In fields where they lay, keeping their sheep,
In a cold Winter’s night that was so deep.
Nowel, Nowel, Nowel, Nowel, Born is the King of Israel.”
The residents joined in, warbly voices and shining faces raised. When the song ended, everyone applauded, and Mrs. Denby asked for another. Mr. Henshall led them in another traditional carol, “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.”
As he played and sang, Sarah admired his handsome face earnestly intent on his song, and his rich, pleasing voice. His fingers moved skillfully over the guitar strings, and she recalled him trying to teach her to play at a summer picnic during his last visit. He’d knelt behind her, his arms around her, his hands on hers, guiding her fingers to the strings. She’d felt his breath tickling her ear, and the warmth of his chest at her back, the close position strangely intimate and thrilling....
People around her began clapping, which yanked Sarah from her reverie back to the present. She belatedly joined the applause.
After the singing, they remained awhile longer to chat with the residents. Mrs. Denby summoned Sarah over and asked to meet “your young man.”
Hoping he did not notice the flush surely moving up her neck, Sarah introduced the two.
“Ah yes,” he politely replied. “We met in passing the night of the flood, though I don’t believe we were formally introduced. An honor, ma’am.”
“You’re a handsome one. Fine voice too. And a keen eye if you’ve taken notice of our Sarah here. What a catch she would be, pretty and kind and an excellent baker too....”
Supremely self-conscious to be praised in Mr. Henshall’s hearing, Sarah felt the flush scald her cheeks now as well.
“I have indeed taken notice, and I wholeheartedly agree with ye.” He gave the woman a crooked grin.
Pleasure flowed through Sarah at his words, and Mrs. Denby giggled in delight. Though her laughter ended in a cough.
Viola was instantly at her side. “Are you all right?”
“Oh yes. Throat’s a little dry from all that singing.”
Then, after wishing them a happy Christmas, they bid the dear folks farewell. Viola helped Mrs. Denby back to her room, witha promise to collect her for the Christmas services followed by dinner with the family.
As they left, Sarah walked beside Mr. Henshall. “Thank you. Music was an excellent addition to our gift giving, and we all enjoyed hearing you play.”
“My pleasure, Miss Summers. Any time.”
When Sarah returned to Sea View, she went belowstairs to see if Mrs. Besley had started a batch of wassail, but their cook was not in the kitchen. Lowen was sitting in a chair in the corner, peeling parsnips. He said, “She’s feeling poorly today. Went back to her room.”
“Oh no, what’s wrong?”
He hesitated. “Better ask her.”
Although the two elderly retainers were of similar age, usually it was Lowen who was laid low with some ailment or another. Mrs. Besley had remained hale and spry, at least compared to him.
Concern flaring, Sarah went down the passage and knocked on the door to the cook’s bedchamber.
“Come in.”
Sarah tentatively opened the door and was disconcerted to see Mrs. Besley in bed during the day, something Sarah had never witnessed before. Her foot was wrapped in flannel and propped on a pillow.
“Sorry, Miss Sarah. This foot is paining me something fierce.”
“Oh dear. Did you injure it somehow?”
“No, miss. I’m embarrassed to say it’s an attack of the gout. Plagued my mother too, when she was even younger than I am. Thought I’d escaped it, but no.”
Sarah’s concern mounted. Gout could be debilitating. “Are you sure that’s what it is? I thought only men suffered from gout.”
“More men, yes. Though women too. Runs in my family, sad to say. No doubt all the rich food I prepare and partake of here does not help.”
