Lady Osbaldestone’s Christmas Goose
Stephanie Laurens
Lady Osbaldestone’s Christmas Goose
Stephanie Laurens
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
LADY OSBALDESTONE’S CHRISTMAS GOOSE
Copyright © 2017 by Savdek Management Proprietary Limited
ISBN: 978-1-925559-06-4
Cover design by Savdek Management Pty. Ltd.
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Contents
About Lady Osbaldestone’s Christmas Goose
Map of Little Moseley
The Inhabitants of Little Moseley
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Also by Stephanie Laurens
About the Author
About Lady Osbaldestone’s Christmas Goose
A lighthearted tale of Christmas long ago with a grandmother and three of her grandchildren, one lost soul, a lady driven to distraction, a recalcitrant donkey, and a flock of determined geese.
Three years after being widowed, Therese, Lady Osbaldestone finally settles into her dower property of Hartington Manor in the village of Little Moseley in Hampshire. She is in two minds as to whether life in the small village will generate sufficient interest to keep her amused over the months when she is not in London or visiting friends around the country. But she will see.
It’s December, 1810, and Therese is looking forward to her usual Christmas with her family at Winslow Abbey, her youngest daughter, Celia’s home. But then a carriage rolls up and disgorges Celia’s three oldest children. Their father has contracted mumps, and their mother has sent the three—Jamie, George, and Lottie—to spend this Christmas with their grandmama in Little Moseley.
Therese has never had to manage small children, not even her own. She assumes the children will keep themselves amused, but quickly learns that what amuses three inquisitive, curious, and confident youngsters isn’t compatible with village peace. Just when it seems she will have to set her mind to inventing something, she and the children learn that with only twelve days to go before Christmas, the village flock of geese has vanished.
Every household in the village is now missing the centerpiece of their Christmas feast. But how could an entire flock go missing without the slightest trace? The children are as mystified and as curious as Therese—and she seizes on the mystery as the perfect distraction for the three children as well as herself.
But while searching for the geese, she and her three helpers stumble on two locals who, it is clear, are in dire need of assistance in sorting out their lives. Never one to shy from a little matchmaking, Therese undertakes to guide Miss Eugenia Fitzgibbon into the arms of the determinedly reclusive Lord Longfellow. To her considerable surprise, she discovers that her grandchildren have inherited skills and talents from both her late husband as well as herself. And with all the customary village events held in the lead up to Christmas, she and her three helpers have opportunities galore in which to subtly nudge and steer.
Yet while their matchmaking appears to be succeeding, neither they nor anyone else have found so much as a feather from the village’s geese. Larceny is ruled out; a flock of that size could not have been taken from the area without someone noticing. So where could the birds be? And with the days passing and Christmas inexorably approaching, will they find the blasted birds in time?
First in series. A novel of 60,000 words. A Christmas tale of romance and geese.
Praise for the works of Stephanie Laurens
“Stephanie Laurens’ heroines are marvelous tributes to Georgette Heyer: feisty and strong.” Cathy Kelly
“Stephanie Laurens never fails to entertain and charm her readers with vibrant plots, snappy dialogue, and unforgettable characters.” Historical Romance Reviews
“Stephanie Laurens plays into readers’ fantasies like a master and claims their hearts time and again.” Romantic Times Magazine
Praise for Lady Osbaldestone’s Christmas Goose
“Written with a light touch, deep knowledge of the period, and bracing good humor, this book recalls the best ghosts of Christmas past.” Kim H., Proofreader, Red Adept Editing
“Readers will fall in love with Lady Osbaldestone and her adorable grandchildren as they make village life lively in this tale of mystery and romance.” Irene S., Proofreader, Red Adept Editing
“Laurens has created an utterly charming holiday tale sure to be viewed as a most welcome gift by her readers!” Angela M., Copy Editor, Red Adept Editing
The Inhabitants of Little Moseley
At Hartington Manor
Osbaldestone, Therese, Lady Osbaldestone – mother, grandmother, matriarch of the Osbaldestones, and arch-grande dame of the ton
Skelton, Lord James, Viscount Skelton (Jamie) – grandson of Therese, eldest son of Lord Rupert Skelton, Earl of Winslow, and Celia, née Osbaldestone
Skelton, the Honorable George – grandson of Therese, second son of Lord Rupert Skelton, Earl of Winslow, and Celia, née Osbaldestone
Skelton, Lady Charlotte (Lottie) – granddaughter of Therese, eldest daughter of Lord Rupert Skelton, Earl of Winslow, and Celia, née Osbaldestone
Live-in staff at Hartington Manor
Crimmins, Mr. George – butler
Crimmins, Mrs. Edwina – housekeeper, wife of Mr. Crimmins
Haggerty, Mrs. Rose – cook, widow
Orneby, Miss Harriet – Lady Osbaldestone’s very superior dresser
Simms, Mr. John – groom-cum-coachman
Daily staff at Hartington Manor
Foley, Mr. Ned – gardener, younger brother of John Foley, owner of Crossley Farm
Johnson, Miss Tilly – kitchen maid, assistant to Mrs. Haggerty, daughter of the Johnsons of Witcherly Farm
Wiggins, Miss Dulcie – housemaid under Mrs. Crimmins, orphaned niece of Martha Tooks, wife of Tooks of Tooks Farm
At Dutton Grange
Longfellow, Christian, Lord Longfellow – owner, ex-major in the Queen’s Own Dragoons
Hendricks, Mr. – majordomo, ex-sergeant who served alongside Major Longfellow
Jiggs, Mr. – groom-cum-stableman, ex-batman to Major Longfellow
Wright, Mrs. – housekeeper, widow, sister of Mrs. Fitts at Fulsom Hall
Cook – cook
Jeffers, Mr. – footman
Johnson, Mr. – stableman, cousin of Thad Johnson of Witcherly Farm
At Fulsom Hall
Fitzgibbon, Mr. Henry – owner, still a minor, studying at Oxford, home for the holidays
Fitzgibbon, Miss Eugenia – Henry’s older half sister
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br /> Woolsey, Mrs. Ermintrude – widowed cousin of Henry and Eugenia’s father, Eugenia’s chaperon
Mountjoy, Mr. – butler
Fitts, Mrs. – housekeeper, widow, sister of Mrs. Wright at Dutton Grange
Billings, Mr. – Henry’s groom
Hillgate, Mr. – stableman
Terry – stable lad
James – footman
Visitors to Fulsom Hall
Dagenham, Viscount (Dags) – eldest son of the Earl of Carsely, friend of Henry from Oxford
Kilburn, Thomas – friend of Henry from Oxford
Carnaby, Roger – friend of Henry from Oxford
Wiley, the Honorable George – heir to Viscount Worth, friend of Henry from Oxford
At Swindon Hall
Swindon, (Major) Mr. Horace – owner, married to Sarah, ex-army major
Swindon, Mrs. Sarah (Sally) – wife of Horace
Colton, Mr. – butler
Colton, Mrs. – housekeeper
Various other staff
At the Vicarage of the Church of St. Ignatius on the Hill
Colebatch, Reverend Jeremy – minister
Colebatch, Mrs. Henrietta – the reverend’s wife
Filbert, Mr. Alfred – deacon and chief bell-ringer
Goodes, Mr. Philip – choirmaster
Hatchett, Mrs. – housekeeper and cook
At Butts Bakery on the High Street
Butts, Mrs. Peggy – the baker, wife of Fred, sister of Flora Milsom
Butts, Mr. Fred – Peggy’s husband, village handyman
Butts, Fiona – Peggy and Fred’s daughter
Butts, Ben – Peggy and Fred’s son
At Bilson’s Butchers in the High Street
Bilson, Mr. Donald – the butcher
Bilson, Mrs. Freda – Donald’s wife
Bilson, Mr. Daniel – Donald and Freda’s eldest son, assistant butcher
Bilson, Mrs. Greta – Daniel’s wife
Bilson, William (Billy) – Daniel and Greta’s son, Annie’s twin
Bilson, Annie – Daniel and Greta’s daughter, Billy’s twin
At the Post Office and Mountjoy’s General Store in the High Street
Mountjoy, Mr. Cyril – proprietor
Mountjoy, Mrs. Gloria – Cyril’s wife
Mountjoy, Mr. Richard (Dick) – Cyril and Gloria’s eldest son
Mountjoy, Mrs. Cynthia – Dick’s wife
Mountjoy, Gordon – Dick and Cynthia’s son
At the Cockspur Arms Public House in the High Street
Whitesheaf, Mr. Gordon – publican
Whitesheaf, Mrs. Gladys – Gordon’s wife
Whitesheaf, Mr. Rory – Gordon and Gladys’s eldest son
Whitesheaf, Cameron (Cam) – Gordon and Gladys’s second son
Whitesheaf, Enid (Ginger) – Gordon and Gladys’s daughter
At Tooks Farm
Tooks, Mr. Edward – farmer
Tooks, Mrs. Martha – Edward’s wife, aunt of Dulcie, Lady Osbaldestone’s housemaid
Tooks, Mirabelle – eldest daughter of Edward and Martha
Tooks, Johnny – eldest son of Edward and Martha
Tooks, Georgina – younger daughter of Edward and Martha
Tooks, Charlie – younger son of Edward and Martha
At Milsom Farm
Milsom, Mr. George – farmer
Milsom, Mrs. Flora – wife of George, sister of Peggy Butts, sometimes assists in the bakery
Milsom, Robert – eldest son of George and Flora
Milsom, William (Willie) – younger son of George and Flora
At Crossley Farm
Foley, Mr. John – farmer, brother of Ned, Lady Osbaldestone’s gardener
Foley, Mrs. Sissy – wife of John
Foley, William (Will) – son of John and Sissy
Various other Foley children, nephews, and nieces
At Witcherly Farm
Johnson, Mr. Thaddeus (Thad) – farmer, father of Tilly, Lady Osbaldestone’s kitchen maid, and cousin of Mrs. Haggerty, Lady Osbaldestone’s cook, and cousin of Johnson, stableman at Dutton Grange
Johnson, Mrs. Millicent (Millie) – wife of Thad, mother of Tilly
Johnson, Jessie – daughter of Thad and Millie, Tilly’s younger sister
Various other Johnson children
Others from farther afield
Mablethorpe, Mr. – solicitor of Mablethorpe, Grimms, and Wrigby of Southampton
Berry, Dr. Horatio – medical doctor from East Wellow
Chapter 1
Hartington Manor, Little Moseley, Hampshire December 13, 1810
“You did what?” Standing in her drawing room, Therese, Lady Osbaldestone, looked upon the three slightly rumpled children, lined up quite literally on the carpet before her, with something akin to fascination. Three of her brood of sixteen grandchildren, they were proving to be remarkably inventive. Presumably, they took after their mother—Therese’s youngest daughter, Celia—rather than their father, the rather stiff-rumped Earl of Winslow.
At eight years old—or nearly nine, as he was wont to insist—Jamie, Lord James, Viscount Skelton, was the eldest. With slender build and long limbs, even features, sky-blue eyes, and a mop of straight, dark-brown hair, he bade fair to grow into a good-looking young gentleman; he would be a great catch one day. He stood tall and uncowed in the middle of the small group, but as with the other two, his eyes held a hint of not exactly wariness but uncertainty; neither he nor his brother and sister knew how Therese would react. In common with her other grandchildren, they didn’t know her that well.
On Jamie’s right stood George, all of seven years old, a half head shorter and a trifle more solid in build. He, too, possessed the Skelton blue eyes, currently large in a face in which the features were still forming. From under a thatch of slightly curly, mid-brown hair, George, too, eyed Therese warily, yet stoically. His stance suggested he would stick by his brother come what may.
Standing on Jamie’s other side and holding on to his hand was Lottie—more properly Lady Charlotte Skelton. Her blond hair fell in large, loose ringlets about an angelic face; at five years old still possessing an air of innocence her brothers could no longer so believably project, Lottie looked at Therese with open curiosity. There was an element of confidence in Lottie’s blue gaze that reminded Therese that she was responsible for the three, that they relied on her to keep them safe—that she was, in effect, in loco parentis, and they had every right to expect her protection and support.
Her question still hung between them.
Rather than attempt to answer what they instinctively understood was a rhetorical question, their blue gazes unwavering, the three miscreants stared back at her as if willing her to appreciate the irrefutable logic of their actions.
The other occupant of the drawing room shifted impatiently and repeated, “They climbed to the belfry and used old curtain cords to link the bell ropes.” Reverend Colebatch, who had marched the three up the manor’s front path and ushered them into the drawing room, pursed his lips in disapproval and eyed the three with scant charity. “You must have heard the resulting cacophony, my lady. It was the most hideous summons to prayer I’ve ever heard.”
Therese compressed her lips—to stop any hint of a smile slipping past her guard. She had heard the noise; all the village must have. “I see.” Spurred by curiosity, she asked the trio, “Was there some purpose behind your actions?”
Jamie readily—eagerly—replied, “We wondered, if the ropes were linked so that two of the eight bells rang together whenever the rope for either was pulled, whether the music would still sound as it should—”
“But just louder,” George put in.
“Or whether the peal would be all mixed up and sound awful,” Jamie concluded. He glanced sidelong at Reverend Colebatch. “We just wanted to see, so we did it today for the bell-ringers’ practice. We wouldn’t have done it on a Sunday.”
Therese knew all three normally had music lessons. In light of that, their cu
riosity was understandable; she was even a touch impressed by their enthusiasm in pursuing such an intellectual question. While I might admire your ingenuity… No, that wouldn’t do. Keeping her expression stony and unrevealing, she stated, “I believe you’ve had your answer and now owe Reverend Colebatch an apology.”
All three immediately turned to the minister and murmured their “humblest apologies.”
Reverend Colebatch humphed. “Yes, well, it’s not just me you scamps have inconvenienced. Poor Deacon Filbert was deeply shocked and rattled by the noise. It was he who climbed up and untangled your handiwork, but by then it was too late for the bell-ringers to practice.”
“I suppose it’s just as well,” Therese calmly put in, “that the bell-ringers aren’t preparing for any competition at the moment.”
“Indeed.” Reverend Colebatch frowned at the children. “But that noise was a horrendous assault on the hearing of all those about the church.”
Therese eyed the three culprits. “And where were you three when the bells started?”
The trio returned her gaze as if she should have known. “In the graveyard,” Jamie said. “We had to be near enough to hear the result clearly.”
Once again compressing her lips against a smile, Therese nodded, then looked at the minister. “Reverend Colebatch, please accept my apologies as well. I have clearly been remiss in not keeping these three in better line. If you have any recommendations as to punishments, I will willingly entertain them.”
