They rolled out of the gate and the coach headed downwards, following the road that curved up towards Stallenwood Village.
They arrived after half an hour, the rest of the guests drawing up in their own coaches on the village green. Callum jumped down, his legs tingling and his feet jarring on the hard, snow-covered ground. He reached up to assist Miss Rothwell down. Her eyes were sparkling.
“When shall we begin?” she asked him as he helped her sisters and Harriet out.
“As soon as the hampers arrive. Mother has no doubt informed the villagers of our unconventional arrival.” Dozens of people dressed in their finery poured out of the expensive carriages. The village craftsmen and poor would have a big surprise. That was the tradition on St. Stephen’s Day. The artisans who had worked for the family—that was, the carters, builders, farriers, painters and others—would be gifted with a hamper to thank them for their services. The household staff would likewise receive hampers to take back to their families. Those, though, Mother had decided to give out on the right day, so that the staff could take them home on their day off. Any remaining hampers would be graciously distributed to those in need.
Miss Rothwell was grinning with delight, and he followed her gaze to see four or five children gazing over at them, round-eyed. The children were tattily dressed, their faces pinched with hunger and one of them—a boy of around fourteen—was dirt-speckled in a way that suggested that he worked as a sweep. Callum’s heart twisted uncomfortably. The difficulties faced by many in his duchy were never far from his mind, but he found it hard to face them directly; it would unsettle him deeply.
“Look! Let’s begin with them. Have we any oranges?” Miss Rothwell asked him briskly.
Callum frowned. “We ought to take the hampers to the craftsmen’s homes first,” he reminded her gently. She shook her head.
“Look at them. They look so excited. Please, let’s! I would love to give them a surprise. And is that not what Christmas is about?”
Callum sighed. “I will ask Mr Morton if he has any oranges,” he told her, stalking across the gap to where the cart had just arrived.
“Oranges?” Mr Morton looked shocked. “They are all in the hampers, Your Grace.”
“I know,” Callum said with a weary exhalation. “But, indulge me. Have you really no extra oranges to speak of?”
“Well...” Mr Morton shrugged. “There is a bag. But those are for the staff, and...”
“Give me six of them,” Callum asked. “And the staff who do not receive oranges will be compensated with money.”
“Um...yes. Yes, Your Grace,” Mr Morton said swiftly. He opened a cloth sack and passed down six oranges. Callum looked around, then took off his top-hat and put them inside as Miss Rothwell came to join him.
“Hurrah!” she exclaimed, taking the hat from him. “Thank you! Oh, thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Callum said quietly, watching her as she rushed off across the snow. He had thought she was going to join her brother and sisters, but instead, she took off towards the six children. Callum tensed. Images of them rushing her, trying to steal her jewels, filled him with fear and he ran after her. He stopped three paces away.
“My lady! Cor! Blimey,” the boy was saying, eyes round as she handed him the orange. He looked at it fearfully, as though he had never seen one before. “Is that for me?”
“Yes. Merry Christmas!” Miss Rothwell said brightly.
Callum watched as the boy tucked the orange into his pocket, looking around as though he feared that someone would take it from him.
“Merry Christmas, dear,” Miss Rothwell murmured to a little girl, dark-haired and bundled in a worsted shawl, as she passed her another orange. The little girl’s dark eyes widened.
“For me?” she whispered.
“Yes. Of course, it is for you. Merry Christmas,” Miss Rothwell said, bending down to realign the little girl’s shawl that was slipping down her shoulders.
Callum let out a sigh. The children surrounded her in a half-circle, gazing up at her. They were half-afraid, half mesmerised, and he stood where he was, reluctant to disturb. Miss Rothwell handed out her oranges. Her face fell as another two children arrived.
“I have nothing,” she began, voice aching. The little girl gazed longingly at the oranges and Callum tensed, considering running back to see if he could filch some from the butler’s cart. As he watched, Miss Rothwell dug in her reticule and took out two coins. “Here.”
Callum’s heart twisted as the little girls both stared at her in amazement.
“Cor!” One lisped. “Pastries! We can buy pastries.”
Callum’s soul lifted. He had a purse with coins in it under the seat in the coach—he always kept it there lest unforeseen expenses arise on the road. He ran to the coach to fetch it.
“Here,” he said, pressing it into her hand as he hurried back across the snow. “Give these to as many children as you can find.”
“Your Grace?” Miss Rothwell blinked. Then she beamed at him as she understood. “Thank you.”
Callum looked away. Her joy in giving affected him greatly. He had always enjoyed giving, but it was something that hehad crushed in himself. The years of having to mind every cent because of the debts had forced that joy out of him, making him think of charity as a wasteful indulgence. Now, however, a spark of joy kindled in his heart once more, and he moved toward the cart.
