by Dilly Court
‘What’s them little parcels under the tree, miss?’ eight-year-old Jim demanded, pointing a sticky finger.
‘Shh, Jim,’ Tilda said sternly. ‘It ain’t polite to ask questions.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Mirabel said, smiling. ‘It’s Christmas and they’re presents. There’s one for each of you.’
They looked at her blankly. ‘What’s a present, miss?’ Ned asked curiously.
Tilda scrambled to her feet. ‘A present is what rich people give to their family and people they like, Ned. It’s like what the Wise Men brought for baby Jesus. They taught us that in the ragged school.’ She gave Mirabel an apologetic smile. ‘He don’t remember much, missis. He’s a bit slow,’ she added in a whisper.
‘Well you’ll find out what a present is after we’ve had dinner, Ned.’ Mirabel patted him on the head. ‘I think you’ll like yours.’
‘Weren’t that dinner?’ Daniel asked, rubbing his belly. ‘We never has cake at home.’
‘No, Daniel, that wasn’t dinner. There’s more to come.’
Despite Alf’s efforts to maintain discipline, the festive meal was noisy and chaotic. The sight of so much food caused the boys to forget their manners, and when twelve-year-old Pip speared a potato on the point of his knife and was about to put it in his mouth he received a sharp rebuke from Hubert.
Tilda scowled at her brother. ‘You ain’t fit to eat with the pigs, Pip.’
Pip hung his head and his cheeks reddened. ‘Shut up,’ he muttered angrily.
‘Such manners,’ Mrs Flitton said, shaking her head. ‘I suppose such behaviour is only to be expected from motherless children.’
‘I done me best, missis.’ Alf turned on Ned, who was giggling nervously. ‘That’s enough of that, boy.’ He pointed his knife at each of the children in turn. ‘You’ll treat this meal with respect or we’ll leave now and let these good people enjoy their Christmas dinner in peace. What do you say?’
Kitty started to whimper and the other girls joined in, except for Tilda who rose to her feet, glaring at her brothers. ‘We’re all very sorry, ain’t we, boys?’ She focused on each of them in turn, waiting until they murmured an apology. ‘That’s better.’ She sat down again and picked up her knife and fork. ‘We ain’t savages,’ she added sternly. ‘Ma taught us how to eat proper, and proper is how we’ll behave from now on.’
‘Well said, Tilda.’ Mirabel moved swiftly round the table with a plate of roast potatoes and another piled high with turkey. ‘Who wants more?’
This time there was no grabbing and more orderly behaviour. Alf nodded his approval, and Mrs Flitton relaxed sufficiently to smile when Hubert complimented her on the meal. ‘There’s more to come, sir,’ she said, blushing like a girl. ‘But I have to confess I didn’t make the pudding, although I can take credit for the trifle, which I think you’ll find every bit as good.’
‘We’ll clear the table and fetch the dessert, Mrs Flitton.’ Mirabel was already on her feet.
‘Of course. Stay there, Mary. That’s an order.’ Hubert rose from his chair to join his wife. ‘Best keep the boys off the sherry trifle,’ he whispered, grinning. ‘Heaven knows what will happen if they get drunk.’
She glanced over her shoulder at the youngsters who were sitting bolt upright, doing their best to be patient as they waited for the next course to be served. ‘Best go easy on the brandy to flame the pudding too,’ she murmured, giggling.
Gertie jumped up from her seat. ‘I’ll finish up here, ma’am. Then I’ll give you a hand in the kitchen.’
The puddings surrounded by a blue halo of flaming alcohol, were greeted with cheers and applause. Plates swimming in warm custard or crowned with a generous helping of thick cream were passed round the table, and when every last morsel had been eaten Mirabel fetched the trifle. The younger children refused reluctantly, complaining that their bellies ached, but the boys held out their bowls, eager to try the sweet confection. Mrs Flitton positively glowed with the praise heaped upon her. ‘It is one of my most tried and tested recipes,’ she said modestly.
‘It’s a culinary triumph, Mary.’ Hubert raised his glass to her. ‘I propose a toast to the cook.’
The toast was drunk and Mirabel could see that Kitty was already half asleep, as was four-year-old Nora. She stood up, pushing back her chair. ‘I think perhaps this is a good time to go upstairs and give out the presents.’
Alf was on his feet before anyone else. A frown puckered his brow. ‘Really, ma’am. We weren’t expecting anything, and we’ve nothing to give in return.’
Hubert rose from his seat. ‘We’ve had the pleasure of entertaining you and your family, Coker.’
Alf shook his head. ‘No, sir. I mean, thank you, Captain, but we got to do something in return. Me and the nippers will wash the dishes and clear up the kitchen.’
It was Mrs Flitton’s turn to rise to her feet. ‘No, indeed you will not. I don’t want my best china smashed to smithereens, thank you very much. I will supervise and Gertie and Tilda will help.’ She stared at seven-year-old Jane, who was licking custard off her top lip. ‘And that one can give a hand, but the others are too small.’
Alf opened his mouth as if to argue but Hubert held up his hand. ‘We’ll decide that after we’ve given out the gifts.’ He headed for the doorway, beckoning Mrs Flitton to follow him. ‘You too, Mary. I believe my wife has a surprise for everyone.’
Outside it was dark. but the drawing room was filled with warmth and light. A fire crackled merrily in the grate and the air was redolent with the mingled scents of hot candle wax and pine needles. Mirabel ushered the children in and for once they were silent as they gazed at the lit tree in awe. She motioned them to sit and they sank down on the Chinese carpet, cross-legged and open-mouthed.
Hubert led Mrs Flitton to a comfortable chair by the fire and Alf stood to attention, as if awaiting orders. ‘Take a seat, Coker,’ Hubert said with a vague wave of his hand. ‘No need to stand on ceremony.’
‘Thank you, Captain.’ Alf perched on an upright chair near the door, as if ready to make a quick escape.
Mirabel gave him an encouraging smile. ‘The children are a credit to you, Alf.’
‘Thank you, ma’am. It’s kind of you to say so.’
‘I hope things will get easier for you from now on,’ she added in a low voice. ‘You might even be able to find somewhere better to live.’
‘That would be my aim, ma’am.’
‘I’m sure it is.’ She turned to Gertie who was standing at her side. ‘I think now is the time to give out the presents.’
Mirabel stood at Hubert’s side as they saw their guests off. Each of the children, with the exception of Kitty, who had not yet mastered the art of speech, thanked their hosts politely for the food and the presents. Alf and Tilda were last to leave.
‘I can’t thank you enough, Captain,’ Alf said humbly. ‘I’d forgotten what Christmas meant until you was kind enough to take me on. I promise to serve you faithfully.’
Hubert shook his hand. ‘I know you will, Coker, and it was a pleasure to entertain your children.’
‘I’ll be here first thing in the morning with my pa,’ Tilda said as she stepped outside. She twirled her scarf around her neck and adjusted her woollen hat. ‘I could walk miles in the snow I’m so warm and cosy now. Ta ever so, missis.’
Mirabel blew her a kiss. ‘You’re very welcome, Tilda.’ She watched the family troop out into the starlit night. ‘I hate to think of them going home to that awful place, Hubert.’
He slipped his arm around her shoulders. ‘Fond as I am of you, Mrs Kettle, I am not adopting Coker’s family or inviting them to live here.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of suggesting it,’ she said, chuckling at the thought. ‘But we might be able to find them somewhere more suitable. You haven’t seen their home, but I can assure you it’s truly awful.’
He closed the front door and stood staring down at her with a thoughtful expression. ‘Finding Coker has made
it possible for me to plan ahead in the knowledge that I have someone I can rely on to keep the boiler going and tend to the plants in my absence.’
She looked up at him in alarm. ‘You’re going away, Hubert?’
He smiled. ‘I haven’t given you your present yet, my dear. Can you guess what it is?’
Chapter Thirteen
HUBERT’S SMILE LIT up his normally serious face, and his eyes shone with enthusiasm. ‘I plan to take you on a plant-hunting trip to Florida.’
Mirabel stared at him in astonishment. ‘You’re going to take me to America?’
‘I am indeed. It’s long been my ambition to find a ghost orchid and we’ll do it together, Mirabel.’
The thought of travelling to such an exotic place seemed too good to be true. ‘The ghost orchid,’ she repeated, mesmerised by the image the name conjured up in her mind.
‘It was first discovered by Jean Jules Linden in Cuba about forty years ago, but it was found more recently growing in the Fakahatchee swamp in Florida, which as I believe I’ve already told you, is one of the most inhospitable places on earth.’ He grasped her hands in his. ‘Ever since I heard of their existence it’s been my dearest wish to see them in their native habitat, and bring specimens home. I never imagined I could do it, until I met you, Mirabel. You’ve given me hope for the future.’
Looking into his eyes, Mirabel caught a glimpse of the young man who had loved so ardently and lost so tragically, and she was humbled by his trust in her. ‘That’s the best Christmas present anyone could have, Hubert,’ she said softly. ‘When do we leave?’
He released her, turning his head away as if overcome by emotion. ‘The orchids flower from May onwards. The trip will take a lot of planning and preparation, but I hope to book a passage to America in late March or early April.’
Mirabel could hardly contain her excitement. ‘How wonderful. I can’t believe this is really happening.’
He shot her a sideways glance, taking off his misted spectacles and polishing them on a spotless white handkerchief. ‘I’m so pleased you feel this way, my dear. But there is a lot to do, and you will need suitable clothing for such an expedition.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to call on Miss Standish,’ Mirabel said thoughtfully. Somehow she did not relish the idea of inviting the dressmaker into her home, where no doubt the embittered woman’s sharp eyes would be on the lookout for telltale signs of cracks in what she obviously considered to be a doomed relationship.
‘No, that’s not what I had in mind.’ Hubert shook his head. ‘There are outfitters who specialise in providing pith helmets and garments suitable for tropical climes. It will be rough going, Mirabel, and it will be dangerous.’
‘Really?’ She clasped her hands, her pulses racing. ‘What sort of danger?’
‘Wild creatures,’ Hubert said vaguely. ‘Alligators and venomous snakes, and that’s just for a start. Then, of course, there’s the risk of disease.’
‘I’m not afraid. It will be the most wonderful adventure, just like the ones I dreamed of as a child.’
He moved to a side table and filled a glass with port, holding it up to the gasoliers and studying the ruby glow. ‘Will you join me in a toast to our expedition, my dear?’
She held out her hand. ‘How could I refuse?’
The next few weeks were filled with preparations for the voyage to America. Hubert made many visits to Thomas Cook’s head office in Ludgate Circus, discussing itineraries for the trip and the various routes by which they might reach their destination. Mirabel’s time was taken up with domestic matters and pleasurable visits to various department stores, including Gamages in Holborn, the Civil Service Store in the Strand and Harrods, where she purchased the list of items that Hubert had made out for her. Back in the privacy of her own room she had a dress rehearsal, donning the divided skirt which was daringly short and only just covered the tops of her boots, a safari jacket and lastly, the crowning glory, a pith helmet. Gertie was suitably impressed and asked if she might try them on.
‘No, you may not,’ Mirabel said, keeping a straight face although she wanted desperately to giggle.
‘Oh!’ Gertie’s cheeks flamed and she cast her eyes down. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so bold.’
Mirabel relented immediately. ‘You may not try these on, but you may try on your own outfit.’ She reached under the bed and pulled out a cardboard box which she laid on the coverlet. ‘There you are. Open it, silly. You didn’t think I’d leave you out, did you?’
Gertie stared at her open-mouthed. ‘For me?’
‘Yes, of course. Hubert insists that I have a maid to accompany me, which is fortunate because I would have refused to go without you.’
‘I dunno what to say.’ Gertie stared at the box as if expecting the lid to pop open of its own accord.
‘Go on. It won’t bite.’
Gertie opened the box and examined the contents, exclaiming in delight at what she found. She held the jacket up against her, studying her reflection in the cheval mirror. ‘I never expected nothing like this. Am I really to go with you and the master?’
‘Yes, indeed you are. Hubert has booked our passage on the Servia, the newest Cunard liner. We sail from Liverpool at the beginning of April.’
Gertie slumped down on the bed, clutching the safari jacket to her bosom. ‘Well, I never did. I’m at a loss for words, Mabel. What will Bodger say when he finds out?’
Mirabel smiled, shaking her head. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’ She unbuttoned her top, frowning thoughtfully. ‘There’s just one thing I must do before we go. I promised Alf I’d find them somewhere better to live, but so far I’ve been unsuccessful.’
‘It ain’t easy to find somewhere cheap and decent.’ Gertie stood up and began packing her outfit back in its box. ‘It’s even harder for a large family.’
‘I know.’ Mirabel stepped out of her travel garments and slipped her merino gown over her head. ‘I’ve had an idea, but I need to speak to Hubert before I do anything.’ She glanced at the discarded clothes lying in a heap on the floor. ‘Will you put these away for me, Gertie? I’ll go and find him now.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Gertie said meekly.
Mirabel shot her a curious glance. ‘Why so formal all of a sudden?’
‘Just practising, ma’am. If we’re going to travel with the toffs I can’t go on calling you Mabel. It wouldn’t do at all.’
‘You’re right, of course,’ Mirabel said, laughing. ‘But when we get to the Fakahatchee swamp you can call me what you like. There’ll only be alligators and the like to hear you.’ She left Gertie to tidy up and hurried downstairs to look for Hubert.
She found him in his study poring over a map. ‘Might I have a word with you?’
He turned his head, peering at her as if dragging himself back to the present with difficulty. ‘Yes, of course, my dear. What is it?’
She pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. ‘I’ve been thinking about Alf and his family. They can’t go on living in that hovel, and I rather rashly promised to find them somewhere else to live.’
He sat back in his chair, eyeing her thoughtfully. ‘What had you in mind?’
‘You’ll be leaving him in sole charge of your precious collection, won’t you?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ He frowned. ‘It’s a big risk but one I’m prepared to take, and Coker is a good man. I think I can trust him.’
‘Then why not let them stay here while we’re away? You’ll know that your plants are being cared for and there’s plenty of room.’
‘I can’t have all those children rampaging around my home. They’ll smash everything and drive poor Mrs Flitton to distraction.’
‘We could let them have the attics, Hubert. They’re unused at present and Alf would have to make sure that the children didn’t wander into our private rooms. Tilda would see to that too. She’s very conscientious.’
‘But Mrs Flitton might object.’
‘I’m sure she w
ould prefer to have Alf living in the house to protect the property, and I’ve seen her filling baskets with food for Tilda to take home for her brothers and sisters. Mary isn’t as hard-hearted as she likes to make out, and she might enjoy the company.’
Hubert held up his hands in submission. ‘My dear, if you can persuade Mary Flitton to share the house with Alf and his family it will be a miracle.’
‘But you have no objections, Hubert?’
‘None at all. On consideration I think it might be the sensible thing to do, but what do we do on our return? I don’t want to share my home with the Coker family forever.’
‘That won’t happen. Alf will be able to save some of his wages while he isn’t paying rent, and he can look round for somewhere better to live in the meantime.’
‘I can’t argue with the logic of that, Mirabel. If Mrs Flitton is willing, I am too.’
Mary Flitton folded her arms, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed. She shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know, ma’am. It’s not for me to say, of course, but has the master thought it through?’ She paused, taking a deep breath. ‘I mean, all those youngsters living here. Just think of the cost of feeding them, let alone anything else.’
‘The boys work and they’ll contribute to the housekeeping,’ Mirabel said hastily. ‘And Mr Coker will have his wages too. I’ll tell him that he and Tilda must see to their meals so that you aren’t bothered.’