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

sound of laughter and singing greeted our ears.
    A jolly wassel-bowl
,
    A wassel of good ale
,
    Well fare the butler’s soul
,
    That setteth this to sale;
    Our jolly wassel
.
    “Providence, Jane,” Eliza said briskly. “Mrs. Roark has already made rum punch—at my direction—for the enjoyment of the servants on their free day! I had entirely forgot. But they shall not miss a draught, if we beg one for the poor Lieutenant.”
    “Surely not,” I agreed, with a spasm of relief. I have never been an apt pupil in the kitchen. “Perhaps we might beg some candles, as well?”
    L ATER, WHEN THE STEAMING glass had been presented and gratefully received at the door of William Chute’s book room, Eliza fretted a little about her helpless state. “I am persuaded I should ask the Lieutenant to remain here tonight,” she said as she peered out the darkling library window at the unabated snow, “no matter how urgent his dispatches prove. It is unthinkable that anyone should venture again into such weather—and with darkness falling!”
    “Surely he may find a bed in the servants’ hall,” Mary sniffed. “Or be sent back to the Angel in Basingstoke. It is not as tho’ you owe him any special consideration, Eliza—he is only a messenger, after all. I wonder that you admitted him to the house! I was reared to leave the Express fellows at the door.”
    “He is not an Express,” Eliza said repressively, “but an officer of the Royal Navy. Having several such in your family, Mary, I should have thought—”
    “Frank and Charles are Post Captains,” she retorted witheringly. “They are not sailors, whatever you may think.”
    “Most assuredly they are,” my mother said tranquilly. “And have been, since the age of fourteen—twelve, in Charles’s case. Do notmake yourself ridiculous, Mary. Our men of the Navy are the most distinguished in England.”
    “And we may offer him only a cold supper!” Eliza persisted. “Mrs. Roark will have laid it out in the dining parlour. It hardly seems fair to the poor man—and then there is his bed to be thought of. Fresh linen. With the maids free of work tonight, I shall have to see to changing it myself, if the Lieutenant is to be accommodated.”
    “Let him sling his hammock,” Mary said with disdain.
    Eliza might have retorted, but a clear, low voice from the library doorway enquired, “What Lieutenant?”
    Miss Gambier had returned from tending her aunt.
    “We have had a messenger from Ghent,” Eliza said. “Do come in and sit down, Mary—I am on the point of going for Madeira and glasses. Should you like a little? I may be able to discover some macaroons, as well.”
    “Ghent?” Miss Gambier looked from Eliza to myself. Her countenance paled. “What of my uncle?”
    “He is perfectly well. A matter of business, only, we are assured.”
    “The Treaty,” she said faintly. “And the intelligence brought by … a lieutenant, you say. Who is the messenger?”
    “A fellow by the name of Gage. My dear girl,” Eliza said sharply as Miss Gambier sank to a chair and placed a hand to her lips, “are you ill?”
    “Thank you, no,” she replied breathlessly. “It is just the shock—that news of my uncle should come, through such a storm—”
    She turned abruptly as the door to William Chute’s book room swung open; and I thought, at that moment, that all her heart was in her face.
    “Miss Gambier,” Lieutenant Gage said, with a gaiety in his voice that had been absent before. He crossed the library andbowed smartly before her. “I bring letters for both you and her ladyship.”
    Did I imagine it—or did Miss Gambier’s lips move in the single word
John
?
    “May I wish you,” he said, “a very merry Christmas?”
    L ADY G AMBIER ’ S HEALTH WAS so improved that she appeared in the Saloon before our cold supper, elegantly arrayed in a gown of dark grey with an overlay of black lace. Her composure was absolute, and if she sedulously ignored most of us, her