On Christmas Day

by Rosie James

Lexi smiled happily. ‘I can understand it, Miss Lewis,’ she said, ‘because that is exactly how I myself have been feeling over the last few months. And like you, I have been afraid to wake up in the mornings in case none of my wonderful luck is real.’

  ‘You deserve all your luck, Lexi,’ Jean Lewis said slowly, ‘because you always do your very best for everyone, and you work so hard.’

  And working hard is what I like best,’ Lexi said. ‘But of course it will take time before the shop is mine. From what the solicitor said I believe we could probably open by the end of October, or early November, in time to obtain some pretty things to put in the window for the Christmas trade.’ Lexi paused to take a quick breath before adding – ‘And as I’ve already mentioned, Miss Lewis, you would not be expected to do too much. I wouldn’t want you to be poorly again, so I’d like to employ some part-time help … perhaps you’d be willing to train another young person like you trained me?’ Lexi suggested.

  Jean Lewis sat back and put her head in her hands briefly. ‘Do you know – I have been feeling very low for the last few days, viewing the rest of my life as being rather pointless … rudderless … but suddenly, thanks to you, my somewhat dark world seems full of brightness, full of hope.’ She took a handkerchief from her bag and dabbed at her eyes. ‘You are the answer to my problems, Lexi, and I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘The only thanks I’ll need is knowing that you’re there behind me with all your knowledge and wisdom, Miss Lewis,’ Lexi said. ‘You’ve taught me so much already – enough to know that Mr Bakewell’s money is going to be used in a very safe investment.’

  After the waitress had brought them more soft drinks, Johnny filled the three glasses with squash, then looked at the others. ‘I hardly liked to interrupt before,’ he said mildly, ‘since I am in the company of two important women discussing business, but you may like to know that there is something else for us to celebrate tonight, Miss Lewis – Lexi and I have just become engaged. At last, we have our parents’ approval, and now nothing can stop us!’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Alone in the cottage the following Saturday evening, Cecilia glanced at the clock. It was almost time. Almost time for the moment she’d been dreading for most of her life.

  Phoebe and Joe were in bed, and Albert had gone to the pub – the first time since he’d been home. But he’d worked so hard all these weeks, Cecilia had been very happy for him to have a night off to enjoy himself for a change. And Lexi had gone into town with Johnny, and they’d asked Alfred to go with them this time, too.

  So the stage was set. Cecilia Martin was alone.

  But she wouldn’t be for long.

  At 8.59 precisely, Reynard McCann knocked on the front door of No.1 Walcot Rise and waited, glancing around him. He seldom came anywhere near here, but these were nice little cottages, even if he said so himself.

  The door was opened almost at once, and Cecilia stood there, unsmiling. Then she stood back and Reynard went inside, nodding briefly to himself. This was a very pleasant room, neat and well-kept, the tenant – who he obviously knew very well, a most respectable woman.

  Cecilia offered him a chair, and he sat down. ‘Thank you for coming this evening, Mr McCann,’ she said. ‘It is slightly more convenient for me to measure you here, where I have everything I need to hand. And it may help me to stitch an important seam on my machine as I go. To save a little time,’ she added.

  ‘That is quite all right, Mrs Martin,’ he said, ‘And I hope you can supply me with this new jacket ready for the two important meetings I have next month, where formal dress is expected.’

  ‘I will do my very best,’ Cecilia replied. ‘The material which I purchased from Jolly’s is of an excellent quality, and its shade of black blends exactly with the trousers it will be worn with. I made a point of checking that.’

  Reynard nodded. The woman had always been meticulous in everything she undertook.

  Still standing, Cecilia took a deep breath. Then –

  ‘One of the reasons I wished to see you … in private …’ she said carefully, ‘is that I have something very important to say.’

  ‘Oh?’ Reynard was immediately interested.

  Suddenly afraid that she was going to faint, Cecilia sat down opposite Reynard, clasping her hands together nervously. The moment was coming when her life was going to change. Forever. And for the worse.

  ‘It is about your son, Johnny, and my daughter, Lexi,’ Cecilia said.

  Reynard smiled. ‘Ah, yes …’

  Cecilia moistened her lips, desperate to get this out into the open. ‘Johnny has asked our permission – my husband’s and mine – to court our daughter.’

  Reynard smiled again. ‘I am aware of that, Mrs Martin, my son has spoken to me about it. And I was happy to agree that they should – in the very long term, obviously – be allowed to consider the prospect of being together permanently. That is, the prospect of marriage.’

  A wave of nausea swept over Cecilia as she heard the dreaded words. ‘I am afraid that cannot happen.’ she said, almost in a whisper. ‘Your son can never marry our daughter, Mr McCann. It is absolutely out of the question, and this must stop before it goes any further.’

  Reynard sat back, frowning. What was she saying? Was she implying that Johnny was not good enough, not suitable, to marry their daughter? Well, how very inappropriate! The other way around, maybe, because the idea that the McCanns should ever be allied with the Martins in such a significant way had never entered Reynard’s head until very recently! Until very recently, it would have been a totally unacceptable thought.

  He set his lips in the unforgiving way he always used when about to do battle. A battle he made sure he would not lose.

  ‘Perhaps you had better explain,’ he said tightly.

  Now that she had reached the end of the line, Cecilia felt more calm, detached even. As if she was about to reveal something to a complete stranger whose life had nothing to do with her at all. She sat fully into her chair, feeling the cushion soft at her back, and looked straight into Reynard’s eyes. Eyes which were cold and unyielding.

  ‘Do you happen to remember the first time we met, Mr McCann?’ she said, ‘down at the other cottage – before the rank was demolished?’

  Reynard remained impassive. ‘No’, he said, ‘I don’t think so.’

  In the silence of the little room, Cecilia drew in a long, deep breath.

  ‘Well – allow me to stir your memory, Mr McCann,’ she said.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  March 1899

  Cecilia drew her chair up to the fire, pulling her shawl closer around her shoulders. After a mild start, March had suddenly become so cold that everyone said snow was on the way. And so it had proved, because last night a freezing wind had begun howling through the unsubstantial timbers of the cottages, and when Cecilia had woken up this morning several inches of snow had fallen. And by the look of the leaden sky, there was plenty more to come. But luckily for her, she earned her living mainly from home, so at least she hadn’t to join the less fortunate trudging to their places of employment in the town.

  Riddling the fire with the poker to encourage the kettle to come to the boil for her pot of tea, Cecilia felt a wave of depression sweep over her as she stared into the glowing coals. She’d been feeling like that all day.

  It was 6 o’clock and so dark outside. Dark and cold and threatening. Surely she should not be alone like this … not on the first anniversary of her wedding day? Surely Albert Martin should be here now, talking to her, holding her, keeping her company –the least he should do to honour his vows. Even if she had known from the start that his travelling business would take him away from home. But still. Going off so soon after their marriage did seem a bit thoughtless. Cecilia had not seen nor heard from him for six months … six long months … but she’d known the character she’d allied herself with, so it was no use complaining. He’d turn up one of these days.

  She bit her l
ip, trying not to shed a tear. This was the last day she could call herself a young bride. After one year you weren’t a bride, you were a married woman. That’s what you were, a married woman, a housewife. You’d had your day.

  With the kettle now issuing its final notes, Cecilia leaned forward and poured a little of the water into her teapot to warm it. Then she added a small spoon of tea leaves, filled the pot, stirred it around, and sat back until her favourite brew was ready. This was one of many cups she drank during the day as she bent over her sewing machine, or worked at some intricate embroidery or other. She glanced at the clock. After she’d drunk the teapot dry, she would do just two more hours of work, then have an egg on toast for her last meal, and go to bed early. There wasn’t much to stay up for, and she was too tired to read.

  Just then there was a light tap on the back door, and Cecilia raised her eyes. She had no close friends who would choose to come out on a miserable night like this. Getting up, she went through to the kitchen and opened the door – and immediately stepped back. She knew who this man was, though she had never spoken to him. This was their new landlord who’d bought their rank of cottages, and who now owned Grey Gables where he had come to live with his young family and a housekeeper.

  He spoke first, and didn’t smile, but touched his hat courteously.

  ‘Mrs Martin? My name is Reynard McCann, and forgive me for intruding but may I have a few words with you? I shan’t keep you long.’

  A wave of panic swept over Cecilia. What did he want? Was he going to give her notice to quit? But – why would he? She was never late with the rent. She swallowed nervously, but stood aside.

  ‘Please … come in, Mr McCann,’ she said – well, his hat and coat were glistening with snow which had started falling heavily again, so she could hardly leave him standing there outside.

  ‘Thank you.’ He removed his hat and followed Cecilia into the inner room, and she stared up, admitting to a sense of awe as she took in his appearance.

  He was so tall and slim, his head of fiery hair matching that of his eyebrows and moustache. He had a long nose, his angular features dominated by a pair of piercing dark eyes – which seemed to lack any warmth, or interest in her. He was not really handsome, Cecilia thought instinctively, yet he possessed a kind of strange beauty … which was a funny thing to say about a man.

  Cecilia spoke up quickly – she’d been staring at him for too long. ‘May I offer you a cup of tea, Mr McCann? It has been freshly made.’

  To her utter amazement he nodded. ‘Yes, thank you,’ he said briefly, slipping off his heavy overcoat, which Cecilia placed carefully over the back of a chair, noting the heavy smell of whisky on his breath. What did he want, and why had she invited him to stay? This was going to be a very awkward situation – yet he’d accepted her offer so readily, almost before the words were out of her mouth, so she’d have to go through with it.

  He was sitting in the other chair now, quite close to the fire, watching Cecilia as she filled two cups with tea and placed them with a jug of milk on the small table which they could both reach. She hoped he didn’t notice her hands trembling, because this was the last thing she’d expected – tonight of all nights. And the very last person she’d expected would ever be making himself so comfortable in her modest little home. Whatever must he think of her pathetic bits of furniture? Though she’d saved up enough to buy the thick, wool rug at their feet.

  ‘You have a very cosy home, Mrs Martin,’ he said slowly. ‘You have been here some time – and are happy here?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir,’ Cecilia said, dreading what was coming. So – this was about her getting out. It had to be! ‘I have been living here for about a year – since my husband and I were married,’ she added.

  Reynard McCann leaned forward, added a little milk to his tea, then drank. He looked across at Cecilia. ‘The reason I am here, Mrs Martin, is to ask you whether you would be agreeable to occasionally working for me at Grey Gables.’ He paused. ‘You see, I have two very young sons – Johnny is barely one year old, and Alfred is coming up to three – and so far, I have employed a nurse. But now she has left, and Anna, my housekeeper has far more to do than she can manage.’ He sipped again. ‘I have been making enquiries, and I understand that you may possibly be available – on a part-time basis.’

  Cecilia didn’t reply for a moment. It was true that in the past she had undertaken some light housework for one or two, but rarely since her mending and needlework had provided her with such regular employment. Now that she knew the reason for the man’s visit, she felt on firmer ground.

  ‘What exactly would be required of me?’ she asked coolly.

  ‘No heavy housework,’ he said at once. ‘There are two regular domestics for that. No … it would be more of a support, shall we say, for Anna with the children. And perhaps some laundry work now and then?’

  Although any chance to earn more money was worth considering, Cecilia was not going to jump at this opportunity. She glanced across.

  ‘I will give this some thought, Mr McCann, and I will speak to my husband about it … when I next see him.’ She paused. ‘He has to work away from home from time to time.’ Cecilia was not going to say anymore about Albert, or his wandering ways, and her unexpected visitor asked no questions. Well, she’d seen straightaway that Reynard McCann lacked any feeling for anyone other than himself and his own needs.

  He drank the last of his tea but showed no sign of getting up to leave, and Cecilia said – rather desperately – ‘Well then – I will let you know next week, Mr McCann, whether I can fit in with your arrangements at Grey Gables.’

  He nodded slowly but didn’t reply, and after a few moments – beginning to feel irritated at the situation – Cecilia sat back. Then, surprised at her own temerity in broaching the subject which had been local knowledge ever since it had been known who’d bought the big house –

  ‘I believe I heard that your wife died recently – and very suddenly – Mr McCann,’ she said quietly. ‘I am so very sorry.’

  There was a long silence after that, during which Reynard remained completely still as he stared into the fire, and Cecilia wondered if she’d said the wrong thing … said too much. But for some reason, she wasn’t afraid of the man anymore. He was just a man, after all, whom life had hit hard. Even rich men had their sorrows.

  ‘It must be very difficult for any man in your position,’ Cecilia murmured, ‘and I do feel for you, Mr McCann.’

  The next few moments electrified Cecilia. Because she had never seen a man cry. Not like this.

  With the weight of his own body propelling him forward, Reynard slipped to the floor and crouched down, his shoulders heaving uncontrollably. And the sound from his throat … a long, long wail of despair … made Cecilia’s eyes instantly fill in sympathy.

  Utterly horrified at what was taking place, she got up and knelt down beside him. This was no longer the rich, imperious man heartily disliked in the area, this was a vulnerable human being whose only relief was in the shedding of desperate tears.

  And automatically, without thinking, Cecilia stretched out her hand to stroke that beautiful hair, feeling its silky softness beneath her touch. ‘Please … please, Mr McCann,’ she whispered, ‘please don’t cry. The dreadful time you are having now will pass, it really will. And the memory of your lovely wife will never fade because of your two boys … in them, she will live on, and will always be with you.’

  After a few timeless moments, Reynard McCann took a large handkerchief from his pocket and dragged it across his eyes. Without looking at Cecilia he said, ‘I am afraid it is not what you are thinking, Mrs Martin. It is so much worse than that, so very much worse.’

  Still crouching by his side, Cecilia frowned briefly. How much worse could this situation be?

  ‘My wife is not dead,’ he said dully, ‘but she is no longer the woman I once knew. And today I have been obliged to commit her to a lunatic asylum.’ He shuddered with palpable horror before adding �
� ‘I have just left the place.’

  Cecilia felt completely stunned. What was being unwrapped here, tonight, in her little sitting room? Of course she knew that lunatic asylums existed, but they were not usually for those like the McCanns. They were for the dispossessed, the maimed, the alcoholics, the homeless, the hopeless …

  Reynard McCann spoke again, so quietly that Cecilia had to strain her ears to catch what he was saying. ‘What I have just told you, Mrs Martin, must remain within these four walls … please?’

  And without hesitation, Cecilia said, equally quietly – ‘You have my word Mr. McCann.’

  Then, he began to cry again, helplessly, and after a few moments Cecilia, her own tears falling, leaned in closer to offer some help, some warmth, some human understanding.

  With her face now close to his, she trailed her fingers through his hair again and again. Across his forehead, down his cheek, traced the curve of his lips.

  Please, please don’t cry,’ she whispered. ‘I cannot bear it. Not tonight, I cannot bear it.’

  He knelt up then and slowly brought her close. And in the silence and solitude of that tiny room, Reynard McCann and Cecilia Martin found comfort in each other’s arms.

  August 1917

  They were both standing facing each other, but not close. Reynard spoke first.

  ‘Are you really trying to say …’ he began, and Cecilia broke in.

  ‘I am not trying to say, Mr McCann, I am saying,’ she said, swallowing over her dry tongue. ‘The painful fact is that four weeks after you called at my home, I realized I was pregnant. There was no doubt, and neither was there any doubt as to who the father was because my husband had not been home for months.’

  ‘But there could have been … some other …’ Reynard began, and Cecilia said harshly –

  ‘I can assure you that was not the case!’ She took a step away from him hating the suggestion he had just made. ‘When I discovered the awful truth, I even thought about trying to … trying to … but I just could not do it. The innocent inside me deserved a chance of life.’ Cecilia took a long, deep breath. ‘And fortune favoured me, because at that point my husband returned, completely unexpectedly, so I was able to continue with my plan by announcing that my baby had been born prematurely. Which was not the case.’