The Orphan's Dream (20 page)

She pushed her encounter with Wiley to the back of her mind. ‘Really? Where is it?'

‘Come upstairs to the drawing room and you'll see it.'

‘I can't wait,' Mirabel hesitated. ‘But first I think I'd better go and make my peace with Mrs Flitton.'

‘Why is that?'

‘Don't pretend you aren't aware that I've rather coerced her into cooking a huge meal when she's used to catering for you only. The poor woman had no choice and I feel rather guilty about that.'

‘She is a servant after all, my dear.'

‘She's more than that, Hubert. She's served you faithfully for many years and she's fiercely loyal to you.'

‘I hope she hasn't been treating you with disrespect, Mirabel. I won't stand for it.'

‘No, on the contrary, she's doing her best to accommodate to a situation she can hardly have imagined. I've bought her a small present to put under the tree and she must join us at dinner tomorrow. I insist.'

In the kitchen Mrs Flitton was preparing the evening meal. Her face was red and strands of grey hair had escaped from her mobcap. From the scullery came sounds of splashing and the plop of vegetables being dropped into pans of cold water. Mirabel could see Tilda standing on a box as she worked at the large stone sink. She held up her hands in a gesture of submission. ‘Before you say anything, Mrs Flitton, I've come to apologise for putting you to so much trouble, and to thank you for agreeing to cook for so many on Christmas Day.'

Mrs Flitton's lips pursed into a prune-like expression of disapproval. ‘I do what's required of me, ma'am.'

‘And much more,' Mirabel said gently. ‘Gertie and Tilda will help you tomorrow and I want you to join us at table for the festive meal.'

‘What? No, ma'am – I wouldn't think of it.'

‘It's an order, Mrs Flitton,' Mirabel said, tempering her words with a smile. ‘Mr Kettle is carrying on the army tradition where the officers serve their men on Christmas Day. We will wait on you for a change, and we'll all eat together in the true spirit of Christmas.'

‘I don't know what to say, ma'am.'

‘Not all change is for the worse, Mrs Flitton.' Mirabel glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘I didn't realise it was so late. There's so much left to do, but now I'm going to take a look at the magnificent tree that Coker found for us.'

Hubert retired to his room soon after dinner that evening, leaving Mirabel free to decorate the tree with Gertie's help. The result was stunning, even before the candles were lit, and Mirabel stood back to admire their work. ‘I can imagine the children's faces when they see this tomorrow,' she said happily.

‘It is tomorrow already.' Gertie stifled a yawn. ‘Merry Christmas, Mabel.'

Mirabel gave her a hug. ‘Merry Christmas, Gertie, and thank you for all your help.'

Gertie put her head on one side, eyeing Mirabel curiously. ‘What happened when you stopped to pay off the cabby? You wasn't in a state because you'd dropped a few parcels, was you?'

‘No, it was Wiley. He scared me, but he didn't hurt me.'

‘You want to watch out for that one. I see'd him at the church and I didn't like the cut of his jib.'

‘He's all talk, Gertie. There's very little he can do apart from trying to frighten me. I don't think he'd harm me physically because he's got too much to lose.'

‘Bodger would sort him out for you.'

Mirabel smiled and shook her head. ‘I wouldn't want him to waste his time on a man like Wiley. He's married to Ernestine and that will probably be punishment enough.' She leaned over to kiss Gertie on the cheek. ‘Go to bed, dear. You've earned a good night's sleep.'

‘What about you? Don't you want me to help you?'

‘I can put myself to bed, and I've got a few things to wrap and put under the tree. Good night, Gertie.' Mirabel waited until Gertie had left the room before embarking on opening the packages, sorting the presents and wrapping them in brown paper tied with coloured ribbon she had bought for the purpose. When the last one was labelled and placed under the tree she stood back with a contented sigh. It would be a Christmas to remember, she thought, but her happiness was tinged with sorrow. There was someone missing and a secret longing in her heart that could never be fulfilled. She made her way through the silent house to her room.

Ragged, but freshly scrubbed and very subdued, the Coker children filed into the house after their father. Alf took off his cap, clutching it nervously in both hands. ‘This is more than kind of you, sir.'

Hubert smiled, although Mirabel could see that he was not entirely comfortable in the presence of the young family. ‘You're very welcome, Coker,' he said hastily. ‘Will you come into the parlour and share a glass of punch with me? My wife will look after the children.'

Alf turned to the children, addressing himself mainly to the boys. ‘I wants you to be on your best behaviour. D'you hear me?'

A murmured chorus of assent was accompanied by nods. Tilda held Kitty by the hand and Nora clung to her skirts, but Jane and Maisie hung back, largely due to the fact that the four older boys had pushed forward and were taking in their surroundings open-mouthed.

Mirabel encompassed them all with a genuine smile of delight. Suddenly the staid old house seemed to burst into life, and she was touched to see the effort that must have gone into making the children presentable. ‘Merry Christmas to you all. Come upstairs with me and see what I've got for you.'

‘It's a bit early to go to bed, ain't it?' Daniel, the eldest boy, who Mirabel judged to be thirteen or fourteen, received a clout round the ear from his father that wiped the cheeky grin off his face. He reddened, clutching the side of his head, and his eyes watered as he struggled to hold back tears.

‘It's all right, Alf,' Mirabel said hastily. ‘Don't worry about them. I'll see that they behave.'

‘Me too, Pa,' Tilda added fiercely. ‘I'll keep 'em in order.'

‘You and whose army,' Daniel muttered rebelliously.

Mirabel chose not to hear. ‘Come on then,' she said cheerfully. ‘Follow me.'

In the drawing room the tree, ablaze with lighted candles, was an instant hit, causing the children to exclaim loudly and even the boys clapped their hands in delight, with Daniel apparently forgetting that he was almost a man and a breadwinner in his own right. Mirabel could not help noticing that the smell of the river still clung to all four boys, and despite their efforts to scrub themselves clean the mud of the foreshore was ingrained in their hands and under their nails. She moved swiftly to the octagonal table in the window where she had, with Gertie's help, laid out a selection of small cakes and two jugs of lemonade. The children needed no second bidding to help themselves to the food. They sat round the tree, gazing at it and munching happily. Mirabel was pleased to see that the older boys and girls looked after the little ones, and she caught Tilda's eye, smiling at her in approval.

‘What's them little parcels under the tree, miss?' eight-year-old Jim demanded, pointing a sticky finger.

‘Shh, Jim,' Tilda said sternly. ‘It ain't polite to ask questions.'

‘It doesn't matter,' Mirabel said, smiling. ‘It's Christmas and they're presents. There's one for each of you.'

They looked at her blankly. ‘What's a present, miss?' Ned asked curiously.

Tilda scrambled to her feet. ‘A present is what rich people give to their family and people they like, Ned. It's like what the Wise Men brought for baby Jesus. They taught us that in the ragged school.' She gave Mirabel an apologetic smile. ‘He don't remember much, missis. He's a bit slow,' she added in a whisper.

‘Well you'll find out what a present is after we've had dinner, Ned.' Mirabel patted him on the head. ‘I think you'll like yours.'

‘Weren't that dinner?' Daniel asked, rubbing his belly. ‘We never has cake at home.'

‘No, Daniel, that wasn't dinner. There's more to come.'

 

Despite Alf's efforts to maintain discipline, the festive meal was noisy and chaotic. The sight of so much food caused the boys to forget their manners, and when twelve-year-old Pip speared a potato on the point of his knife and was about to put it in his mouth he received a sharp rebuke from Hubert.

Tilda scowled at her brother. ‘You ain't fit to eat with the pigs, Pip.'

Pip hung his head and his cheeks reddened. ‘Shut up,' he muttered angrily.

‘Such manners,' Mrs Flitton said, shaking her head. ‘I suppose such behaviour is only to be expected from motherless children.'

‘I done me best, missis.' Alf turned on Ned, who was giggling nervously. ‘That's enough of that, boy.' He pointed his knife at each of the children in turn. ‘You'll treat this meal with respect or we'll leave now and let these good people enjoy their Christmas dinner in peace. What do you say?'

Kitty started to whimper and the other girls joined in, except for Tilda who rose to her feet, glaring at her brothers. ‘We're all very sorry, ain't we, boys?' She focused on each of them in turn, waiting until they murmured an apology. ‘That's better.' She sat down again and picked up her knife and fork. ‘We ain't savages,' she added sternly. ‘Ma taught us how to eat proper, and proper is how we'll behave from now on.'

‘Well said, Tilda.' Mirabel moved swiftly round the table with a plate of roast potatoes and another piled high with turkey. ‘Who wants more?'

This time there was no grabbing and more orderly behaviour. Alf nodded his approval, and Mrs Flitton relaxed sufficiently to smile when Hubert complimented her on the meal. ‘There's more to come, sir,' she said, blushing like a girl. ‘But I have to confess I didn't make the pudding, although I can take credit for the trifle, which I think you'll find every bit as good.'

‘We'll clear the table and fetch the dessert, Mrs Flitton.' Mirabel was already on her feet.

‘Of course. Stay there, Mary. That's an order.' Hubert rose from his chair to join his wife. ‘Best keep the boys off the sherry trifle,' he whispered, grinning. ‘Heaven knows what will happen if they get drunk.'

She glanced over her shoulder at the youngsters who were sitting bolt upright, doing their best to be patient as they waited for the next course to be served. ‘Best go easy on the brandy to flame the pudding too,' she murmured, giggling.

Gertie jumped up from her seat. ‘I'll finish up here, ma'am. Then I'll give you a hand in the kitchen.'

The puddings surrounded by a blue halo of flaming alcohol, were greeted with cheers and applause. Plates swimming in warm custard or crowned with a generous helping of thick cream were passed round the table, and when every last morsel had been eaten Mirabel fetched the trifle. The younger children refused reluctantly, complaining that their bellies ached, but the boys held out their bowls, eager to try the sweet confection. Mrs Flitton positively glowed with the praise heaped upon her. ‘It is one of my most tried and tested recipes,' she said modestly.

‘It's a culinary triumph, Mary.' Hubert raised his glass to her. ‘I propose a toast to the cook.'

The toast was drunk and Mirabel could see that Kitty was already half asleep, as was four-year-old Nora. She stood up, pushing back her chair. ‘I think perhaps this is a good time to go upstairs and give out the presents.'

Alf was on his feet before anyone else. A frown puckered his brow. ‘Really, ma'am. We weren't expecting anything, and we've nothing to give in return.'

Hubert rose from his seat. ‘We've had the pleasure of entertaining you and your family, Coker.'

Alf shook his head. ‘No, sir. I mean, thank you, Captain, but we got to do something in return. Me and the nippers will wash the dishes and clear up the kitchen.'

It was Mrs Flitton's turn to rise to her feet. ‘No, indeed you will not. I don't want my best china smashed to smithereens, thank you very much. I will supervise and Gertie and Tilda will help.' She stared at seven-year-old Jane, who was licking custard off her top lip. ‘And that one can give a hand, but the others are too small.'

Alf opened his mouth as if to argue but Hubert held up his hand. ‘We'll decide that after we've given out the gifts.' He headed for the doorway, beckoning Mrs Flitton to follow him. ‘You too, Mary. I believe my wife has a surprise for everyone.'

Outside it was dark. but the drawing room was filled with warmth and light. A fire crackled merrily in the grate and the air was redolent with the mingled scents of hot candle wax and pine needles. Mirabel ushered the children in and for once they were silent as they gazed at the lit tree in awe. She motioned them to sit and they sank down on the Chinese carpet, cross-legged and open-mouthed.

Hubert led Mrs Flitton to a comfortable chair by the fire and Alf stood to attention, as if awaiting orders. ‘Take a seat, Coker,' Hubert said with a vague wave of his hand. ‘No need to stand on ceremony.'

‘Thank you, Captain.' Alf perched on an upright chair near the door, as if ready to make a quick escape.

Mirabel gave him an encouraging smile. ‘The children are a credit to you, Alf.'

‘Thank you, ma'am. It's kind of you to say so.'

‘I hope things will get easier for you from now on,' she added in a low voice. ‘You might even be able to find somewhere better to live.'

‘That would be my aim, ma'am.'

‘I'm sure it is.' She turned to Gertie who was standing at her side. ‘I think now is the time to give out the presents.'

Mirabel stood at Hubert's side as they saw their guests off. Each of the children, with the exception of Kitty, who had not yet mastered the art of speech, thanked their hosts politely for the food and the presents. Alf and Tilda were last to leave.