“Blankets,” he said to the butler, who was passing hampers to the guests to take to the craftsmen’s families. “We should distribute them to the poor and those in need.”
“Your Grace? The blankets are gifts for the tradespeople of the village,” the butler demurred.
“We pay the tradespeople for their goods,” Callum argued. “They will be compensated. But please, do this. It is Christmas. We cannot let good people freeze in their homes.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the butler said, sounding sceptical. His face was stiff with disapproval as he passed a bundle of blankets down to Callum. He looked around, unsure what to do, but Harriet ran over.
“Blankets! Brother! What a grand idea.”
Callum beamed, straightening up gratefully as she took the load of blankets. The butler wordlessly passed him another.
“Thank you, sister. If you and Miss Rothwell can distribute these?”
“Yes! Yes, let’s. Join us, brother!” she called as she walked briskly off to join Miss Rothwell. Word must have spread, because there were more children clustered around her, and two beggars, dressed in patched, old clothing, shivering in the cold.
Callum watched as Harriet, grinning warmly, passed one of the beggars a blanket. The man’s eyes widened and he gazed at it in disbelief.
“For me?” he asked. He had several missing teeth, Callum noticed, his skin raw and rough from days outdoors and his fingers gnarled and blue-white with cold.
“Yes! Merry Christmas,” Harriet said with a grin.
The look in the man’s eyes twisted Callum’s heart. He was almost mistrustful, almost sceptical. Callum rushed up to join them, overcoming the last of his inhibitions.
“Here,” he said, thrusting one of his blankets towards the woman in a tatty, thin shawl. Her eyes widened.
“No, good master,” she said, sounding shocked. “You cannot give me that. It’s...it’s fine wool.”
“It is yours,” Callum said firmly. His throat was tight, his eyes damp. “Take it, and I wish you a merry Christmas.”
“No, good master,” she stammered again. She took the blanket, though, and Callum watched as she smoothed her hand over the wool.
Miss Rothwell was surrounded by children. He gazed over at her, feeling concerned, but she beamed at him, eyes shining.
He went to fetch more blankets, dazed by her dazzling grin. The blankets seemed heavy, and more and more poor people seemed to be drifting onto the village green. The other guests had largely disappeared, dispensing the hampers to the craftsmen or milling about the cart, waiting for more goods to be passed out for them to give away.
He carried the blankets towards where Miss Rothwell stood with five villagers. Harriet and Mr Rothwell were handing out more blankets, this time to a thin-faced young woman with a baby in her arms.
“Merry Christmas,” Miss Rothwell was murmuring as she handed out coins, blankets and whatever else she had. “Merry Christmas!”
Callum came over to join her. “Merry Christmas!” he said with a smile, handing a blanket to a poorly dressed man who gazed at it with the same wary eyes he had seen so often.
The village was not very big, and, as such, its population of poor people was also not extremely large. The group thinned and soon Callum and Miss Rothwell stood by themselves.
“This is a wonderful day,” Miss Rothwell said, her grin huge as she turned to him.
Callum swallowed hard. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, it is. A wonderful day.”
He took her hand and they stood silently as Miss Rothwell’s sisters, Harriet and Mr Rothwell came to join them. His heart was full, too many emotions flitting through him to express. Joy was there, and appreciation, and contentment. He gazed at Miss Rothwell.
She has given me so much, he thought wordlessly. More than all the blankets, coins and oranges in the world. She had returned his joy of giving, his joy of doing as he felt was right in his own heart. He beamed at her. She smiled back.
It was a wonderful day, he thought silently. And a wonderful lesson. And, he thought with a wry smile, they would soon be home.
He could not wait to enjoy the warmth of a cup of chocolate and a conversation with her. It would be a real pleasure.
Chapter 20
“And I thought a ribbon would be decoration enough? What think you, Rosalyn?” Georgina asked, her voice soft in the quiet of the room.
