It took us the best part of half an hour to give the presents and to say a word to each.
When it was over and done with, the last present accepted with a curtsey, a sudden silence fell.
The people, standing all together in a great group against the wall, waited for me.
“A happy Christmas to you, one and all,” I said.
And back came the shout from the whole lot of them as one,
“A happy Christmas to you, sir, and to Mrs. Ashley.” Then Billy Rowe, his one lock plastered down upon his brow for the occasion, piped up in a high reedy voice,
“Three cheers, then, for the pair of ’en.”
And the cheers that echoed through the rafters of the long room nearly shook the boards and brought us all down upon the carriages below.
I glanced at Rachel.
There were tears now.
I shook my head at her.
She smiled, and blinked them back, and gave her hand to me.
I saw my godfather looking at us with a stiff nipped face. I thought, most unpardonably, of that retort, passed from one schoolboy to another, to silence criticism.
“If you don’t like it, you can go…” The blast would be appropriate. Instead of which I smiled, and drawing Rachel’s hand inside my arm I led her back from the long room to the house.
Someone, young John I should imagine, for Seecombe had been moving as though to a distant drum, had bolted back to the drawing room between present giving and placed cake and wine in the drawing room.
We were too well-filled. Both remained untouched, though I saw the curate crumble a sugared bun.
Perhaps he eats for three.
Then Mrs. Pascoe, who was surely born into this world, heaven save her, to wreck all harmony with her blabbing tongue, turned to Rachel and said,
“Mrs. Ashley, forgive me, I really must comment upon it.
What a beautiful pearl collar you are wearing.
I have had eyes for nothing else all evening.”
Rachel smiled at her, and touched the collar with her fingers.
“Yes,” she said, “it is a very proud possession.”
“Proud indeed,” said my godfather drily; “it’s worth a small fortune.”
I think only Rachel and myself noticed his tone of voice.
She glanced at my godfather, puzzled, and from him to me, and was about to speak when I moved forward.
“I think the carriages have come,” I said.
I went and stood by the drawing room door.
Even Mrs. Pascoe, usually deaf to suggestions of departure, saw by my manner that her evening had reached its climax.
“Come, girls,” she said, “you must all be tired, and we have a busy day before us.
No rest for a clergyman’s family, Mr. Ashley, on Christmas Day.”
I escorted the Pascoe family to the door.
Luckily, I had been right in my surmise. Their carriage was ready waiting.
They took the curate with them. He crouched like a small bird between two daughters, fully fledged.
As they drove away the Kendall carriage drew forward in its turn.
I turned back to the drawing room and found it empty, save for my godfather.
“Where are the others?” I asked.
“Louise and Mrs. Ashley went upstairs,” he said; “they will be down in a moment or two.
I am glad of the opportunity to have a word with you, Philip.”
I crossed over to the fireplace and stood there, with my hands behind my back.
“Yes?” I said.
“What is it?”
He did not answer for a moment.
He was plainly embarrassed.
“I had no chance to see you before I left for Exeter,” he said, “or I would have spoken of this before.
The fact is, Philip, I have had a communication from the bank that I find decidedly disturbing.”
The collar, of course, I thought.
Well, that was my affair.
“From Mr. Couch, I suppose?” I said to him.
“Yes,” he answered.