by Caragh Bell
‘I promise, Maggie.’ James crossed his heart. ‘I won’t tell a soul.’
Maggie took a deep breath. ‘Well, back-along, the master was married for years to Lady Marcella. They got married when ’ee was only twenty or so. She was the daughter of the neighbourin’ Big ’Ouse, so it was all arranged. They were ’appy enough, don’t get me wrong. He ’ad his writin’ and she ’ad her ’orses, but then she got the cancer and she died.’
‘So, George and Seb are her children?’
‘Yep,’ she confirmed. ‘They were spoilt rotten all their lives. She doted on ’em, she did.’
‘What was Marcella like?’
Maggie frowned. ‘Not the warmest, I ’ave to say. She was bossy and had a short temper. She could’ve been nicer, let’s leave it at that.’
‘So, where did Henry meet Grace?’
‘Well, ’ee writes plays, ’ee does. You know that, my lovely. Grace was an actress ’erself – she could proper sing too. She was born in some small village in Ireland and when her parents passed on, she moved to London. It seems that she ’ad no family – she was all alone. Mr. Sinclair saw ’er play Salomé on stage and that was it, so they say.’
‘Salomé?’ queried James. ‘You mean, Oscar Wilde’s play?’
‘I do,’ said Maggie, sipping her coffee. ‘I read it afterwards. It’s about this woman who demands John the Baptist’s ’ead on a platter in return for a Dance of the Seven Veils.’
‘Wow,’ said James, impressed. ‘A master chef and a literary buff!’
‘Well, it was all the master could bleddy talk about: this Irish girl who had danced on stage with a voice like an angel. George and Seb were jumpin’, I can tell you. They didn’t want no incomer takin’ their money.’
‘Go on,’ urged James, fascinated.
‘Well, Grace were only twenty-five or so, just a young little thing and suddenly they were married. He brought ’er back ’ere and she was already with child. She was so bleddy sick. I remember making ’er ginger tea and wiping ’er brow.’
‘Was she nice?’
‘She was,’ Maggie paused, ‘but she were quiet. She seemed sad.’
‘Really? That doesn’t sound like someone newly married.’ James rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Maybe she wasn’t wild about being pregnant.’
‘Nope, that weren’t it. She wanted the baby. She would knit clothes and talk about the little ’un every day. She wanted the baby, as sure as the sun is in that there sky.’ Maggie sighed. ‘She ’ad melancholy, that’s what it was.’
‘So, how did she die?’ he pursued. ‘In this day and age of medical advancement?’
‘The baby was due to come in February or so. She wanted Aurora for a girl as it was a new year and a new beginning. Then, on New Year’s Eve it was, there was a big storm, far worse than last night. All the electricity went and it was just me and the missus – the master and the boys were on the way back from a party in London.’
James sat up, enthralled.
‘The lights went out and suddenly I could hear the missus calling and crying. I jumped like a mackerel and rushed upstairs. There I found ’er in a pool of blood on the ground. My ’eart nearly stopped beatin’, Master James, I can’t abear blood, you see. She was crying and callin’ out. I grabbed as many towels as I could and tried to stop the bleedin’. The phone was disconnected because of the storm so I was in a proper state, I was. I couldn’t leave ’er but she needed the doctor.’
‘What happened?’
‘Well, my brother Conny called over, only by chance, to see if the old generator out the back was workin’.’ Maggie made a Sign of the Cross. ‘It was a miracle, Master James. I couldn’t believe it when I saw ’im. I told ’im to run to the village and get Dr. Roberts and ’ee did, but by the time they came back, it was too late.’ Her face fell. ‘The missus ’ad died and the baby was in my arms.’
‘You delivered Aurora?’ he exclaimed in wonder.
‘I did. I pulled her from Grace and it was just in time.’
‘So, why did Grace die?’ James looked confused. ‘Why all the blood?’
‘She ’ad a ’aemorrhage, they said. It was amazin’ that Aurora survived at all. She was born on the stroke of midnight. The first baby of the year.’
‘What happened then?’
‘The master was inconsolable, ’ee was. ‘’Ee cut ’imself off from the world and I took care of the little ’un.’ Maggie’s face softened. ‘She’s like my own, Master James. I promised ’er mother that I would look after ’er and I ’ave.’
James took a deep breath. ‘That’s some story,’ he concluded.
‘You mustn’t mention it,’ she insisted, glancing at the door. ‘Nobody talks about it, do you ’ear? The master blames ’imself – he feels ’ee should’ve been ’ere and not at that party in London.’
‘I promise,’ he said solemnly. ‘Hand on heart.’
Aurora burst into the room at that moment, dressed in a fur-lined jacket and a woollen hat. Her eyes shone as she zipped the coat right up. ‘Are you ready?’ she said breathlessly.
‘I am,’ said James dutifully. ‘Let’s hit the beach.’ He put on his jacket and pulled a beanie over his dark hair.
Chapter Three
The waves crashed on the shore, sending short bursts of spray aided by the wind. Aurora had led him down the cliff path: a treacherous manmade trail over clumps of heather and natural gaps in the rocky surface. Beneath the majestic cliff there was a vast sandy beach which was isolated and untamed. James watched Aurora skip ahead and prance along the sea’s edge, narrowly avoiding the waves as they flooded the sand inches from her feet. Her long dark hair flowed in the wind as she had discarded her woolly hat. She screamed in delight as the sea almost caught her out and raised her arms up to embrace the gusts of wind as they whipped past her.
This was the first time he had seen her like this: young and carefree. It warmed his heart and he was reminded of a poem he had read once by WB Yeats about a child dancing in the wind. His old English teacher, Ms Manning, would be proud that he remembered. He could still see her reciting it at the top of the classroom, her glasses perched on her nose.
He didn’t know why but he wanted to help Aurora. Her obvious loneliness coupled with Maggie’s tale of her birth only added to his sense of duty. She had to be saved. Henry and Gloria’s marriage was on the cards and the sooner the better in his opinion. Aurora needed normality. He had heard Henry mention a tutor and boarding school last night. That had to be vetoed. Laura went to a good local school and was quite happy – why then should Aurora be different?
He had always been a sucker for the needy. Years ago, he had trudged into his mother’s kitchen with a bedraggled puppy he had found by the river’s edge. Gloria had been firm: under no circumstances was she taking on another dog. They had two already: Labradors called Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. He, however, embarked on a crusade to save the little terrier and, in the end, he succeeded. So, Bilbo the dog had joined the Dixon household, named for his tiny, hobbit-like size and in honour of James’ favourite book at the time.
A bitterly cold gust of wind caused him to pull his jacket tightly around him. Looking at his watch, he tried to calculate how long it would take to drive back to London. Maybe if they left soon, he could chance his arm at asking Rosie out for a drink as she left the caff after work. She liked him; he was pretty sure of that. He wasn’t vain but he knew that the opposite sex found him attractive. With his dark looks and athletic frame, he had never had a problem in the girlfriend department. Rosie was proving difficult, but that was because she had just broken up with her long-term boyfriend. It would just take time.
‘James!’ Aurora called breathlessly, twirling around and around. ‘Let’s try and run out as far as we can without getting wet! When the sea comes in, you have to run like mad to beat it.’
‘Are you crazy?’ he called back, laughing. ‘I only have one set of clothes.’
‘Scaredy cat!’ she taunted, her cheeks
glowing. ‘Freddie always plays this game.’
She looked so young and happy, he hadn’t the heart to refuse her.
‘Oh, okay,’ he conceded, joining her on the shoreline. ‘Right, let’s wait for the next backwash. Right now … Go!’
Henry and Gloria were in the drawing room when they got back. Aurora burst into the room with an animated face and told her father how James had fallen on the sand and a giant wave had washed over him.
‘He’s absolutely drenched!’ she said, laughing, her cheeks pink.
‘Again,’ James added drily from the door. ‘However, I don’t think the Aga will dry my things in time.’
‘Not to worry, son,’ said Henry, getting to his feet. ‘I’m sure Seb and George have some old clothes you could borrow. Back in a sec.’
Gloria ushered James down the hall to the warmth of the kitchen. ‘You’ll catch your death,’ she scolded. ‘It’s November, you know. Not July.’
James winked at Maggie, who was making bread, and mouthed, ‘Mothers!’
She wagged her dough-covered finger at him. ‘Now, now, Master James. No matter what age you are, mothers will always worry.’
‘Spot on,’ agreed Gloria. ‘Now, change your clothes, get your bag and we’ll depart.’
She closed the door of the kitchen and walked back to the drawing room. Aurora was standing by the fire, warming her hands. Gloria paused for a moment. She really was a stunning child. Henry had mentioned that she could sing like an angel, proudly telling the story of how she sang ‘Silent Night’in the local chapel the previous Christmas to rapturous applause.
‘Poor James,’ she said, resuming her seat on the chaise longue.
‘I hope you’re not cross,’ Aurora said in alarm. ‘It was my fault. I mean, I asked him to play. I didn’t know he was going to fall.’
‘Of course I’m not cross,’ Gloria assured her gently. ‘Not at all, in fact.’ She smiled warmly. ‘So, you must come and visit us in London,’ she added, changing the subject.
Aurora gasped. ‘London? I’ve never been there.’
‘Well, that settles it then. You must come and stay. Laura would love to meet you and there’s so much to do for a child of your age.’
‘Will James be there?’
Gloria smiled slightly. ‘I’ll tell him to call home to see you. Chances are he’ll pop in anyway to leave his bag of washing or fill up a box with food.’
Aurora beamed. ‘Shall I see the Queen?’
‘That I cannot guarantee, but you can see where she lives.’
James arrived back at that moment in a blue shirt, black pants and a tweed jacket. They were too small for his tall frame and he made a face.
‘Pretty cool, huh?’ he quipped. ‘This is all down to you, Borealis. You and your game.’
She giggled. ‘I think you look lovely.’
‘I’ve never worn tweed before,’ he reflected. ‘Maybe it’s a new look for me.’
Henry followed him into the room. ‘Right, I suppose you’d better be off,’ he said regretfully. ‘If you want to be back in London before dark.’
Aurora felt a rush of disappointment but she suppressed it. She knew they had to go. It was just that it felt like James had been around for ages. He had been such a novelty and now he had to go.
‘Goodbye, Aurora,’ said Gloria, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘See you soon, my darling girl.’
‘Goodbye,’ she said in a small voice.
Gloria linked arms with Henry and they vacated the room.
James regarded Aurora thoughtfully. ‘Did Mum mention a trip to London?’ he asked.
Aurora nodded. ‘Yes, she said I should come up. I might see the Queen!’
‘Yes, you might,’ he said, laughing. ‘Thanks for showing me the beach, even though you tripped me and I fell.’
‘I did not!’ she protested hotly. ‘You’re clumsy, that’s all.’
‘Whatever you say.’ He held out his hand. ‘Adios, Aurora Borealis Sinclair. Till we meet again.’
She shook his hand firmly and stared up at him. ‘Please come back,’ she said softly.
He nodded. ‘Of course I will. Mum needs a chauffeur. There’s no way she can drive all this way unchaperoned. Now come and wave us off.’
Chapter Four
‘Two weeks to Christmas, Freddie!’ Aurora hugged herself in delight. ‘Are you excited?’
‘Suppose,’ he answered. ‘If it means no school, I’m okay with that.’
They were on their weekly walk to the market at the village square. Maggie had given her a list of ingredients for dinner and strict instructions about which stall to visit.
‘Look for Ricky the fisherman, not Mike, do you ’ear me? I don’t want to pay through the nose for the ’alibut, I don’t.’
The frost had melted on the sunlit sections of the small road leading down from the cliff. In the shady areas, its white tinge still remained on the branches and bushes, giving a Narnia-like feeling to the children as they skipped along.
Freddie whistled a Shakira tune and pulled his fleecy hat down over his ears. ‘It’s bleddy cold, Sinclair. We best move faster.’
They increased their pace. Corey Jones passed in his ancient Land Rover and honked, waving madly. Freddie waved back and said in an undertone, ‘He owes me dad forty pounds. It’s no wonder he’s so friendly.’
Aurora giggled. ‘Has your father killed the turkeys yet?’ she asked, knowing that Conny had fifty birds ready for sale.
‘Not yet,’ said Freddie as they crossed the road. ‘Next week, I reckon. They ’ave to hang for a few days.’
Aurora shuddered. ‘Yuk! I can’t bear to think about it.’
‘You can bear to eat it though!’ he mocked.
‘I suppose.’ She blushed. ‘Daddy is taking one to London as a gift.’
‘So you’re going then?’
‘Yes. It was confirmed last night. We’ll spend Christmas and Boxing Day with the Dixons and then back here for the New Year.’
‘Your birthday,’ he finished.
‘Yes, my birthday,’ she repeated gloomily.
Freddie said nothing. Her lack of enthusiasm was only natural. Aurora’s birthday was also the anniversary of her mother’s death. It had always been bittersweet. More often than not, Henry would retire to his room with a bottle of cognac after Aurora had blown out the candles on her cake. Freddie always made sure that he was on hand to distract her. Together they would go to his house and play video games or watch a film. His own mother, Mary, would bake cookies and light the fire in the front room. Maggie would come later in the evening, have a cup of tea with her younger brother and his wife, and then take Aurora home.
‘Do you think they’ll get married?’ he enquired casually.
‘Who?’
‘Your dad and that woman.’
Aurora paused. ‘Maybe. They see each other a lot.’
‘Will she move down ’ere?’ Freddie kept his tone normal.
‘I expect so.’ Aurora brightened. ‘Maybe her children will come too. She has a daughter, you know. She’s called Laura. I can’t wait to meet her.’
Freddie felt his chest tighten. He didn’t want things to change. He liked life the way it was – just him and Aurora, best friends forever. Now, he would have to share her with those incomers. She constantly talked about someone called James. Freddie’s expression darkened. He didn’t want anyone invading his turf.
‘Look, who knows what will ’appen,’ he said then. ‘Grown-ups are weird. One minute they’re in love – the next, it’s all over. Look at Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake. I was sure they’d get married.’
They rounded the corner and onto the main square which was bustling and noisy.
‘Right, do you have the list?’ Freddie asked, all business.
Aurora nodded. ‘First, the bread stall.’
A man watched them from behind a telegraph pole. He wore a black hat and a grey cashmere scarf, his trench boat buttoned right up. All you could se
e were his eyes: his brown eyes fringed with dark lashes. He moved slightly as the girl headed in his direction. Her arms were laden down with bags full of bread and cheese. Her companion, a sandy-haired boy, brought up the rear, two parcels balanced on his right arm.
‘Let’s get a mug!’ Aurora squealed as they passed the hot-chocolate stall. ‘With marshmallows on top!’
Freddie put the shopping down on a low wall and counted out the change in his pocket. ‘I think we ’ave enough,’ he said. ‘Let me ’aggle with Antonia and see what she says.’ He ambled up to the red-haired lady serving the hot beverages and winked at her playfully. ‘Can you spare a couple for two freezin’ kids?’ he pleaded. ‘But we only ’ave enough for one.’
Antonia’s green eyes crinkled in amusement. ‘Go on then,’ she laughed. ‘You’re a right charmer, Freddie Thompson.’
He smiled broadly. ‘Marshmallows too if you can.’
‘Does your dad ’ave my turkey ready?’ she asked as the machine hissed and spluttered. ‘’Ee knows I want a big one this year?’
‘Yep,’ answered the boy.
‘With the giblets,’ she added.
Freddie nodded. ‘’Ee ’as a nice eighteen-pounder, ’ee does. I ’eard ’im talkin’ about it yesterday.’
Aurora turned around to gaze at the lace hanging from old Mrs. Stephens’ stall. Reaching out, she fingered it lightly, her brown eyes fixed on the toile design of the fragile cloth.
She didn’t notice the man staring intently at her face. She didn’t see him back away slowly, his face ashen. She didn’t even react when he fell backwards off the step, knocking over a bucket of ice by the fish stall.
‘Sinclair!’ called Freddie. ‘Come and drink up! We need to get back.’
Freddie’s mother Mary was emptying the tumble dryer when they arrived back to the farmhouse. Their kitchen was small and homely, with a large dresser in the corner filled with plates and books.
‘Where do all the socks go?’ she muttered to no one in particular. ‘Every bleddy time.’ Sighing, she rummaged around the drum of the machine, trying in vain to locate the second of a green pair.
