A Victorian Christmas by Catherine Palmer

Author:Catherine Palmer
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: ebook, book
ISBN: 9781414360102
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Published: 2010-11-25T20:00:00+00:00

“Again, Gwynnie?” Mrs. Rutherford trundled across the wooden floor of the single large room in her thatched-roof cottage. In her arms she carried a heavy basket covered by a white linen embroidered with a large monogrammed B. She set the gift on the pine table beside the fire and turned to the chair where her daughter-in-law sat paring potatoes.

“But ’tis t’ fourth evenin’ in a row t’ earl has sent us dinner,” she said in her native Lakeland lilt. “Whatever can it mean? And look at you, my dear, you’ve peeled t’ potato until there’s almost nothin’ left of t’ poor thing.”

Gwyneth studied the small white nubbin in her palm and realized that most of the potato now lay in the bowl of parings. She tossed the remainder into a pot of bubbling water on the fire and sank back into her rocking chair. “Oh, Mum, I haven’t wanted to trouble you, but everything has become difficult at the House. Terribly difficult.”

“Don’t tell me Mrs. Riddle is treatin’ you ill again.” The older woman sat down on a stool beside the chair and took Gwyneth’s hand in both of her own. “That housekeeper has no heart. I can’t imagine how she rose to such a position. Has she been spiteful to you?”

“No, ’tis not that. Mrs. Riddle is as unkind as ever, but ’tis not her at all. ’Tis—”

“Nah, for why would we have such feasts brought to us each night? Is it Mr. Yardley, then? Is he tryin’ to woo you, my dear? Heaven help us, that butler is old enough to be your grandfather and thrice a widower already.”

“No, no.” Gwyneth lifted the old woman’s hands and held them against her cheek. “’Tis nothing of the sort. ’Tis just that everything is suddenly so . . . so confusing. For one thing, I’ve been promoted into the upper house.”

“But that’s marvelous!” Her olive green eyes brightened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“And I’ve been assigned to polish the silver in the parlors.” Agitated, Gwyneth rose and began to set out the meal they had received from Brackendale Manor. Lamb! When was the last time she’d eaten mutton? Oh, why was the earl doing this?

“Silver polishin’s t’ easiest work in t’ house,” Mrs. Rutherford said. “How lovely for you!”

“And my wages are increased.”

“Wonderful!”

“No, Mum. You don’t understand.”

“I can see that, my dear.” After she’d offered the blessing for the meal, Mrs. Rutherford fell silent.

Gwyneth picked up her fork, wondering how she could explain the whirlwind that had blown through her life since that evening in the kitchen with the earl of Beaumontfort. Her tidy, intimate world had been tossed into disarray like a haystack in a storm.

It hadn’t always been so. From the moment Gwyneth had stepped into the snug stone cottage with its tiny windows and blazing fire, she had felt at home. Just as every piece of sturdy white china nestled comfortably in the old Welsh dresser, so Gwyneth’s life had been ordered and tidy. On Mondays she baked, and on Fridays she washed.

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