Home for Christmas (45 page)

Agnes saw his sad look, and went to his side, gripping his arm tightly. ‘Come on. Let’s see what my mother is up to, shall we? She is so excited at the prospect of a Christmas here like it used to be.’

They made their way to the kitchen and the butler’s pantry arm in arm.

Armed with lists and a pencil, Agnes’s mother was opening cupboard doors and scrutinising shelves.

On seeing them enter, she shook her head at Robert.

‘Your aunt’s cook didn’t keep much in the larder and what there is isn’t fit for much except pigswill.’

‘Aunt Julieta didn’t entertain much.’

Agnes’s mother grunted an unintelligible response. They all knew that Lady Julieta had become an invalid and a recluse in her final years. Eaten up by bitterness and disappointment, she’d taken to her bed where food was brought on a tray and visitors discouraged. Robert had finally come into his inheritance on her death though he hadn’t seen his aunt for a long time before, mainly on account of the war, though partially because of her reclusiveness.

Although the house was in good enough repair, the few servants who had not gone off to war had taken advantage of their mistress’s lethargy and neglected to keep the place clean. The smell of dust and the greasy windows were evidence of that.

‘I shall need to do a total restock,’ proclaimed Sarah Stacey, her old efficiency fully restored. ‘I noticed on the drive through the village that George Davis is still in business. He always was a very good butcher. So is Mr Barker, the greengrocer.’

‘I believe it’s being run by Mrs Barker. Her husband died a year after receiving the news of their son’s death. He was an only son.’

The silence that followed Robert’s comment was short lived, but it was full of unspoken sadness. Too many men had died. Too many women were widows or in mourning for beloved sons. Britain alone had suffered three-quarters of a million dead and husbands would be in short supply for some years to come.

‘I’ll drive you into the village,’ said Agnes to her mother. She turned to Robert. ‘You did say you had some paperwork to deal with?’ she added, her fine fingers gently stroking Robert’s arm.

He grimaced. ‘Too much paperwork. Worse than being in the army.’

Agnes smiled. ‘I doubt that.’

The weather was crisp and cold, the fields they passed bare and brown, asleep and waiting for spring.

Both the butcher and greengrocer were pleased to see Agnes and her mother.

‘The old place just ain’t been the same without you in charge,’ they said to Sarah.

There was no hint of condemnation regarding the rumoured relationship between Sarah and Sir Avis. Their businesses had prospered before Lady Julieta had moved in and had gone downhill from then on.

Agnes watched as her mother ticked each item off her lengthy list. A portion of produce was loaded into the car for immediate use and weekly orders placed.

‘Just like the old days,’ proclaimed Mr Davis.

‘Well!’ said Agnes’s mother with an air of finality. ‘I think we will have a reasonable Christmas now. We’d better get back or your husband will think we’ve got lost.’

Agnes laughed. ‘He’s used to my wild ways. Anyway, I think he’ll probably be perusing the cellar. Luckily, for us, Lady Julieta spurned the demon drink. There should be plenty of wine and spirits left down there.’

‘And wasn’t it lucky that your grandmother and I thought to make Christmas puddings weeks ago?’

‘Amazing that you got all the ingredients needed.’

‘Ask no questions, tell no lies,’ said her mother and winked. ‘It was our way of celebrating the end of the war. The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month; when the guns finally fell silent. Other people went out and danced in the street. Your grandmother and I looked to the future and made Christmas puddings.’

Agnes drew the car to a halt in front of the door leading directly into the kitchen.

The sudden tapping of a walking stick sounded along the red tiles that formed the path at the back of the house followed by an enquiry as to whether they needed help to unload.

Placing her hands on her hips, Agnes smiled then laughed at the sight of her husband.

Head and shoulders dusty with cobwebs, Doctor Darius Emerson appeared, followed by the equally dusty butler, Quartermaster, who was now more bent with age than ever. The stick was his.

‘I take it you’ve carried out a full inventory of the Christmas drinks situation?’ laughed Agnes as Darius swung her around in his arms.

‘We won’t go dry,’ he replied. ‘Will we, Quartermaster?’

‘Certainly not, Sir.’

The thing was, she and Darius had seen so much and shared so much. He understood her. He’d admired her pluckiness, her determination to get through everything. He’d also seen how she’d been affected by the injured and dying, writing letters home for them, using humour and every feminine wile to keep their spirits up, to help them fight to survive their terrible injuries.

After helping take the supplies through to the kitchen, they walked for a while in the kitchen garden. There was little growing, just a few sorry cabbage stalks and onions that had long gone to seed. The three gardeners the estate used to employ had gone to war and never come back. One had died, one seriously injured and the other had decided he could make more money in a factory.

Darius hugged her arm close to his side. ‘So how is he?’

She knew he was referring to Robert. She sighed.

‘I don’t think he’ll ever get over it. It’s not just the fact that she was condemned to death. He feels guilty because it happened shortly after she helped him escape. He keeps thinking he should have insisted she got out with him. I think perhaps she thought he might be better off without her. Things are going to be difficult for some time to come. Forgiveness after such an horrific war might take a long time. There’s a lot of bigotry about. I suppose there will be for some time.’

Agnes continued. ‘That’s how people are. Lady Julieta was adamant that Lydia’s loyalty would lie with Germany and informed Robert’s parents to that effect. I don’t know how they responded or whether they agreed or not, but what I do know for sure is that it wasn’t true. Her first allegiance was to injured men no matter what side they were on. You know her father married an actress named Kate Mallory?’

‘The poor man. It’s easy to say that it should help with the loss of his daughter, but it must be hard for him.’

‘He’s thrown himself into his work. He still practises as a doctor from his house and at the hospital. I suppose it’s all he can do. The German hospital stayed open all the way through the war and he stuck with it. They all survived surprisingly well. People were grateful for free medicine no matter the nationality of those dispensing it.’

It began to snow a week before Christmas. The gravel drive leading from the main gate up to the house was indistinguishable from the parkland to either side. The hills in the distance looked as though someone had sprinkled them with icing sugar.

Robert hired a man from the village to do odd jobs around the old place. A war veteran, Godfrey Williams was missing half a leg and keen to get any job he could. His first task was to chop up and haul in logs for the fireplace in the great hall. Green boughs of holly, fir and mistletoe, bound with scarlet ribbon just as they used to be, decorated the high mantelpiece and hung above ancestral pictures. Pride of place went to a fifteen-foot-high Christmas tree. They dusted off the painted box containing the tree decorations.

Agnes was ecstatic. ‘Look! There are even a few candles. Some haven’t been used at all.’

Amongst them were the ones they had made as children; the silver star Robert had made, the snowman made by Agnes from white cardboard, the round blob Sylvester insisted was a robin but didn’t look like anything. All the same, they had hung it up in memory of Sylvester who had died of the Spanish Infection which had been rife, although it had died down in the summer, but was likely to reappear this winter …

Darius stood on a stepladder whilst Agnes handed him the decorations.

‘What about the top of the tree? Do we have a star?’

Receiving no response, he looked down at Agnes. She was dangling the star from her fingertips, watching as the light caught it and sparkled. ‘Are you going to hand me that star, or do you want me to place both you and it on the top of the tree?’

She looked up at him. ‘We put it up the Christmas Lydia stayed here.’

He winced because she’d sounded so abrupt, but it couldn’t be helped. It was all she could do to stop from sobbing.

He came down from the stepladder and took her in his arms.

‘Cry, why don’t you? It’s about time you did.’

‘I’ve never been a cry baby.’

‘Well, now is a good time to start. You’ve got a lot to cry about.’

Big, wet tears slid down her cheeks. ‘I wouldn’t want Robert to see the star,’ she sobbed. ‘He’d remember.’

‘It is good to remember,’ whispered Darius before burying his face in her hair, closing his eyes as he breathed in its fresh scent.

Robert, who had been listening unseen just outside the open door, turned away.

Beyond the great oriole window looking out over the front of the house, the night was drawing in. All was darkness though a new moon was shining shyly from behind a curtain of cloud.

He’d heard somewhere that a new moon meant a new beginning.

On hearing Quartermaster shuffling up behind him, he turned and asked him if it were true.

‘Is it a new beginning, then old chap?’

‘I suppose it has to be, Sir. The war is over. It has to be a new beginning. Peace at last.’

Quartermaster half turned then, as a thought struck him, he turned back again.

‘It’s also said that one can make a wish on a new moon. That’s what I’ve heard, Sir.’

Robert heard him leave. He’d wished on that moon so often, mostly wishing for the war to be over. So what did he wish for now? That he didn’t feel so guilty at being alive when others were dead? Yes, that and Lydia laying down her life so he might live – even if her last request that he married Agnes was quite impossible, though of course, Lydia hadn’t known that and neither had he mentioned anything to Sarah. He just looked at her now and again, seeing the beauty she had been and understanding why Sir Avis had looked after his cook and the child of their union.

The only thing they had talked about was the money he’d left her in an ancillary will he’d stipulated not to be declared until after the death of his wife, Lady Julieta. It struck him then just how kind the old man had been. He’d had many affairs with many women, but not only had he loved Sarah, he had also purposely avoided hurting his widow. Although they had not lived together for years, he had respected her position as his wife. There was something good in that no matter whatever else he was.

It occurred to him to pay another visit to Lydia’s father; he’d appeared pretty desolate on his last visit. It was still early days, but perhaps they might support each other in their sadness.

Decision made, the next morning he rang the bell to summon Quartermaster. The old man had officially retired, but there was a scarcity of men wishing to return to domestic service. Quartermaster was slow and getting slower, but he knew his job and, anyway, Robert quite liked having him around.

‘I’m going to London this afternoon.’

‘So close to Christmas? Beg your pardon, Sir. I didn’t mean to imply that you shouldn’t go …’

‘No need, Quartermaster. I just feel I need to visit a few old haunts. I’ll be back by Christmas Eve. Agnes would never forgive me if I wasn’t.’

Christmas Eve, 1918

‘Will Santa Claus know I’ve moved to England?’

The small girl’s comments drew smiles and warm looks from fellow travellers on the train heading for Ravening Halt. Her upturned face glowed as she awaited her mother’s response.

Her mother stroked the child’s face. ‘Of course he will. Santa Claus visits good children all over the world, except that here they more commonly call him Father Christmas.’

Steam clouded the window of the carriage just before the train entered a tunnel. The lights came on though their glow was only feeble.

Lydia smiled as she patted her daughter’s pink cheeks. ‘Soon be there,’ she said softly.

The little girl, who seemed to be no more than four years old, snuggled against her mother’s side. She closed her eyes for just a moment before they snapped open and she asked another question.

‘Will we see the old man again?’ she asked.

‘You mean Grandfather?’

The little girl nodded.

‘Yes, Olivia. I dare say we will.’

Her father had wanted her to stay and they had stayed, just long enough to see his eyes come alive with pleasure at the sight of his daughter, whom he’d thought was dead, and Olivia, a granddaughter he hadn’t known he had.

On arrival at Ravening Halt, a distinguished gentleman wearing a bowler hat and an officer wearing the uniform of a naval captain vied to help her with her valise.

‘It’s only small,’ she said, smiling sweetly. ‘I’m only here for the day. I have a return ticket.’

Her father had suggested they telephone Heathlands to make sure somebody was at home. He tried and had been trying for hours, but had finally given up. They’d already tried telephoning the house in Belgravia, but nobody answered.

‘Agnes said that Sir Avis and the whole household went to Heathlands every Christmas. I presume Robert is carrying on the tradition.’

Her father had conceded that the telephone wasn’t working properly. ‘Nothing seems to be working properly just yet,’ he said.

He’d clung to her before she left, not letting go until she had promised to return. She’d said that she would.

Full of apprehension, she thanked the two gentlemen who had been so polite to her and felt their eyes following her all the way to the exit.

The stationmaster doffed his cap. The only other woman waiting at the station glanced at the woman wearing the dovegrey coat and hat, a small child in a red checked coat and hat dancing along at her side.

‘I need to get to Heathlands,’ she said to the stationmaster. ‘I don’t suppose there is a taxi.’