“All I want is coffee.”
“What happened to your eye, Felix?” Lord Bradley asked.
“Oh.” Felix stole the briefest glance at Olivia. “I, uh, ran into an unexpected obstacle in the dark.”
He poured coffee with less than steady hands. “I shall be my old self after coffee, a few more hours’ sleep, a bath and shave. I won’t manage church, I am afraid.” He stirred sugar into his cup. “I would not wait for Miss Harrington either. To hear her father tell it, her little feet do not hit the floor until twelve most days.”
Breakfast completed, Mrs. Howe, Lord Bradley, and the children rode in the carriage the short distance up the lane and around the high wall that separated Brightwell Court from St. Mary’s. Glad to be allowed to attend, Olivia walked beside Doris along with the handful of other servants who could be spared from their duties.
Once inside the vestibule, Olivia followed Dory up into the gallery to sit with the other servants. She had never sat in a gallery before. At home, she and her mother sat on the main floor of the chapel with the small clutch of congregants who came out for Sunday services. Her father not among them.
Doris patted her knee and they settled in for the service. There was a feeling of camaraderie there in the gallery, the silent smiles shared among servants from different houses, who saw one another on occasional Sundays and rarely any other time. There were also winks and good-natured elbows in the side of a fellow groom or housemaid. Doris, she soon realized, attended only to flirt with menservants she would otherwise not see. The girl was fellow-mad.
Down below, on the second pew from the front, Olivia saw Lord Bradley, flanked by Audrey and Andrew. Beside Audrey, Judith stood in a black mantle and smart black hat with a half veil of silver gossamer lace. Alexander was too young to be quiet for church and had been left home with Nurse Peale. Olivia wondered how Andrew would manage to be still so long. How unlike his usual self he looked fidgeting in his Sunday coat, brown hair slicked down. Audrey, however, stood sedately and gracefully in her bonnet and gown, her gloved hand in Lord Bradley’s. They looked like a family—husband, wife, children. Would they be one someday, once Judith’s mourning was past?
Mr. Tugwell kept his sermon surprisingly brief, saying only thoughts of the sumptuous feast awaiting him could still his tongue on such a glorious day. He reminded the congregation that he and his good sister were once again holding an annual open hearth, and all were invited to drop in for a buffet meal.
At the close of service, Olivia stood and glanced once more down at Lord Bradley and the Howes, who were rising and gathering their things and smiling at their neighbors. Lord Bradley reached across the pew and shook hands with a man behind him. As the man turned, Olivia started. The man’s profile struck her as familiar. She had seen him before. The man glanced up into the gallery, and Olivia quickly turned her head, hoping her bonnet would conceal her face. She did not wish to be recognized—could not be recognized. Who was the man? She wanted to look again, but dared not. Someone from home? Someone from Withington visiting family or friends? Someone who knew Lord Bradley. . . . Olivia’s heart pounded, and she prayed the man would not be following them home for Christmas dinner.
Feigning a search for something in her reticule, Olivia waved Doris on and managed to be the last person to exit the gallery. As she hoped, the familiar gentleman—along with most everyone else—was gone.
At the door, Mr. Tugwell exchanged well wishes or a “Happy Christmas” with the last few members of his congregation as they filed out. Miss Tugwell stood at his elbow, handing out small bags tied in rag ribbon. How generous. She noticed Miss Tugwell eyeing each person as she offered a gift. When she surveyed Olivia’s new gown she whispered, “You haven’t use for wheat, I trust, Miss Keene?”
Thinking of Mr. Croome, Olivia nodded and held out her hand.
Augusta Tugwell ignored it. “Foolish notion in these times. When I think of the price of wheat!”
Mr. Tugwell glanced over, eyes flicking from Olivia’s extended hand to the bag in his sister’s clutches. “Sister, Miss Keene is awaiting her gift.” He smiled at Olivia while Augusta Tugwell only sniffed and relinquished the bag.
Edward found himself foolishly nervous while waiting for his young cousins to open their presents. He certainly hoped Miss Keene was correct and Audrey would like the doll’s house, though she was not a little girl any longer.
“Mind your expectations,” he said. “These are only things I made in the carpentry shop. Nothing new from the London shops, I am afraid.”
Miss Harrington sat with perfect posture in the armchair beside his. She looked refreshed and elegant in a primrose gown with a white fichu tucked into the neckline. Felix sat slumped on the settee, more clear-eyed and certainly better groomed than he had been that morning. Judith perched on the settee’s other end, little Alexander on the floor before her, sitting up of his own accord, but with his mamma nearby to catch him should he topple.
Judith set Edward’s wrapped gift before the little boy, but Alexander seemed more interested in grabbing the silver buckles on his mother’s slippers. Judith tore away the stiff paper for him, revealing the set of blocks, each carved with a letter, number, and animal.
“Look, Alexander. Cousin Edward has made such handsome blocks for you.” She held one up. “What a charming fox, Edward. I am impressed. Look, Alexander, F for fox. And this one has a D on it and a very fine duckling.”
Edward stared at the blocks as Judith fussed over them, still as confused as he had been when, two by two, they had reappeared in the shop. He had carved simple numbers and letters on each. But now they bore detailed images of animals as well.
Had Miss Keene carved the blocks as well as sewn all the cushions and draperies so skillfully? If so, she had never said a word. Somehow he could not imagine Miss Keene with a carving knife. But who else would have done so?
“Did you really make those yourself?” Miss Harrington asked.
Edward hesitated. “I had help with the carving.”
Felix held up his hands. “Don’t look at me.”
“An anonymous Christmas elf,” Edward said dryly.
Without waiting to be asked, Andrew ripped the paper from his elongated parcel. “Stab me!” he cried, mimicking his uncle Felix.
“Andrew, that is not polite,” Judith admonished.
But the boy paid little heed. “A brand-new cricket bat! A ball too.” He lifted the ball as if to give it a good whack.
Edward quickly stilled his small arms. “That is an outside gift, young man.”
“Awww, but it is winter!”
“We shall bundle up tomorrow and see how it cracks, all right?”
Andrew dug the toe of his shoe into the carpet a bit sullenly. “All right . . .”
“Is it my turn?” Audrey asked quietly, looking up at her cousin with shy eyes.
Edward nodded, feeling his palms dampen as he watched the girl carefully begin to tug at the cloth covering her gift.
“I am afraid I hadn’t enough paper for yours.”
Slowly Audrey pulled the cover toward her.
“Just give it a good rip, Aud!” Andrew encouraged. “Shall I?”
“Leave your sister be, Andrew,” Judith said.
Please let her like it, Edward thought. He almost wished sophisticated Sybil Harrington were not on hand to witness his failure, if failure it would be.
Audrey’s eyes grew round and rather stunned as she took in the house, which came up nearly to her shoulders. “It is Brightwell Court,” she breathed. She looked at him, uncertain.
His spirits fell. She does not like it.
“Is it really for me?” she asked.
“Yes, though if you are too old for dolls, I shall not be offend—”
“Look!” Audrey cried, kneeling before the open stories, the many chambers, and even a grand staircase. “There is the drawing room, where we are right now. And up there is the nursery!”
Edward felt the scrutiny of others and turned to find both Judith and Miss Harrington studying him with stunned incredulity.
“How long did it take you to build this?” Judith asked.
He waved aside her awe. “Oh, I have worked on it for several months, on and off, when I had the time.”
Audrey looked up at her stepmother. “Look! It is the very settee you are seated upon. It even has a cushion!”
Judith’s fair brows rose as she looked from the miniature piece of furniture to Edward. “If you tell me you made that as well, I shall not believe you.”
“I had some help with the sewing and furnishings.”
“The Christmas elf again?” Miss Harrington asked, one dark brow quirked high.
He thought it wiser not to mention any names.
Audrey looked up with wide eyes. “I painted this miniature landscape myself and never guessed what it was for!”
After several more minutes of exclaiming over favorite details, Audrey stood before him and made a graceful curtsy. “Thank you, Cousin Edward. It is the finest gift I have ever received.”
Judith looked mildly offended, opened her pink lips, then shut them again.
Edward had not thought to outdo anybody. He simply wanted to please these children, these offspring of his friend, gone from this world. Did they not deserve some special happiness this day?