A Little Bit of Christmas Magic

by Kirsty Ferry

  It wasn’t long before Ailsa found herself yawning and the written words before her beginning to blur together. She shifted position in bed, and her eyelids fluttered. They fluttered again, and, before she even realised it, she was fast asleep, the book discarded on the bed next to her,

  It was the sound of the clock chiming twelve that woke her – but when she opened her eyes, she wasn’t in her bed, and it clearly wasn’t midnight that the clock was striking.

  Chapter Three

  CHRISTMAS PAST

  1864

  ‘What on earth …?’ whispered Ailsa. She was no longer in her bed, or even, it seemed, in her bedroom. Instead, she found herself standing almost exactly in the centre of another room – a drawing room, of all places. And she recognised it – oh yes, she recognised it, and she caught her breath as it struck her. This drawing room was definitely the drawing room of Carrick Park, but it certainly wasn’t the drawing room she was accustomed to.

  The furniture was all different, for a start; and there was a huge piano in front of the window with music neatly piled up on it – in a completely different place to where she was used to seeing the piano. A Christmas tree to rival the one by the staircase reached up almost to the ceiling – in fact, upon closer inspection, Ailsa noticed that it not only reached the ceiling, but the top six inches or so were bent over at a ninety-degree angle.

  Ailsa tilted her head to the left, slightly dazed at the sight. The candles stuck haphazardly onto the branches glittered in the bright, wintry light that streamed through the windows.

  ‘She has gone entirely overboard, hasn’t she?’ A man’s voice in her ear startled her and she jumped. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry – forgive me. I should have learned by now not to creep up on people.’ He sounded amused, and Ailsa spun around to face a man in his late twenties. His fair hair, dark brown eyes and bright smile were familiar, and she stared at him, trying to think where she had seen him before.

  ‘I can’t imagine where she gets all these decorations,’ the man continued. He waved his hands in the direction of the tree. ‘All those little sugared fruits and gilded walnuts. Nobody even likes walnuts! And those horrid little dolls!’ He walked over and tweaked a soft bodied, china-faced angel with silver wings from the tree. He stared at it for a moment or two and shook his head, before he tucked it back within the branches. Ailsa quite liked the angel – she didn’t deserve to be called horrid at all. ‘And of course, her German glass baubles. She always buys things from abroad that she thinks nobody else will have. Typical Lydia.’

  ‘Lydia?’ Ailsa found her voice and the man turned back to her.

  ‘Well of course it’s Lydia. I wouldn’t buy them. Christmas is about the people you spend it with, not how many gewgaws you have on the tree. And the mere fact the damn tree is too damn tall for the room – she swears she measured it up. She swears she got Ella to help her. I really don’t believe her.’

  Ailsa blinked. “Gewgaws”? And “Lydia”? And “Ella”? She noticed the man was wearing a waistcoat and tweedy-sort of trousers, and a white shirt with a wide lapel. ‘Of course,’ she said, faintly. ‘Gewgaws.’

  The man smiled and bowed slightly. ‘Forgive me – I should probably introduce myself. I’m Adam Carrick. Lydia, the one responsible for these decorations is as you know, my sister. And you, I believe are Ailsa Cavendish?’

  The fact that she was not Ailsa Cavendish, and was very much Ailsa McCormack, didn’t register for a second as her host’s name sunk in. ‘Adam Carrick!’

  Of course it was. Of course it was Adam Carrick. This man was the image of the small painting that had been hidden away for years in a dark corridor of the hotel. Becky Nelson, the author of the book Ailsa loved so much, had found a photograph of him, which had been taken around this time; thanks to that, Adam’s likeness in this forgotten watercolour had been recognised.

  ‘Yes – Adam Carrick – for my sins. I saw your husband earlier – I’m not sure where he went. I have no doubt that Lydia apprehended him and swept him away on a mission. I do apologise that I wasn’t here to greet you both. Ned wasn’t quite sure what time you would arrive.’

  Ailsa just stared at Adam Carrick. ‘Ned?’ she finally managed.

  ‘I know!’ Adam laughed, his brown eyes crinkling up at the corners as he shook his head. ‘He’s never been the best time-keeper, has he? He admits that he was even late for your wedding. I apologise that we weren’t there, although I know you wanted a quiet affair up in the Highlands. It would have helped, of course, had he told us you were getting married – but it was rather a whirlwind, wasn’t it? Still, as he told me, once you know, you know. He said it was as if you’d known each other forever. Lydia found that desperately romantic.’

  ‘Romantic,’ repeated Ailsa, knowing she must sound like an idiot. ‘Yes.’ She cleared her throat. ‘It was rather a whirlwind. It takes me by surprise even now, when I think about it.’ It was nothing but the truth.

  ‘Now, now!’ A more familiar voice carried across the room as the door was flung open. ‘Stop casting aspersions on my character!’ And Ned Cavendish – looking very much at home here in Adam Carrick’s drawing room – strode across the floor and caught Ailsa around the waist. He spun her around to face him and she stumbled, quickly realising she was encased in something that restricted her ribcage in a most uncomfortable manner and most definitely restricted her movement.

  From her hips, she felt the swinging weight of a hooped skirt, wider at the back than it was at the front. For a moment, ridiculous as it seemed, Ailsa worried that she would be expected to sit down in this outfit, and had no idea how to accomplish it.

  Ned leaned down as if he was going to kiss her. He was completely dressed for the part of Victorian country gentleman, as if he had just stepped out of the pages of a picture book, right down to the overcoat and cravat, a top hat tossed carelessly on to the chair as he walked in. He was, Ailsa realised with a little thrill, clean shaven which made his face even more sculptured and striking; but his hair was still as unruly as it had been in the Carrick Park she knew best. If this was a dream, good grief, he was welcome to be in it.

  ‘How else could I get you here, decently, if not by pretending we were married?’ he whispered, very close to her.

  ‘Ned—’ she began in a low, shaky voice.

  ‘Shhh,’ he whispered. ‘We’re newly-weds.’ And then he did kiss her, swiftly and firmly and as if he meant it. ‘You wanted to see them. You wanted to see how they lived. Look – here’s Ella. Tell me that she’s not the most beguiling creature you’ve ever seen? Tell me you understand completely why Adam repaired that angel fountain for her?’ He pulled away, but left his arm around her waist, turning her slightly so she was facing the door.

  As if on cue, two bundles of energy burst into the room; two young women looking more like sisters than best friends, laughing at some shared joke. Both were tall and slim; both had golden, intricately styled hair. One of the girls had the most startlingly cornflower-blue eyes that Ailsa had ever seen, beyond the Landseer portrait on the Carrick Park staircase.

  ‘Ella! Lydia! Please – our guests!’ Adam Carrick had spoken, his voice warm and his gaze only for the girl with the blue eyes. ‘We have just been admiring your Christmas tree. What went wrong?’ He pointed to the tree-top, and two pairs of eyes followed his fingertip. One pair of eyes, the cornflower-blue ones, slid back to him, and focused firmly on his face. ‘I think it’s a little too tall,’ Adam continued.

  The girl with the blue eyes smiled, a little blush creeping across her cheeks, but she didn’t speak.

  ‘It was Ella’s fault,’ replied the girl with brown eyes, far too smartly. ‘She misread the measurements.’

  ‘Lydia, I don’t think it was Ella’s fault,’ said Adam. ‘Tell the truth.’

  ‘Lydia!’ The blue-eyed girl transferred her attention to the other girl. ‘Did you blame me? You’re the one who wrote the measurements down! I’m sure you didn’t write exactly what I told you.’


  ‘Oh, all right.’ Lydia shrugged. ‘I admit it, I added a tiny bit on to the measurements you gave me.’ She demonstrated by holding her finger and thumb a small way apart. ‘I thought the room was bigger than you said.’

  ‘I tried to take into account that you would have to use a pot or a stand. So of course I told you it was smaller than it was. But you didn’t believe me.’ Ella – for this had to be her – looked at Ailsa and smiled shyly. ‘I promise I am not as stupid as you may think. Despite the fact that she had me standing on a chair with a measuring tape in my hand for quite some time.’

  ‘I never thought you were stupid,’ said Ailsa, hardly believing that she was talking to Lady Eleanor Carrick. But of course, she wasn’t Lady Eleanor Carrick, was she? She wasn’t married to Adam. Ailsa had read the book dozens of times; she knew Ella’s story. At this point in time, wherever she was in time, this girl was plain Ella Dunbar. She’d never had a Christmas as Lady Eleanor Carrick. She’d married in the September of 1865 and had died in November of that year. So this had to be before that – Ailsa took a wild guess at 1864. Perhaps. It would do for now, anyway.

  Ella’s eyes widened a little, then she smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said, simply.

  ‘Oh!’ Lydia interrupted, putting her hand on Ella’s arm to get her attention. ‘We haven’t even introduced ourselves, have we?’ She curtsied, very prettily, to Ailsa. ‘I’m Lydia, Adam’s sister. This is my dearest friend in all the world, Eleanor Dunbar. But we all call her Ella. You, well, you simply must be Ailsa, Ned’s wife. I’m so sorry it’s taken so long to meet you – we kept asking and asking Ned, all through the summer, and he promised he’d bring you to see us. And then he had the audacity to marry you, all in secret, before we could do that – and now!’ She flung her arms wide, a smile on her face. ‘Now, we finally have the chance. Thank you for coming to us for Christmas. Ned always comes and we couldn’t have done it without him. We are so utterly pleased to have you. I did ask our cousin Jacob as well, but he can’t come. He has commitments elsewhere apparently. So you, darling Ailsa, will have all our attention and we’ll soon have you as much a part of our family as Ned here.’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Ailsa, not really sure what else she could say. She knew nothing about why she was apparently in Carrick Park, sometime circa 1864. She was pretty certain she was dreaming and she’d wake up in the morning – Christmas morning – in her narrow little bed in the staff quarters of the hotel and find out she’d returned to real life and she had a wedding to supervise. However, despite the strangeness of the situation, she found herself relieved that she wouldn’t have to face Cousin Jacob – if ever something was destined to make the situation even more uncomfortable and more weird, it would be sharing a turkey with the man who still had such a dark reputation, over one hundred and fifty years after he’d lived. She wasn’t a good actress and she couldn’t pretend she knew absolutely nothing. She couldn’t—

  ‘I’ll help you,’ murmured Ned, as if he’d read her mind. ‘Just go with it for now.’ In a louder voice, he responded to Lydia’s speech. ‘Thank you, Lydia. As always, you are a wonderful hostess, and I’m enchanted to be here.’

  He swept a low, courtly bow to Lydia and she put her hands over her mouth and giggled. ‘Oh Ned! Stop it,’ she demanded. ‘But honestly – what do you think of my tree?’

  ‘Your tree?’ asked Ned. ‘Well, my darling, I think it’s very – you. It’s the biggest one yet, I think.’

  ‘Ned Cavendish!’ she shrieked. ‘You horror!’

  Lydia looked so shocked, that Ailsa couldn’t help smiling. She was exactly how Ailsa had always imagined Lydia to be. Ailsa cast a glance over to Ella. Ella was looking at Lydia, her eyes travelling between her friend and Ned as she followed the conversation. And Adam, God bless him, had eyes only for Ella Dunbar.

  ‘Oh – has anyone shown you to your rooms yet?’ asked Lydia, suddenly addressing Ailsa. ‘We’ve been busy with the decorations, so I’m afraid I don’t know myself what is happening.’

  ‘No.’ Ailsa shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know where I’m sleeping at all.’ That, again, was the truth.

  Ned took Ailsa’s hand and smiled at Lydia. ‘My wife and I haven’t been here very long ourselves, so we’re not at all worried that we haven’t been shown to our rooms yet. All in good time.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ replied Lydia. ‘Allow me to rectify it, though. Please – take a seat and I’ll ring for someone.’

  She indicated a couch and Ailsa hesitated for a moment – she was going to have to sit, wasn’t she? She just hoped that she could manage by perching on the edge of the thing. She had an image of the brides she had met over the years who had insisted on full-skirted creations, and recalled that, after seeing their struggles, she had promised herself that, should she ever get married, she would go for something straighter. Asking for help to go to the loo wasn’t something she ever wanted to do on her own wedding day, and goodness knows she’d had to do her fair share of bridesmaid herding and toilet door guarding so the girls could answer the call of nature.

  Ailsa walked slowly over to the seat and sat carefully on the edge as she had anticipated. She hoped she’d managed it elegantly enough and flashed a look at Ned, who quickly looked away, trying to hide a smile.

  Lydia hurried over to the bell-pull and Ella stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, following her friend’s movements, until Adam appeared and took her by the arm.

  ‘Come along,’ he said. ‘I think I know where you’d prefer to sit.’

  He began to lead her to the piano and Ella resisted him, casting a worried look at Ailsa. ‘Oh no. I’m sure Ailsa doesn’t want to hear me play anything.’

  ‘I’m sure she does,’ said Adam. ‘It’s Christmas Eve and we always have music from you on Christmas Eve. Bach’s Christmas Oratorio, or some carols—’

  ‘Carols?’ Ailsa couldn’t help herself. ‘I thought you played Mozart!’ Adam stopped and turned, forcing Ella to turn with him so they were both looking at Ailsa. Ailsa’s cheeks burned as she realised she’d been talking to the girl’s back – very impolite in any situation, but especially in this one.

  Adam, however, smiled encouragingly and continued the conversation smoothly. ‘Oh, we do enjoy Mozart at Carrick Park, don’t we Ella? I swear, it’s difficult to get her to play anything else.’

  ‘Almost impossible,’ chimed in Lydia, who had appeared at Ailsa’s side again. She threw herself onto the sofa next to her and made an altogether better job of it than Ailsa had done in her flouncy frock. ‘Ella is so absolutely stubborn, we can’t change her mind at all.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ replied Ella with a laugh. ‘I just prefer Mozart, that’s all.’ She looked at Ailsa and smiled shyly. ‘If you want me to, I’ll play Mozart. If you don’t, I’ll play something for Christmas. Or I needn’t play at all. I would hate you to feel as if you had to be polite and listen to me. I’m rather terrible anyway.’

  She tried to tug her arm away from Adam, who pulled her even closer and shook his head. ‘You’re a liar,’ he said. ‘You’re the best musician I’ve ever come across.’

  The love was shining from his eyes and Ailsa bit her lip.

  She could weep for this pair, she really could, dreaming or not. ‘Some carols would be lovely,’ she managed, and smiled at Ella.

  Ella blushed and looked at her feet, then back up at Ailsa. ‘All right. But only one or two – I get more and more rusty every year with them. I forget—’ She cut herself off and smiled, then nodded. ‘All right.’ She disconnected herself from Adam and turned decisively, picking up her skirts and hurrying over to the piano. Ailsa knew she had been going to say something along the lines of how she forgot what the carols sounded like and she felt dreadful for her.

  ‘Well I must say, it’ll be nice to have a change,’ said Lydia. ‘Did Mozart do anything for Christmas? Now that would be interesting to find out.’ She tapped her fingers against her chin thoughtfully, clearly not expecting an answer
.

  Ailsa felt Ned’s hand on her shoulder and he squeezed it reassuringly. ‘You’re doing well,’ he whispered as he stood behind her.

  She turned and looked up at him. ‘I can’t do this!’ she muttered. ‘What if I trip myself up? I’ve seen enough. They’re obviously very happy. Can we go back now?’

  Ned shook his head. ‘No. But just listen – isn’t that wonderful?’

  The first few notes of Silent Night were tentatively breaking the silence as Ella found her way around the melody for the first time in a year. She frowned and seemed to be concentrating on the piano, then all of sudden the simple tune soared and took flight, and Ailsa was entranced. The music gave way to a version of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear, and finally died off into the richness of O Holy Night. Ailsa hardly dared to breathe. She knew those notes would haunt her forever.

  Ella laid her hands on the keys, her cheeks even more pink as the recital ended. She glanced up at Adam who had, at some point, taken to leaning on the piano, as close to his angel as he could possibly get, and then her blue eyes swept across the audience and settled on Ailsa.

  ‘Was that all right?’ she asked. ‘It’s so long since I played those, I never know if I’m still doing them correctly.’

  ‘You are astounding,’ said Ailsa, staring at her in awe. ‘I’ve never heard those songs played so beautifully.’

  ‘Oh! Thank you.’ Ella smiled, genuinely astonished at the praise.

  ‘And considering Ella hasn’t heard them for so long, we must applaud her.’ Lydia, jumped to her feet whilst clapping, quite unabashed at the words she had just spoken.

  Ailsa gawped at her, wondering at the audacity of her hostess, embarrassed on Ella’s behalf, but then she heard a laugh and looked across to see Ella shaking her head prettily.

  Ella threw her arms out to the side and grinned at Ailsa. ‘It’s very true. You never know what you’ll end up with at Christmas. Which is why I prefer my Mozart. I know where I am with him.’