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I almost said it out loud - until I remembered the death sentence prescribed for certain practices by the Buggery Act of 1533. It might be wise to keep my mouth shut on that subject while I was wearing trousers and a tailcoat.[3]
‘Um…do you really think something will come of it, Your Ladyship? You know that your son, while having excellent qualities-’ Although I can’t think of any right now. ‘-can be rather, err…frosty.’
She smiled at me, tremulously. ‘A mother can dream.’
Yes. Nightmares. Terrible, horrific nightmares.
At least from my perspective.
Crap, crap, crap! What was I going to do?
‘You’ll help me, Mr Linton, won’t you?’ Taking my hand, she gazed up at me with those oh-so-motherly blue eyes. ‘You know my son, and are such a loyal friend to him. You’ll help me find the right girl?’
‘Don’t worry.’ Swallowing down all my squirming anxieties. I squeezed her hand and gave her the smile of a fiery ifrit. ‘I will make a hundred per cent sure that your son ends up with the one and only girl who’s right for him. I swear it.’
Unnatural Selection
The marchioness didn’t waste any time. The preparations for the big festivities began that very day. Missives were dispatched to villages all around, hiring additional staff. When the carriages returned, they weren’t just laden with additional staff, but also with all sorts of delicacies of the season, from goose and turkey over gravy to treacle, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, ginger, and all the other ingredients needed for a Christmas pudding.
A real Christmas pudding…
The thought alone brought a smile to my face. I hadn’t had one of those since my parents had died. Uncle Bufford’s idea of celebrating Christmas was to let down all the blinds and put an extra sturdy lock on the door as protection against carol singers.
From the way Mr Ambrose’s left little finger was twitching at the sight of servants bustling through Battlewood, polishing, cleaning and preparing, I could tell he had similar urges. But, like the strong man he was, he kept them in check.
The next few days were a whirlwind. People streamed into the manor house like mice into a pot of sugar. Everything was being cleaned, rooms were being aired that hadn’t been used or even opened for years. Thousands of candles were fetched out of secret stores in the cellar, and soon the chandeliers throughout Battlewood shone in tripled glory. And it wasn’t just the servants who did all the work: I was in the front ranks, along with Adaira and Lady Samantha, acting as generals of an army of little Christmas elves in maid and footman uniforms.
At my suggestion, Mr Ambrose was roped into the preparations and given the task of acquiring the decorations for the approaching Christmas celebrations. Ostensibly, the reason behind my suggestion was keeping Mr Ambrose too busy to think about leaving, but the real reason was that I simply really enjoyed watching the muscle in his jaw twitch maniacally while he chased servants through the snowy woods on the search for a suitably towering tree and stood on a ladder fixing mistletoe to chandeliers.[4]
I, meanwhile, had a bigger role to play than simply general of the Christmas elves: I had become Lady Samantha’s official advisor on all things Rikkard Ambrose.
‘I need you, Mr Linton,’ she explained, looking up at me with a half-sad, half-hopeful expression on her face. ‘When my son left, he was an open, cheerful boy. Today…’ She shook her head. ‘Sometimes I look into his eyes, and I wonder if it’s really him, until I look deeper and know it is my son. It is definitely him. But I don’t know him anymore. You are the closest thing my son has to a friend. If he is going to relax and enjoy during our festivities, I need you to help me. Tell me, what should I include in my plans for Christmas? What does my son enjoy?’
I considered for a moment. ‘Err…making money?’
‘No, no. I mean what does he do for fun, Mr Linton?’
‘Work. A lot.’
‘And other than that?’
‘Um…bully employees into working faster?’
‘So…what you are telling me is that my son most enjoys doing all the things in this world that are not meant to be enjoyed?’
‘Exactly, Your Ladyship. You hit the nail on the head.’
‘So what do you suggest we do?’
‘Well, do you have more rooms in this house that aren’t decorated yet?’
‘Dozens. But they won’t really be used.’
I smiled. ‘He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Keep him busy. That’s the best thing you can do.’ Plus, it’s just so much fun to watch.
‘Oh, thank you, Mr Linton! Thank you!’
‘You’re most welcome, Your Ladyship.’
