Kate Kingsbury: Mistletoe and Mayhem

Pansy brightened. “Which one?”

“Charlie, the dark-haired one with a mustache.”

“Oh, the nice-looking one. How do you know?”

“I saw them kissing under the kissing bough.”

Pansy squealed. “Ooh, go on! I love that kissing bough. Mrs. Prestwick is so clever. She always has something different every Christmas, and this is the best one yet. I’m hoping to get Samuel under there to kiss me.”

Gertie snorted. “I can think of better places to kiss someone.”

“Who cares where it is as long as it happens.”

“Well, obviously Ellie didn’t seem to mind when she kissed Charlie.” Gertie studied a salt shaker for a moment, then polished it with the corner of her apron. “Mrs. Chubb may think Ellie’s all pure and innocent, but I could tell her a thing or two.”

Obviously enthralled, Pansy’s eyes widened. “Like what? Do tell me!”

Gertie shrugged. “I heard her this morning shouting at Stan Whittle.”

“The coal man? I heard her, too, but I couldn’t tell what she was saying. What was she shouting at him for?”

“I dunno, but she sounded really, really angry. I tell you, she was using words I never heard of, and I thought I knew ’em all.”

“Go on! What did she say then?”

“I wouldn’t repeat what she said to no one. Chubby thinks she’s such a goody-goody, but she don’t know her. Chubby told me Ellie used to work in London, but she didn’t like living in the city, so she came home to Badgers End. I reckon she learned a lot about men while she was up there. Them city girls are too bloody bold for their own good.”

“She certainly likes to lead Samuel on.” Pansy poked a serviette through a ring with a little more force than needed. “She was laughing and giggling and carrying on something awful.”

“Ah, but was Samuel laughing with her?”

Pansy shrugged. “I didn’t stay around long enough to find out.”

“That’s where you made your mistake.” Gertie sighed and moved on to the next table. “Like me. I think I must be getting old.”

Pansy laughed. “How can you be old when you’re not yet thirty?”

“I feel old.” She straightened a place setting on the table, then placed the shakers above it. “I’ve been seeing Dan forever, it seems, and yet he still hasn’t asked me to marry him.”

“He will. Some blokes like to take their time with things like that.”

Gertie pulled a face. “Some blokes don’t want to get tied down, neither. Can’t say as I blame him, what with me having the twins and all. They can be a bit of a handful.”

“Well, they’re with their nanny in London right now, aren’t they?”

Gertie nodded. “Daisy took them up there to see her sister, Doris, perform in a pantomime. They’ll be staying with Doris until they come back Christmas Eve.”

Pansy grinned. “Well, now’s your chance. You got some free time on your hands. Make the most of it. Go romancing with your Dan and make him propose.”

“It’s all right for you.” Gertie stomped over to the next table. “You’re skinny and pretty and not yet twenty-one. I’m big and clumsy and the mother of twins. What chance do I have of getting a man to marry me?”

“Go on with you. Any man would be lucky to have you for a wife. You’re funny and clever and you like taking care of people. A man likes that in a woman.”

Gertie had to smile. “You want to tell Dan that?”

“I will. The very next time he comes over.”

If he comes over , Gertie thought, as she carried the empty tray back to the dresser. He’d been making excuses lately, and it worried her. Everything seemed to bother her lately. Maybe she was just missing the twins. Or maybe she was seeing her chances of getting married again slipping away.

“Come on, cheer up,” Pansy said behind her. “It’s Christmas. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

“In London with my twins,” Gertie muttered. “I’ll be glad when this one is over.”

“Well, let’s at least hope we don’t get clobbered with the Christmas curse again.”

Gertie swung around. “Shshh! You know we’re not supposed to say anything about that.”

Pansy grinned. “There’s no one here to hear me, except you.”

“Yeah, well.” Feeling a cold tingle down her back, Gertie glanced around. “Just mentioning it is bad luck. So just keep your trap shut. We don’t want no more horrible things happening around here, do we. Now, let’s get these tables finished before Chubby comes up here with her rolling pin.”

Gazing around the dining room later, Cecily felt a little rush of warm pleasure. The festivities had begun, and she could feel the anticipation in the room. The ladies were simply enchanting in gorgeous evening gowns, while the gentlemen in their black frock coats and white bow ties added to the elegance of the scene.

Even the maids looked resplendent in black dresses and frothy lace aprons, as they hurried back and forth bearing silver platters of food. In the corner of the room a string quartet played discreet melodies, barely heard above the chatter and laughter of the guests.

Leaning back in her chair, Cecily uttered a satisfied sigh. It was worth all the hard work and headaches. Madeline had achieved miracles as usual with her deft hand and eye for color.

The room positively sparkled with bright red ribbons and glittering silver balls dangling from the ceiling on silver cords. The sprays of holly and mistletoe on the tables were a nice touch, and so indicative of Madeline’s many talents.

“You’re looking well pleased with yourself this evening, my dear.”

Her thoughts interrupted by her husband, Cecily smiled at him. “I was just thinking how elegant everyone looks tonight. I do love the welcoming banquet. Most of the work is done and we have all the merrymaking still to come. There’s so much to look forward to-the ball, the carol singing on Christmas Eve, the pantomime-”

Her words were cut off by her husband’s groan. “Don’t remind me. I suppose we have to put up with the daffy Phoebe Fortescue and her even more feebleminded husband.”

“Phoebe Carter-Holmes Fortescue would not appreciate being referred to as daffy. You know how protective she is of her image.”

“To the point of being ridiculous. Whatever possessed her to marry that addle-brained colonel I’ll never know.”

Just like Madeline, Phoebe was one of Cecily’s best friends. She would not allow such disparagement, especially from her husband. “Colonel Fortescue is a kind and generous man who adores Phoebe. It’s not his fault that his mind has been somewhat… ah… disturbed by his military service in the Boer War.”

Baxter uttered a short laugh. “Disturbed? The man is a positive lunatic. How many times have we had to restrain him from attacking the grandfather clock in the foyer with his imaginary sword?”

“I have to admit, he can be tiresome at times. Phoebe, however, seems perfectly happy with him and that’s all that matters.”

“Happy? Grateful, is more like it. After all, she was thrown out onto the street after her first husband died. She and that timid son of hers. She was lucky to have someone rescue them from abject poverty.”

Cecily stirred uneasily on her chair. Madeline had once told her that Phoebe’s son, Algie, bore a rather inappropriate liking for men’s company, a fact which Cecily had not shared with her husband.

Baxter was intolerant of anything considered improper, and no doubt would avoid all contact with the man. Since Algie was the vicar of Badgers End, and conducted services at St. Bartholomew’s, Cecily was not about to risk being barred from attending the church, or being forced to worship alone.

“Perhaps so,” she said, with just a hint of reproach, “but since their marriage seems to be working very well, I see no point in berating them.” She studied her husband’s face. “You’re doing it again.”