Hidden Currents
Page 29
‘I’ll see you on Christmas morning then,’ she said, when there didn’t seem to be anything else to say.
‘I’ll be there bright and early and ready for anything,’ Elsie said cheerfully. ‘And you just be in a better humour by then, or I’ll wish I’d stayed home by meself.’
Carrie nodded, knowing it was time she calmed down. There was no point in fretting over things that couldn’t be changed, and if John had made up his mind to take the travelling job, then that was that. She would surely get used to it.
She hurried back along the waterfront with her head down against the biting December wind, and cannoned straight into somebody coming the other way. She muttered an apology, and heard a cheery male voice say it didn’t matter at all, cariad, before the figure moved on.
Carrie frowned for a moment, thinking about the odd word. She had no idea what it meant, although there was something about the lilting accent that was vaguely familiar. Maybe he was one of the foreign sailors who were always hereabouts … though he hadn’t sounded foreign.
It was a minor puzzle that served to divert her mind from her own problems for a moment. She glanced behind her to take a brief stock of the jaunty young fellow, and was just in time to see him disappear inside Elsie Miller’s cottage.
Chapter 17
Early on Christmas morning, the little house on Jacob’s Wells Road was warm and steamy with the tantalising aroma of cooking. The goose had been slowly roasting all night, and the juices that ran out of it and into the pan below for the potatoes and parsnips to cook in later, were enough to get every mouth watering.
The goose and other Christmas fare had been duly sent down from the Barclay mansion, along with Carrie’s wages, together with a brief note written in Mr Barclay’s own hand to say he wished the girl and her family well. Ma had exclaimed in surprise when she saw it.
‘You must have done summat to please the family, then, if he took the trouble to do this, Carrie.’
‘I never saw much of him, but he always passed the time of day with me if we met on the stairs,’ she said, startled herself by the magnanimous gesture.
‘You’re sure you weren’t too rash in leaving a good employer?’ Ma said, eyeing her keenly.
Carrie shook her head. ‘I know I did right. My place is here, and now that our Wilf’s going to be bringing in a regular wage every week, he’s said there’s no need for me to be thinking of finding outside work until you get your strength back after the babby, Ma.’
She crossed her fingers behind her back as she spoke, praying that this house wasn’t going to be plunged into a place of mourning once the birthing was done. Try as she might, she still couldn’t rid herself of the premonition of death, but she was determined that such bad thoughts were not going to spoil Christmas Day.
She turned from basting the goose with a smile, just as Billy came hurtling down the stairs to seek out his Christmas stocking.
For a while, they had thought there would be nothing to go into it, but now everybody had one containing an apple and an orange and some nuts. There were also a few small playthings in Billy’s, that Pa, as well as Wilf, had been fashioning in secret. It had amused both men to discover that each had thought of the same thing.
‘Perhaps I should take you into partnership with me, Pa,’ Wilf had said cautiously, when he’d seen the spinning top Pa had made with such perfect symmetry.
Sam had grunted., and told him not to be so daft, and he’d see hell freeze before he worked for Gaffer Woolley again — unless the man came and begged him, of course.
Pa always liked to give himself an option, Carrie realised, but it wasn’t a bad thing to do. It wasn’t like backing down if you had a compromise to think about. It still let you keep hold of some of your pride.
‘Oh Ma, this is lovely,’ she said now, revealing the beautifully worked hanky in her own stocking. There was an intricate letter C thickly embroidered in satin stitch in one corner, and the hanky gave out a sweet scent of fresh laundering and pressing.
‘As long as it pleases you,’ Ma said. ‘’Tain’t much, love, but ’tis personal.’
‘And I love it,’ Carrie gave her a quick hug, knowing only too well that even a small square of fabric like this one could take many hours to transform it into a lace-edged thing of beauty.
They all gave each other small gifts, all promising that next year would be better. Even Elsie arrived with a small basket of fruit from the market, a bit overripe in places, and probably the leftovers when the day’s business was done, but a gift nonetheless.
The Travis men weren’t arriving until mid-day, and the Stuckeys were going to church as usual on Christmas morning. Elsie wasn’t a churchgoer, and volunteered to stay behind and keep an eye on the cooking. It wasn’t really necessary, especially as Ma decided at the last minute that she didn’t think she could toil up the hills after all.
At this, they began fidgeting and wondering if none of them should go, but in the end they were all shooed out of the house, leaving Elsie and Ma behind.
Carrie held onto Billy’s hand, her heart starting to lift with a feeling of happiness as they set out on that crisp, bright morning. Snow was in the air, and they could smell it, but it hadn’t come yet. And she loved this. The walk to church, dressed in their Sunday best, and nodding to acquaintances and friends.
The only people about on Christmas morning were churchgoers like themselves, and even Pa had tidied himself, and resembled the old Pa today, more than at any other time lately. Wilf, of course, was already in his seventh heaven, with thoughts of Nora and his settled future filling his head, and once the service had begun inside the ancient building, they all sang the old hymns lustily.
‘Give my best regards to your lady wife, and the season’s greetings to you all,’ the minister told Pa when he was bidding them all farewell after the service. ‘I’ll be down to see her at the house some time during the week, Mr Stuckey.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Sam said, awkward as always at the thought of having a gentleman come to the house, and a clerical one at that.
Billy ran on ahead, like a child let out of school, and Carrie had to admit that the minister did go on a bit, even on Christmas Day. But the crib had been lovely, as was the church, all decorated with holly and evergreens, and the baby Jesus doll had reminded her of their own coming baby. She had sent up a special little prayer for it, and for Ma too.
They reached home just as a hire carriage was drawing up outside, and for a moment Carrie’s heart stopped. Anxiety for Ma dominated her thoughts these days, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the driver alight to open the door, and then John jumped down to help his uncle stiffly out of the carriage.
‘Christ, but we’re grand today, aren’t we?’ Wilf muttered in an aside to Carrie.
‘Keep your voice down,’ she hissed. ‘The minister’s just been telling us all to be loving to one another, and if you can’t be generous-hearted today, then when can you be, our Wilf? Don’t go spoiling things for Ma, neither.’
Nor for me, she added silently, her face breaking into a smile as she saw the pleasure on Uncle Oswald’s face as he recognised her. She ran to greet them, pressing a light kiss on his old creased cheek.
‘It’s lovely to see you both, and such good timing too. We’ve just come from church, so we can all go inside and get warm together.’
She drew them all into the family circle with her words, and once inside the house, introductions were quickly made, and then the men sat stiffly around making small talk, while the womenfolk attended to the cooking.
‘How do you think it’s going, Ma?’ Carrie whispered, when she heard Pa give a short laugh a while later. ‘I don’t hear our Wilf saying much.’
‘Nor you will,’ Ma said dryly.
The girls had insisted that she sit on a stool in the scullery, directing things, while they warmed plates and made the gravy from the oozing juices from the goose, and tipped the steaming vegetables into the huge serving dishes.
They heard Pa laugh again, followed by Uncle Oswald’s chortle, and Carrie felt cheered by the sound. It had been a clever idea to get John’s uncle here as well, she realised, since they could jaw together over old times, and cover any awkwardness between Wilf and John.
‘Did I hear you say you usually play charades during the afternoon?’ Elsie said, flushed from being in the midst of this large family, and the enormity of preparing so many meals at one time.
Carrie nodded. ‘Or any other kind of party game, for those who aren’t sleeping off the effects of the meal,’ she said with a grin.
‘I think you can leave me out of it this time,’ Ma said. ‘I may do some of the guessing, but I’ll leave the acting to you young ‘uns.’
‘Frank was always the best at guessing,’ Carrie said wistfully. ‘Still, we’ve got Elsie and John and his uncle to make up the teams today.’
Elsie smiled dutifully, though she’d never been much of a one for party games. Come to think of it, she’d never really been in any large enough gathering to indulge in them. But she supposed a game of charades would liven up the day, and at least it would stop her guiltily wishing that she could have spent the day with Dewi Griffiths instead.
She knew she should be grateful for the largesse of the Stuckeys, and so she was, but since she had spent all those hectic hours in the lustful arms of Dewi Griffiths, she had been unable to think of much else. Even Wilf had finally lost his charm, as far as Elsie was concerned.
Carrie didn’t know about Dewi yet though, and perhaps it was just as well, since Carrie’s association with young men, even John, didn’t seem to be anywhere near as hot-blooded as Elsie’s. It gave her a delicious shiver, just thinking about Dewi.
‘You’re not feeling faint, are you, Elsie?’ Ma said. ‘You gave quite a shudder then. Sometimes the heat in the scullery gets a bit too much for me too.’
‘I’m all right, Mrs Stuckey, thanks for asking,’ Elsie said quickly, thankful that this fine upright woman could have no idea of the lurid images going around in Elsie Miller’s head at that moment.
Images of herself and Dewi Griffiths making hay in what used to be old Granpa Miller’s bedroom, and his rich deep Welsh voice whispering in her ear and telling her she was the cariad of his heart …
‘Wake up then, Elsie, or have you gone into a trance now?’ she heard Carrie say. ‘That’s twice I’ve asked you to get our Billy to set the table, and check that Pa’s sharpened the carving knife for the goose.’
Elsie blinked. God, but she’d been quite carried away there … and it was a good thing the place was so hot and steamy and that they all had faces as red as turkey-cocks, or somebody would surely have wondered at her own.
* * *
Ma had decided on the table places, and Billy had made out little cards for them all, writing their names in his large childish hand-writing to show off his skill. In the middle of the table was the small Christmas crib Pa had made a long time ago when Carrie was a small girl. It always came out on Christmas Day, with its tiny wooden animals that Frank and Wilf had made when they were still learning their craft at Pa’s knee. It was a symbol, Carrie thought now. A symbol of continuity, of faith and family love, and everything that was good. It was a thought to cherish.
She raised her eyes from the centrepiece, to meet John’s steady gaze, seated opposite her. And she caught her breath. There was such a look of love in his eyes that it brought a lump to her throat, and a throb to her heart. His love was blatant for all who cared to look, and she knew it must be reflected in her own tremulous smile.
But by now everyone else was busily exclaiming at the sight of the fine goose Pa was triumphantly bringing to the table, ready to carve. And the special look of love was a small, private moment between Carrie and John, as sometimes happens in the midst of a roomful of people. It was too poignant to last, and it was John himself who broke the spell.
‘I’d almost forgotten something,’ he exclaimed. ‘Please excuse me for a moment.’
He left the table to fetch a package he’d deposited inside the little front door porch, and he handed it across the table to Wilf.
‘Perhaps you’d care to deal with this,’ he said.
The package revealed two bottles of finest port wine, and Wilf thanked him stiffly. Pa had bought a large jug of ale for the day that was already quite depleted, but nobody had thought to buy wine. Carrie said at once that she’d fetch glasses so they could all celebrate Christ’s birth with their meal. She looked hard at Wilf as she said it, reminding him that this was a good day, and not one to be ruined by personality clashes.
‘I thank you, John, and Oswald too,’ Pa said, clearly now on first name terms with the older man. ‘We’m coming up in the world with our new relatives, what with the Travises at our table, and our Wilf getting himself attached to young Nora Woolley and all. It’ll be your turn next, I daresay, miss,’ he added jovially to Elsie.
She had passed up her plate for the meat, and had a great slice of goose slapped onto it. She didn’t give him one of her pert answers, Carrie thought thankfully, and merely let the moment pass.
Sam’s usual carving precision was not quite as clever today, and he was hacking at the goose with some relish. Ma raised her eyebrows at him, but nobody else seemed to notice, and by the time the plates were loaded with Christmas fare, enjoying the meal was of more importance than heeding Pa’s occasional belch.
The port wine was an extra they hadn’t expected. They toasted everyone and everything, especially the Lord Jesus Christ. And then their absent Frank, and Ma’s coming babby, and Carrie and John, and Wilf and Nora. And since nobody should be left out of anything on Christmas Day, they toasted the rest of the household too, and the Barclays for sending them the goose.
Pa’s words were becoming decidedly slurred by the time the meal ended. But he declared that it was the finest meal they had had in ages, and complimented the womenfolk profusely. Carrie was becoming increasingly mortified at such a show in front of guests, though Ma seemed to be finding it quite funny now, and so did John and his uncle. She hoped they weren’t laughing at Pa, and was mightily thankful when he decided to take himself off to bed for an hour to sleep it off.
‘Thank goodness,’ Ma said with a grin. ‘He wouldn’t have been able to play charades in that state, anyway. Lord knows what antics he’d have got up to. Now then, Billy and you girls, help me clear all this out of the parlour. I might even go up and join your Pa for a sleep later.’
‘Why don’t you go now, Ma?’ Carrie said. ‘Me and Elsie and Billy can do the washing-up.’
‘I’ll help you,’ John said at once.
Wilf gave a derisive snort. ‘That’s women’s work, man. You don’t catch me skivvying.’
‘It never diminished a man to carry out plates and dishes he helped to empty, neither,’ John retorted.
Carrie could see the battle brewing. ‘Nobody asked you to help, our Wilf,’ she said quickly. ‘Nor you, John.’
‘It’s no trouble, love. You forget that my uncle and I have fared for ourselves for many years, so I’m quite familiar with dishrags and plate-washing.’
He wouldn’t be dissuaded, and Wilf and Uncle Oswald were left in the parlour together, with nothing to say, and nowhere to go to avoid each other. Oswald solved the problem by simply closing his eyes and snoring gently, while Wilf folded his arms and stared at nothing. He was being uncouth and he knew it, and it was not the way Nora Woolley would expect her gentleman to behave.
Nora was a lady, and if Wilf intended being a match for her, he grudgingly knew he had best mend his ways. Even if it meant being sociable for the rest of this day to his sister’s fellow, he thought with a scowl.
He didn’t really know why he’d taken such an instant dislike to John Travis, except that Wilf a
lways mistrusted folk who seemed to be as working-class as himself, and turned out to be better-educated and more silver-tongued, and better-looking too.
He scowled again, for if that wasn’t reason enough for disliking a fellow who could also beat him hollow at the fisticuffs, then he didn’t know what was.
The object of his dislike was suddenly standing in front of him and rolling down his sleeves before he sat down in Pa’s chair. Wilf bristled at the presumption, and then he felt his lip curl. A fellow who picked up a dishrag to help the women in the scullery, except in the direst of circumstances, wasn’t much of a man at all, in his opinion.
‘We’re going to play charades, I understand. I suggest that you and I play our own charade, and pretend to like one another, for this day, at least,’ John said. ‘Is it agreed?’
Wilf felt his eyes narrow. That was another thing. The fellow came straight out with it, leaving you no margin for getting out of things if you wanted to. And a charade it would be, he thought irritably. But it made sense too. And that was another bloody mark against him … he had the gift of the gab and could always make sense.
‘Well?’ John persisted. ‘Do we shake on it?’
‘Good God, do you want blood, man?’ Wilf said explosively. ‘I’ll agree, and that’s enough.’
‘Good. So tell me about this new venture of yours. It sounds a great opportunity, and I haven’t had the chance to congratulate you on it yet.’
Wilf’s eyes narrowed even more. But the fellow looked and sounded sincere, and he could hardly be churlish enough to go on snubbing him. He even looked interested … and before he knew it, Wilf was expounding on the golden chance Mr Cedric Woolley had put his way.
‘I’m glad for you, Wilf. A man has to have a dream.’ John looked down at his hands, and then glanced towards the scullery where sounds of mirth were coming from the girls and young Billy. ‘Has Carrie told you of my plans?’
‘We don’t discuss you,’ Wilf began stiffly.