Twelve Days of Christmas (13 page)

Chapter 13
Christmas Spirits

I read a bit more of Gran’s journal over breakfast. Now that she seemed to be embarking on a clandestine romance with Ned Martland, I was even more tempted to skip forward and discover what went wrong, but restrained myself.

I did wish she wouldn’t keep going off into long-winded soliloquies about the state of her conscience and what she thought God’s purpose for her was between entries, though.

I kept thinking about her while I did my chores and then took Merlin for a little run, so I called Laura to talk it over when I had gone far enough up the hill to get a good signal.

‘How are you feeling?’ she asked me.

‘Me?’ I said, surprised. ‘Oh,
I’m
fine, except there is so much to do here. Laura, you know those old journals of Granny’s?’

‘Mmm, you said you were reading a bit every night and were beginning to suspect that one of the Martlands might have been your Gran’s lost love – see, I’m keeping up with the plot,’ she said encouragingly.

‘Yes, that’s Edward – Ned – Noël Martland’s younger brother and I’m positive he’s the N.M. she’s nursing back to health in her journal. She seems to be slowly falling for him and they’re having clandestine meetings!’

‘Well, you already knew she loved him. I wonder what went wrong?’

‘I don’t know, I just hope he didn’t break her heart, because he sounds a bit of a rake. I expect I’ll find out a bit more about him over Christmas . . .’ I began, but then there was a crash and a wailing noise at her end as one of the children had some minor disaster and she had to ring off quickly.

At least everything is now more or less in hand for Christmas Day. I’ve taken the fine ham the Chirks left behind out of the freezer and put it in the fridge to defrost slowly, the menu is planned, the cake awaits its marzipan and icing and I have the wherewithal to bake endless mince pies.

But I went quite mad and cleaned through the rest of the house, too – or at least everything that wasn’t locked up. Having set my course, there seemed no point in being half-hearted about things just because Jude Martland was so objectionable, and anyway, the clean bits made the rest of it look so much worse . . .

The slightly musty, dusty scent of neglect has given way to the homelier ones of wood fires, beeswax and lavender polish, baking and fresh coffee.

While I was working away I’d been keeping an eye on the weather, for outside large slow flakes of snow were stealthily falling. I saw George snowplough up the drive and turn down again, but this time he was alone. If he gets paid by the council for every trip, I suspect I’ll see a lot of him!

By early afternoon the snow was even thicker and showed no sign of letting up, so I decided to bring Lady and Billy in early, then took off Lady’s rug and rather inexpertly groomed her. She seemed to enjoy this, though Billy was a nuisance as always, forever butting me in the legs and nibbling the hems of my jeans.

I’d almost finished and was just putting Lady’s rug back on, when Jess made one of her silent appearances: I think she must practise them.

‘Don’t stand there in the snow, come in,’ I invited, so she did, with a cautious eye on Lady and then sidled gingerly past Billy.

I think actually she’s afraid of horses and has invented an allergy to conceal it, because she never sneezes or shows any other symptoms.

‘To what do I owe the honour of this visit?’ I asked, but then looked up and saw her pale, anxious face. ‘What is it? Is something wrong?’

‘Grandpa asked me to walk up and tell you that Granny had a little fall in the kitchen last night.’

I stopped fastening the strap of the rug and turned to stare at her. ‘Is she hurt?’

Her lower lip wobbled slightly. ‘She bumped her head and knocked herself out, and we weren’t sure if she’d broken anything, so we didn’t like to move her. I had to ring for an ambulance.’

‘Oh, poor Tilda – and poor Jess, too,’ I said, giving her a hug. ‘But why didn’t you ring me?’

‘It all happened so fast! Granny had come round a bit by the time the ambulance arrived, but they insisted on taking her to hospital for X-rays and a checkup, so Grandpa and I went too.’

‘So, is she still there?’

‘No, she refused to stay even though they wanted to keep her in overnight for observation and we came back in a taxi about two this morning. It only just managed to get up the hill!’

‘Wow, you
have
been having a time of it! I only wish I’d known.’

‘Grandpa didn’t want to bother you, but if they had kept her in hospital he was going to ring and ask you if I could move up here for a bit.’

‘Of course you could, that wouldn’t have been a problem. How is your granny this morning?’

‘Still in bed and Grandpa’s trying to persuade her to stay there. I think she’s a bit shaken up and bruised and she’s probably going to have a black eye, too. I made us all some toast for breakfast . . . and we don’t seem to have got round to lunch,’ she said, and then added hopefully, ‘I washed the soup Thermos out and brought it back.’

‘Good thinking – some nice, hot soup will do them both good.’ I gave her another hug and then finished fastening Lady’s rug. ‘You know, they’re really not up to looking after themselves any more, are they? It’s a pity their housekeeper had to go away just now, though I’m sure the poor woman is entitled to take Christmas off.’

‘She always has the same two weeks, while Granny and Grandpa are happy to move up here for Christmas and New Year and me and Mum and Dad are usually here, too.’ She paused and swallowed hard, tears not far away again. ‘Grandpa said, just think how awful it would have been if Granny’d been cooking and holding something hot when she fell.’

‘God, yes, he’s right – it could have been so much worse!’

Jude Martland, you’ve got a lot to answer for!
I thought – swanning off and leaving everyone to cope alone, when he must have seen how frail his elderly relatives were getting.

‘Come on,’ I said, leading the way out of the loosebox, ‘we’ll go and phone your Grandpa.’

‘You can’t, that’s why I had to come and tell you. The phone line was a bit iffy this morning when Grandpa called the mobile number Uncle Jude gave him, and just after he’d told him about Granny’s accident and her going to hospital, it all went totally dead. I walked down the lane to have a look and one of the poles was right down, so that’s it and we’re cut off.’

‘Oh – then at least your Uncle Jude knows what’s happening,’ I said, relieved, ‘though I don’t suppose he said anything remotely useful?’

‘I don’t think he got the chance,’ she said doubtfully.

‘He might try and call you back on your mobile?’

‘He doesn’t know the number . . . and that’s not working now either, because I dropped it down the toilet at the hospital.’

‘Oh, yuk! I don’t even want to know how you managed that,’ I said. ‘
Or
what you did with it afterwards.’

‘It’s in a plastic bag one of the nurses gave me.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ll have to get back soon – Grandpa’s very tired and he must be hungry, because
I’m
ravenous and I don’t want him to get ill, too.’

She sounded as if the cares of the world were on her small shoulders, poor child.

‘Of course, and I’ll come with you,’ I said, and we set out as soon as I’d put more hot soup in the flask and quickly made cheese and tomato sandwiches.

A worried Noël was obviously deeply relieved to see me. ‘It’s very kind of you to come, m’dear. I really didn’t want to be any more of a nuisance.’

‘You’re not a nuisance at all. How is Tilda now?’

‘Furious with me for getting Jess to call the ambulance but she’s still in bed,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘Very unlike her, so it must have shaken her up. She says she has a headache too, but insists she will get up later and cook lunch.’

‘It’s nearly teatime, Noël! But I’ve brought hot soup, sandwiches and mince pies that you can all have now. And then do you think you ought to call the doctor about Tilda’s headache?’

‘She won’t hear of it – only takes homeopathic remedies, you know. Never lets illness get the better of her!’ he added proudly.

But there was no homeopathic cure for the encroaching infirmities of old age, which must overtake us all in the end . . . There seemed to be only one way of preventing Tilda from trying to carry on as usual and hurting herself even more in the process . . .

‘You know, I really think it would be best if you all moved up to Old Place this afternoon and stayed, at least until Tilda is better,’ I said with resignation.

‘Oh
yes!
’ said Jess eagerly.

‘I had thought of asking, but I really didn’t want to burden you with extra work,’ Noël said anxiously.

‘Not at all: Jess has helped me clean and make the beds already, so it’ll be no trouble at all,’ I lied.

A huge expression of relief crossed his face. ‘If you are sure . . . and perhaps you will like the company?’ he suggested, brightening. ‘Jess and I will help you as much as we can, too.’

‘Will Tilda be happy to move up to Old Place?’

‘Oh yes, I’m
sure
she will.’

‘Then shall I come down in the car in a couple of hours and collect you, when you’ve packed a few things?’

‘No, that’s all right, George will call in later with the newspaper, if it has got through to Little Mumming, and I’m sure he won’t mind bringing us up in his Land Rover.’

‘He seems very obliging and he certainly keeps the drive free of snow!’

‘He’s a very nice chap, is George. He and his son Liam do a good job of keeping the lane clear, and then the folks at Weasel Pot Farm below the village keep the lane on that side ploughed too, though sometimes they have to give up on the last steep bit down to the main road if the snow is too heavy.’ He glanced through the window. ‘If this keeps up, we might well be snowed in for a couple of days.’

‘Then up at the house will be the best place for you – there’s lots of food, it’s warm and if the electricity fails, there’s the generator.’

‘Very true!’ Noël was cheering up by the minute, as was Jess. ‘Well, this will be fun, won’t it? A proper family Christmas at the old home after all!’

‘Yes, won’t that be great?’ I said slightly hollowly.

‘Oh, but I was forgetting – you don’t celebrate it, m’dear?’

‘Not at all, I’m sure it’s going to make a
lovely
change,’ I said valiantly, and left them to their sandwiches, soup and packing.

As soon as I got home, I started to prepare for my visitors and then George drove them up when it was practically dark in a long-wheelbase Land Rover, together with all their baggage, a carton of perishable foodstuffs, and a huge plastic Santa sack full of wrapped presents.

George Froggat was a tall, well-built, middle-aged man with a mop of pale flaxen hair, a healthily pink face, sky-blue eyes, and an engaging grin. It was just as well that he was built on sturdy lines, because he had to lift Noël down and then he simply scooped Tilda up, carried her in and deposited her on the sofa by the fire in the sitting room.

He came back and shook hands and said he was very pleased to meet me, then helped carry everything else in. He wouldn’t stay for a hot drink, but just as he was going, he said, ‘Nearly forgot, here’s something from me and my family.’ Then he hauled out a Christmas tree bound with sacking from the back of the Land Rover and propped it in the porch.

‘Gosh, that’s almost as tall as I am!’ I exclaimed.

‘Aye, you’re a grand, strapping lass,’ he said approvingly, looking me up and down, then got back into the driving seat. ‘I’ll call in to see how things are going in the morning, or my boy Liam will, when we clear the drive.’

Tilda and Noël were still in the sitting room in front of the fire while Jess, looking martyred, was ferrying luggage upstairs in relays. I could hear the whine of the stairlift, so she wasn’t carrying all of it herself.

‘Would you like tea?’ I asked. ‘Or – maybe something stronger?’

‘Good idea! There’s whisky, gin and brandy in that little cabinet in the dining room, and glasses,’ Noël said.

‘I’m afraid I’ve finished off the brandy,’ I confessed, ‘and the cellar’s locked.’

‘Not surprised you needed it in this weather,’ Noël said. ‘And I’ve got the keys, all right. Jude leaves them with me when he’s away and there’s plenty more down there.’

‘Actually, the brandy was for the Christmas cake, I didn’t drink it.’

‘
That
should have been made months ago, I told you,’ Tilda piped up disapprovingly in her cut-crystal accent, from the depths of a sofa. Shaken up and bruised or not, she was wearing stiletto-heeled shoes and full makeup, despite being dressed only in a warm coat over her nightdress. I expect they made her feel more herself.

‘It smelled delicious when Holly took it out of the oven,’ Jess said. ‘And we hadn’t got one at all!’

‘I kept thinking Jude wouldn’t be away for Christmas, after all,’ Tilda said, ‘so I put off buying one. But there’s the Dundee cake in a tin that Old Nan always gives us at Christmas, I’ve brought that. Where did you put it, Jess darling?’

‘In the kitchen, with the other food and stuff.’

‘Really, this quick Christmas cake recipe comes out surprisingly well and I thought Jess might help me ice it later,’ I said.

‘Wonderful,’ Noël said, rubbing his hands together. ‘And we can go up into the attic and look out the decorations tomorrow.’ Then his face fell. ‘But I have forgotten, there is no tree. We put up a little artificial one for Jess, but we didn’t think to bring it.’

‘It’s all right, George left one as a gift in the porch,’ I said. ‘I thought it would be better left out there for the moment.’

‘Oh, jolly good! Is it a big one? That always goes in the corner over there by the stairs.’