A Family For Christmas

by Linda Finlay

  ‘He will soon tire of these Sunday jaunts, believe you me,’ Amos reassured her. ‘Try to get ahead with your studying. The sooner you have absorbed all his notes and passed his tests, the sooner you will be able to assist him making the perfume. In the meantime, sharing my luncheon will be the highlight of your days,’ he quipped.

  She grinned, thankful for his down-to-earth reasoning.

  It took them all week but finally both the stockroom and perfumery met with Monsieur Farrant’s approval.

  ‘Amos, enjoy your day off and I will see you in the laboratory on Monday.’ He waited until the young apprentice had left, then turned to Eliza. ‘And I will see you in the hall at two o’clock tomorrow for our ride around Follytown. Monsieur, he remembers he must not keep you cooped up like a chicken, non?’ he grinned.

  Although Eliza nodded, her heart sank.

  This trip was even more embarrassing than the last, for Monsieur Farrant insisted Dawkins pull over so that they could promenade around the town.

  ‘I remember you say you like the fresh air, non?’ he said, taking her arm as they walked by the church, resplendent with its cockerel, and on through the square. Eliza might have enjoyed the outing had he not greeted everyone he saw, raising his hat and introducing Eliza as his future wife. The looks she received were incredulous to say the least, and she was relieved when they returned home and she could escape to the sanctuary of her room.

  Although she arrived at the laboratory early the next morning, Monsieur Farrant was already deep in conversation with Amos. Numerous bottles were laid out on the counter in front of them and Amos was busy taking notes.

  ‘Ah, Mademoiselle, I have been instructing Amos that in my absence he is to take charge. Amos, tell Dawkins to have my carriage waiting in ten minutes, non?’

  Amos jumped up, then, pausing in the doorway, grinned and gave Eliza the thumbs-up sign behind Monsieur’s back.

  ‘You are going somewhere, Monsieur?’ she asked, her heart soaring.

  ‘Exciting new things are happening in the perfume world and Monsieur, he intends to be part of it. Do not worry, ma petite, I will only be gone a matter of weeks,’ he shrugged. Her heart soared higher and she tried not to grin. ‘Amos is to continue your instruction including the mysterious art of the bottling. Regrettably, I have been too busy to test you on the mathematics so it will fall upon his shoulders to make sure you get the measurements right. Alas, I shall not be able to take you out for our Sunday rides.’

  ‘I’d be happy to escort Eliza into town in your absence,’ Amos offered, coming back into the room.

  ‘Indeed you will not!’ Monsieur cried. ‘Mademoiselle she has her reputation to think of.’ He turned to Eliza. ‘Do not worry, ma petite. When Monsieur returns, we will have dinner together in the parlour. That will be something to look forward to, non?’ She nodded, hoping that would be a long time in the future.

  ‘I wish you a successful trip,’ she said. Please don’t hurry back, she thought.

  During the following weeks Amos diligently showed her how things were done and Eliza found his enthusiasm for making perfume stimulating. His relaxed approach was more conducive to learning than Monsieur’s pernickety ways, although her favourite time of day was when they broke for luncheon. Along with his food, he shared tales about his antics on his days off and before long she found herself opening up a little about her time on the moors with Fay. In return for his generosity, she sewed back the buttons that popped from his shirt with amazing regularity. He insisted it was his landlady’s fault for feeding him so well but, in truth, both enjoyed the enforced closeness.

  One day she was stitching up the hem of his amber jacket after he’d caught it on the still when their gaze met and held. Energy crackled between them, her pulse quickened. Slowly he leaned towards her and if the little bell in the perfumery hadn’t rung, she was certain he would have kissed her.

  ‘Don’t go away,’ he said huskily as he reluctantly shrugged his jacket back on. Her laugh sounded squeaky even to her own ears. Where would she go even if she wanted to, which she didn’t? She wanted to stay in this room with him for ever.

  To her disappointment, he didn’t return to the laboratory and she didn’t see him until the next day.

  ‘Morning, Eliza, I trust you slept well?’ he asked, smiling as usual as she entered the laboratory.

  Although she’d been awake half the night, she nodded.

  ‘You didn’t come back yesterday,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light.

  ‘Sorry, the gentleman was one of Monsieur’s best clients, nice but hard to please. He insisted on sampling every perfume before buying the first one I’d suggested,’ he grinned ruefully. ‘Still, we will work hard this morning to make up the time and then enjoy our luncheon break, non?’ he added, looking at her meaningfully.

  Her spirits rose. ‘So what will you be teaching me today, Oh Master?’ she quipped.

  ‘Today, Mademoiselle, we will be discovering how to discern the different constituents in this perfume,’ he said, carefully pouring liquid from a flagon. ‘This is one of Monsieur’s new fragrances,’ Amos explained, passing her the glass tube. Inhaling deeply, she raised her brows.

  ‘That’s actually nice. Quite strong, but it’s kind of green and leafy.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘A kind of minty undertone.’

  ‘And what do you smell now?’

  She frowned. ‘It smells like some kind of rose.’

  ‘Well done, Eliza. You’re very good. As Monsieur would say, it all comprises the symphony, non?’ he grinned, wagging his finger as he did so in a passable impression of their boss.

  She laughed, suddenly feeling she could burst into song herself but Amos was continuing.

  ‘Monsieur likes to give his clients something that reflects the seasons, so his fragrances for spring and summer all contain geranium. However, as ever he has worked his magic and by blending other components, has created three quite different perfumes. Remember, it is all in the power of the ingredients, Mademoiselle, non?’ he said, waving his hands in the air.

  ‘Blimey, it’s just like listening to him,’ she grinned. ‘Where are the other two you mentioned?’

  He pointed to bottles under the counter and she leaned down and took off their lids.

  ‘That’s incredible. They really are quite different,’ she said, blinking in amazement. She sniffed them again.

  ‘Careful, Mademoiselle, remember to over-smell will confuse the nose,’ he remonstrated. ‘And please put the caps on so the precious liquid it does not evaporate.’

  Eliza laughed. ‘You might sound like Monsieur but at least you don’t smell like him.’

  Amos looked at her in surprise.

  ‘My stomach tells me it is time for luncheon,’ he said. ‘Let’s sit at the other table and you can enlighten me while we eat.’

  ‘So you think Monsieur smells?’ Amos asked, having made short work of his bread and cheese.

  ‘Pongs, more like. Surely you must have noticed?’

  ‘Can’t say I have,’ he frowned. ‘Well, that’s a good reason for not marrying him.’

  ‘I have no intention of doing so anyway, thank you,’ she protested.

  ‘No, seriously, this could be the answer to your dilemma. It’s a well-known fact that if you don’t like the smell of your partner, you won’t get on. It’s the chemistry. Have you not been reading my notes, Mademoiselle?’ Amos quipped, but Eliza was deep in thought.

  ‘I’ve really enjoyed learning from you, Amos.’ She sighed. ‘And
I’m dreading Monsieur coming back. I’m not sure I can put up with his fastidious ways again.’

  He stared at her, his gaze serious. ‘You must complete your training, Eliza. Monsieur is one of the finest perfumers and a testimonial from him will guarantee a good placement in the future.’ He sighed. ‘Which reminds me, he is likely to be returning soon and I have important work to complete before then, so why don’t you go to your room and study your notes?’ he suggested.

  ‘Can’t I stay here and help?’ she asked, loath to exchange his warm company for her solitary room.

  Unusually, however, Amos was emphatic she leave him to get on.

  ‘Sorry, Eliza, I love you being here but your presence is distracting and puts me behind.’

  Not wishing to show her disappointment, she got to her feet. He had spent a lot of time teaching her and it wouldn’t be fair to get him into trouble.

  ‘Be here first thing in the morning, Mademoiselle, and we will continue your instruction, non?’ he quipped, but the look in his eyes promised more. Her spirits soared and, grinning broadly, she nodded.

  Over the next week, Amos showed her some of the finer points of perfume making. They worked closely together, the bond between them strengthening.

  ‘Just wait until I show Monsieur what I can do now,’ she said, jubilantly holding out her glass for him to smell.

  ‘That is indeed very good, Eliza,’ he cried. ‘Well done. We work well together, non?’ he quipped.

  She flushed with pleasure both at his praise and the look in his eye.

  ‘Now off you go, ma petite,’ he said quickly. ‘For I have work to do and your delightful presence it distracts me, non? Tomorrow we will work out how much of that,’ he tapped the glass, ‘will go into that,’ he said, picking up the perfume bottle. She pulled a face but hurried to her room, knowing she should really look at the notes Monsieur had left for her. Still, at least she felt she was really learning more about the actual art of perfume making.

  As ever, Amos greeted her enthusiastically the next morning. There was an array of jars and tubes set out on the table.

  ‘First we need to know the quantity of each essence that Monsieur has used in his blend. We make a careful note in this,’ he said, pointing to the notepad alongside.

  ‘Can’t we just remember?’ she asked, eager to get on with the actual task.

  He shook his head. ‘It’s easy to forget and sometimes you can get distracted by other things,’ he said, gazing at her so intently her heart leaped. He cleared his throat and pointed to the bottles.

  ‘Now it is vital we count out the exact number of drops or the end result will not match Monsieur’s sample here.’ Amos tapped the bottle containing the new scent. ‘Pencil at the ready,’ he quipped, filling his pipette from one of the tubes. As he counted out drops from each one she diligently wrote down the numbers. ‘Right, now we need to study the formula I have written down here.’

  Heads bent close, they competed to see who could work out the answer first.

  ‘Twenty,’ laughed Eliza.

  ‘Ah, but you forgot to divide as well and the answer’s 8.51,’ Amos pointed out jubilantly, writing it down.

  ‘Clever clogs,’ she giggled, nudging his arm so that his writing shot across the page.

  ‘Why, you little minx,’ he cried, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer.

  ‘So this is how you spend your time in my absence?’ Monsieur Farrant’s icy tones cut the air, freezing them into silence.

  ‘Sorry, Monsieur, we were just working out the calculation for …’ Amos began.

  ‘I have been observing for some moments so I know what you have been doing. Eliza, go to your room and spend the rest of the day studying your notes. We will have the big test first thing tomorrow and I trust you will know all the answers or …’ He left his words hanging in the air.

  ‘Please, Monsieur Far—’ she began, but he held up his hand and glared until she left the room.

  ‘Welcome home,’ she muttered under her breath.

  Crossing the courtyard from the main house to her room, she noticed a weak February sun breaking through the clouds and had a sudden yen to walk round the perfume garden. After that encounter, she needed some fresh air and she was keen to see what flowers were emerging. Then she remembered Monsieur’s glassy glare, his veiled threat and thought better of it. She hoped Amos wasn’t in trouble. Still, she’d find out what Monsieur had said tomorrow. Knowing her friend, though, he’d be sure to turn it into a joke.

  However, when she entered the laboratory next morning, there was no sign of Amos. Monsieur Farrant was waiting and she braced herself ready for him to fire his questions at her. She’d been studying until her candle guttered and hoped her memory wouldn’t fail her.

  ‘Ah, Mademoiselle Eliza, you are looking très élégant this morning. How have you been in my absence?’

  Eliza blinked, in surprise. ‘I’ve been fine, Monsieur, thank you. Studying and working hard. Amos has taught me so much,’ she said, looking around the room in case he was hidden by one of the stills. ‘Is he not here yet?’

  ‘Alas, he has gone,’ Monsieur Farrant cried, throwing up his hands in despair.

  ‘Gone? But he was here yesterday.’

  ‘Oui, I come home and he tell me he has got himself another position. He has left me completely in the lurch. After all I taught him. You will not leave me, will you?’ he beseeched.

  ‘Er, no, of course not,’ she replied. ‘But Amos has been working so hard teaching me how to bottle your new perfumes and many other things. I can’t believe he has just walked out,’ she cried, hating the thought that her dear friend was no longer here.

  ‘Probably he steal my receipts too,’ Monsieur cried. ‘Dear Eliza, I shall need you more than ever now.’

  Her heart sank like a pebble in a pond. How could she stay here without Amos? The staff ignored her and Monsieur Farrant’s mood changes were impossible. Why, he still hadn’t showed her how to make perfume.

  ‘Monsieur Farrant, I have learned how to source ingredients, about smell, the origins of perfume and chemistry. Now, Amos has taught me about blending and the calculations required for bottling perfume, but when can I make some from scratch?’

  ‘My dear Eliza, over the next few weeks we will be working very closely together.’ He gave his charming smile. ‘Without Amos you will become my number two, non?’

  ‘So we can make some today, then?’ she persisted.

  He sighed. ‘Amos leaving has thrown me into turmoil. To think he has been plotting and planning to leave behind my back. It is more than I can bear.’

  ‘That really doesn’t sound like Amos, Monsieur. He diligently worked on your perfumes whilst you were away.’ She was about to say more but remembered how Amos had insisted she leave him alone in the laboratory. Surely he hadn’t really been planning anything?

  Suddenly Monsieur gave a growl, stormed over to the counter where Amos had worked and tore his notebooks into shreds. Then he yanked open the drawer and rifled through it. Holding up a little green bottle, he frowned, undid the lid and inhaled.

  ‘Traitor,’ he cried, marching over to the sink and pouring out the contents. As the fragrance of heather and sweet peas wafted her way, Eliza could have wept. So, that was why Amos had wanted her out of the way. The dear man had been creating that fragrance especially for her, for hadn’t he asked what smells she liked? And hadn’t he promised they would celebrate their special days together? Tears welled, for today was 19 February, her sixteenth birthday, and Amos had gone.

  ‘T
o make perfume one must be in the creative state, not an emotional one,’ Monsieur Farrant stated, giving her an unfathomable look. ‘I have things I must attend to so you will please occupy yourself for the day.’

  ‘May I take a walk in the garden?’ she suggested.

  He nodded and waved her away.

  ‘Thank you, Monsieur,’ she said, snatching up the little green bottle and secreting it in her pocket.

  Although the garden was her favourite place, Eliza hardly noticed the perfume wafting from the daffodils, narcissus and grape hyacinths, their vibrant colours a stark contrast to her dark thoughts.

  She couldn’t believe Amos would have left without telling her. It didn’t make sense. He’d been so excited about Monsieur Farrant’s new perfumes and happy to share all he’d learned with her. Surely if he’d found a new position, he would have said something? And, if he knew he wasn’t going to be here today why hadn’t he given her that perfume before he left?

  Eliza knew she couldn’t leave things hanging in the air like this. She’d go to his lodgings and find out what had really happened. Although she didn’t know the address, Mimi did. But the maid was forbidden to speak to her. It was hopeless, she thought, stamping her feet so that red-hot pain shot through her twisted one.

  ‘Happy birthday, Eliza,’ she muttered, thinking back to last year when Fay had given her the little picture she’d painted and Duncan had repaired her grampy’s box. Even Rose had iced her name in wobbly letters on her cake. Well, there wouldn’t be one this year for, along with the other staff, Cook ignored her completely.

  Preoccupied by her thoughts, she’d paid little attention to where she was going and found herself standing beside the hothouse where Dawkins was working. She waved, but he studiously bent over his plants. Sighing, she continued her walk and after a while the outline of the other outhouse loomed before her. Remembering Monsieur Farrant’s orders, she turned to retrace her steps. A man’s raucous laughter stopped her in her tracks. Then, Monsieur’s gleeful voice carried clearly on the breeze.