Miss Wellworthy stood guard, an ancient but formidable protector of the Christmas Treasure Chest.
She greeted him in her customary no-nonsense fashion. “Sit down, Reid Chillendale. There are children waiting for their presents and to them that’s a lot more important than who is where in the Hall.”
Realising he’d been looking for Prudence, he sat, abashed and slightly embarrassed. “Of course. My apologies.” He took the first gift.
“For Nancy Harking.” Miss Wellworthy began intoning the names of the children.
They hurried to stand in front of Reid and then smiled or grinned as he handed them their presents with a “Happy Christmas”.
Most of them returned a polite thank you, and a few of the girls even curtsied, earning an approving nod from Miss Wellworthy.
It seemed to take forever, thought Reid, as he handed out package after package, trying his best to be a good Mistletoe Marquess while furtively glancing over the room to see where Prudence was.
There were many adults on their feet now, mingling in knots here and there, some at the ale table, others handing out sweetmeats to the children.
It was a busy hubbub within which Reid had difficulty finding Prudence. He caught a glimpse of her with Brent, chatting to someone, and then he thought he saw her with his parents.
That gave him pause. Would they comment on his interest in her name only the night before? He didn’t know.
Recalled to his duties, he sighed, smiled and wished Johnny a Happy Christmas, complimenting him on his performance.
“Thankee, sir.” The lad touched his forelock respectfully. “That beard itched summat fierce though.”
Reid grinned sympathetically. “It’s better when you can grow your own. Give it a few years.”
Johnny was pushed out of the way by an eager young lass, and so the process continued, until all the children there had received their holiday presents.
At last Reid was free to rise, groan a little as he straightened his spine, and find the target of his attentions – Lady Prudence.
He spied her at the ale table, next to Lord Southwick, who was staring at her with a very strange expression on his face. If Reid had been pressed to describe it, he would have said it was not far from horror, but that seemed highly unlikely.
Nevertheless, it would seem that something untoward had occurred, since Lord Southwick gave a brief bow to Prudence and then hurried out of the Church Hall, not even stopping to speak with his wife and daughter.
Reid frowned as he made his way toward the ale table, only to have his arm seized in a grip of iron by his mother. “Darling. Stop right there. We need to talk.”
“Um, I was going to the ale table…”
“I know exactly where you were going, which is why you’ll take a moment to attend your poor old mother.”
Reid rolled his eyes, but allowed her to lead him aside.
“You asked about Eldridge last night. And today I’m introduced to a stunning young widow who apparently has the same name.” She narrowed her eyes. “Coincidence? I think not.”
“I…er…”
“Exactly.” His mother looked smug. “You’ve met her already.”
“Well, actually…”
“I knew it.” Lady Jocelyn tapped him on the chest. “Don’t ever try and keep secrets from me, Reid Chillendale. I’m way to good at reading you. Remember you are my child. The fruit of my loins.”
“Mama, please…” Embarrassed as hell now, Reid tried to back away.
“Very well. You may go and find your Widow Eldridge. But I shall want a full accounting, young man. Do not think you’re getting away with anything.” She turned away, only to spy Brent as he spoke with the Southwicks.
Reid hoped she wouldn’t interrogate the poor chap as intensely as she had her son. And yet he hadn’t really told her anything. She hadn’t given him chance, which was a good thing, overall.