Lord of Misrule by Gail Eastwood

Author:Gail Eastwood
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: holiday, christmas, small town, regency, cinderella, vicar
Publisher: Gail Eastwood

Chapter Twelve

During the hours the temperature warmed the next day, everyone in Little Macclow scurried to get their business done. The Lord of Misrule had declared it “walk backwards day,” and Cassie had already heard of a few interesting collisions in the fog.

Backing out of the Moggs’ butcher shop, Mrs. Poynser had landed in a wheelbarrow full of laundry being delivered by Mary Meadows’ husband. Mr. Shawcroft’s two hounds (who had the run of the village) didn’t know it was walk-backwards day for humans, and failed to scramble away fast enough when Claire Burdis, backing up along Church Street, fell over them.

There had been no reports of any injuries so far. But given the unpredictable and limited window of time, most people chose to forego the amusement and pay forfeits later. Cassie thought there would be ample entertainment come Twelfth Night.

She had wanted to call the children to gather at the vicarage. They had only had class on Monday, because of Christmas and St Stephen’s Day, and then the freezing fog set in. She feared if they lost the habit of coming to school some of them would never return. They also needed to rehearse for the Epiphany pageant. Given how unruly this group of children could be, numerous rehearsals were in order.

However, the drastic turn of weather had her father concerned about his parishioners. The poorest residents of the village were always at risk in winter when the weather turned bad, for they had little enough to set aside. He needed Cassie’s help to check on some of them in the shortest time possible. The children would have to wait.

“We need to finish before the fog freezes again, Cassie. Be sure you don’t stay long at any of your visits. We don’t know how long the milder temperatures will hold.”

“Yes, Father.” Cassie draped a long scarf over her head and then began to wind it around her neck. This was no weather for a bonnet. As she passed the length of wool under her chin, however, an unexpected memory of wearing Lord Forthhurst’s scarf at the sledding race assailed her. She could have sworn she caught his scent, even though this was not his scarf. Her mind was playing tricks on her.

She shook her head to disperse the illusion, and finished arranging the folds around her. Such foolishness! How had he left such an indelible imprint on her mind? Perhaps there was some merit to his claim to be a devil after all. More the fool she, first for not believing him, and then for thinking he might be redeemable even if it were true.

The fog felt like a cold, wet slap the moment she stepped out in it. At least it wasn’t ice. She walked with her father to the village bakery, where they purchased nearly all the loaves of bread Mr. Burdis had. Most were left from the previous day when the weather had kept customers away. Fresh loaves were in the oven, their heavenly scent wafting through the shop and even out of the door, but they were not yet ready.

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