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The Holiday Wish

It was December 21st in the year 1843. From deep within the house, the sound of peeling bells could be heard, echoing loudly as they bounced off the foothills surrounding the Manor.

Elisabeth Prescott Ashton, attractive, with her dark green eyes and long auburn hair, walked over to the window and gazed out. It was just beginning to snow. Four days until Christmas she thought. Hard to believe, that it was Christmas time again. It had once been her favorite time of year. Up until 3 years ago that is, when during the holidays, her husband became suddenly ill and left her a widow with 3 young children to tend. Her family had begged her to return home; however she chose to stay at the Manor.

She walked back to her chair and picked up her sewing. At the urging of the Vicar and his wife, she had reluctantly accepted an invitation to attend the annual Christmas Eve Ball at Roxbury House, touted as the highlight of London's social season. She hadn't attended a social function in quite some time and was not looking forward to it. But a promise was a promise after all. As she sat working on her youngest daughter's dress, she was seriously regretting her decision to go as there was still much to do to get ready. She was also fearful about her re-entry into the community's social circle.

"Mother, mother" cried Sarah as she and her two sisters entered the room, the youngest one running to keep up with the other two.

Do you know what day it is today?

Yes, dear; it's just 3 days until the holiday ball and I still haven’t finished Annabelle's dress.

Oh, mother, please don't tease. You must know that today is the day when all the young ladies of the village go from house to house giving Christmas tidings. Can we, mother; can we? Becky called it 'going a gooding' and told us that it's supposed to bring good luck to the household receiving the blessing and to the giver of the blessing as well.

Sarah, dear, these are only folk tales, but I am pleased that you want to wish holiday greetings to others. I did it myself when I was your age. But, unfortunately I don't have the time today. There is still much to do just to prepare for the holidays. And I don't know if you noticed girls, but it started to snow a little while ago.

"Yes, mother we did, but it stopped already. Can we go, please? Please can we go?" asked Sarah. It will be a lot of fun.

Well, all right, but we've time to visit only one house and then I must get back to my work. Where is it that you girls would like to go?

Sarah, at 14 the oldest, turned to look at her sisters and then glanced back at her mother. We want to go to the old Camden House. We have heard there is a gentleman who lives there alone. I’m sure he could use some good wishes, especially at this time of year.

Elisabeth got up and told the girls to get ready. She then summoned that a wagon be made ready for the trip. She knew the gentleman of whom her daughter spoke--Gregory Whitcombe, a nobleman by birth, once considered one of the most desirable marriage candidates in all of London. She, herself as a girl was so infatuated with him that she would quake at the knees whenever she saw him. But he never even knew she existed. And why should he have, for she was only 14 at the time and he was 20 and considered much too old for a girl her age.

A few years later while attending a party she met Sir Lawrence Ashton, who although ten years her senior, she fell in love with at first sight and they married just three months later. Lord Whitcombe, on the other hand, had never married. Why he hadn't, no one knew.

Up until a few months ago, he was living in Scotland. Elisabeth wondered why now, after 15 years he chose to return to his birthplace.

The carriage ready, Elisabeth and her daughters set forth on their journey. When they approached the gate to Camden House, Elisabeth stopped the carriage. There was something very sinister looking about the old place which had been built in the 16th century and was badly in need of repair. In spite of attempts at renovation, its appearance still gave chills up and down one's spine. She signaled the horses to go forward finally stopping just in front of the entrance porch.

The youngest one, Annabelle, who had just turned 5, asked her mother if she could knock on the door. Elisabeth picked her daughter up into her arms. Annabelle then reached out and taking the iron door knocker into her hand rapped it against the door 3 times.

It was the housekeeper who answered the door and brought them to the sitting room where she told them they could wait while she went to get Master Whitcombe.

As they waited, Elisabeth gazed about the room. It was very dark as the thick burgundy drapes which hung on the windows were still closed blocking out the day's light. The walls which were paneled in a deep, rich mahogany also added to its darkness. On the outside wall was a fireplace with a fire that appeared would soon go out. To the left of where she sat, the wall was completely lined with bookshelves, filled with books from the ceiling to the floor. On the other side of the room stood a table and chair which matched the dark wood of the paneling which she assumed the owner sat to conduct his business matters. The chairs in the room which were not arranged for a conversation, consisted of hard wood with no cushions or arms.

A few moments later, a deep, but rich voice broke the silence.

"Good afternoon, ladies."

Elisabeth turned her head to face the door. There before them stood Gregory Whitcombe-- tall, about 40, with dark hair which was beginning to show signs of graying at the temples; wearing clothes of the finest fabric and the latest style.

"I understand from my housekeeper, Mrs. Price, that you have come 'a gooding'?"

Dipping her head slightly downward Elisabeth introduced herself and her daughters--Sarah, Amy and Annabelle, each of whom curtsied politely at her introduction.

"It is they, my Lord, who wish to bring good tidings to you and your home for the holidays."

"And what exactly would you like in exchange for your blessing, ladies?"

Amy replied "that Lord Whitcombe is your choice sir, but if it's not too much trouble I would really like a piece of your mistletoe if you can spare some."

He then smiled and summoned Mrs. Price to prepare a basket for the three young ladies and told her not to forget the mistletoe.

The woman returned quickly and handed the treats to the eldest of the three girls.

Elisabeth then replied, "I'd like to thank you kindly, my Lord for your graciousness. Come girls, we must go. "Merry Christmas to you and your staff, Lord Whitcombe."

"Good day, ladies" he said as he showed them to the door.

As they got into the wagon to leave, Gregory could not help but peer out the window. Something about this woman was familiar, very familiar. He suddenly found himself with memories of the past, and experiencing feelings he hadn't had in quite some time. And then, he remembered--Elisabeth. Elisabeth Prescott, the youngest daughter of his father's best friend. As he watched them pull away a smile came to his face.