Mr. Henshall nodded to him. “Mr. Gwilt. A pleasure to see ye again.”
“And you, sir. And Miss Effie as well.”
“You’re a servant here now?” Effie asked, with her usual bluntness.
“That I am.” He displayed no embarrassment at having moved from guest to retainer. In fact, he looked rather proud.
“We quite depend on Mr. Gwilt,” Emily said. “He’s practically one of the family.”
Mr. Gwilt beamed.
“And where’s Parry?” Effie asked.
“In my room belowstairs. Snug as a bee in a box, he is. And so am I.”
Emily added, “Mr. Gwilt has written a wonderful children’s book of Parry’s adventures. No doubt to be published one day.”
“Oh, now. That was Miss Emily’s doing, mostly. I don’t expect anything to come of it, I don’t. But a pleasure to put it down in writing, all the same.” He smiled and finished serving the meal.
As they ate, Sarah gazed across the table at Callum Henshall and felt almost dizzy, as if she had walked up from the kitchen in December 1820 and stepped back in time to the dining room from the summer of 1819.
Mr. Henshall met her gaze. “Like old times, aye?”
Had he read her mind?
He turned to include the others, adding, “It’s good to be at your table again. Thank ye for havin’ us.”
“As long as ye don’t start telling all them old legends about Vikings and thistles and such,” Effie warned.
“Ah! Thank ye for remindin’ me. That brings to mind another tale—”
“Oh, no ye don’t.” Effie raised a bread roll as though to throw it at him, her threat clear.
He raised a placating hand. “Very well, then. I shall have mercy on ye tonight. But no guarantees come Christmas, ye ken? And then Hogmanay! Prepare yourselves.”
“What’s Hogmanay?” Georgie asked around a bite of bread.
Effie groaned and shook her head. “Don’t get him started!”
With a tolerant grin at his stepdaughter, he replied, “For poor Effie’s sake, I’ll say only that it refers to the Scottish New Year. In Gaelic it means something like ‘New morning.’ An important holiday in our homeland.”
“And how do you celebrate it?”
Mr. Henshall glanced at his stepdaughter again and then sent Georgiana a conspiratorial wink. “I shall tell ye later.”
Remembering her talk with Claire about becoming better acquainted with the man, Sarah said, “I think we all enjoyed hearing about your life in Scotland last time. Perhaps just one story?”
“No legends, though!” Effie insisted.
Mr. Henshall considered, fair eyes alight with nostalgia. “Well, I doubt it’s diverting, but I shall describe a memorable Christmas from my boyhood. My aunt, uncle, and cousin Alistair arrived for the holiday just as a winter storm struck. Snow and ice and so cold the streams froze over and the pump too. We had to carry in buckets of snow to melt for washing and cooking. It was too icy to risk riding the horses into town to visit the butcher or baker or chandler. No delivery wagons went out either. We made do with what we had in the larder and conserved our candles by spending a great deal of time together at one table. Instead of gifts from the shops, we told tales and shared favorite memories. There were no carolers or mummers that year, but we played our instruments by the fire and games by candlelight. On Christmas Day, Da’ read from the Bible and we all sang carols. How we could harmonize. Mam even danced a jig right there in the parlour.”
He chuckled at the memory. “We had no Christmas goose, no oranges or peppermints. No sallying forth for parties with friends or services at the kirk. Yet it lives on in my memory as one of the best Christmases of my life.”
Mr. Henshall stopped speaking, although his gaze remained distant. A reverent silence followed. Then, recalled to his surroundings, he looked at Georgiana and said, “Though this year will no doubt be just as memorable.”
Sarah sent him a grateful look.
Effie sighed. “I wish I had known your parents.”
