A Family For Christmas

by Linda Finlay

  ‘Thank heavens for that; I’m starving,’ he said, pulling out the tin his landlady packed his lunchtime piece in. ‘Oh good, cheese,’ he observed gleefully, proffering a sandwich.

  ‘Thanks, Amos. I shouldn’t keep taking your food but I can’t bear the thought of walking all the way to the staff dining room,’ she muttered, rubbing her aching foot. He smiled sympathetically, but didn’t pass comment, for which she was grateful.

  ‘It’s just as well you do. Mrs Barker packs enough to feed a horse. Says she enjoys having a lad to fuss over again. Apparently she’s missing her son since he married and moved out.’

  ‘Will you be staying with her for Christmas or going home?’ she asked.

  He pulled a face. ‘Got to see the folks, be mothered and smothered. Still, with any luck the old man will slip me a little something to add to my allowance and Mother will fill my bag with goodies to bring back.’ He grinned and shrugged but Eliza could tell he was fond of them. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll be celebrating with the staff in the dining room. Apparently Cook prepares a feast and …’

  ‘This is very cosy, is it not, mes enfants?’ Monsieur Farrant said, appearing in the doorway.

  ‘We were just having our luncheon,’ Eliza commented, hating the way he always sneaked up on them.

  ‘And a rest from all that back and forth from the laboratory,’ Amos said.

  ‘You dare to complain?’ Monsieur Farrant asked.

  ‘Actually, Monsieur, whilst we were taking our break we were also debating,’ Eliza said quickly.

  ‘Eating and debating, Eliza? Perhaps you would care to explain just what it was you were discussing?’

  ‘Well, I suppose it was me, really, Monsieur. You see I was thinking about how much time we waste every day. Time that could be better spent helping you sell more perfume.’

  ‘Indeed?’ he answered. ‘Perhaps you, as my newest, not to mention youngest, employee would enlighten me.’

  ‘If you were to set up a table in the corner, Amos could fill the bottles in here. Then I would be able to replenish the shelves as and when required instead of having to wait while he traipses back to the laboratory each time.’

  ‘So now you presume to tell me how to run my business, non?’ He shook his head and went to unlock the perfumery.

  ‘That makes sound sense, Eliza,’ Amos said. ‘It would also save my poor feet.’

  ‘Amos, Eliza, come here immediately, there is work to be done,’ Monsieur Farrant called.

  Raising their eyebrows, they did as they’d been bid.

  For the next hour or so the perfumery was busy with a stream of clients. With both men serving, Eliza could hardly keep up with all the wrapping and entering of purchases in the ledger. It never ceased to amaze her how the customers made their purchases without enquiring about cost, merely trusting Monsieur Farrant to bill them at the end of the month. She could only think they had more money than sense, for she could never consider buying something without knowing how much it was.

  ‘I have something to attend to, Amos, so please serve any clients who appear in my absence. Eliza, the counter needs polishing and the shelves replenishing. I’ll be back shortly,’ Monsieur Farrant announced, breaking into her thoughts. They watched as he strode out of the perfumery and down towards the main hall, then Amos grinned and went to stand behind the counter.

  ‘May I help you choose something to delight your young lady, sir?’ he asked, mimicking his boss.

  ‘Do you only have men buying perfume here?’ she asked.

  He laughed. ‘At this time of year, yes. When they suddenly remember, or have been prompted, that a present will be expected on Christmas Day.’

  ‘I’d only want a present if someone really wanted to give me one,’ she said with feeling. ‘Don’t suppose I’ll get anything, anyway.’

  ‘Well, apart from sharing my luncheon, Eliza, I’m afraid, being a poor apprentice who has spent his allowance, I have nothing to give you. Unless Monsieur’s generous with his Christmas box, of course. When is your birthday?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘February the 19th. Why? When’s yours?’

  ‘May the 21st. We might be impoverished apprentices but I shall make sure we celebrate your birthday, Eliza,’ he said solemnly.

  ‘And I yours, Amos,’ she replied, thinking she’d ask Cook if she could bake a cake.

  ‘Amos, I have had the most marvellous idea,’ Monsieur Farrant said, striding back into the room. Eliza and Amos looked at each other and grinned.

  ‘You have, Monsieur?’ Amos asked, regaining his composure as he turned to face the man.

  ‘Indeed. It occurred to me you are wasting valuable selling time with all the toing and froing you do. I have instructed Dawkins to place a table in the stockroom so that you can fill the bottles in there. Is that not a splendid idea?’

  ‘It is indeed, Monsieur,’ he said, winking at Eliza behind his back.

  ‘Do you not wish you had the genius of your boss, Eliza?’ Monsieur Farrant asked, turning to her.

  ‘I wish I had your intelligence, Monsieur,’ she responded, ‘for then I would surely set up another table alongside so that the bottles, when filled, could be wrapped ready to give the client. If they only had to wait whilst the personal label was scripted for them, they would think your service was par excellence, Monsieur.’ She saw Amos’s astounded look and wondered if she’d gone too far. Monsieur Farrant, however, stared at her with that supercilious look she’d come to recognize.

  ‘Ah, but Monsieur would never come up with a plan that is flawed. For if the bottles were already wrapped, how would you know you were giving them the correct perfume?’

  ‘As you say, Monsieur, you are a genius and, as such, wouldn’t.’ As he stood there smirking, she added, ‘Of course, if the bottles were to have ribbons that matched the labels, there would be no confusion. I mean, it would be obvious that a parcel tied with yellow ribbon would denote the yellow label of Gold Etoile inside, would it not?’

  Leaving him to ponder her words, she turned and began tidying the counter. Sure enough, moments later Monsieur Farrant disappeared. Amos burst out laughing.

  ‘You are priceless, Eliza. My mother always says women are wilier than wolves and now I see why.’

  With the two tables duly set up in the stockroom, Amos was able to spend the time between attending to clients and filling the bottles, while Eliza labelled, wrapped and tied them with the appropriate ribbons. Monsieur Farrant, pleased that ‘his’ ideas were working so well, strutted around like the proverbial peacock. They didn’t mind, though. It meant they could spend more time together in the stockroom sharing their easy banter. Amos made the working day fun.

  Excitement was building in the staff dining room and each evening Eliza was regaled with news of the latest preparation for the festivities. It was so infectious, she found herself looking forward to sharing the day with them. Apparently they all wore their Sunday best for the occasion, so she decided she’d wear the green dress that Rose had given her.

  First thing on Christmas Eve Amos packed his bag with the last of the deliveries. Having been told that once he’d dropped off the last parcel, he could go straight to the railway station, he was in good spirits. As she watched him preparing to leave, Eliza felt a momentary pang that she had no caring family waiting for her to visit. Although she’d got on well with her sisters, she’d been a burden to her parents, and Fay had wanted her gone from her hobble. Even now the letter she’d started writing lay abandoned alongside her box. She’d thought of adding Christmas
greetings but couldn’t shake off the feeling of rejection that threatened to overwhelm her at times. Amos broke into her thoughts.

  ‘Season’s greetings, Eliza. If I had a Wishing Ball, well, you know what I’d be doing now, don’t you?’ he said, giving her a last cheeky grin before he left. Having no idea what he meant, she shook her head. Then the little bell tinkled and his words went out of her head as she hurried through to the perfumery.

  To her surprise, Monsieur Farrant was nowhere to be seen. Fixing on her brightest smile, she turned to attend to the well-dressed gentleman.

  ‘Good morning. I am looking to purchase two bottles of perfume, Miss … er …?’

  ‘Eliza, sir,’

  ‘Well, Eliza, as I said, I require two bottles of perfume.’

  ‘Would that be two of the same perfume, sir?’

  ‘Why not – and if they could be wrapped …?’

  Eliza nodded, trying hard to remember what she’d been taught about attending to the client’s needs. ‘May I ask what the lady in question is like, sir?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Well, sir, if you could tell me something about the lady and what her tastes are, I’ll be able to recommend something suitable.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I see. Well, sort of charming, womanly, spirited,’ he said, a gleam sparking in his eyes.

  ‘Your wife sounds lovely, sir,’ Eliza said.

  ‘My wife?’ he spluttered, looking shocked.

  ‘Sorry, sir, you don’t require perfume for your wife?’

  ‘Well, yes, of course I do. That is why I wish to purchase two bottles. Not that my wife ever touches the one I give her.’

  ‘Then why …’ Eliza began, but he leaned across the counter.

  ‘One is for my wife, the other for my special lady,’ he whispered.

  ‘Oh, I see, sir,’ she said. ‘You say your wife never uses the bottle you give her?’

  ‘No, it’s a ridiculous waste of money, but I have to treat them both the same, don’t I?’

  ‘May I ask if these women are alike? Do they have the same tastes?’

  ‘Hardly. Well, apart from their very good choice in men, of course,’ he chuckled. ‘No, my wife is gentle, sweet and very biddable, whilst my mist— er, other lady is, as I have said, seductive and spirited …’ His voice trailed off as if he was worried he’d said too much.

  Determined to appear a woman who knew about such matters, Eliza turned and selected two tester bottles.

  ‘Well then, sir, if they are not alike, does it not follow they will not share the same taste in fragrance? Perfume is such a personal thing and really needs to reflect the wearer. From what you’ve told me, your wife would perhaps like this light, floral fragrance,’ she suggested, holding out the glass tester wand. Hesitantly he gave a sniff, then inhaled more deeply.

  ‘By Jove, that’s Felicity down to the ground,’ he enthused. ‘Do you know, I think she might even wear that?’ Eliza nodded, pleased that she’d got something right. Then she held up the wand from the other bottle and waved it in front of him. As the aromatic scent of patchouli and spice wafted around, his face lit up. ‘Perfect. I can just imagine …’

  ‘I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, sir,’ Monsieur Farrant said, bustling round to where Eliza was standing behind the counter. ‘I hope Mademoiselle has been keeping you amused in my absence.’

  ‘More than that, Monsieur, Eliza here has been enlightening me in the ways of women and their perfume,’ he announced.

  ‘Really? Well, I am pleased she has been of some help. Now, I expect you would like Monsieur’s expertise in recommending a fragrance?’

  ‘You misunderstand, Monsieur. Eliza here has solved my dilemma and I wish to purchase three bottles of each of these wonderful perfumes.’ Monsieur Farrant gasped, but whether it was surprise at the size of the order or the sudden appearance of the constable who was watching intently, Eliza wasn’t sure.

  ‘You did say three bottles of each perfume, sir?’

  ‘I did indeed. This remarkable assistant of yours has been most helpful and I am truly grateful. She is a wonderful woman, Monsieur.’

  Monsieur Farrant turned to Eliza, a smile curling his lips. ‘She is indeed, sir, and that is why I am hoping one day she will do me the honour of becoming my wife.’ Monsieur Farrant turned and smiled at the constable.

  Eliza heard a gasp and couldn’t be sure if it came from her or the constable, who was edging towards them. Even the client was looking shocked.

  ‘Oh, but I thought you … well, never mind. That’s wonderful news. I hope you will be very happy,’ the gentleman said quickly. ‘Now, would cash be all right?’

  ‘Indeed, indeed.’ Monsieur was beside himself as he made out the gentleman’s bill. ‘Eliza will wrap and write any cards you require.’

  ‘Monsieur Farrant, I need to ask you some questions, please,’ the constable interrupted.

  ‘Ah, Constable, I expect you’ll be requiring assistance choosing a special fragrance for that lovely wife of yours,’ Monsieur said, turning to the policeman. The constable shook his head and made for the door, an incredulous look on his face. ‘I will return when you are less busy, Farrant, and then you will answer my questions.’

  Too stunned to speak and wondering what game Monsieur Farrant was playing, Eliza wrapped the perfume and penned the requisite words. Marry Monsieur! What an absurd notion. She had as much intention of marrying him as flying to the moon, and something told her that wasn’t really his objective either.

  ‘You have my undying gratitude,’ the gentleman said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Season’s greetings to you both,’ he added, clutching his parcels and hurrying towards the door.

  ‘Goodbye, sir,’ Eliza called, then noticed the perfumery was empty of customers. ‘Oh, the constable didn’t wait,’ she stammered in surprise.

  Monsieur Farrant laughed. ‘I think when he heard you were to become my wife he got the shock of his life.’

  ‘But …’ she protested, but he held up his hand.

  ‘Don’t worry, Eliza, you and I are going to get along famously.’

  Not sure what he meant, and not sure she wanted to find out, she smiled nervously. Thank goodness tomorrow was Christmas Day and she’d be able to spend the day away from him.

  ‘Now that is all for today. Do not worry, though. Monsieur Farrant, he will be making the formal proposal for he likes to do things properly, non?’

  ‘But …’ she began again.

  ‘None of these buts. We will lock up early and prepare for the festivities. I am sure you will want time to beautify yourself, oui?’ he declared, giving her a wink.

  Not sure if this was an insult or compliment, but relieved to be able to leave, Eliza hurried out of the perfumery before Monsieur could change his mind. Thankfully, for once he didn’t follow her. He really did come out with the most preposterous things at times. Lost in thought she’d just reached the dining hall when Mimi stopped her.

  ‘Cook’s in a right state. She’s got so much to do, she said to tell you supper will have to be early tonight. She’ll be serving up pot luck or lump it at five o’clock,’ the maid stammered before dashing back to the kitchen.

  25

  Eliza sympathized, guessing Cook was overtired. As for herself, after monsieur’s preposterous declaration, she’d welcome the company of the other staff and their excitement about the coming festivities.

  Back in her room, the half-finished letter to Fay seemed to mock her. Tears welled and she wished she was back in the safety of the hobble.
But Fay didn’t want you there, a voice inside her head reminded her. Snatching up the paper, she tore it to shreds.

  Wiping her face, she changed into her cotton clothes and made her way to the dining room. However, instead of the usual convivial atmosphere she was met with mayhem.

  ‘I’ve never heard the like before,’ Mrs Symms cried.

  ‘And where he expected me to get a goose from at such a late hour, I don’t know,’ Cook wailed.

  ‘You didn’t; it were me who had to plead with the butcher,’ Dawkins protested. ‘Mind you, when he heard who it were for, he suddenly remembered he had a spare one. At twice the price, I might add.’

  ‘Well, it’s me who’s got to cook the blooming thing,’ Cook moaned.

  ‘I told him the staff would never eat goose,’ Mrs Symms continued. ‘But all he said was, “Then let them eat beef.”’

  ‘So I have to cook beef as well as goose,’ Cook spluttered. ‘Then he wants asparagus soup to start. Where the heck am I expected to get asparagus from at this time of year? He’ll have to make do with green vegetables. And does he want Christmas pudding like the rest of us? Does he heck; he wants a soufflé, if you please!’

  When the moaning and groaning finally ground to a halt, Eliza asked what was wrong.

  ‘His lordship’s decided he’s staying home for Christmas. Apparently he intends entertaining a friend and would like the table set for two in his downstairs parlour, no less,’ Mrs Symms informed her.

  ‘So much for our staff Christmas luncheon,’ wailed Cook. ‘By the time we’ve served him and his so-called friend, we’ll be too knackered to enjoy ourselves.’

  ‘And we won’t be able to have a snifter until he’s finished either,’ moaned Mrs Symms.

  ‘Can I help?’ Eliza asked.

  ‘You can’t work with us,’ Mimi exclaimed.

  ‘Why ever not? I’m one of the staff too, aren’t I?’