‘His lordship was a most benevolent gentleman, my lady.’
‘And we’ve a few extra people from Chipstone this year. It seemed churlish not to extend the invitation as we had a few places free at the table. I’ve no idea who’s coming, I just asked the Women’s Institute ladies to arrange it. I do hope my first bash at hosting will live up to Uncle Byron’s memory.’ She suddenly felt lost. ‘I also wish with all my heart he was here.’
Clifford cleared his throat. ‘As do I, most heartfully. But perhaps he is, my lady. I believe his lordship’s spirit will always live on at Henley Hall. Now, shall we finish checking all is ready? Your guests will have been looking forward to this since the twenty-fifth of December last.’
‘No pressure then!’
Two
The lunch tables did indeed create a magnificent scene. Starched ivory cloths hung to the floor, topped with long artful sprays of white cyclamen and red roses set among the lightest green spruce. Tall silver lanterns punctuated the tables’ length. At each place setting, on a square of red linen, edged in gold ribbon, sat a handmade paper Christmas cracker. Jugs of ruby-red fruit cordial stood ready and waiting beside small towers of polished glasses.
‘It’s beautiful, Clifford,’ she breathed. ‘I must find the ladies to thank them again. And Miss Moore, I think she’s still here. Her floral displays are quite the centrepieces.’
As they passed back through the main hallway, Clifford paused to consult a neatly handwritten list he pulled from his morning-suit pocket. ‘We have yet to check if the three games rooms are correctly set up. Then the refreshments room and the changing room for the race runners.’
Eleanor felt a slight wave of panic as she peeked past his elbow at the list. ‘Oh golly, and there are still the last of the farewell gifts the guests will take home with them to finish tying the ribbons on. How on earth are we going to do all of that in’ – she pulled her uncle’s fob watch from her pocket – ‘what is now twenty-five minutes?’
‘Methodically and meticulously, my lady, of course.’
‘Of course,’ she muttered.
Through a window, she caught sight of a horse-drawn wagon turning in past the long row of garages. ‘I’ve just thought of one more, most important job, Clifford. I won’t be a minute.’
At the back door of the kitchen, she shivered and pulled her cardigan closer round her before stepping out into the icy air that froze her breath. Hurrying over to the wagon, she called out a greeting to the athletically built figure heaving a sack of coal onto his shoulders.
‘Mr Canning, merry Christmas. And how are you?’
He turned and fixed her with piercing blue eyes, set in chiselled features. He nodded, shaking some of the coal dust from the strands of his fair hair poking out from beneath his cap. ‘Right enough, m’lady.’ His rough voice always reminded Eleanor of a growling beast. With a hard shrug, he jerked the sack further over his back.
‘Gracious that looks rather heavy. Clifford could ask Joseph to help you with his wheelbarrow?’
Canning scowled. ‘Nothin’ wrong with me arms, nor anything else, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’
Eleanor bit her tongue wondering why on earth nature had seen fit to waste such handsome features on such a charmless man.
‘No, I wasn’t. I just thought it might help. Give you more time to get back home and change and still catch the coach bringing the other people from Chipstone to the Christmas lunch.’
‘I’ll manage right enough.’
‘As you wish.’ The frantic waving of a tea towel at the back door caught her attention. ‘Ah, a minor emergency. Please excuse me, Mr Canning. Looking forward to seeing you later.’
Without a word, he walked away towards the coal cellar.
She shook her head, wondering if she had done the right thing inviting him to the Christmas lunch. He had been delivering coal to Henley Hall long before she’d inherited it from her uncle earlier that year. And he used to live in the village before moving to Chipstone, so it had seemed rude not to. Besides, Ellie, mother always said to look for the good in everyone.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her housekeeper semaphoring again from the doorway. She hastened over. ‘Mrs Butters, are you alright?’
‘Oh my lady, so sorry to interrupt but Father Time is fair dashing round the Hall leaving us no minutes to get all the last things done. I can’t find Mr Clifford and he does like things to run to clockwork. And Trotters, I mean Mrs Trotman, is having kittens in there.’
Eleanor clapped her hands. ‘Whatever it is, we can sort it out. Come on.’
Having indeed sorted out half a dozen minor emergencies, Eleanor was hastily tying the last of the ribbons on the wreath that hung on the front door. Another Henley Hall tradition, everyone contributed something to the decoration that would welcome visitors throughout the festive season. Being a part of that felt very special. As she added the crowning ribbon, Mr Canning appeared sat aboard his coal wagon.
‘Thank you for delivering on Christmas Eve, I do appreciate it,’ she tried one last time. ‘I’ll see you at the lunch later, perhaps?’
There was no reply and Eleanor turned back to her ribbon. Even he can’t find something to be unhappy about in that, Ellie. Just ignore him and finish the wreath.
She heard him jump down from his seat. ‘Lady Swift?’
‘Yes?’ She turned back in surprise.
He pulled off his cap. She had never seen him look nervous before. ‘Just wanted to say ta like. For the invite. To the lunch,’ he added as if she were a little dense.
Had there been a chair behind her, she’d have fallen into it over him uttering a ‘thank you’.
‘Yes. I know. My pleasure.’
He looked down at his cap and then seemed to focus his piercing blue eyes somewhere over her left shoulder. ‘You know, you’re not like the other toff— gentry I deliver to.’
‘Ah, well perhaps not.’ She sighed, wishing for the untold time that her recent inheritance of Henley Hall had also included a manual on how to be a proper lady of the manor.
‘Didn’t mean to be rude. No offence. Your uncle were the same.’
‘None taken. I rather take that as a compliment.’
He ran his hand along his jaw, revealing the blue tattoo of a compass that ran down his neck and disappeared into his collarless shirt. ‘Most fancy folk pretend I don’t exist when I’m delivering.’ He gestured behind her to the Hall. ‘Places way less posh than this.’ His face clouded over. ‘Only time they acknowledge I exist is when one of them stuck-up footmen complains I’ve left a blooming sooty footprint somewhere.’ He glanced at her face and then away. ‘Excusing the language, m’lady.’
She shrugged. ‘It must be almost impossible to do your job without leaving some…’ Eleanor tailed off. He obviously isn’t listening, Ellie. Honestly, why did you ever think you—?
The anger that suddenly erupted on his face stopped her thoughts. ‘You know what they say? At this time of year with me breaking my back?’ He jabbed a blackened finger at her. ‘They say all I bring is a sack of bad luck!’