Even Vicars -A Christmas story based on characters from my regency series, Vicars and Viscounts

It had been an excruciating week. The weather was foul, his congregation extra needy, and he felt a bout of ague coming on. Such things were mere trifles. But even accustomed as he was to too many calls upon his time and resources, this Christmastide Vicar Lionel Shrimpton was struggling. Helping his parishioners experience the joys of the season usually energized him, instead he found himself wilting under the challenge of upholding his own spirits in addition to parish duties. Adding to the miasma of melancholy, Miss Neely wouldn't return until Twelfth Night. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been counting on seeing her.

That was neither here nor there. Today’s first duty was to visit the orphanage. Hopefully the children’s hijinks would raise his spirits, especially if he could avoid the matron, Mrs. Dawes. Time in her presence, was not a recipe for joy, rather the opposite. He sent heaven a prayer for patience and a generous spirit, squared his shoulders, and entered the orphanage.

******

“Is Vicar sad?”

Bertie gave Pansy a push, gentle, not like he’d shove his friends.

“He’s a toff! Wot’s he got to be sad about?” The eight-year-old studied the vicar who was speaking with the matron. “Looks alright to me.”

Maybe not. The vicar was usually all smiles and good cheer, but today he looked right put upon.

“Sad.” Deborah shook her sable curls in agreement with Pansy, her lips turned down to mimic a sorrowful face.

“Yer right. He don’t look chipper like as usual,” Bertie allowed. He couldn’t imagine Vicar having any troubles in that nice cozy vicarage with Mr. Wentworth to wait on him and a cook who made the best scones in all England.  “C’mon. Let’s suss out what’s doin,” Bertie whispered.

They scampered from hiding place to hiding place watching Vicar do his rounds. Bertie noticed Vicar's shoulders rounded when no one was looking and his steps dragged. His encouraging words and smiles didn’t quite match his face, either.

“Sad.” Deborah took her fingers out of her mouth to frown again.

“Can’t be.” Bertie scowled. “He read us that story about angels bringing good tidings of great joy.”

“Joyth like happiness, idn’t it?” Pansy lisped.

Bertie nodded. “So how can Vicar be sad?”

Deborah shook her head, puzzled. Bertie worried she hadn’t understood, but she surprised him.

“Lonely?”

Five and partially deaf, some assumed Deborah wasn’t quite right in the head. Bertie knew better.

“Mebbe. Miss Neeley’s been in foreign parts for an awful long time. Like as not he misses her.”

Pansy screwed up her forehead in thought. “Where’th Lord Geoffrey?”

“Lord Geoff’s in London with his missus. So’s his other toff friends.”

Missing his chums shouldn’t make the vicar sad. He was important and busy and had all that lovely food.

“We can be hith friends,” Pansy whispered.

“Play with him?” Deborah asked.

“Vicar’s too busy to play with the likes of us,” Bertie mumbled.

“I could give him my doll,” Pansy suggested, holding out her beloved rag doll.

Bertie’s jaw dropped. Pansy loved that doll like it was a real baby. “Nah. Us menfolk don’t play with dolls.” When Pansy’s lip trembled, he added, “Even ones as nice as your rag baby.”

“What do vicarth like, then?” Pansy comforted her rejected doll.

“Don’t know. Vicar Lionel’s always doing for other people.” Bertie’s forehead wrinkled, imagining Vicar’s life.

“Ask Mr. Wentworth?” Deborah suggested.

Bertie grinned. “Right you are, Debbie! I’ll ask real casual like, so’s we can surprise Vicar.”

Shadowing the vicar’s rounds, Bertie noted what brought his smile, the genuine one that lit up his eyes when hearing the children’s progress. That was it!

He whispered a plan to the girls that’d cheer up the kind man who oversaw their welfare and that of the whole parish.

As Christmas neared, Bertie visited the vicarage multiple times, trading on his status as unofficial messenger for Vicar. The vicarage butler, the cook, and all the staff lent their support. Three days before Christmas Bertie met the girls to unveil their plan. Nervous and excited, brown eyes shining with Christmas fever, Deborah clutched her wooden dog, her only toy. As they awaited Vicar’s visit, Pansy danced her jitters and gathered the other children while Bertie bossed.

“Don’t be forgetting to say the words right and keep quiet if it ain’t your part,” Bertie commanded the huddle of children.

He nodded to Deborah who skipped to find the vicar and grab his hand. No one could resist her big brown eyes, so Deborah was often their ambassador and towed people around to show them what her words couldn't. Vicar was too kind to deny her when Deborah dragged him into the room where the children waited in hushed expectation.

“Good-afternoon, children.” He smiled, but shot a confused glance at Bertie who pulled a chair over. “What’s all this? Where’s Matron?”

Bertie gestured for him to sit and doffed his cap. “Matron’s talking to Mr. Wentworth. We’ve something for you, Vicar.”

Lionel grinned at Bertie’s authoritative manner and sat back in anticipation.

”Joy!” Deborah said loudly.

“I’m an angel and I say, ‘Fear not!’” Bertie shouted. “’I bring great joy to all people,’ even vicars.” 

“For unto you ith born a Saviour, which ith Christ the Lord.”  Pansey brought her doll to hug the vicar’s neck.

“Right sudden there’s with that angel a multitude of heavenly host praising God, and saying—” Bertie announced, then pointed to the other children who jumped up, shouting, “Glory to God in the highest! On earth peace, good will toward men.”

They burst into a ragged chorus of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen and brought Vicar gifts; a pretty rock, a feather, some berries, a drawing. Beaming as he received the last present, Deborah’s wooden dog, he thanked them, opening his arms for a hug.

From the doorway, Matron shouted, “Children! What is the meaning of this?”

Vicar Lionel rose up from under the avalanche of little arms and bodies and turned toward the scold.

“I beg your pardon, Matron. The children brought me gifts. I thought you knew.”Matron paled at being caught wrong-footed. She twisted her hands in front of her. “I didn’t see you, Vicar. This is most irregular.”

Wentworth intervened from behind her, “Mrs. Dawes was not informed of the children’s plans.”

“Cos she’d’a said no,” Bertie mumbled.

The smile Lionel sent Bertie was genuine. “The children were bringing me glad tidings of great joy.” Lionel gave Deborah a hug before patting each child on the head as they scampered past. "Which I needed."

Wentworth beamed. “Per Mr. Bertie’s suggestion, I brought scones from Mrs. Bevins.”

At a shout from the assembled cherubs, Bertie growled, “Mind yer manners for Mr. Wentworth.” He hung back when they swarmed toward the goodies. “You got that joy now, right, Vicar?”

“I do, Bertie.” Lionel clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you. Your kindness reminded me not to get so busy talking about joy I forget to experience God’s gift. It's for all people, even us vicars.”