He shrugged but didn’t look up.
Patrick put his spoon in his bowl and leant back. ‘I don’t think I could eat another mouthful.’
Nathaniel wiped his mouth with his napkin. ‘Me neither, but I could do with a top-up.’ He held up his empty tankard.
‘I’ll join you,’ Patrick said, rising to his feet and squeezing his way around the back to the keg of beer. He caught his two daughters, Annie and Nell, around the waist and tickled them as they tried to push him off.
Joe laughed along with everyone else but it seemed a little forced as his eyes followed his uncle’s every movement.
‘Give us a Christmas kiss and I’ll let you go,’ Patrick said. The girls gave him a peck on either cheek and he released them.
He picked up a spare tankard and filled it to the brim. ‘There you go,’ he said, handing it to his son Mickey. ‘That’ll put hairs on your chest. And you, Rob,’ he nodded at his other son, ‘can have a small one.’
‘Can I have a small one, too, Pa?’ Brian asked, looking pleadingly up at his father.
‘I don’t see why not, son,’ Nathaniel replied. ‘But don’t gulp it or you’ll go dizzy.’
Patrick filled another half tankard and passed it along the table to his nephew. ‘I’ll tell you, Nat, these lads of ours will be standing their rounds in the Town before we know it.’
Everyone laughed again but Joe looked down at his empty pudding bowl.
‘Should we clear away?’ Kate asked, stacking her bowl with Joe and Ella’s.
Mattie nodded. ‘And while we put the dishes to soak, the men can move the table.’
The family squeezed themselves out from behind the improvised table and the women and girls collected up the plates and cutlery. Nathaniel and Patrick took the door and crates into the garden and then the whole family returned to the parlour. The younger children sat on the rug in front of the tree, nudging and laughing as they tried to guess what they might get. The older girls sat side by side on the sofa and arranged their skirts while their brothers stood with their tankards and warmed the backs of their legs as their fathers often did.
Kate took the chair beside Sarah, who took her hand and patted it. ‘I’m glad you and the young ’uns could come,’ she said. ‘After Mattie told me about the run-in with him, I thought he might try and stop you.’
‘To be sure, Ma, wild horses couldn’t keep me away,’ Kate replied, leaning over and kissing her mother’s wrinkled cheeks.
Her mother caught her in a tight, shaky embrace. ‘When I think of your father, God rest his soul, and what a good and loving man he was, it fair breaks my heart to know you’re tied to that pig. If only we’d known.’ She released Kate and there were tears in her old eyes.
‘Hush, Ma,’ Kate said, giving her mother what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
Sarah pulled out her old worn rosary from beneath her clothes and kissed the crucifix. ‘May sweet Mary forgive me but I pray every day for him to fall in the river.’
‘Honestly, Ma!’ Kate said, remembering her constant battle not to wish the same.
Sarah kissed the crucifix again. ‘Mary, hear my prayer. And then send Kate a man to love her as he should.’
An image of Captain Quinn dressed in the sharply fitting suit he’d been wearing at church the week before flashed briefly into Kate’s mind. I wonder where he is spending Christmas day, she thought.
Josie’s voice cut through her thoughts. ‘Can I join you?’ she asked, pulling up a chair next to her mother-in-law. ‘Your Joe’s a bit quiet,’ Josie said. ‘He’s not sickening for anything, is he?’
Kate forced a smile. ‘No. He’s just a bit overwhelmed by it all, I think.’
‘Right, everyone,’ Nathaniel shouted over the chatter. ‘It’s time to give out the presents, and my lovely wife, Mattie,’ he held out his hand and she joined him by the tree, ‘the apple of my eye,’ there was a chorus of ohs and ahs, ‘and the thorn in my side,’ he said, earning himself a thump, ‘will do the honours.’
Everyone clapped and the children shuffled expectantly. Mattie removed the little parcels from the tree and handed them out to the children. There were squeals of delight as the girls unwrapped lace collars, fine knitted stockings and coloured ribbons. The younger boys shouted approval as they tore the paper off wooden trains and soldiers. Patrick gave Mickey a new sailor’s knife with a ten-inch blade while Annie was given a lace petticoat and kid gloves.
Annie thanked Kate for the yard of lace and Mickey said the socks she’d knitted him would keep his feet warm on the barge. Beth gave her a kiss for the hair ribbons and prompted by their mothers, Brian and Rob remembered to thank her for their sets of brass sailor buttons. Josie then gave out the adults’ presents and after everyone had thanked everyone else for their gifts, Nathaniel clapped his hands.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘I have a little something else, Pat, especially for you and me.’ He pulled two sprigs of mistletoe out from behind his back. ‘And I thought before we start the games we could put it to good use.’
Patrick laughed and took the twig from his brother-in-law then dodged through the children to Josie. She giggled as her husband held the branch over them and planted a kiss on her mouth. Ella and Beth put their hands over their mouths and giggled while Rob and Brian hooted and rolled their eyes.
‘Now you, woman,’ Nathaniel said, catching Mattie around her expanding waist.
He kissed her on the lips and then nuzzled her neck as their children jumped up and down and clapped. Mickey curled two fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill, two-note whistle.
‘Oh, my word,’ Sarah laughed and wiped her eyes.
Kate smiled and clapped her hands, then caught the look on her son’s face. He was sitting alone, cross-legged on the rug with his new toy soldier resting on his knee. The light from above caught the hint of moisture in his saucer-wide eyes and his lower lip trembled as he watched his uncles and aunts kiss and cuddle.
A lump caught in Kate’s throat and tears pinched the corners of her eyes as he looked across at her.
Jonathan counted the tick-tock of the clock and wondered if it was too late to walk to the Peahen and book a room for the night. Of course he wouldn’t, for his sister Barbara’s sake, but even her grand five-bedroom house at the St Peter’s end of St Albans High Street was beginning to feel quite small with his father under the same roof.
‘Would you like a piece, Jonathan?’ Barbara pointed at the fruit cake with the silver server.
She was sitting between Jonathan and their father in the drawing room.
‘If I may,’ he replied.
‘And for you, Papa?’
Colonel Quinn gave a curt nod without looking up from the roaring fire in the grate.
‘Was Edmund any better when you took him his tea?’ Jonathan asked.
She nodded. ‘He is cooler to the touch. He hopes to join us again tomorrow.’
‘Bah!’ said his father. ‘I marched for three days in a monsoon carrying a full pack and dodging natives’ arrows when I was Edmund’s age. He must have some weakness of the chest if he takes a chill after a light shower.’
‘A light shower!’ Barbara said. ‘Edmund was drenched to the skin by the time you brought him back. It isn’t a weak chest to blame for his fever but you for making him traipse around the countryside all afternoon.’
‘We were shooting.’
‘But in such weather! Why couldn’t you have played chess or billiards or something?’
The colonel’s gaze flickered on to Jonathan. ‘I had need of some air.’
‘I’m sure Edmund will be his old self by tomorrow, Barbara,’ Jonathan said. ‘He has to be as I have to redeem my honour after he beat me at chess the other day.’
‘Honour,’ grumbled their father.
‘Father!’ Barbara said, looking angrily at him.
He muttered something incomprehensible in reply.
Jonathan counted backwards slowly then turned to his sister. ‘Will the child
ren be down soon?’
‘I’ve told Nurse to bring them after their tea,’ Barbara replied.
‘I can’t believe how much Eddy has grown, nor how much he is like his father.’
‘Now he is seven, Edmund has started looking at suitable schools for him. And of course Isaac is six in February,’ she said, glowing with motherly pride.
‘They are lively lads – full of energy. They all but ran me breathless playing ball with them yesterday,’ Jonathan said.
Barbara laughed. ‘I would have thought you were used to it now you have fifty children in your charge.’
‘You must stay with me in the summer and we can take them to the zoological gardens,’ Jonathan said.
‘I’m sure they would enjoy that, and seeing you more often.’
Jonathan drank the rest of his tea and Barbara added hot water to the teapot.
‘Will you be joining the hunt tomorrow, Father?’ she asked.
The colonel looked around. ‘Naturally! The Quinns have joined the St Stephen’s day hunt for decades.’ He glared at Jonathan. ‘It’s a family tradition. And I’m not one to throw over convention for a selfish whim.’
The fire crackled and the logs shifted as the silence hung in the air. Jonathan made a play of finishing his tea and carefully placed the cup back in the centre of the saucer.
‘I must say, Barbara, I like the way you’ve decorated the room,’ he said, indicating the dark red flowered wallpaper and heavy chenille, tasselled drapes. ‘I’m afraid my current living quarters are very plain by comparison.’
‘All it needs is a woman’s t—’
‘I hear Louise Davenport has become engaged to Major Cruickshank,’ their father cut in.
‘Yes, Captain Braithwaite told me the news in his last letter,’ Jonathan replied evenly.
The news of Louise’s engagement didn’t sting Jonathan as much as it might have done a month or two back. Annoyingly that wasn’t because of his growing friendship with Mabel Puttock but because he seemed to have developed a ridiculous fixation on Kate Ellis, fired, no doubt, by his bachelor lifestyle.
The colonel snorted. ‘I’ll wager his family are cock-a-hoop that young Willy’s caught himself an heiress.’
‘I’m sure they are,’ Jonathan said. ‘I wrote to Louise sending her and her fiancé my best wishes.’
His father’s face mottled. ‘Did you? Did you indeed!’ He stood up and jabbed his finger at Jonathan. ‘She would never have looked twice at old Twister Cruickshank’s chinless son if you’d done your duty and ripped up that resignation letter as I told you to.’ He clasped his hands behind him and turned to warm the back of his legs on the fire. ‘You might think you’re admired for your principles but I’ll tell you this: there’s not one person in the regiment, not one, who would regard Miss Davenport wrong to have broken the engagement. After all, what well-brought-up young woman would give up a comfortable life as a regimental wife to bury herself in some raggedy-arse school?’
‘Father! Please,’ Barbara remonstrated.
The colonel waved her objection away impatiently. ‘All right, all right. But I speak as I find. So he sustained a wound—’
‘Jonathan almost died, Father,’ Barbara cut in.
‘—and lost a couple of men. Who hasn’t? It is the soldier’s lot. Is that sufficient reason to dishonour the family’s name or force me to suffer the pitying looks and condemnation of my fellow officers?’
Jonathan leapt to his feet. ‘And I didn’t let men in my command be led to slaughter because my commanding officer was too shortsighted to see the Russian guns on the ridge when he ordered the attack.’ He stepped forward until his nose was within a few inches of his father’s. ‘What you describe as speaking as you find is in fact being opinionated, rude and boorish. Furthermore, if Louise Davenport’s prerequisites for a husband are solely that he provides her with a social position and a luxurious living, then I am heartily thankful she is marrying Major Cruickshank!’
Jonathan glared at his father for a moment then strode to the window and stared blindly out at the frosted garden.
‘This is supposed to be the season of goodwill,’ Barbara said sharply. ‘So for my sake and in our house, can you please try to observe it.’
Jonathan remained unmoved for a second or two longer then he returned to his seat. ‘I’m sorry, Barbara.’
She looked pointedly at her father. For a moment the old man remained unbending and then with a grumbled oath flicked up his coat-tails and sat down again.
Barbara refilled their cups. ‘There,’ she said, picking up her own tea. ‘Now we’ve all remembered this is the day when the peace of the Lord came to dwell among us, perhaps we can have some of it here.’
Joe wedged his feet against Bertie’s rear and pushed for the third time in an effort to reclaim his share of the bed. Despite their protests, he and his cousin had been sent up to bed half an hour ago and had spent the time since trying to come to some agreement about how much room each should have.
Bertie turned over and elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Stop shoving.’
Joe grabbed his pillow and swiped it at his cousin. ‘Gis’ some room then.’
His cousin retaliated, sending a couple of feathers fluttering above them as his pillow thumped into Joe’s back. He scrambled to his feet and so did Bertie.
‘You’re too fat,’ Joe shouted, thumping his cousin on the side of the head.
‘And you . . . you . . . smell,’ Bertie yelled, as he whacked Joe’s shoulders.
The iron bed bars twanged and bonged as Joe and Bertie bounced on the mattress. Joe swung at Bertie. He teetered on the edge of the bed, winding his arms like a windmill before disappearing over the edge. Joe jumped after him and they wrestled across the floor.
Heavy footsteps clumped up the stairs. The boys sprang to their feet, grabbed their pillows from the floor and scrambled back into bed. They had just pulled the covers tight under their chins when the door clicked open and Uncle Pat strode into the room.
‘Have you boys been larking about up here?’ he asked, standing at the end of the bed and glaring at them.
‘No, Uncle Pat,’ they replied in unison.
‘Well, what’s all the noise then?’
‘Joe had to use the gazunder and fell over,’ Bertie replied.
Joe kicked him under the cover and Bertie kicked him back.
Uncle Pat’s lips moved back and forth under his full moustache. ‘All right then, but let’s have no more of it. Do you hear?’
‘Yes, Uncle Pat.’
Patrick walked back to the door and closed it behind him.
Joe and Bertie covered their mouths and giggled. A piano tinkled out the opening bars of a tune and Uncle Pat’s deep voice picked up the refrain in the room below. Joe’s eyes started to flicker closed.
‘What did you like best: the cake or the plum pudding?’ Bertie asked.
‘Plum pudding, because it had custard.’
‘Me, too.’ Bertie grabbed his brightly coloured train that Aunt Josie had given him and tucked it under his arm. ‘I think this is my best present ever.’
Joe reached under the long bolster and pulled out the sailing ship that Bertie’s parents had bought for him. ‘This is mine,’ he announced, holding it up.
Bertie yawned. ‘I wish it could be Christmas every day. Don’t you, Joe?’
‘Yes, it would be grand,’ Joe replied.
Bertie answered with a faint snore. Joe looked at his cousin’s open-mouthed silhouette then shoved him over with his hip. This time Bertie didn’t murmur. Joe punched his pillow and snuggled down.
The bed on the other side of the room was empty, waiting for the older boys who were still downstairs with their parents. Ella and the girls, Beth and baby Catherine had been tucked in to bed across the hall in the spare room, and Annie would have to squeeze in somewhere later on. Gran, Ma and Josie would sleep in Aunt Mattie’s room at the back of the house while Uncle Pat and Uncle Nathaniel would make do with the s
ofas in the parlour. It was the same thing every year for as long as Joe could remember. The whole family eating too much, teasing each other and having the best time. Well, not the whole family. Pa should have been here.
Joe pulled his ship out from under the covers and held it up. He imagined his father sailing around the world like Uncle Pat had. Tears pinched the corners of his eyes but he bit his lip to stop them forming.
Why wasn’t he here? When he asked Ma where Pa was she said he was working. Joe knew she was lying because her neck went red and Gran crossed herself. He also saw the look that passed between Uncle Pat and Aunt Mattie. Pa had said that Ma’s family had a grudge against him but as he was always larking around, Joe hadn’t taken much notice. But now he’d seen the way they all looked away when Pa’s name was mentioned, he knew it to be true. But why?
It couldn’t be Pa’s fault – so it must be Ma’s. She was never pleased to see him and always made him leave. And even he knew that wasn’t right. Yes, it was her fault Pa wasn’t here. Anger replaced his sadness.
‘Don’t worry, Pa,’ Joe whispered. ‘I’m your boy. And I don’t care what Ma says. Now that you’re home, I’m going to spend every Christmas with you for ever.’
Freddie rolled off Aggie and lay staring up at the ceiling with a satisfied smile across his face. Outside in the road the drunks sang and shouted good-naturedly. He scratched under his arm then pulled up his trousers to cover his essentials.
He raised himself up a little against the headboard and studied the pile of goods in the corner that he and Stefan had lifted from the draper’s in Bishopsgate. Aggie shifted in the bed beside him and stroked her hand down his bare chest. She got herself on to one elbow, brushed the hair off her face and smiled down at him.
‘Oh, Freddie,’ she whispered, twirling the hair on his chest with her finger. ‘You do know how to make a girl ’appy.’
‘So I’ve heard tell.’
She kissed his chin. ‘You were so late coming back I thought you’d forgotten all about me,’ she said in a little-girly voice as her fingers inched downwards.
‘How could I do that? And I told you where I was,’ Freddie replied, nodding over at the dozen or so bales of silk and lace piled in the corner.
Hold On to Hope Page 13