Ralph Trulock's Christmas Roses

by Annette Lyster

These twelve houses were built more than a hundred and fifty years ago, by a lady who owned all the land in those parts, and who was the last of her race and name. Hers had been a grand family, and though active enough in all the troubles of their times, they had contrived to keep their property together. But if the property did not diminish, the family did, and ended at last in one young orphan girl, Mabel Greatrex; whose name will outlive those of all the rest of her house. This young girl, being rich and fair, had no lack of suitors for her hand. But she was a long time before she met with one to her mind; so long that people had begun to say that she would never marry at all. But the right man came at last, and married she was, in the church of High Fairford; and the wedding party was coming gallantly down the hill and over the ford, on horseback, according to the fashion of the day, when the bridegroom's horse slipped on a stone in the water, grew frightened and restive, struggled out of the stream on the Low Fairford side, and scoured away towards the forest. No one was alarmed, for Sir Henry was a gallant rider; but while they watched how he was bringing his horse under control again, they saw him carried under the branch of great tree, which swept him from the saddle and left him dead for his bride to find when she galloped up.

Mabel never married again, though she was still young. And when she had somewhat recovered the first shock of her grief, she caused these houses to be built on the spot which had been so fatal to her—and she called the place "Lady Mabel's Rest." It was built, said the legend over the gate, "To the glory of God and the good of His poor." There were six men and six women, with a warden to see after them, who had comfortable rooms over the principal gate; and Lady Mabel framed the rules herself, and secured to them many privileges before she passed away, leaving her great possessions to distant kindred who did not bear her name, but leaving (as she said in her will) "to her native place something by which to remember kindly the last of her race."

So wisely and so well had Lady Mabel done her work, that the machinery she set going is going on well to this day. The rector of the parish for the time being manages the affairs of the charity, and is well paid for so doing. The only conditions for election are, respectability, poverty, and being a native of Fairford; the most deserving person of those whose names are sent in is to have the preference. As a general rule the selection is wisely made, but an occasional mistake occurs once in a way, of course.

Two vacancies had just been filled up when my story opens: a man and a woman having been chosen to fill them. It happened that the two vacant houses stood together at the end of the row. The rector, who had been abroad with his delicate wife, had come home to arrange about the selection, and had then returned to the South of France, leaving his curate and his curate's wife to make acquaintance with the new-comers.

The curate was a young man, and this was the first time that he had been left in sole charge, so he was naturally anxious to do his best, and his sweet little bride was anxious to make every one as happy as she was herself. So, on Christmas Eve, this young couple betook themselves to Lady Mabel's Rest, to visit the ten families they already knew, and to see the two new inmates for the first time.

Mrs. Cloudesley had provided herself with a quantity of Christmas roses from the rectory garden, which she had made up into twelve nosegays, one for each family. "Let them be ever so proud," said she, "a few flowers cannot offend them."

Ten of the nosegays were disposed of when the pair knocked at the door of the last house but one, and awaited with some interest the appearance of Mrs. Short, of whom they knew nothing but the name, and the fact that she was a widow.

The door was opened after a short pause by a round little woman, with a round face, a round nose, a round mouth, and a pair of—no, her eyes were not round, because they were almost invisible, lost in the plumpness of her face. But she opened them as wide as she could when she saw her visitors; and then they completed the series of O's which composed her features. She wore a cherry-coloured merino dress, warm, and a snowy apron and cap: the latter with a cherry-coloured rosette on the top, the last round thing about her. She smiled and curtsied, and looked very picturesque, thought Mrs. Cloudesley.

"You are Mrs. Short, I think?" said that young lady, after waiting in vain for her husband to speak. He said afterwards that he thought she could manage it better than he could; and I daresay he was right.

"Yes, miss, I am; and will you walk in, miss? For it's bitter cold, surely; and though I haven't got my furniture settled quite to my mind yet, perhaps you and the young gentleman will excuse that."