Jane and the Twelve Days of Christmas by Stephanie Barron Page A

course.” Chute turned once more towards his book room. But L’Anglois’s purpose was stayed by the entrance into the library of young James-Edward, who had been absent some hours in the billiard room with Mr. Gambier. He came charging through the door, his breath coming in great gasps.
    “Sir!” he cried to William Chute.
    My brother snorted and threw down his pen. “A little conduct, if you please. You are no longer among the harum-scarums of Winchester.”
    “What is it, lad?” Chute said.
    “A messenger, sir—asking for you! He rode up out of the storm. We heard a pounding at the front door—and there being no servants to answer, as it is St. Stephen’s Day—”
    “Of course. Most inconvenient. I shall come at once. An Express from London, I suppose?”
    James-Edward looked doubtful. “I do not think so. He is in Naval uniform.”
    And, indeed, a military figure—booted and spurred and envelopedin a riding cloak of dark blue—strode impatiently into the library at that moment. He brought a tide of cold air with him.
    “Lieutenant Gage at your service,” he said, sweeping off his hat and bowing to Chute. “Late of Ghent. I bring news from Admiral Gambier.”

7
THE FEAST OF ST. STEPHEN
    Monday, 26th December 1814

The Vyne, cont’d
.
    “The Admiral is well, I trust?” William Chute enquired.
    “Perfectly well, sir, I thank you—and bade me offer Lady Gambier and her family his warmest blessings for the season,” Lieutenant Gage replied. “I carry private correspondence for Lady Gambier, as well, that I am instructed to place into her hands. But first—” He glanced round the library, suddenly conscious of an array of silent faces, and coloured slightly—although that may have been merely the return of blood and life to a visage frozen by weather. “I beg your pardon. I incommode your guests.”
    “Nonsense,” Chute replied. “Eliza, dear, you must take this gentleman’s things and bring him a hot rum punch. We shall be in my book room. Langles, I shall want you as well.”
    The Lieutenant was relieved of his cape and hat; the three men exited in all the relief of those given a job of work in the midst of a tedious winter day; and we whom they abandoned, were left staring at one another.
    “Only fancy, Jane,” my mother observed, “that poor young man has been journeying through the storm! Breast-high, they say thedrifts are, on the Basingstoke road—not even the mail coach has got through. It is to be wondered that he did not perish!”
    “I suppose the spur was great—and his news urgent.”
    “Indeed,” Eliza Chute agreed. Her arms were full of the messenger’s wet things. “I must venture into the kitchens, now, and endeavour to concoct a hot rum punch. Does anyone have an idea of how it is made? Of all occasions to be without one’s cook!”
    Martha Lloyd had just such a receipt in her stillroom book; I thought perhaps I might recall it. “Possibly,” I managed. “And if the Lieutenant is frozen enough, he shall not regard the taste.”
    “Clever woman. Follow me, Jane.”
    I did as she bade, treading briskly from the library to the landing and thence down the great staircase. Eliza laid Lieutenant Gage’s sodden cloak on a bench near the blazing Yule log in the Staircase Hall. The great oak trunk appeared hardly diminished from last evening. I warmed my hands an instant, then followed Eliza’s quick steps along the East Passage to the kitchens. The passage was dimly-lit by guttering wall sconces. In this, too, I saw the absence of servants—the tapers should never have been left so long untended. Daylight was retreating swiftly before the heavy fall of snow, and if we did not take care, we should find The Vyne plunged in darkness before long. I must remind Eliza to secure a supply of candles, and engage the gentlemen in the laying of fires throughout the bedchambers, well before we were forced to retire.
    Eliza had barely pushed open the baize-covered door before the