She staggered out, eyes crazed. “We’ve…”
“Mrs Pugh?”
Breathless, she gripped his arm. “Oh, Master Cadwalader…”
“Talk to me! What’s in there?”
“So ghastly, it is!”
“What is?”
“We’ve no prunes to stuff the Christmas goose!”
All of their shoulders wilted as one.
With a cough, Hugh returned the vicious dagger to his boot – how did he manage to swagger about without stabbing himself?
The housekeeper sagged into the kitchen chair, head in hands.
“Never fret, Mrs Pugh,” said Gwen. “I’ll fetch some on my next visit home. I’m sure we’ll have some in the larder.”
Mrs Pugh peeped through her fingers. “Oh, you’ve saved Christmas, my lady. I’ll ask the minister to bless you, I shall.”
“Thank you, Mrs Pugh.”
“Take care, Gwen,” Hugh said with a frown. “There’ve been robbers in those Cythraul Woods of late. Perhaps I should come with you.”
Waving the spoon, Gwen smiled. “I always take a groom.”
And so, order was restored to the kitchens, the range roared and a maid popped in to gather some tablecloths.
Hugh impaled an orange with a clove. “Isn’t it wonderful to have Tristan home. I was with him and Rhys for most of yesterday. We took a stroll down to the cove together.” His blue eyes glanced up, slightly dimmed. “Is it just me or is there something not quite right between the two of them? Has something happened?”
Gwen pressed her lips together as she’d noticed the discord also. At first, all had been joy and reunion but at some point in the week, it had turned to disquiet and rumination.
“Has what happened?” asked Elen, twisting her blond head this way and that. “Why am I always the last to know anything around here?”
“Perhaps because you always have your nose in a history book,” teased Hugh.
Elen glared. “Well, as a child there was never anything to do but read. I had no siblings and we lived in the middle of the countryside. I was so pleased when Father bought me theHistory of Wales, Volume Oneby Reverend Warrington for my tenth Christmas.”
“Well, I hope we might improve upon that present this year, Elen.”
She clasped her hands together. “You have Volume Six?”
“Er…” Hugh looked puzzled.
Isabelle’s brow was also still furrowed. “I too have sensed that Rhys is troubled. He is…too quiet.”
A delicate clearing of throat came from Miss Brecken. “I wonder if perhaps… Well, I have not the words but…
‘T-the leaden day I lost you,
Laughter fell silent.
Words became migrant,
Wine altered to rust,
