The Christmas Stocking and Other Stories

by Katie Fforde

  ‘Of course, you don’t need to cook at all if you don’t want to,’ said Sharon. ‘You can either come over and eat in the dining room, or have meals delivered here.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t worry, we’re always very discreet. Now, I expect you can find the bedroom and bathroom on your own.’ She paused. ‘Any questions?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben. ‘While we were on our way we came across another old house in the woods, very like this …’

  ‘Oh? The old housekeeper’s cottage? That’s one we have yet to do up. The original owners had cottages for all their principal servants to live in all their lives, until they died. This is why we have five that we let and will soon have a sixth.’

  ‘So do you know anything about the housekeeper?’ asked Ginny. In some ways she didn’t want to know but if she didn’t ask she knew she’d be annoyed with herself.

  ‘Her old journal is up at the house. You could read it if you come up for dinner,’ said Sharon. ‘We’re doing a Downton night this evening. Everything is as it would have been at the turn of the last century. Some people dress up and really go to town, but you don’t have to. But it is fun.’

  ‘We’ll see how we feel after a quick freshen up,’ said Ben.

  ‘Quite right. No pressure – just call on the house phone when you decide. Now, will you be all right lighting the wood burner? Or shall I send someone?’

  ‘We’ll light it ourselves,’ said Ginny quickly. ‘My husband’s good at fires.’

  Ginny and Ben exchanged a warm glance. It was the first time she had properly referred to him as her husband.

  ‘Well, if there isn’t anything else you need, I’ll be on my way. Oh, and we’re having champagne and Buck’s Fizz at breakfast tomorrow if we don’t see you for dinner. As it’s Christmas Day.’

  ‘Christmas Day tomorrow?’ said Ben.

  Sharon laughed. ‘Yes, tomorrow. You’ve been so busy with the wedding you must be exhausted. I bet you could sleep for a whole day, but trust me, tomorrow is Christmas Day!’

  When they were alone, Ginny and Ben looked at each other.

  ‘We’re probably really over-tired,’ said Ginny. ‘Me doing the wedding thing and you having two jobs. We’ve just had the same dream or something weird.’

  Ben nodded but looked about as convinced as Ginny felt. ‘That’ll be it. It was a good dream though. I liked the bit in the church.’ He put his hand on hers.

  Ginny’s fingers closed over his. ‘That meant more than those stupid, soppy vows we made in the hotel, in front of all those people.’

  ‘We didn’t need to make our feelings sound good. We just spoke from the heart.’

  ‘That’s how I felt – feel.’ She cleared the sudden tears from her throat. ‘Shall we think about food? I’m starving.’

  ‘Good plan. Shall we get dressed and go up to the hotel for dinner?’

  ‘I’d like that.’ Although she was so happy with Ben their recent experiences made her curious and also want a bit of company.

  ‘I’ll give them a call.’

  The path to the house was well lit, making the walk through the woods exciting rather than spooky, but Ginny still held on to Ben’s arm.

  Under her coat, Ginny was wearing the clothes she had packed carefully for just this occasion. It was the dress she had bought in the sale the previous year, with her honeymoon in mind. It was cocktail length in dark green velvet, with long sleeves and a deep V-neck. She wore a string of pearls that Ben had bought her for her birthday just after they’d met and little pearl studs. She felt elegant and understated and Ben’s eyes had glowed in appreciation when he saw her; he’d murmured a compliment into her ear.

  He was smartly dressed too and she felt very proud of him as they walked into the hotel together. Once beyond the efficient reception area, which they had already seen, the hotel was a period masterpiece. Everyone had gone to a huge effort to recreate Christmas in a grand country house. This was Downton with all the bells and whistles.

  There was an enormous Christmas tree, decorated with old-fashioned glass baubles, miniature brass trumpets, wooden Father Christmases, fat little parcels, little plaster cherubs and crystal icicles. Swathes of tinsel added more glitter and the final touch was fairy lights that looked like real candles.

  There were boughs of holly and ivy and other greenery draped with scarlet ribbons and golden bows on every mantelpiece and over every picture.

  The female staff wore long black dresses covered with starched lace-trimmed pinafores and matching lace caps. The men wore tight black trousers and striped waistcoats, and highly polished shoes.

  Some of the guests had gone to a lot of trouble to dress in period costume and had obviously hired outfits specially. But many were just wearing smart but modern clothes, something Ginny was glad about. She could do without too much authenticity.

  After drinking glasses of hot punch they were summoned into dinner. The large, elaborately dressed table, with more glasses per place setting than Ginny had ever seen before, did seem very authentic with a grand centrepiece and beautiful crackers at every place.

  It was fun, all eating together, and although no one really knew each other, soon conversation was flowing, aided by the wine, which didn’t dry up either.

  To Ginny’s huge relief, there was no suggestion of the women leaving the gentlemen to their port. In fact, when they were all completely stuffed and had played a Victorian game involving burning fruits and nuts, it was suggested that people disperse to have port. Carol singers were due to arrive and most people drifted off to listen to them. Ginny and Ben went to find the library.

  As expected, it was full of books and had a good fire, but it was also empty except for them.

  ‘Right,’ said Ben, ‘let’s find this housekeeper’s book. I want to find out about her.’

  ‘But didn’t we agree? We just had the same dream?’

  ‘I know,’ said Ben. ‘But I still want to find out more about her if I can.’

  The book was easy to find: it was in a pile on a table, put there for guests to read. Ben picked it up.

  ‘Come on. Let’s investigate.’

  Once they were established on a sofa near the roaring fire, glasses of port and a plate of home-made fudge and chocolate to hand, Ginny, who had been a bit reluctant, was more enthusiastic about reading the book.

  ‘It says here,’ she said, picking up a laminated card tucked into the book, ‘that Hannah Stanway worked for the family for sixty years.’ She read aloud, ‘“She was a favourite of the family and much treasured. It was to her that they all took their troubles and she was always ready with wise words and comfort. After she finally retired, when she was seventy-five, she was still visited and consulted by the family until her death in 1900.”’

  Ben picked up the book. It was exactly the same as the book they had found on the kitchen table except that it was much older and faded. The writing inside wasn’t always legible.

  ‘That gives us a clue where to start looking,’ said Ben. ‘She wrote us a note in this book and I want to find it.’

  Ben worked back in the journal from 1901 and it wasn’t long before he found the entry they had read only that morning. Knowing it was written on Christmas Eve made it easy.

  ‘Here it is,’ said Ben. ‘It’s the note she left for us only the ink is really faded and there are a couple of splodges on it. And look, there are references to snow in the previous entry.’

  Ginny didn’t let herself process fully what Ben was saying. She preferred to think the last twenty-four hours had been a hallucination, a joint dream they’d shared in a post-wedding daze. Even if that was unlikely, the other explanation was even more ridiculous.

  ‘OK,’ said Ginny, ‘what I think happened is that somehow we had the same weird dream that was set in the past. But it didn’t really happen.’

  She was very definite about it and Ben, having looked at her steadily for a couple of seconds, nodded. He didn’t believe her theory any more than she did.

  ‘A
greed. Now, shall we go back to our cottage? We have a honeymoon to start!’

  They drifted back, hand in hand, and Ginny was in heaven. They’d reached as satisfying and logical a conclusion as they could. She and Ben were together; they’d have their first Christmas tomorrow, far away from family, curled up in their snug, comfortable holiday cottage, with every modern convenience.

  It was only much later, when she opened her overnight bag, the one she had used at the old cottage, that she found the nightdress. She knew perfectly well that she’d last seen it laid tenderly over the towel rack in the bathroom in the old house, on top of the linen face towels. She’d put it there herself.

  She dismissed the frisson of disquiet that ran down her spine. After all, the housekeeper and everything she had created had brought her and Ben together. Ghost or dream, it didn’t matter. She and Ben would live happily ever after.

  ‘They’re your parents, Rupe! It’s Christmas! I couldn’t say no.’

  ‘But you hate my parents,’ Rupert pointed out.

  Fenella sighed at her husband’s horrified expression and leant on the big old kitchen table, currently pulled out near the big old Aga.

  The kitchen was the centre of the Gainsboroughs’ lives in winter at Somerby. It was Fenella’s favourite room in their rambling old house. Huge and shabby but with a newly installed wood burner and a sofa and chairs it was always cosy. The stove was an early Christmas present to the house because finally Somerby was earning its keep – only just – by being a wedding venue, film set and sometime cookery school.

  Fenella pursed her lips. ‘That’s putting it a little strongly. But I’ll admit they are challenging, and I was really looking forward to not having them this year, but …’ She shrugged. ‘But the friends they were going to have norovirus. And it’s no joke when you’re elderly.’

  ‘It’s no joke even when you’re not elderly,’ said Rupert, but laughing anyway. ‘Did you warn them we had a houseful?’

  ‘Yes I did, but with a house this size, you can never say you haven’t got room. What I didn’t tell them is that Sarah rang just before your mother. She says the twins are teething and are being really hard work. She and Hugo wanted to know if we still wanted them all to come for Christmas.’

  ‘And you said, “Yes of course,” I hope?’

  Fenella nodded. ‘Of course!’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m sure Christmas will still be lovely it’s just … I was so looking forward to a cosy time; just us, our girls, Sarah and Hugo and their babies, and Gideon and Zoe who always love helping with the cooking. All of us old friends slobbing out in the upstairs sitting room, drinking and throwing clementine peel and nutshells into the fire.’

  ‘Well, Zoe’s pregnant, so she’s not drinking.’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ she said glumly.

  He nodded. ‘And I know just how much you were looking forward to it, darling. I was, too. I was going to beat Hugo at poker or die in the attempt.’

  ‘You can still do that, surely?’

  Rupert shook his head. ‘Nope. My parents will try and make me play bridge instead; that’s all they want to do these days. Well, I won’t. I’ve forgotten how anyway.’

  ‘I’m not sure how your mother and father will cope with the babies,’ worried Fenella. ‘I’ll keep Sarah, Hugo and the twins in the bridal suite and hope your parents are not too disturbed. There’s plenty of room for the family to spread out and make a noise if necessary. That room does have lovely facilities though I say it myself.’

  Rupert nodded. ‘If there’s one upside to two crying babies it’s that maybe my parents’ll stop nagging us about trying for a “son and heir”. And blaming you for us not having one already.’

  Fenella didn’t comment and just said, ‘That reminds me, where are the girls?’

  ‘They’re sorting out the cupboard in the larder. Glory’s so excited about her godmother Zoe coming for Christmas.’

  Fenella smiled. Her eldest daughter, Glory, was five and very good at guiding her younger sister, Simmy – short for Cymbeline – around. More like bossing at times. There was a special cupboard that contained only plastic things. Taking everything out and putting it back in again was one of their favourite games.

  ‘Then if they are happy, I’ll go and sort out the Pink Room for your parents. It’s full of clutter at the moment.’

  ‘Are you sure? You’re looking a bit tired, honey,’ said Rupert.

  ‘It’s the day before Christmas Eve. Of course I’m tired!’ she snapped. ‘And on top of everything else I had to check Gerald’s house was fit for visitors this morning.’ She frowned. ‘I know in theory looking after the holiday rentals for him while he’s away isn’t much trouble, but somehow it is. Although the cottage was perfectly clean I had to put flowers and a bottle of wine in it, and arrange a hamper. He’s a mean old thing not arranging for something a bit more at Christmas, the price he charges.’

  Rupert looked knowing. ‘And you’re a bit grumpy. You’d usually enjoy doing those things. Is it PMT? Should I dig out the emergency chocolate?’ he asked.

  Fenella hadn’t meant to tell Rupert what she was about to say but she decided she had to, really. ‘Actually, Rupe, it’s been PMT for a while.’ She bit her lip, hoping she didn’t have to spell it out.

  ‘You’re pregnant?’

  Fenella nodded and watched her husband struggle for the right facial expression. He was very happy with his two girls and Fenella didn’t think she really wanted another baby and yet, somehow, another one might be on its way. ‘It’s very early days,’ she said.

  ‘Have you taken a test, Fen?’

  ‘No! We’ve both been so busy there hasn’t been time to get to a chemist. Let’s not think about it just now. My period may simply be late because I’m stressed. Now I must go and get tidying. Oh – could you give the girls something to eat? There are some spuds in the oven. You could give them baked beans and cheese with them. They love that.’

  As Fenella left the kitchen she couldn’t help feeling guilty for not being totally honest with Rupert. She had actually managed to buy a pregnancy test; she just hadn’t had a chance, or the courage, to take it yet. And now with all this extra prep to do she wasn’t sure she’d have the time.

  Fenella went upstairs to the airing cupboard and gathered armfuls of bedlinen and towels. Then she faced the dumping ground that was known as the Pink Room. Luckily the mess was fairly superficial and she just hauled everything off the bed and stuffed it in a cupboard. Her mother-in-law would moan if she didn’t have enough hanging space but if the chest of drawers was relatively clear and there was enough space for a few things in the wardrobe that would have to do.

  Her phone vibrated in her back pocket. It was Zoe. Fenella sank down on the bed, her heart in her mouth in case Zoe was ringing to cancel. ‘Oh, Zoe!’ she said quickly, before Zoe had time to speak. ‘How lovely to hear you! Last-minute change of plan – my in-laws are coming for Christmas too. You remember them – Lord and Lady Gainsborough? You met them when I was having Glory and you were at Somerby for the cookery competition?’ Fenella tried to sound as if somehow this wasn’t quite the disaster she felt it to be.

  ‘I do remember meeting them, and I definitely remember the cookery competition,’ said Zoe dryly, apparently not fooled by Fenella’s feigned enthusiasm. ‘Hardly likely to forget it in the circumstances. As that’s where Gideon and I met I’d say the competition was directly responsible for my current condition.’

  Fenella laughed. The cookery competition at Somerby had been enormous fun and extremely stressful. Zoe, one of the most promising contestants, and Gideon, the scariest judge, had met each other during it. Zoe had lost the competition but kept Gideon. ‘So how are you? I do hope you’re not ringing up to cancel. I’m totally relying on you and Gideon to keep me sane.’

  ‘And cook?’ laughed Zoe.

  ‘That too, but not if you don’t want to.’ Zoe was the most wonderful cook, and Fenella was definitely banking on her help.

/>   ‘I’m fine to cook and I’m not cancelling but I have got a bit of a big favour to ask.’

  Now that she knew the friends she’d been so looking forward to seeing were coming, Fenella relaxed. ‘Anything!’ she said expansively. ‘I’m sure it’s fine.’

  ‘It’s Gideon’s fault. There’s a young Frenchman working with him in the food wholesaler’s at the moment and he can’t get home for Christmas. He’s only twenty-one and it seemed mean to leave him on his own so Gideon suggested he could come to you, with us. It seems an awful cheek? Gideon said he thought there’d be plenty of room.’

  An extra Frenchman seemed like nothing to Fenella compared to her in-laws. ‘Of course he can come! No bother! Gideon’s right, there’s always room in this house. And if not, there’s the cowshed. Gathering up waifs and strays is what Christmas is all about.’ She sighed. ‘If it wasn’t, I probably wouldn’t be lumbered with the two most difficult guests in the world.’

  Zoe laughed. ‘Oh, poor you! But I don’t think you could describe this man as a waif and stray. I haven’t met him but Gideon says he’s quite aristocratic and lives in a château. His father is a famous wine producer.’

  Fenella stopped feeling quite so relaxed about the Frenchman. ‘Oh God, now I’m worried.’

  ‘No need to be. You live in what would be a château if it was in France.’

  ‘But it’s only partly done up! A snooty Frenchman will despise our shabbiness.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s snooty or Gideon wouldn’t have wished him on you.’

  They chatted on for a few minutes about what Gideon and Zoe were bringing with them as contributions and then said goodbye.

  Then, looking about her, Fenella realised that not only did she still have to make up the bed, but the lighting in the Pink Room was a bit dim. Rupert’s parents liked 100-watt bulbs in every socket. They had stockpiled high-energy light bulbs and had no truck with the other kind. Fenella would have to find extra lamps to make the room seem adequately lit for them and was slightly tempted to bring out the photographic spotlights she had somewhere. That would teach them!