The Christmas Songbird

by Emma Hardwick

  Ashwood remained unconvinced. After his antics earlier in the woods anyone can see the man’s mad.

  “I will have the cooks working all night, Sarge,” said Thomas gently, “but now we need to bunk down for the evening. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Before the soup for the first course was served, Thomas helped the Sid out of his seat and led him up to his bedroom. Ashwood hid a relieved smile behind his napkin, pretending to dab at his lips. David shared in Peter’s thankfulness that the strange man was gone.

  “Father, what were you thinking when you invited Sergeant Payne along for the weekend? I have to say his behaviour worries me.”

  Max noted the concern in David’s voice. Ashwood took this as the cue to air his views on the matter.

  “The man clearly thinks that he is still in the army. Has anyone considered putting him into an asylum? He is not in his right mind. What if he gets another gun and goes on a rampage again? The man’s a menace.”

  Peter hoped that Jenkins had locked the gun cupboard and made a note to check himself after the meal.

  “That’s enough,” answered Max. “If he were in his right mind, I would have left him at The Songbird, but we can all see he’s not fit to be left alone for too long. Yes, he struggles at times, but he is a decorated soldier who has fought for his country. He deserves respect for that, not ridicule, Peter.”

  “Thomas seems to have taken a keen interest in the fellow,” commented Ashwood.

  “Yes, he has,” Max replied. “I think at the moment, Thomas is the only person who is capable of making Sergeant Payne feel safe.”

  “What on earth is wrong with him? You saw him in the woods earlier, Max.”

  “That is how a lot of men return from war, Peter. Their minds are broken by the horrors they see.”

  “But not all, Max. He must have been a fragile person to begin with. Weak of mind all his life no doubt?” countered Peter.

  “When he arrived at The Songbird a few days ago, he was perfectly fine. He got a bit confused when he saw the elephant at the docks, took him back to his time in India, I suppose. Then Lee Ting-Chong almost blew up the building with one of his fireworks. The shock of hearing the blast triggered a flashback. Sid thought that he was on the battlefield again and reacted in the same manner as he would leading a hundred men. He had a stand-off on the stairs with the Chinaman thinking it was another attack.”

  “See! The man’s mad.”

  “Sergeant Payne led one hundred men at the Battle of Ali Masjid,” defended Max.

  “There were only sixteen deaths in that battle,” countered Ashwood. “It was hardly a slaughter.”

  “You are right Peter. There were very few deaths, but unfortunately, his son was one of the sixteen. He was mortally wounded with a gunshot to the belly. The lad died in his father’s arms. That’s why he comforted Thomas this afternoon. It all came flooding back.”

  Madeleine and David watched Ashwood become remorseful, ashamed of his lack of sympathy for Sid’s situation. He stared down at the table, unable to look anyone in the eye.

  “It was a hellish time for him, Peter. He couldn’t work as a soldier after that. Swiftly discharged, surplus to requirements. Scrapped as easily as an old tugboat. Being in the army was his lifelong ambition, and it ended horribly. He lost his mind for a while, but when he regained his sanity, he told me that he never wanted to kill another man’s son ever again. He felt terrible for encouraging his lad to enter military service. His wife never forgave him, saying Sid had as good as killed their beloved boy himself.”

  “Max, I must apologise for my thoughtlessness.”

  “There is no need to apologise, only a need to understand, Peter. A little kindness in life goes a long way. He will be as right as rain in a few days, I’m sure. All he needs is a few days rest—something I thought he would have got here, but alas it seems not.”

  Thomas returned to the dining room.

  “All’s well. Sid fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Worn out with all the excitement of the shoot, poor fellow. That soup looks lovely, Mr Jenkins, I’d love a bowlful!”

  As soon as the meal was finished, the young, privileged and ashamed Ashwood bade goodnight to his guests and left them sitting by the crackling fireplace in the parlour. Madeleine and Thomas turned in soon after.

  David studied his father closely. It was the first time in years that they were spending time away from the business. Max was always kind and generous, but today David had seen his soul. Max had identified with Sergeant Payne’s heartbreak and he wondered what his father had experienced that caused him to relate so well. Most men would have reacted like Ashwood and written Sid off as an imbecile.

  “Kocham cię synu,” muttered a sentimental Max in his native Polish tongue.

  “I love you too, Papa.”

  David stood up and patted Max fondly on the shoulder then retired to his bedroom, where he would spend a sleepless night. He thought back to the love Maika had for Max and knew he felt the same way about Suzanna. She is the one. He was in a terrible quandary, wondering if he should go to Italy and ask Suzanna to be his wife, or let her be to follow her professional dream as they agreed. Until dawn, he tossed and turned, still unsure of the answer.

  19

  Monique reappears

  It would be Sunday morning before Monique emerged from her bedroom. Peter Ashwood was incensed by her rude behaviour, and he was decidedly cool when she appeared at the breakfast table. As usual, she looked sophisticated and beautiful. She also looked as frosty as the ground outside. To make matters worse, he had overheard a heated conversation between his fiancée and her maid. The diva reprimanded the girl for agreeing to stay in the suite and said if she was shamed by her again, she would make sure Max had her dismissed from The Songbird.

  Max noticed the lover’s tiff seemed to have worsened and wondered what had happened over the past couple of nights. It seems like Ashwood might break the engagement off? Monique never would, not while she can still bask in more male attention.

  “Please meet me in my study, Monique,” Peter growled.

  Monique hated being summoned, and her customary feeling of defiance took hold of her. She knew her absence had offended Peter. No one believed a mere headache could incapacitate a determined woman like her for two whole days. Her mind was searching for ways to pacify the man. Although I don’t love him, being seen with an English aristocrat keeps me in the papers at least.

  “I bought this dress, especially for you,” she said with a smile, twirling provocatively before him.

  Peter looked at her, and he felt himself fill with disgust thinking she could win him over with such empty flattery after publicly shunning his guests since they arrived.

  “Peter, mon cher! There is a problem, oui?”

  She tried to run her hand down the lapel of his jacket as a sign of affection, her big blue eyes staring up at him defiantly.

  “What is bothering you, mon amour?”

  “You are bothering me, Monique. Your behaviour is unacceptable.”

  “I was so sick I could not leave my bed. You must believe me.”

  He could tell she was trying to manipulate him, as she was whining in the little girl voice that she used when she wanted something from him.

  “Have you considered a date for our wedding yet?” asked Peter, wanting to get her on the hook and reel her in, just like he planned.

  “Oh, my angel, is that what concerns you? How sweet. Unfortunately, I have not considered a date yet. As you know, I am so busy at the moment. I have no time to think. I will come back to you in the New Year. How exciting it will be to get married in the spring of a new century.”

  “I want to travel to France and meet your parents.”

  Monique stopped her coy behaviour.

  “Why? What do you want with them?” she snapped.

  “Out of respect, I cannot marry their daughter without their knowledge or their blessing.”

  Monique loo
ked at him and pouted.

  “That is impossible. Mama is ill, and Papa is abroad in Saigon.”

  “Are you quite sure of that?”

  “Of course I am. I received a letter from my mother last week.”

  “We don’t need to leave immediately, Monique. How about we visit France early in the new year?”

  “I will be busy. You know how many bookings I have in the coming months. You have to consider my career. I have worked very hard to get to where I am in life. I can’t just waltz off.”

  “Sit down, Monique, because what I am going to tell you may come as a shock.”

  For once, she obliged him without arguing.

  “I wrote a letter to the De La Marre’s a few weeks ago. I had it delivered directly to the chateau where your parents live.”

  Monique started to turn the enormous diamond engagement ring around and around on her finger.

  “I received a letter back—”

  He waited before he dropped the bombshell.

  “—They don’t know who you are. The couple has four sons and no daughters.”

  “That is a lie!” she protested.

  “After that, I wrote a letter to every family I could find with the same surname, and none of them had heard of you except for the last woman that replied by telegram late yesterday evening.“

  He took a deep breath, then revealed the gist of the message.

  ”One of her servants had a child named ‘Monique’. The woman’s husband had impregnated a maid. Of course, he never admitted to it, the shame would have been too great. Much to the woman’s disgust, her husband continued his affair with your mother and Madam De La Marre had to be satisfied with her husband’s mistress living on the property.”

  “Peter you are making a grave mistake. You are accusing me of being an imposter. How dare you do that?” she screeched at him.

  “The thing is, it did not matter to me, Monique.”

  “You would never have accepted me if you knew that first. I would not have been good enough for your family. Your parents would have chosen someone else from another blue-blooded family for you,” the prima donna yelled.

  “I was in love with you, your voice, your stage presence, the confident woman who appeared in public, wowing the crowd. You could have been born in Whitechapel, and I would have loved and accepted you. Look how Marie Lloyd rose from being a factory girl to the highest-paid female performer in Britain. Without a big house like this to run, she’s probably wealthier than me! I promise you, your lineage would have made no difference. My family are not averse to new money.”

  Monique was horrified her lie had been discovered.

  “I would have admired your determination and prowess, from nothing to a famous singer in the best theatre in London,” he said wearily. “But that has come at a price. You have been happy to walk over everyone else to secure that position—including me.”

  “You cannot do this. I will ensure that the message reaches the social columns in the newspaper that I left you because you philandered.”

  “The men running the newspapers accept other men philandering. A quick word from me and the story will vanish without a trace. No one will care, Monique. Not in this day and age. I have witnessed your terrible behaviour towards people, Madeleine and Max in particular, and I don’t want to marry you anymore. Your beauty and your voice are not enough.”

  “I will make you pay for this, Peter. Nobody treats me like this and gets away with it.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, my dear. I know that you are vicious and love to crush anyone that stands in your way.”

  “Our paths will cross again, and you will be sorry that you ever met me.”

  Monique ripped the diamond off her finger and threw it at Peter. It bounced across the floor and lay at his feet. He gave her a snide look and kicked it back towards her.

  “Keep it, my dear. One day you will need the money.”

  Monique was proud and held her ground to start with, but her greed got the better of her once again. She sunk to her knees in front of him and picked up the ring.

  “I am already sorry that I met you. All you were interested in was my family name and my fortune. You never loved me.”

  “Pffft! I wanted to marry well! What is wrong with that? Do you expect me to live like a peasant for the rest of my life? You do not know what it is to be poor.”

  “No, I don’t, but I do know what it is like to be honourable.”

  “Do you know the phrase, Peter, that ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’?” spat Monique.

  “Yes, I do Monique, and I also know that ‘heaven has no sorrow like love turned to hate.’”

  Peter had her pack immediately, then he sent her to the station to catch the afternoon train back to London. He asked Jenkins to put her in a second class compartment, taking amusement in reminding her that this time she could travel with all the common folk she despised.

  20

  The return to London

  Later in the afternoon, Peter provided Max and his party with his best coach so they would arrive at the station in good time. Alas, when they spoke to the master, they discovered that the last train to London had been cancelled and no services would be available the following morning. Other than some sighs at the inconvenience, there were no real complaints.

  The group walked to the high street and found a small hotel that could accommodate them for the night. The owner and his wife, the Maxwells, were cheerful people and happy to make them a bar snack even at that late hour. Sat in the dining room, they enjoyed a simple meal of boiled gammon, potatoes and peas, with a blob of parsley butter gently melting over it. After they had eaten, Mrs Maxwell moved them to the parlour, where they sat comfortably enjoying the peace of their surroundings.

  The landlady was worried that they were still hungry. Swept up in the Christmas spirit, she supplied a plate of mince pies, gently warmed and dusted with icing sugar. Even though the dinner had been satisfying, they could not resist them. Afterwards, they drank cups of hot cocoa and stared into the firelight.

  David’s mind was far away. What more did a man need? Here they were, in a humble hotel with basic facilities, and yet they were satisfied. Life at The Songbird was stressful in comparison. He thought about Suzanna, and the simple life they could have together in Italy, living the life more of a travelling musician rather than a theatrical promoter. It did seem rather tempting. He wondered when he might broach the subject in one of the letters he promised to send her.

  Sergeant Payne was back to his usual self after a relaxing walk with Max earlier in the day, and all signs of the soldier in him had disappeared. He could not remember what had happened over the last few days, just that he felt mentally and physically exhausted. From experience, Sid knew that when he entered that darkened state with no recall of events, he usually behaved strangely. He felt embarrassed and foolish in front of his new friends and his slumped position in his chair showed it.

  “Stop slouching, Sid,” said Max with a chuckle, “You’re in good company. We care about you. That business in the wood, and the fight with Lee, it’s all forgotten.”

  “Thank you for looking after me, Max.”

  “It is my pleasure. Do you remember when you saved me, all those years ago? David and I would have starved too if it wasn’t for you.”

  In the two chairs opposite, Thomas and Madeleine had struck up a conversation and were chatting away. Max ever the romantic, took note of the budding friendship and vowed to keep an eye on the pair when they returned to the theatre.

  The front doorbell tinkled, and Madeleine heard voices. She stood up and looked out of the window. The girl beckoned the others over. Mr Maxwell was offering a group of carols singers a glass of mulled wine each, the steam rising up into the night sky. They were dressed in thick dark-coloured coats accompanied by woolly scarves, shawls, hats and gloves to protect them in the freezing night. Some of the men had the lanterns hanging from long poles, with cre
amy-white candles glowing inside the frosted glass. Max watched as they huddled together and wrapped their hands around the cups to get some warmth into their cold fingers. Mrs Maxwell dashed out with another tray of warmed mince pies.

  When they had finished their refreshments, they held their lanterns aloft and began singing again. The beautiful sound of Silent Night drifted through the crisp air. Max felt tearful. He knew the song well, having first encountered it in its native German: Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht.

  David stood next to his father and saw his eyes begin to moisten. The old man blinked hard to keep control.

  “What is it, Papa?” David asked softly.

  “Nothing my son. Nothing to spoil this wonderful night with.”

  “You are rarely melancholy especially at Christmas, Papa. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

  “Ah, David, this joyous carol has brought back memories that I would rather forget.”

  By now, the music was fading and everyone in the room was listening to their conversation. They felt for Max. It was clear the song had had a marked effect upon him.

  Max walked back to his seat and sat down slowly. He had a moment or two decide whether to reveal his secret. For years he kept the past from David, never wanting his son to suffer the same pain that he had. Perhaps now is the time to tell my boy the truth.

  They all sat looking lovingly at Max. Nobody made demands upon him. There was no need to explain himself, yet the old man closed his eyes, travelling back in time to memories as vivid as if they had just happened. As he spoke, his Polish accent became a little richer.

  “It was 1860, David, and I remember your mother clearly. She was the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen on the streets of ‘Varshavah’—err, I mean Warsaw. It was early spring,” he continued. “I cannot forget the blue dress that she was wearing. It was the colour of cornflowers, and the collar was made out of delicate white lace. I was walking behind her when she stopped to look at in a bookshop window.”