by Amy Myers
‘Pick me a leaf or two of sage, Agnes.’ A little sage went a long way but it was useful because it kept green all winter. ‘And then you’d better make up those three rooms.’ What a to-do! The Rector’s long-lost brother and his two sons come to stay, which meant a full house at the Rectory. She didn’t know whether she was on her head or her heels.
There was no reply from Agnes who came to with a start as she saw Margaret staring at her. ‘Sorry, I was just thinking.’
Once Margaret would have snapped, ‘No time to think, not on Christmas Eve.’ And certainly not this one, but she didn’t do that tonight. There were more important matters.
Poor Miss Caroline didn’t get home till eight-thirty – and she was alone. Mrs Lilley popped out from the family reunion and had asked Margaret to get her something to eat in the dining room until she felt up to facing her new relations. Margaret promptly whisked out the nice piece of beef she’d kept warm for her. Miss Caroline only toyed with it, however, and seeing that, Mrs Lilley had decided she’d better tell her the truth.
‘Yves has been here, darling.’
‘What?’ Miss Caroline’s eyes grew round with horror. ‘I thought he’d gone to London,’ she wailed. ‘Where is he now?’
‘He went to find you. He’ll be back, Caroline. Do try to eat something,’ Mrs Lilley coaxed.
‘Where did he go?’
‘Dover, of course.’
It was a good job Margaret was still in the room because she was able to slam the door shut to prevent Miss Caroline rushing straight off to Ashden Station again. Mrs Lilley took firm control for once, bless her. ‘No, Caroline. Wait here, we have some news for you. Isn’t that best, Mrs Dibble?’
Margaret nodded.
‘He may think I’m up in London,’ Caroline said desperately, eyeing the door and her chances.
‘You wouldn’t get to Dover tonight. Besides, Caroline, we all need you here, and especially tonight.’
‘You don’t understand – I could get to London at least.’
‘And what if Yves comes here? He will come, even if it is tomorrow.’
‘I’ll go to the station then to meet the trains.’
‘No, darling, you will spend Christmas Eve here with us, just as you always have. Now let me explain …’
Of all the stupid things to happen. If Yves was only here for a very short time, he might not have the time to come, he might think it was not worth all the anguish of another parting. Caroline tried in vain to eat the unappetising slice of beef Mrs Dibble had proudly put before her, but found it as hard to digest as the news of Uncle Gerald’s reappearance. In the end, she quietly slid it onto the fire, and compromised with the potatoes and cabbage. Just as she was wondering how to dispose of the roly-poly pudding, there was a ring at the door, and Caroline rushed to answer it, almost colliding with Agnes who promptly retreated.
‘Yves!’ she cried as she threw open the door.
It wasn’t Yves. It was George and he was not alone. With him was a shy-looking, slender girl whom Caroline vaguely recognised from one of George’s photographs. ‘Oh, George, how wonderful.’ At least some nice things were happening for Christmas.
‘Meet Florence, Caroline.’ The girl smiled shyly.
Caroline shook Florence’s hand. ‘How lovely to meet you. Er – if you’re both staying, I’ll ask Agnes to make up the rooms.’ What, she was feverishly wondering, had happened to buxom Kate Burrows?
‘George.’ Elizabeth came hurrying into the hall, hearing the sound of his voice. ‘I thought you’d never get here. Where have you been?’
‘Meet Florence, Ma.’
‘Oh, how rude of me. Are you both staying? I’ll ask Agnes to make up another room besides yours. That’s if there are any.’ Elizabeth was immediately flustered. ‘I’m sure we—’
George grinned. ‘We only need one, Mother. Father’s been keeping it secret. We were married this morning.’
‘We ought to be leaving for church, Caroline.’ Penelope had stayed behind with her as she refused to go till the last possible moment in case Yves arrived. That moment had come, and the bells were ringing out to call them to the midnight Mass. Even in her own misery, Caroline was pleased to see Penelope looking so happy, not to mention George and Florence. In fact, everyone was save her, she reflected. Even Felicia, and as for Father and Grandmama, they had remained closeted after dinner with Gerald in the morning room, while Jake and Peter overwhelmed the drawing room with their good humour, loud voices and funny stories. Caroline had done her best to contribute to the convivial atmosphere, hard though it was. Then her conscience struck her as she remembered Agnes, and she tried to rationalise her own unhappiness. Yves had gone to London, and she had missed him. Perhaps he had even left the country by now. After all, she had assumed he was entering Britain when he telephoned Luke. Suppose he had come for a mere twenty-four hours and had been leaving it?
The peace of St Nicholas calmed her. Lit by its Christmas candles, the church was full, as had not been the case during the war. Grief could bring people to God; it could also estrange them. Now the odd unreality of the armistice was past, Ashden seemed to be preparing to heal its wounds and reunite as a village, although it was true that yesterday evening her father had told her that the Mutters and Thorns had once again come to blows. Once Father would have been deeply disturbed by this but he had actually laughed about it.
‘Miracles need more work devoted to them than either the Mutters or the Thorns are prepared to give, I fear.’ Oddly enough it was this humanity on her father’s part that made Caroline realise she was once again at ease in God’s presence, and this evening she felt her faith restored for the first time since Isabel’s death. Her father too seemed to have taken on new fire, and the emotion and passion that had been absent since Isabel’s death to be rekindled.
Behind her, her ladyship was no longer alone in the Hunney pew; Sir John was once again at her side, and Daniel too. What’s more, Eleanor and Martin had joined them; another rift was obviously now mended, Lord Grey had said in August 1914 that the lamps were going out all over Europe, but Ashden was replacing them with its candles of peace (even if they flickered occasionally between Mutters and Thorns).
Caroline had offered to help Mrs Dibble with the mince pies, and therefore emerged with Felicia and Daniel into the cold, still night ahead of the main Rectory party. She had hoped against hope to find Yves waiting, and at the sight of a tall khaki-clad figure at the lych gate, her heart leapt, then fell again.
‘That’s Luke, isn’t it?’ Daniel asked, surprised.
‘No. He’s not arriving till tomorrow morning,’ Felicia replied.
‘Then that looks uncommonly like his twin brother.’
Luke strolled up to meet them, and Felicia, overcome with pleasure, ran to meet him, throwing her arms around him. Caroline glanced involuntarily at Daniel to see his reaction. He watched with impassive face.
‘I managed to leave earlier than I’d hoped.’ Luke’s voice was flat with tiredness.
‘Have you seen Yves?’ Caroline could wait no longer.
‘No, I came straight here. Is he at the Rectory?’
‘I thought he was in London.’ It came out as a wail. The Christmas angels were neglecting her badly.
Luke sighed. ‘Not so far as I know. It’s the fault of that bad line. I’m sorry, Caroline.’
So was she. Yves had obviously gone to London in search of her and missed Luke who was on his way down here. By the time he realised what had happened, it would be too late to get a train to Ashden.
As her mother opened the door of the Rectory, the warm glow from the entrance-hall fire cheered her a little. Furthermore, there was a smell of mince pies, which meant Christmas was almost here.
The drawing-room door opened and Christmas presented itself. It was Yves.
Agnes was woken by the sound of Myrtle playing with Elizabeth Agnes next door. Isabel, bless her, was still sound asleep in the crib at her side, but the Christmas stock
ing had obviously proved too much of an allure for her sister. Agnes realised just how much she was going to miss Myrtle when she left. She had longed for nothing more than to have a house alone with Jamie and have the time to look after the children herself, but now that Jamie had left her alone, she had to decide what to do herself.
Tears of self-pity for her lonely Christmas threatened, but she managed to fight them off. She wasn’t alone. She lived in the Rectory surrounded by people who cared about her. Moreover, the war had shown that women could lead their own lives without men, by earning their own living. Plenty had done so before of course, but not women like her. Now she could be independent like Miss Tilly and Miss Caroline, and she might or might not continue in service. Service conditions would change because too many Myrtles and Agneses had had a taste of freedom. If they did return to service, it would be on their terms. This war was fought for all; the men who were lucky enough to come home from the trenches expected a better deal from life, and there was no reason women should be any different. They’d worked just as hard. Anyway, Jamie had fought for her independence and she wasn’t going to let him down. Not again. Perhaps she’d take up Lady Hunney’s surprising offer. Myrtle offered to look after the kitchen, and so Agnes had gone to the midnight service. Afterwards Lady Hunney had stopped to speak to her in the churchyard.
‘Agnes Thorn, isn’t it?’
Agnes had been amazed. Lady Hunney never spoke to her own servants, let alone someone else’s.
‘I was very sorry to hear about your husband.’
‘Thank you, your ladyship.’ Agnes bobbed and went to move on.
‘It occurs to me,’ Lady Hunney stopped her, ‘that with two little children you cannot live in the Rectory indefinitely.’
Agnes flushed red. ‘That’s my business, Lady Hunney.’
‘I know that, my dear, but I wondered if I might help. There is an estate cottage in Station Road that might suit you and your two children nicely. I would be happy to allow you to occupy it for a very small rent.’
‘But the Rectory—’ Agnes couldn’t think clearly.
‘You don’t have to live there to work there.’ Times were changing, and even Lady Hunney saw it. Perhaps to live alone was not so impossible after all. Indeed, in the light of Christmas morning, Agnes began to see that it was very possible. It occurred to her that perhaps Jamie had provided a house of their own after all.
Caroline knew she must soon ask Yves when he had to leave, but she kept postponing the question so that she could enjoy the morning service, the unwrapping of presents, and Christmas luncheon. Oh, how happy she was. This morning at least there was only one sadness, and that was not on her own behalf.
Daniel had not appeared at morning service, much to Felicia’s puzzlement, but afterwards, when walking home with Yves after the main party, he unexpectedly appeared. ‘Caroline,’ he said jerkily, ‘I’m sorry to ask you this, but could you break the news to Felicia that I’m returning to London?’
She was alarmed, for he looked very pale. ‘You mean you have to work after all?’
‘No. I think it has to be for good, so far as she and I are concerned.’ He managed a grin. ‘You see why I haven’t the courage to tell her myself. I might all too easily change my mind.’
Caroline was both horrified and mystified. Only yesterday Felicia had hinted that all was settled and that she and Daniel would be married.
‘Why have you suddenly had this change of heart?’
‘Bad words to choose, change of heart. I haven’t. Because I wanted it so much, I convinced myself Felicia was right when she said it would work. It wouldn’t, I see that now.’
‘But what will you do?’
‘I shall travel, as I always intended. But alone.’
‘You’ll break her heart.’ It was a cliché, but it could well be true.
‘I thought that too – until I saw the look on her face when she greeted Luke last night. Felicia thinks—’ Daniel stumbled over his words and began again. ‘She will believe that she will never recover, but I know the pain will grow less, and in any case she loves Luke too. You know it’s right, don’t you, Caroline? She’s not yet twenty-three, which is incredible to believe when you think of all she’s achieved. How can I take the responsibility of her assurance that she doesn’t want children or a normal married life? She’s too young to take that decision.’
‘I can’t bear it, Daniel,’ Caroline said miserably. ‘For either of you, but most for you, for she has Luke.’
‘Nor can I. That’s why I want you to tell her, Caroline. You know what suffering is, because you and Yves are parted too. You have Yves this Christmas as a surprise present, but sooner or later the holiday is over, and life must begin again.’
‘How can you, Laurence?’ Elizabeth cried. The sight of her husband dressed in his jester’s costume as narrator of their traditional Christmas game appalled her. She had assumed he would drop the idea for today at least. Even in the excitement of meeting Gerald and his sons, the missing one must be remembered.
‘My dear,’ Laurence came to comfort her, ‘this year of all years we should play the Family Coach.’
‘But Isabel—’
‘For Isabel,’ Laurence replied gently. ‘Isabel is in our thoughts all the time; she cannot be displaced by a game. And not only our thoughts either. Our Maud had a word with me after the service. She – you will hardly believe this, Elizabeth, when you recall Sir John was as opposed to it as I was four years ago – has arranged to buy the cinema from Swinford-Browne, and to open it up as a commercial venture, and ensure that Isabel’s name is firmly connected with it.’
‘What?’ Even Elizabeth began to laugh at that. ‘Is she going to manage it?’
‘No. Janie Marden is going to try.’
‘Oh, Laurence, that is—Isabel would have been delighted.’ Janie, the doctor’s daughter, was a close friend of all the Lilley girls.
‘Maud said she had to fight off a rival offer from Patricia Swinford-Browne by pointing out she was clearly set for promotion in the police force.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ Elizabeth said fervently.
‘So we may have our Family Coach? It would please Gerald immensely.’
‘Yes, Laurence.’
When the players had taken their places in the drawing room, where all the chairs had been positioned in the usual circle, Laurence announced: ‘This year my subject is Good King Wenceslas. Alas, a fall in the forest incapacitated him, and he was forced to make use of—’
‘The Family Coach,’ came the unison chant.
‘I bags the wheels,’ Phoebe yelled, getting up to demonstrate.
‘No, Phoebe,’ Elizabeth began, but she cried in vain as Phoebe took no notice.
‘Guess I’ll be the cowboy outrider,’ Gerald said.
‘You will not, Gerald,’ his mother said firmly. ‘You have clearly forgotten the rules. All players must be inside or part of the coach.’
‘Yes, Ma.’ Gerald winked at his sons. ‘Just for once, eh?’
‘No, Gerald. Mother’s quite right,’ Tilly said, straight-faced.
Lady Buckford looked at her. ‘That, Matilda, is the only time in your life you have admitted I am always right.’
Her three children, her daughter-in-law and grandchildren examined her face for a smile. It did not come. Just when Caroline had given up hope, something else even rarer issued from Grandmother’s lips: a laugh.
The trials and tribulations of King Wenceslas and his page exhausted even Caroline, and she was weak with laughter as an hour later the Family Coach rattled its triumphant way back over the drawbridge. Phoebe, on the other hand, still seemed to have boundless energy, and insisted on pounding out the accompaniment to Billy’s songs on the piano.
‘Our baby will get used to racing around before he’s even born, won’t he, Billy?’ she said happily, when Elizabeth remonstrated again.
Apparently it didn’t, for just as supper was served, Phoebe gave a shriek.
/> ‘Anyone would think you’d never seen a trifle before,’ Caroline laughed as Mrs Dibble triumphantly bore in the fruits of her hard labour.
‘It’s not the trifle,’ Phoebe gasped. ‘I think it must be the baby.’
‘This staircase is a real Jacob’s ladder,’ Caroline flung over her shoulder in passing to Yves. ‘Just look at all us ministering angels running up and down.’
No midwife could be found on Christmas Day, and Felicia had once again, with Mrs Dibble’s help, put her nursing experience to good use – assisted by Dr Marden, since the baby was premature. Mrs Dibble was highly satisfied at being proved right about it’s not being six weeks late. At seven o’clock on Boxing Morning, weary from lack of sleep, Phoebe produced Billy’s daughter three weeks early.
Caroline took the first opportunity to fall into bed, and awoke three hours later to find pale December sunshine streaming through the curtains, and Yves patiently sitting at her side.
Her eyes were instantly wide open. ‘You’re leaving?’ she cried. She had delayed and delayed asking him this, and then Phoebe’s baby had made it impossible. That he was still at her side seemed enough.
‘For what?’ He seemed surprised. ‘I do not take up my position until the New Year.’
‘You’re here until then? I have you for another …’ she counted busily, ‘five days.’
‘Here, yes. Then we return to London.’
For a moment she thought she did not hear properly. ‘We? So how long are you here for in all?’
‘Why, for ever.’ And seeing her lack of reaction, added uncertainly, ‘If you will have me.’
The words finally made sense in a Boxing Day gift of glory. ‘For ever?’ It came out as a squeak.
‘I told Luke—’
‘The line was cut.’
It was Yves’ turn to be shocked. ‘You mean you did not know? All this time you thought I was here but for a day? Oh, cara, cara.’