Settlement. Ann Birch

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СКАЧАТЬ cracked a nut and popped the meat into his mouth. “It is kind of you to invite us to Christmas each year, Jarvis. These feast days are dull when you have no children around to brighten them.”

      “You’ve done me many a good turn over the years, Widmer.” Sam looked over at Jameson. His head was tilted, and his mouth had fallen slightly open. In a softer voice, he added, “I have not forgotten your help when I needed it.”

      A slight frown deepened the wrinkles of Widmer’s pale forehead. “I sometimes think of that poor young man. But I know he instigated the whole thing.” Widmer cracked open another nut. “Whatever happened, Jarvis, it’s water under the bridge.”

      Water under the bridge, yes, but Sam would never forget that bloody corpse. Or his subsequent lie in the courtroom when he’d stated that Ridout had lived long enough to offer his forgiveness. Widmer, who’d been the coroner, had said it was possible the death had not been instant.

      Sam poured himself another glass of port and avoided the doctor’s gaze. They sat for a while in silence. Then Sam looked at his pocket watch. “Time to join the ladies. Shall we take our port and see what they’re up to?”

      The scraping of their chairs awoke Jameson. “Sorry, gentlemen. Worked too late last night.”

      Eliza was still at the pianoforte. Sam’s mother and mother-in-law sat at opposite ends of the settee where they were intent on their embroidery, Mary and Mrs. Jameson played cribbage, and Mrs. Widmer had positioned herself in the hallway under the mistletoe. She smiled at the men as they came from the dining room.

      “Which of you will be the lucky man?” She looked at Sam. Her bodice had slipped down on one side, exposing an expanse of plump white shoulder.

      “I am the lucky person, of course, my dear,” Widmer said as Sam and Jameson hurried by her. Jameson joined the cribbage players, and Sam took a seat between the old ladies. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the perfunctory kiss was already over. Widmer plucked a berry from the mistletoe.

      Miss Siddons appeared in the archway of the drawing room with Caroline, Charlotte, Charlie and the older girls. “The little ones want to go out and look at the reindeer tracks again,” she said. “I shall take them, and Emily and Ellen will finish their puzzle upstairs.”

      “I have a small gift for your schoolroom,” Mrs. Jameson said, rising from the cribbage table and making her way over to the governess. From her reticule, she brought out a small book.

      “A dictionary?” Miss Siddons looked at the cover and turned the pages. “And written by you, ma’am?”

      “It was my first book—I was twenty-one when I compiled it—and it is the one I’m proudest of. I was a governess then, and I published it for the small boys I taught. It has four thousand words that children may meet in conversation or in the books they read.”

      Miss Siddons showed the book to Emily and Ellen. “We are honoured. We shall use it in our compositions tomorrow.” Sam was glad that his girls looked as pleased as their governess.

      Sam Jr., William and George came in. Their voices were rather loud. Perhaps they were nervous, or—more likely—they had been sampling the bottle of whiskey Sam kept in the top drawer of the chiffonier in his bedchamber. “Who’d like to see Papa’s antlers?”

      Most of the guests looked mystified. “Papa’s horns?” said Mrs. Widmer. “It would be a treat to see those.” She winked at Sam.

      “Antlers, Mrs. Widmer. From a moose that I shot in October on a hunting trip with my Indian friend.”

      “With a span of nearly six feet,” Mary said, “and not a point broken.”

      “And you have them somewhere on display?” Mrs. Jameson asked. “I should love to see them.”

      “They are worth a look, I assure you. Mary took them down to King Street to Mr. Ross, carpenter, coffin-maker and undertaker.”

      “I don’t understand, Mr. Jarvis. What did this Mr. Ross do with them?”

      “He mounted them on a fine piece of black walnut, then he came to the house and put them up on a wall in the nursery. They are magnificent. But after all, Mr. Ross’s motto is—”

      “WE SHOW YOUR LOVED ONES TO ADVANTAGE!” The boys shouted this at full voice. Everyone laughed.

      Sam left the boys to do the honours and stayed in the drawing room with Mary, Eliza, and the mothers. It was a relief to be rid of Mrs. Widmer for a few minutes.

      Mid-afternoon, when the guests had reassembled, Mrs. Powell yawned and roused herself from her stitchery. “Come, Eliza, I told our coachman to be here at two thirty, and it is already past the time.”

      It was the signal for everyone’s departure.

      In the hallway Mrs. Powell saw the mistletoe and paused under it. “Dear Mr. Powell always enjoyed trying to catch me.” She sighed. “How the years have passed.” Sam noticed a smear of grease down the plain black bodice of her gown, no doubt from the bread sauce.

      Sam put his arm around her waist. “May I have the honour, ma’am?” He planted a kiss on her whiskery cheek and felt her stiff body relax for a minute. Then he released her and plucked a berry from the wreath.

      “Dear Mr. Jarvis, it is now my turn,” Mrs. Widmer said, coming up close behind the old woman.

      “Look at the wreath, Mrs. Widmer.” Mrs. Powell turned and gathered up the folds of her dress. “You must surely know the traditions of Yuletide. All philandering must stop once the last berry has been removed. Mr. Jarvis cannot oblige. There are no more berries.”

      “No more berries, you say? Ah, but there are!” Mrs. Widmer lifted up a loop of greenery and pointed to one remaining berry. Then she moved in close to Sam, shutting her eyes and turning her mouth up towards him.

      Mary pushed in front of her guest. “My turn then, ma’am. Wives have precedence on such occasions. If it’s the last berry, it’s mine.”

      So Sam leaned down and kissed his wife, aware as he did so of Mrs. Jameson’s blue eyes fixed upon him.

      The guests trooped towards the coat tree and the pile of scarves, gloves, gaiters, pattens, boots and muffs stowed at the entrance. Sam caught a glimpse of a shapely leg as Mrs. Jameson bent over for a moment to button her canvas gaiters.

      He and Mary stood at the door to wave goodbye to their guests. The sleigh bells were still ringing in their ears when Mary slammed the door and turned to him. “That woman is intolerable, Sam.”

      “Widmer was one of the reasons I wasn’t hanged, Mary. Have you thought about what we owe the man?”

      “Oh Sam, you don’t find her attractive, do you? And what did she mean by ‘Papa’s horns’? Does that have some ribald connotation?”

      “To answer your questions briefly. ‘No,’ and, ‘No idea.’ Now let’s go and see what the children are up to.”

NINE

      Please, sir...” Sam looked up from his newspaper to see СКАЧАТЬ