Velvet thought differently. She is a sentimental old lady. She wants us to have our first Christmas together by ourselves and, besides, I suspect she doesn’t want to leave the servants alone without their Christmas, for the holidays atQueen’s Malvernhave always been celebrated gaily.
The Yule log was dragged into the hall by the male servants, but even some of the women came boldly forward to help. The fireplace was banked in greens, and upon the mantel great candles in enormous silver holders flickered at their mates on the sideboards and tables. The log was pushed and pulled with much good-natured groaning and grunting into the center of the room. Then each member of the household, master and servants all, were invited to sit on it while singing a song to ward off any evil spirits that would prevent the log from burning. When each person in the room from Alex down to the little potboy had had a turn, ale was served to everyone and they toasted a merry Christmas along with a happy New Year.
The log was then rolled into the great fireplace, and the kindling carefully set about it. Alex took a brand and, handing it to Velvet, said, “ ’Tis yer house, madame. A woman is keeper of the hearth and home. It is therefore up to ye to light our first Christmas fire.” Their eyes met and in his she could already see a fire burning.
Taking the brand from him, she smiled a slow smile. “May it be the first of many fires, my lord!” And then she thrust the brand into the kindling where it caught with a sharp snap.
Within minutes the Yule log was crackling brightly, and as the first orange flames shot up the chimney, the doors to Greenwood were opened to all who would come to share Christmas Eve with the Earl and Countess of BrocCairn. Yule dough and cakes, and bowls of steaming hot frumenty swimming in creamy milk and sweetened with a sugar loaf were served. Musicians hired for the celebration began to play upon pipe and reed, drum and tabor, and soon everyone was singing carols. It was one of the few times of the year that master and servant sat at the same board and ate and drank together.
Curiosity had brought a number of the villagers from Chiswick-on-Strand into Greenwood’s hall that night. They well remembered Velvet’s generous mother and were eager to see her daughter and to find out if that generosity had been passed on to the child.
Velvet did not disappoint them. The men were all presented with a purse containing six silver pieces; the women with a colorful bolt of cloth; and the children with little bags of brightly colored sugar candy. The poor who entered the hall that night all departed with full bellies, warm cloaks and slippers, and a purse apiece. The health of the lord and lady of Greenwood was drunk again and again.
At midnight the church bells all over England began to ring, a symbol to the devil that Christ was born and Satan was vanquished.
It had been a long evening. The villagers departed to their homes and the servants to their beds for a short rest before they must be up again to see to the running of the house. The two young couples walked through the gardens that separated Greenwood from Lynmouth House. Velvet, Robin, and Alex each carried in their arms one of Robin’s little daughters who had been brought up from Devon for the holiday season. Since it was not advisable that Angel travel in her condition, she had sent for her three young stepdaughters rather than leave them alone in the care of the servants atLynmouth Castle.
Angel was proving to be a doting mother. She remembered too well her own motherless childhood, and she intended that Elsbeth, Cecily, and Catherine should have a loving and caring mother in her. This new side of her sister-in-law was proving to be a revelation to Velvet, for she herself felt no such maternal longings. In time she and Alex would have children, and she would love them, but not yet.
On the terrace of Lynmouth House servants materialized to take the children, and Velvet and Alex bid Angel and Robin a good night.
As they walked back across the garden, their hands entwined, Alex spoke with longing. “They’re bonny wee lasses, aren’t they?”
“Aye,” she answered him, for there was no doubt her nieces were pretty children.
He stopped just past their side of the low wall with its little wicket gate and, pulling her into his arms, murmured against her mouth, “Are ye certain ye’re not wi’ child yet, lovey?” Then his lips brushed her brow.
“Aye, Alex. Not yet. With some ’tis quick, and with others it takes time,” she said feeling just the tiniest twinge of guilt for she knew well that there would be no babes just yet.
Just before the wedding ceremony atQueen’s MalvernDaisy had spoken to her in private, and although at first her words had shocked Velvet, she had listened, fascinated.
For the first time in many years Daisy had felt at a loss as to whether or not she was doing the right thing, but thinking how upset her Mistress Skye would be upon learning of her daughter’s marriage, she decided a grandchild in addition would be far too much to tolerate, and so she spoke out. “I know that this is something that your mama would tell you if she were here,” she began, “but she ain’t, and so I feel it my duty to do so. Years ago your Aunt Eiblin, your mother’s sister that’s the doctoring nun in Ireland, gave your mama the recipe for a potion that prevents you from having babes. I know you ain’t too happy about this marriage—not that you don’t love the earl,” she hastily amended, “but I know you hoped to wait until your parents returned. I know you also wanted to be courted like a princess in a story, and I know you’re far too young to be a mother right now even though your mama had your brother, Ewan, at sixteen. She was too young herself, and many’s the time she’s said it, though she’d not wish Master Ewan away.” Daisy held out a small crystal goblet. “Drink it,” she said, “and you’ll be safe this night.” Then she pulled back her hand. “You’re not already with child, are you?”
“Nay,” said Velvet, her eyes round with surprise.
“Then drink this,” replied Daisy, holding the goblet out again. “I’ve a vial of it already made up for you and I’ve entrusted the recipe to Pansy with careful instructions. As long as you don’t want babes, take it daily and you’ll be safe. When you’re ready to start your family, stop the potion and let nature take its course.”
“Would Père Jean-Paul approve?” Velvet queried nervously. “I cannot think it is permitted by the holy church.”
“Father Jean-Paul is a good man, but he’s never borne a babe, nor is he likely to. Remember this potion was given your mama by her own sister, a holy woman. Would the good nun go against God’s law, child?” Daisy counted on Velvet’s innocence to win her over. If Mistress Skye disapproved when she returned, it was Pansy who had the recipe, not Velvet, and on her mother’s orders Pansy would destroy the formula.
For only the briefest moment Velvet hesitated. She wanted children, but not so quickly like Angel. Marriage to Alex could be delightful if only she could be sure there would be no baby right away. So she reached out and, taking the little goblet from Daisy, drained it. Each day since then she had taken a small dose of the golden-green potion that smelled of angelica, and it had obviously worked, for her monthly flows came regularly.
“I want to put a bairn in yer belly,” Alex Whispered. “When I see how rich with life Angel is, and Rob’s three wee girlies, I ache for a child of our own.”
“ ’Twill be in God’s own good time, my lord,” she answered, hoping her guilt did not show. Dammit, must he harp so on babies?
“Aye, in God’s own good time, but think of the fun we will have in the meantime trying to execute the Lord’s will,” he teased her, and Velvet giggled.
“Fie, my lord! Do not be sacrilegious!” she scolded him, but he heard the laughter in her voice. While she spoke she surreptitiously scooped up a handful of snow from the stone balustrade that flanked the steps to the terrace of Greenwood, and, whirling about, she pelted him with a downy snowball.
With a roar of mock outrage he fought back, pulling her back down the steps and chasing her through the garden. With a shriek, Velvet fled him, stopping every few seconds to toss handfuls of snow at him. They raced about the garden like a pair of unruly children until, attempting to make a run for the steps to the house, Velvet was caught and pulled down into the snow by her husband, who rolled her onto her back and tickled her until, giggling uncontrollably, she begged him to stop.
“Stop? Impudent wench, ye deserve much more punishment for this disrespect of yer lord and master!” Straddling her, he bent to kiss her, but Velvet turned her head aside.
“Master?” She pretended outrage. “Master, is it? Are we back to horses and dogs again? Which am I, pray, sir?”
“A kitten!” he answered quickly. “A hissing, spitting, ferocious kitten!”
