Chapter Eleven
"What were you doing in the kitchens?”
Kit glowered at Colin as he and Cat appeared from the depths of the kitchens. “Mind your own business.”
As he usually did, Colin took up position alongside Kit and continued along with him. “Whatever takes place in the kitchens happens to be my business,” his twin assured him. “Especially on today of all days.”
Kit gave him a sardonic look. “What, because you have Mrs. Fraser working herself to the bone to make an extravagant feast that we don’t need?”
Colin frowned at him. “Nobody needs a feast, Kit, but we were supposed to have a good many more people to feed this evening, or have you forgotten that the weather has ruined our Christmas entertaining?”
Kit had forgotten, actually, which he really could not be blamed for, as he had not invited anyone, and really did not care overly much if they had come or not.
“True,” he allowed carefully. “But considering your wife’s response to the idea once it was no longer in place, I suspect your life is more secure for having it fail.”
Colin sighed heavily. “Probably. But at least I may soothe myself with some excellent fare.”
“Yes, poor you,” Kit mock-consoled.
“You benefit from my over-trimmed feast, too, you know,” Colin pointed out. “Everyone does.”
“How fortunate for us.”
“Come on, Kit,” Colin groaned. “It’s Christmas! And what sort of family would we be if we did not have a feast in celebration of that?”
“Agreed, but you should see what they have going on down there.” Kit widened his eyes and shook his head. “It was a good thing I brought reinforcements with me, or I would never have survived.”
Colin grinned rather cheekily. “Well, who could resist such a pretty little Cat?” He reached out and pinched at Cat’s cheek playfully and she batted at his hand with a defiant cry.
“That’s Papa’s good girl,” Kit praised, shifting her away from Colin. “Uncle Colin doesn’t have to touch you if you don’t like it, no, he doesn’t.”
A disbelieving snort came from his other side. “Please. She loves it when I come roaring into the nursery.”
“Only because she is secretly a huntress who wants to take the beast down for sport.”
“Probably true. What did you have to go down to the kitchens for?”
Curses. Colin was usually put off by such distractions.
“I went to ask Mrs. Fraser if she would mind providing an additional treat for the family later this evening,” Kit admitted with a resigned sigh.
Colin laughed outright. “In addition to everything I already have her doing?”
Kit scowled at him. “Quite. You see my dilemma.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t bring Daphne with you for additional reinforcements.” Colin shook his head with a low whistle. “Cat must truly be charming to get her to agree to that.”
“Cat was exceptionally adorable and behaved quite admirably for her audience.” He looked at his daughter rather proudly and she laid her head on his shoulder, still smiling. “She takes after her mother in that regard.”
That made Colin hoot in delight. “I’m not sure you ought to be saying that aloud, given all the trouble Marianne put us through over the years. I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.”
Kit covered Cat’s ear playfully. “Shush. All that’s changed now.”
“Is it? How diverting.” Colin clapped Kit on the back consolingly. “You’ve still yet to tell me what exactly you asked Mrs. Fraser to make. Surely there’s enough food to be had.”
“More than enough.” Kit gave Colin a searching look. “Did you know there are three different kinds of pudding down there?”
Colin fought a grin. “Is that counting Bitty’s charcoal version or not?”
Kit chuckled and shook his head. “Definitely not counting.”
“Excellent. I was hoping she would comply with that, but I expected only two.” His brow furrowed quickly. “Don’t tell me you asked her to do a fourth.”
“No, not at all,” Kit replied. “I only asked for hot cakes and cider this evening.”
That caught Colin off-guard and he stumbled a step. “Really? Like we used to have at Seabrook?”
Kit nodded, smiling. “We might not have had much by way of Christmas, but when we were with Aunt Agatha for Christmas, we were always assured of Mrs. Clappe’s hot cakes and cider.”
“Devonshire’s traditional Christmas fare.” Colin smiled with the reminiscence. “Do you remember that she would bring those to us after Agatha was already in bed? We would sit in the drawing room in front of the fire with Mrs. Clappe and old Mr. Barnet, eating our Christmas hot cakes and cider.”
Kit remembered that well, and it had played over and over in his mind in the days leading up to Christmas. He wondered that he hadn’t thought of it before now, or implemented it in Christmases past. It was the only fond memory of any Christmas he had after his mother and sister had died, and he had treasured those few moments more than he could express.
“I wasn’t sure if our very Yorkshire staff would be amenable to such a request,” he told Colin with a rueful smile. “They seem rather set in their ways.”
“But she agreed?”
Kit grinned, allowing himself to reveal just how pleased he was. “Especially once I told her why. Do you know, I think she has quite a soft heart, despite all appearances. I swear she started to tear up, but she insisted it was just all of the smoke and steam of the kitchen and the spices she was using.”
Colin chuckled easily. “I have the same suspicions, but I’m willing to let her think she can fool us.”
“As am I.”
They entered the main entryway and paused, looking around. There were evergreen boughs nearly everywhere one looked with red bows on them, in just the right shade. Within the rooms they could see, more greenery could be seen, along with the mistletoe plants in various doorways. The tree could barely be seen from their position, now much more appropriately dressed, and candles were placed on it, waiting to be lit. Candles were being placed along various other parts of the house, and everything gleamed bright and clean, ready for Christmas.
“Good heavens,” Colin breathed, grinning like a schoolboy. “This looks perfect.”
Kit nodded repeatedly, turning to see it all. “Doesn’t it? Much better than anything we ever had.”
“Oh, it’s beyond anything. I defy any family of status to have anything better.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Colin scoffed loudly. “Please, and I was just going to suggest that we give the footmen a bonus for the artistry.”
Kit would ignore that slight.
He knew better.
All was prepared now. He’d ordered one of the larger rooms emptied for the carolers and Morris men who would come this evening. He wasn’t entirely certain how much space they would need, or if they were accustomed to performing indoors, but he was not so unfeeling as to force them to remain out in the cold and snow. It would be a perfect touch to celebrate the season and the evening after they had all feasted to fatness from Colin’s excessive meal.
Or perhaps he should call it Mrs. Fraser’s meal. Colin really hadn’t done anything except make demands, which was really all that Colin ever did.
“I really don’t know what else is left to do,” Kit said as he looked around again. “I’ve secured the entertainment for this evening, the Yule log is in place, as is the Yule candle.”
“Very exciting, I can hardly contain myself,” Colin responded in a careful monotone.
Kit threw him a scathing look. “You’ll enjoy the Morris men. Dancing about with sharp objects? Possibly throwing them in the air?”
“True,” Colin allowed with a nod. “I’ll probably applaud for that.”
“I’m sure that is all the incentive they need.” Kit sobered and shook his head. “I don’t know, Colin. What’s missing?”
Colin thought for a long moment. “Well, we have a tree, and it looks rather dashing, I must say. You’ve managed the décor, and the mistletoe, we have treats and gifts…”
Kit groaned at the thought. “The gifts…”
“I’m going to have them carted out,” Colin told him without shame. “We don’t need them, and they’re only causing trouble. I swear you sent them, you swear I sent them, the women think our friends sent them, and we all know that ruddy Father Christmas did not send them. So let’s just get rid of them.”
Kit nodded in agreement. “Put them in the cellars or something until they’re quite forgotten, and then we can donate them all or save them for a different occasion.”
“Exactly.” Colin looked around again. “I agree, I think we’ve got everything managed until this evening. How are things going with the Boxing Day preparations?”
“St. Stephen’s Day,” Kit corrected with a haughty air. “The meaning is important.”
“Forgive me, St. Stephen,” Colin said with a lift of his hands. “The day where we have no servants because we have given them boxes of things. How is all that going?”
Kit could have smiled at his brother’s comments, but where would the fun in that be? “Well enough, I think. I haven’t checked in some time.”
Colin just looked at him for a long moment.
“What?” Kit asked when it got to be annoying.
“You don’t hear anything?” Colin asked, smiling a very peculiar smile.
“No,” Kit drawled slowly, listening carefully now. “Should I?”
“You tell me.”
He listened again, and there was utter silence.
Almost eerie silence.
Then his mind snapped into place. There were nine other children in this house beside the one in his arms currently close to falling asleep, and not a single sound was being made.
In a house of Gerrards, that was the most terrifying thing in the world.
Kit bit back a curse and moved quickly to investigate.
“I didn’t mean to alarm you,” Colin laughed, “only make you aware of it.”
“You are a horrible adult,” Kit pointed out.
“Oh, this is news to you?”
“Lord only knows what they could be up to,” Kit muttered to himself, not caring if Colin could hear him. “First Rosie and Freddie try to kill each other, then Bitty tries to set the house on fire, then that stupid goat… For all we know, they could be plotting to take the Crown.”
“I’d put money on Rosie for the revolution,” Colin offered as if that would be helpful.
Kit ignored that.
They entered the back parlor to find the room completely empty saving for Bitty, who was silently wrapping more presents and adding them to a growing pile.
“Bitty,” Kit said carefully, smiling as patiently as he could. “Where are the others?”
She looked up with a wide smile. “They’re working on the theatrical, Kit. They thought these were boring, too. I don’t mind though. I like being helpful.”
Kit watched for a moment as she meticulously folded the paper around what looked to be ribbons and rolled it up, securing the wrapping with another ribbon. “I appreciate your willingness to help, poppet,” he told her, using a name he hadn’t since she was much younger. “It means a great deal. I know it’s not very exciting, but the servants will be so pleased.”
Bitty wrinkled up her nose. “I suppose. But they’re not very exciting, Kit.”
“What would make them more exciting?” he asked, afraid to hear the answers.
“Ribbons.”
Colin came over and raised a brow at her. “Is that not what you just wrapped up?”
She beamed and nodded. “I thought the maids might like more than just old frocks and cravats and goods pilfered from the pantry.”
“Excellent alliteration there,” Colin praised quietly, earning himself a jab with Kit’s free elbow.
“So I ran upstairs and fetched some ribbons that I don’t wear anymore, and I’m giving one to each of the maids,” Bitty finished, pointing to it on her tally sheet. “I don’t know what else to give the footmen or Harward. Freddie said some books, but I don’t know if they can read.” She peered up at Kit and Colin in thought. “Can the footmen read?”
Kit, for his part, was stunned into silence at the generous heart of his sister, and couldn’t think to answer with regards to the literacy of his servants.
Colin, thankfully, did not have the same problem. “Why not ask Mrs. Donovan, Bitty?” he suggested with warm, brotherly tones of affection. “She would know. And if they can, ask her to show you the books in the library that we can give as gifts.”
Bitty smiled and hopped down from the chair, skipping out of the room.
Once she was gone, Kit let himself exhale slowly and faced Colin. “Well, I didn’t expect that,” he laughed softly.
Colin shook his head in disbelief. “Sweetest heart I have ever encountered. I think she might not actually be a Gerrard, but we should keep her anyway.”
Kit chuckled and shrugged. “She could be an excellent influence on the others.”
“And us.”
“Definitely us.”
Colin looked at the tally sheet. “Ribbons for the maids?” he scoffed, but in appreciation. “What a thought.”
A loud thumping above them drew their gazes there.
“What in the world?” Kit murmured.
“What’s above us?” Colin asked, pointing.
“The gallery, isn’t it? Odd place to be practicing the theatrical.” In their other houses, the galleries were vast and extensive, and might have done the job considerably, but here at Benbridge, that was not the case. It was a pokey corridor, dotted with random bits of furniture that got in the way more than added to the general feel of the room. He had planned on letting Marianne and Susannah make that over after Christmas.
Harward suddenly passed the parlor and Kit saw his opportunity. “Harward.”
The butler came back at once and inclined his head. “Sir.”
“Do you know where the children are practicing the theatrical?” Kit asked, coming over to him.
“I do, sir, yes,” he answered respectfully. “Master Freddie asked for as much space as possible, though not why they needed it. They are in the old ballroom, sir.”
Kit looked over at Colin in confusion, and saw similar feelings etched on his face. “The old ballroom?” Colin echoed. “Isn’t that on the north side of the house by the greenhouses?”
“Correct, sir.”
That was clear on the other side of the house, they would never have heard them unless a battle was commencing.
“Then what…?” Kit began, cutting himself off when another two rapid thumps came from above them.
“I don’t even want to know,” Colin muttered to himself.
Kit grunted in agitation. “I do.” He nodded at Harward and moved for the stairs at the back of the house, taking care to avoid the squeaking one that might have woken Cat, who was now dozing quite peacefully against him.
There was no telling what could be making those sounds in this place, but he was quite certain Marianne was not practicing a jig or Susannah rearranging furniture. Unless his son and nephew had escaped the nursery and were beating each other with whatever random objects they could find, there was no explanation for any of it.
Which meant there was also no preparing for whatever it was.
The gallery was before him in almost no time, and the sight that met his eyes had not even been close to something he had been anticipating.
He stared at it for a long moment while he waited for Colin to join him, wondering that he hadn’t raced up the stairs.
“Colin,” Kit said in a low, mild tone when he heard his approach, “would you kindly take Cat from me?”
“Of course,” Colin replied awkwardly, confused by the request. “But why?”
Kit growled. “Because there is a goat head-butting a portrait of Great Uncle Fulton, and I need to remove him before I do quite a lot of yelling and disturb everyone and everything in this house.”
Colin muffled a laugh as he peered into the gallery, then carefully took Cat from him. “Here we go, love,” Colin murmured, his voice quickly disappearing down the hall. “Uncle Colin won’t let Papa’s temper wake you, no he will not.”
Kit stared down the animal, who was now watching him. “You,” Kit told the creature, “have a barn to return to. And if you don’t come quietly, it will be quite the permanent move.”
“Of all the foolish, ridiculous, unthinkable notions, Ginny Gerrard, this certainly takes them all.”
There was no response to his vehement curse, which was appropriate, as Ginny was not with him.
The only audience was the goat trudging through the snow behind him, and he did not seem to notice Kit’s agitation whatsoever.
“Why in the world would anyone want a goat for Christmas?” Kit asked the wintery scene, which was actually a great deal worse than he’d thought it would be. The snow was still falling heavy and thick, and the temperature was quickly dropping.
The trouble with being in one of the more remote corners of Yorkshire was that they were also higher in elevation than the rest of Yorkshire and therefore experienced harsher weather, particularly in the winter. England had a rather temperate climate, all things considered, and rarely was winter cruel.
Only a few years ago they had experienced one such winter, but that had been the first in some time.
It seemed fitting that this year, having opted for a retreat in Yorkshire, they should have to deal with all of this, too.
Whatever magic he had ever considered a snow covered Christmas to be, he was convinced there was none to it now.
“Goat cheese would have been a decent enough present,” Kit said aloud, crunching through more snow on the road towards the village and tenants. “Goat’s milk, not so much, but more understandable. An actual goat?”
He looked back at the animal, who seemed oddly delighted to be out in the snow. “Can you even eat goat?”
The goat looked at him balefully, and Kit nodded once.
“Probably. I bet you taste like weaker, tougher lamb.”
The insult was lost on the goat.
Kit shook his head and let himself release a loud, agitated growl that echoed in the silent, wintery hills around him. It felt good, he’d admit that, but he also felt like a fool.
He could have had the horses hitched up to a sleigh and driven the blasted goat back to Mr. Matthews. In hindsight, that probably would have made more sense than marching out here bundled up and returning the goat on foot. Why, he could have had one of the servants deliver the animal and washed his hands of the whole thing.
But he had ordered the goat to be returned in that manner only a few hours ago, and it had not been done.
This way, at least, he would see the deed done properly.
There was no need to put more people and resources to work when it really was quite a simple errand.
Yes, the snow was tiring and taxing. Yes, the air was cold and crisp and he wished he had bundled up more. Yes, the goat was an aggravating creature that did not wish to be moved at times. But all of that was irrelevant because surely being out in the cold with no one to upset or distress would do Kit some good. This was action, and he would not be waiting with limited patience for his carefully constructed plans to come to fruition.
This was just a way for him to waste time until the real Christmas events could take place.
Had he wanted to be walking a goat back to its original owner on Christmas Eve in the snow? Not exactly, but there was nothing to be done about that now.
Kit looked down at the goat, who was now at his side. “It’s nothing personal, you know. I don’t know you well enough to have this be personal.”
The goat said nothing, which came as a relief to him, as he was currently also wondering about his sanity.
“I’m sure you are a very good goat, if such a thing exists.”
Silence again.
“I’m just not in a position to have a goat in my life in any capacity,” Kit explained, “and certainly not as a pet. You understand.”
The goat made a soft bleating noise that sounded rather like an acknowledgement, so Kit accepted it as such.
“Good lord,” Kit muttered with a derisive shake of his head. “Did I just have a dissolution of an understanding with a goat?”
Again came a bleating sound.
“That is not helpful, goat,” Kit snapped. “I will have you roasted yet.”
A weaker bleat came from the goat, but Kit was very careful to not respond to it.
There was nothing to be gained from conversing with a goat.
Kit did not say another word aloud until he could see Mr. Matthews’ farm, and he was entirely unprepared for the elation that filled him.
“Ah ha!” he cried. “A finer sight I have never seen in my life, I swear it.” He tried to pick up his pace, but the goat had decided that he had gone far enough and sat down.
Kit glared at the creature. “Are you serious right now? Home is there. Warmth is there. Food is there, and you want to remain right here? In this spot?”
The goat stared at him without blinking.
Kit glowered, wishing he were not quite so honorable. “I would leave you here to freeze in the snow or be devoured by some dangerous creature,” he told the stubborn creature, “but I could not answer to Ginny if I did that, and I cannot lie to her. So please get up and get moving.”
The lack of response was more aggravating than the reappearance of the goat in the first place.
“Ugh!” Kit groaned loudly. “I did not want to do this, but you leave me no choice.” He lunged for the goat and scooped him up in his arms, carrying him away as swiftly as he could.
“Do not get hair on this coat,” Kit grunted. “And do not let your unpleasant odor rub off on it.”
He shook his head and pressed forward with as much vigor as he dared in the slippery terrain. “This is not how I wanted to spend my Christmas Eve, you cursed animal.”
The goat made an odd growling noise.
“And the same to you, sir,” Kit snapped.
A figure appeared from the barn and started jogging towards him. “Mr. Gerrard?”
“Mr. Matthews,” Kit called, not bothering to hide his relief. “I have come to ask a favor.”
Mr. Matthews paused at the sight of Kit holding the goat. “Humphrey?”
Kit rolled his eyes. “Not you, too. I have enough to say on the matter that this creature came to be in my sister’s possession, let alone that she named him. But it is Christmas and I do not want to deal with this now. Will you kindly tend to this goat until I can figure out what in the world to do?”
Mr. Matthews took the goat quickly, looking more than a little ashamed. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. A thousand apologies, sir.”
Kit shook his head and brushed himself off. “Thank you.” He paused in the brushing and gave the man an incredulous look. “And what in the world were you thinking, selling a goat to an eight-year-old girl?”
“I know, sir, I know,” Mr. Matthews sighed heavily, his thick accent rumbling deep in his chest. “I would never have done so normally, but…” He winced and then looked at Kit with widened eyes. “Sir, have you ever tried to say no to that little sister of yours?”
Kit stared at him for a long moment, then gave a reluctant chuckle. “Why do you think I am asking you to tend him instead of take him back?”