Chapter Six
"You want us to do what?”
“Really, Colin? Really?”
Colin laughed out loud and patted his bouncing sister on the head. “Yes, Ginny, really.”
Rosie looked unconvinced and wore a disgruntled expression. “A theatrical? About what?”
“Anything you like, Rose,” Colin told her in what he thought was a very patient voice.
“Does it need to be Christmas themed?” Freddie asked, not sounding quite so dubious as Rosie, but neither did he match Ginny’s enthusiasm.
Colin considered that. “I don’t think so. I can’t think of a Christmas themed story other than the Nativity, and I don’t think we need to turn that into a theatrical.”
Rosie snorted softly. “Why don’t we just do The Winter’s Tale by Shakespeare? That should be appropriate for the time of year, and get us all in the perfect mood.”
Colin looked at Rosie for a long moment, not entirely certain where her cynicism was coming from. For someone who apparently wanted to make this Christmas special for her sisters and herself, she had an odd way of showing it. She seemed to be completely without cheer or joy, which did not bode well, and it didn’t actually fit Rosie.
She might have had a sharp wit and a droll sense of humor, but she was never truly harsh or critical.
“I’ll leave it to you, Rose,” Colin said in a serious tone, “to find a story, or make one up, that will appropriately capture the right sentiment to share with the entire family on Christmas Eve.”
She did not miss his meaning or his tone, and he saw her cheeks color as she reached down for Cat, who had come toddling towards her. “I can do that,” she murmured without looking up.
“I thought so.”
Colin felt his arm being pounded as he sat on the floor with the other little ones. “Yes?” he asked, turning to look at Ginny again.
“I want to pick it out!” she demanded, looking eerily similar to Rosie at this moment. “I do.”
He gestured to her sister. “Then take it up with Rosie. I’m sure she will be quite accommodating.”
Rosie threw him a look that could have burned through buildings.
Colin only grinned at her.
“Colin, why is there a tree in here?” Bitty asked as she entered the room, her hair a mess, but her dress somehow untarnished by flour or additional soot.
“A most excellent question, Bitty,” Colin announced as he grabbed his son before he could pull Livvy’s hair. He turned Matthew in the other direction, not knowing what was over there, but it was certainly safer than a little girl’s hair.
Colin got to his feet, waited for Livvy to crash into him, as she usually did when he got up from the floor, and walked over to the tree with her clutching his leg. “This, children, is a Christmas tree.”
“It looks like a fir tree to me,” Rosie said as she was led around the room by the finger Cat held.
He glared at her briefly. “It is a fir by definition and when it is out of doors with all the other fir trees, which are sad and pathetic by comparison to this glorious creature.”
Bitty giggled and pushed a mussed bit of hair back from her forehead.
“But,” Colin continued, turning very formal and pompous in his tone, “once the fir tree is cut down and brought indoors for the express purpose of celebrating Christmas, it becomes a Christmas tree and therefore should be treated with the respect such a position deserves.”
Rosie was smiling now, which seemed a significant victory.
“And once a tree is honored with the noble title of Christmas tree,” Colin went on, shaking the leg Livvy was clinging to for effect and making her giggle, “it has earned the right to become decorated for the occasion.”
“Decorated?” Bitty squealed, her hands shooting to her mouth.
“With what?” Rosie asked, more curious than dubious now.
Rafe and Matthew charged forward to fasten onto Colin’s free leg, effectively ruining any hopes he had of a distinguished air during this performance of his. He grunted with the force of their impact, but managed to keep himself fully upright.
“Our esteemed housekeeper, Mrs. Donovan,” Colin told them all with a clearing of his throat, “has been collecting ribbons, candles, and small trinkets that might be used to embellish this very fine tree of ours, provided by Master Frederick, Kit, and myself.”
The girls politely applauded them, and Colin accepted their accolades graciously, while Freddie looked at him with bewildered amusement.
“Mr. Johnson and his men brought us the tree, Papa,” Freddie pointed out.
Rosie snickered, but smothered it by burying her face in Cat’s stomach playfully, making the little girl squeal in delight.
“Yes, yes, all right,” Colin blustered, “and with some significant assistance from the excellent farm hands and estate workers of Benbridge Park.”
The girls applauded again, and Rafe and Matthew attempted to do the same from their position on his left leg.
“And so,” Colin proclaimed as if his lower extremities weren’t crowded by clinging children, “it falls to us to ensure that this fine fir tree, now officially designated as the Gerrard Family Christmas tree, is appropriately decorated and clothed in the décor of the season. Who will see to it that this tree lives up to its full potential?”
Apparently caught up in his moving speech, Bitty and Ginny shouted “Aye!” while Freddie and Rosie simply lifted their hands in the air, clearly more of the opinion that Colin was mad.
Which he probably was.
The little ones on his legs chanted “Me!” repeatedly, and he took that to be their acceptance of duty.
Colin clapped his hands together once. “Very good. I hereby designate you all as official Gerrard Family Christmas tree decorators.”
Rosie lifted a brow. “Shouldn’t official family dictates come from Kit? He is head of the house, and all.”
Colin frowned at his sister, then sighed and turned his head towards the still open door. “Kit! Do I have your permission to officially designate the children as official tree decorators? Officially?”
“Whatever you say!” he called back from somewhere near the second floor landing.
Colin turned back to Rosie with a superior look.
“Well, that certainly sounded official,” she scoffed.
Colin would ignore her for the time being, or she would become the designated family washerwoman.
Not that she would be particularly good at it, but the sentiment would stand.
Mrs. Donovan suddenly entered the room, her arms filled with ribbons and strings of beads. “Here we are, my dears!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Donovan!” Colin said as he made his way over to her as best as he could, what with the giggling little ones weighing him down.
Mrs. Donovan gave him an amused look. “I was talking to the children, sir.”
Colin pretended to frown at her. “Of course you were. You’re just like all the rest of them, you know.”
She coughed a surprised laugh. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. People are all well and good, but you set out a miniature one with chubby cheeks like this…” He reached down and pried Matthew from his leg and held him up high. “Rather remarkably like this, actually.” He moved his hands to grip and tickle his son’s sides, sending him into peals of laughter. “And everyone goes soft and silly.”
Matthew laughed harder than ever, and now everyone else was too.
Mrs. Donovan set down everything in her arms on a table, then turned and gestured at the door.
Two maids entered with additional trimmings, along with footmen bearing more evergreen boughs.
“The tree hardly needs more green in it,” Rosie said, releasing Cat, who seemed more interested in the ribbons than in her aunt. “It’s a very full tree.”
“Yes, Miss Gerrard,” Mrs. Donovan responded, turning with clasped hands and a smile. “It is not for the tree, but for the mantle. Don’t you think that the room could use some additional decoration?”
“I do!” Bitty squealed. “I do!”
“Well, there’s a surprise,” Freddie muttered, making Rosie laugh.
“Surprise!” Rafe and Matthew cried as one.
“And I seem to recall every single one of you wanting to help Kit decorate the house,” Colin mused. “It would be a shame if we had to tell him you’ve all gone back on your word. He doesn’t take that sort of betrayal well, and you might all be relegated to cleaning up after Christmas instead of helping us prepare for it.”
They all sprang from their spots and reached for some sort of decoration. Freddie helped Ginny climb onto Rosie’s back so she could reach her ribbon higher. Bitty grabbed spare ribbon bits and began tying bows with them. The little ones released Colin’s legs and hurried over to attempt to help the others.
Being now freed from his duty as whatever he had been, Colin backed slowly out of the room. “Mrs. Donovan, I trust I can leave this most festive activity to your care?”
She smiled at him and nodded, gesturing for him to leave the room.
“Where are you going, Colin?” Bitty asked, turning with her hands on her hips, giving him a very stern look.
He wasn’t sure if she had learned that look from Susannah or Marianne, as both had used it to great effect with some frequency. It was entirely possible she had also learned it from Rosie, who seemed to think it was her task to attempt to be the older sister to her two brothers. Or it could have been learned from Bitty’s mother, though it did not sound as though she had been much by way of a disciplinarian, choosing love and patience over strict enforcement.
Or it was entirely possible that Bitty, being the mothering type, had developed the skill on all her own.
Whatever the case was, it was a powerful look, even for a man of Colin’s age and position.
“I’m just going to see if I can assist Kit in decorating the rest of the house, Bitty,” Colin assured her.
“Save some for us!” she demanded.
“Of course, dear,” Colin placated. “We’re only to get the spots you can’t reach.”
That seemed to satisfy her and she nodded, going back to her ribbon twisting.
Colin breathed a sigh of relief as he made his way from the room.
That had been too close.
He’d put himself to the task of finding something to keep the children busy for some time in the hopes that he could finish the work he had set out for himself. The wives were still at work with their baskets, now out and about with the delivery, despite the ever increasing snow, and Kit had finally seen to the décor, as he had said he was going to.
Colin’s investigation of the gifts had, unfortunately, left him with no insight whatsoever into who the giver might have been. He was suspicious of everyone, including his own wife, and it was beginning to gnaw at the inside of his brain. Despite his reluctance to the idea, he was not convinced that it wasn’t an act of courtship from some idiot who fancied Rosie.
Not that fancying Rosie would make someone an idiot, although he would have some serious question as to their sanity on occasion.
But really, she was a temperamental girl of fourteen, and her manners had not changed overly much from the headstrong nine-year-old she had been when she came to them.
He was tempted to send for the man who had delivered the presents to ask after the order, but he was willing to bet that there hadn’t been any documentation as to the sender.
He would have to tell Kit of his suspicions.
Kit had a temper.
It would not go well for whoever had fallen in love with Rosie if Kit became aware of it. And as Colin had no desire to take over the responsibility of the family once Kit had to be committed to prison for murder or other illegal activities regarding the person in question, it was in Colin’s best interest to prevent such drastic actions.
But how he was to do that was something he could not figure.
So he would just go on with continuing his Christmas ventures until a solution came to him.
And at this moment, he needed to be down in the kitchens.
Again.
He moved swiftly down the corridor, trying not to whistle with the jauntiness he suddenly felt.
He couldn’t help it. It was Christmas!
He had always loved this time of year, despite the fact that he had never had much of a celebration of the holiday before. Their childhood had been idyllic enough, but after the death of their mother, there wasn’t much to be said for anything related to their family.
It hadn’t lessened his enthusiasm for everything surrounding the holiday. He’d loved hearing about the antics of his friends and their families during that time. He’d loved winter with a fervor that nobody understood, even himself. He just truly enjoyed Christmastime, in all its forms, and even without the trimmings.
So now that he had the trimmings, he was determined that not only he, but his entire family would enjoy every aspect of the season that could be had.
Even if they were excessive.
Down in the kitchens, everything was bustling. There was no hint of the smokiness from before, and nothing to indicate that there had ever been a problem. The kitchen staff were moving in quick motions and with an efficiency that anyone with a military background would be impressed by, and left Colin in awe for a moment or two.
At the center of it all, as he suspected, was Mrs. Fraser, hard at work over a steaming pot, barking orders and instructions and not even watching to see if her orders were being obeyed.
She simply knew they would be.
“Mrs. Fraser,” Colin intoned as he approached her.
The woman shook her head quickly. “Don’t you pester me with your endless requests at this moment, Mr. Colin. I have a head full of items to prepare, and no space for anything else.”
“And you know I would never interrupt you unless it were of the utmost importance,” Colin soothed, coming to lean against the table next to her. “I value all that you do, and every ounce of effort and skill that you put into your work.”
Mrs. Fraser stopped her stirring, and gave Colin a very frank look. “What is it you want, Mr. Colin?”
He smiled at her and folded his arms, settling against the table more. “First of all, thank you for what you did for Bitty this morning.”
As he suspected, the stirring continued and Mrs. Fraser looked into the pot with renewed focus. “It was nothing. The girl needed some teaching and guidance so as not to make the same mistake again.”
“That’s not why you did it, Mrs. Fraser,” Colin told her, a slight tone of teasing in his voice, “and that’s not why I’m thanking you.”
“No?” she asked, still not looking at him. “You don’t want your sister to know the proper way to make a pudding?”
“It’s not exactly on my list of requirements for her education, though I am quite sure she has now benefitted greatly from your excellent instruction.”
Mrs. Fraser nodded once. “You can be sure she has.”
“But the pudding is not the most important thing here, Mrs. Fraser,” Colin went on, watching his cook steadily.
“Never underestimate a good pudding,” Mrs. Fraser grunted.
“Sage counsel, I will remember that,” Colin told her. “But you took a girl who was in the depths of distress, who had made a mess of your kitchen, and instead of chastising her you showed her love and respect, patience and kindness. You really might be an angel, Mrs. Fraser.”
She grunted again and sniffed very quietly. “Don’t you be spreading that around, sir. I don’t need any of my staff thinking I’ve gone soft.”
Colin leaned closer. “I think you are soft, Mrs. Fraser. Underneath that tough Scottish exterior, I think you might be softer than custard.”
Mrs. Fraser looked up at him with accusation glaring from her eyes. “Those be fighting words, Mr. Colin, and you are in my territory.”
“They are entirely complimentary, Mrs. Fraser,” Colin said, grinning now. “I know better than to insult a Scot on her own grounds.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How would you know that?”
“My sister-in-law had a Scottish mother.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I know my boundaries with her.”
“Huh.” Mrs. Fraser smirked. “Perhaps you will survive to old age after all.”
“Kit will be delighted to hear it.”
A clanking from the other side of the kitchen turned Mrs. Fraser around. “Kitty Bell, if you ruin that mincemeat pie, I will have you poaching the household eggs for a month!”
The slender girl bobbed a frantic curtsey. “Yes, Mrs. Fraser.”
Mrs. Fraser turned back to her steaming pot of whatever it was, muttering in Gaelic under her breath.
“I’m not familiar with the threats of a kitchen,” Colin mused. “Is that a terrible one?”
“It is for her,” she replied. “Kitty Bell is impossible with all things eggs. It would be both educational and chastening.”
“Ah. Both just and merciful.”
Mrs. Fraser sighed with a brogue. “Was there something else, Mr. Colin? This is quite a feast to prepare, and then there’s the one after that, and all the excesses that go to the tenants and families of servants for St. Stephen’s Day…”
“It’s about the coins,” Colin interrupted gently. “For the pudding.”
“Ah.” Mrs. Fraser nodded knowingly. “Yes, sir, I’ve already put sixpence in.”
Colin pulled out a small pouch of coins. “Put these in.”
Mrs. Fraser’s eyes widened. “Sir, you’ll have a broken tooth if you put that many coins in a pudding.”
Colin handed the pouch over. “Then put in as much as your conscience allows you to, and save the rest for yourself. As a token of my appreciation and Christmas generosity.”
Mrs. Fraser shook her head slowly at him, smiling reluctantly. “You are a madman, Mr. Colin.”
“Aye, I know it, Mrs. Fraser,” Colin sighed, trying for a brogue and doing it poorly. “But what’s a man to do but embrace his fate?”
Mrs. Fraser chuckled and waved him off. “Away wi’ ye, sir, before ye’ sully my ears wi’ your abysmal accent.”
Colin coughed a laugh and pushed off of the table. “My own cook insulting me. And on Christmas Eve, no less?” He shook his head and moved for the stairs. “I think I should take myself where my talents are more appreciated.”
“Good day, Mr. Colin!” Mrs. Fraser called, waving her spoon cheerily.
Colin chuckled the entire way up the stairs. He was going to have to come up to Yorkshire more often, for Mrs. Fraser was quickly becoming his favorite cook of them all. He wouldn’t dare tell any of the others that, for fear of being poisoned by one or all of them.
They seemed to have a knack for hiring eccentric servants wherever they went.
He blamed Kit for that.
As with so many things.
“Colin, there you are!” Susannah called.
Colin turned towards the sound and saw his wife and Marianne in the entryway, removing their snow-covered cloaks and bonnets.
“You two look more than half frozen,” he commented as he came to them, taking Susannah’s hand in his. “This poor hand is all ice!” He drew her hand to his mouth and kissed it, then rubbed it between his own and kissed it again. “Do I need to warm you, love?”
Susannah gave him a wry look, then turned to Marianne. “He makes it sound so helpful, doesn’t he?”
Marianne scoffed and shivered, rubbing her own hands together. “Men.”
Colin gave her an outraged look. “I beg your pardon, Marianne Bray Gerrard, I would offer to warm you, but I distinctly remember a time when you told me you would rather muck out stables than have a hug from me.”
His sister-in-law laughed merrily, beaming at him, reminding him again just what a rare beauty she was. “Well, I’d take a hug from you at this moment, if you’ll let that one go.”
He opened an arm for her. “Come here, minnow.”
She came to him and hugged him for a moment, letting him rub her arm, and then she kissed his cheek quickly. “You know I would never muck out stables, Colin. Not for the world.”
He looked down at her with a fond smile. “I wondered about that.”
Marianne rolled her eyes and turned for the next room. “I’m going to need a fire, and perhaps an adorable child in my lap to warm me properly.”
Colin looked down at his wife with a surprised smile. “Well, that is something I never thought Marianne would say. Wanting a child in her lap?” He shook his head. “I don’t even know who she is anymore.”
Susannah rapped him quickly on the chest. “Stop that. You know she adores her children, and ours.”
“Which shows just how far she’s fallen.”
Susannah rolled her eyes and waved a letter before his face. “This came for you by express.”
Colin frowned and took it from her, breaking the seal and reading the brusque note quickly.
“No…” he breathed, dread filling him. “No, no, no, this is horrible!”
“What is it?” Susannah asked, trying to read it. “What?”
“They can’t come,” Colin said, reading the words again. “There’s too much snow, they can’t make it!”
“Who can’t?” Susannah prodded. “Make it where?”
“This will ruin everything!” Colin bit back a curse and put his hands to his hair. “I had planned on them all being here.”
“Here?” Susannah demanded. She gave Colin a sharp look and folded her arms. “Colin, who did you invite here for Christmas?”
Had he forgotten to share that bit of information with his wife?
Oh no.
He offered the weakest of smiles, and prayed he would live to see the feast he had planned so perfectly.