they will see a substantial return to make their next Christmas a jolly one.’
The door opened, and the housekeeper, Mrs Davy, entered, with an apology for the interruption and a footman carrying a large armful of greenery. As he began swagging bows from the mantel, Joseph stood and quizzed the woman, ticking things off the list in his head as he was satisfied that they had been taken care of.
‘Everything must be in perfect order,’ he said firmly. ‘While nearly every mill owner in the district has had some problems with frame-breakers and followers of Ludd, it would reflect poorly on me if my guests see a lack of control over my own household. I cannot fault the cleaning you have done, for I would swear you’ve scrubbed the house with diamonds it sparkles so.’
The housekeeper bobbed her head in thanks, and showed a bit of a blush. But his praise was no less than the truth. Everywhere he went he could smell the beeswax that had been worked into the oak panelling ‘til it reflected the light from multitudes of candles and fires with a soft golden glow.
‘And the larder has been stocked as well, I trust?’
‘It was difficult,’ Mrs Davy said modestly. ‘There was little to be had in the shops.’
‘You sent to London, as I requested?’
She nodded.
‘There is no shortage of food in the city, nor shortage of people with money to buy it. My friends from the South will not understand the problems here, and nor do they wish to be enlightened of them. If they come all this way to visit me, I mean to see that their bellies are filled and their hearts light.’ He grinned in anticipation. ‘And their purses emptier at the end of the trip.’
The housekeeper’s smile was firm, if somewhat disapproving. ‘They shall eat like lords.’ She passed him the menus she had prepared. ‘If you will but select the meals, Mr Stratford.’
Given the bounty she presented, it was impossible to make a choice. He frowned. ‘There must be goose, of course, for those who favour it. But I would prefer roast beef—and lots of it. With pudding to sop up the gravy. Swedes, peas, sprouts.’ He pointed from one paper to the other. ‘Roasted potatoes. Chestnuts to roast be side the Yule Log. And plum pudding, Christmas cake, cheese …’
‘But which, sir?’ the housekeeper asked.
‘All of them, I should think. Enough so that no one will want, no matter what their preference. It is better to have too much than too little, is it not?’
‘If we have too much, sir, it will go to waste.’ From the way she pursed her lips he could tell that he was offending her to the bottom of her frugal Northern heart.
‘If it does, I can afford the loss. A show of economy in front of these investors will be seen as a lack of confidence. And that is something I will not be thought guilty of.’ He paced past her, down the great hall, watching the servants tidying, examining ceilings and frames with a critical eye and nodding with approval when he found not a speck of dust. ‘All is in order. And, as just demonstrated, you have seen to the greenery.’
‘There are still several rooms to be decorated,’ she admitted. ‘But some must be saved for the kissing boughs.’
‘Tear down some of the ivy on the south wall. There is still some green left in it, and the windows are choked to point that I can barely see without lighting candles at noon. With that, you should be able to deck the whole of the inside of the house. Clip the holly hedge as well. Trim it back and bring it in.’ He gave a vague sweep of his hand. ‘Have them search the woods for mistletoe. I want it all. Every last bit of the house smelling of fir and fresh air. Guests will begin to arrive tomorrow, and we must be all in readiness for them.’
‘Yes, sir.’
From behind him, Breton laughed. ‘You are quite the taskmaster, Stratford. Lord help the workers in your mill if this is the way you behave towards them.’
‘I mean to master you as well, Bob. I will expect you to get up from your chair to help lead the games.’
Breton looked stricken at the prospect. ‘Me, Stratford?’
‘Of course. They are your friends. You will know what it takes to entertain them.’
‘I don’t think it is my place.’ The man was almost physically backing away from the task. ‘You are the host, after all.’
‘I am that in name only,’ Joseph insisted. ‘I can manage to pay the piper, of course. But in God’s name, man, do not expect me to dance to the tune. There has been little time for that in my life, and I never got the knack of it. I fear I am much better with machines than with people.’
‘But I …’ Breton shook his head. ‘I am not the best person to stand at the head of the set for you.’
‘At best, all they want from me is a hearty meal and a full punchbowl. At worst, they are coming to gawk at what a common mess I am likely to make of a grand old house. They would do without me if they could. For I am—’ he made a pious face ‘—in trade. Too humble by half for the people who have invested in me. But the money draws them like flies. Everyone wants their little bit of sugar, Bob. We will provide it for them. Though they sneer into their cups as they drink my wine, they will not be too proud to swallow it.’
‘But must I be a part of it? If they do not want you, then surely …?’
‘You are one of them,’ Joe said firmly. ‘I will never be. I am lucky to have won over Clairemont, and will have his daughter to dance with, of course. If she means to accept my suit then she had best get used to being seen with me. The rest of the ladies I leave to you.’
‘And what am I to do with them?’ For all his town bronze, Bob could be obtuse when he wished to be.
‘Smile at them. Flatter them. Keep their glasses filled. You could do worse than following my example and taking a wife, you know. Oaksley has three daughters, from what I understand. Perhaps one of them will do for you.’
There was also the daughter of that firebrand in the village. She had not been invited to the festivities. It would show a considerable lack of wisdom to have that man and his family here, to undermine his success. But she would be a fine match for Bob. She was both pretty and intelligent, and a gentleman’s daughter as well. She was more respectable than he himself would have aspired to be just a few short years ago. Miss Lampett would be perfect for his friend in every way. Although now that the opportunity presented itself to suggest a meeting, Joseph found himself strangely unwilling to voice his thoughts.
‘I have no intention of marrying,’ Bob said firmly. ‘Not now. Not ever.’
‘Then take advantage of some more earthly plea sures,’ Joseph said, oddly relieved. ‘There will be enough of that as well, I am sure. I’ve heard that Lindhurst’s wife rarely finds her own room after a night of revels. I hope I do not have to explain the rest for you. Avail yourself of my hospitality as well. Eat, drink and be merry.’
For tomorrow we die.
Joseph shuddered. He was sure he had not finished the quote. But he’d heard the words so clearly in his head that he’d have sworn they’d been intoned aloud, and in a voice that was not his.
‘Stratford?’ Bob was staring at him as though worried.
