CHAPTER 3
A DRIVER RETURNS
Meanwhile, in the stable
Despite the snow and cold, Tom Walker had the traveling coach pulled up next to the stable and carriage house only moments after Perkins had unloaded Lady Ritchfield’s trunk. The footman came out of the back door of the house to retrieve another trunk, this one from the interior of the coach.
The trunk containing what Tom knew to be oranges.
“Careful with that one,” he warned. “Your Christmas present is in there.”
Perkins’ face lit up. “Oranges,” he said with excitement. He hefted the trunk by the handles and disappeared into the house.
The other trunks atop the traveling coach held the rest of what the countess had brought for the household—mostly foodstuffs including a side of beef and a huge ham.
Bobby Ashton, the groom who saw to the two horses kept in residence at Ritchfield Park for the servants’ use, hurried out to join Tom in unhitching the four Cleveland Bays. “How are you not frozen to death?” he called out, his own fingersnumb from the cold. He had been hauling hay down from the rafters and feeding the horses when the coach appeared as if from a cloud as visibility worsened.
“Who says I am not?” Tom replied. He cursed softly under his breath as he undid the leather leads and led the first horse into the stable. Given his age—he was nearly fifty—it had been irresponsible of him to have pressed on in the bad weather. He couldn’t imagine spending another night in a coaching inn, though. Not when they were so close to Ritchfield Park.
So close to Anne.
Perkins exited the house again, and Bobby helped him remove one of the trunks from atop the coach before he resumed helping with the horses.
The smell of pine assaulted Tom’s nostrils as he entered the stable, and a quick glance into the first stall had him realizing why—it was filled with pine boughs.
Apparently the servants had already seen to acquiring the necessary greenery for decorating the house on Christmas Eve. Along the front wall of the stable lay a huge log, its branches trimmed away.
“The Yule log,” he said in surprise.
“Indeed. Perkins cut it last summer so it would be ready,” Bobby replied as he led the second horse into the next available stall. “Oh, and Clara has coffee in the kitchens,” he added, referring to the cook. “And there’s an empty bedchamber for you up in the servants’ quarters, so you won’t have to share.”
“Where are you going to sleep?” Tom teased, heading back out to get the next horse.
Bobby chuckled. “With Christina, of course.”
Tom halted in his tracks, looking back in surprise. “The housemaid?”
Nodding, Bobby displayed a huge grin. “She married me. Last spring,” he said proudly.
The driver resumed his work to unhitch another horse. “Congratulations,” he said as he experienced a pang of jealousy.
“Graves let us have the larger quarters upstairs, which is why there’s a room for you,” the groom explained.
Tom hoped he wouldn’t be spending the night in the servant’s quarters Bobby mentioned. He would leave his small trunk in there, of course, but he hoped he might be welcome in a certain housemaid’s bed. “Any new servants on staff since last year?” he asked.
Leading the last horse into a stall, Bobby shook his head. “Nah. But Perkins almost quit—he and Graves don’t always see eye-to-eye—but they kissed and made up.”
Smirking at the groom’s comment, Tom thought to scold the boy. Had he worked in the city, his words would have been misconstrued, and the servants might have suffered censure or worse. Out in the country, they were merely a tease. “Any gossip I should know about?”
Bobby used a pitchfork to load hay into the horse stalls while Tom saw to refilling the grain buckets. “The scullery maid married the parson’s son, but she still comes to help Clara.”
“All that way?”
“It’s not far. Her man, Mr. Godfrey, has a farm just down the road.”
The two finished seeing to the horses and moved to the carriage house, Bobby pulling one of the doors open as Tom saw to the other. With only an old phaeton, a gig, and the dog cart used by the servants, there was plenty of room for the countess’ traveling coach. They struggled to remove the last trunk from atop it before moving it into the remaining space, the physical labor warming Tom enough so his hands andfingers regained their feeling. He winced at experiencing the familiar pins-and-needles sensation, though.
Removing his small trunk from the top of the coach, he hefted it onto his shoulder. “Grab my valise, will you?” he said, pointing to the leather bag he had left on the driver’s seat.
