Breakfast at Midnight

by Fiona MacFarlane

CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas’

  The week before Christmas passed slowly, as if time itself was dragging its broken feet. During this period, Hobart homes were filled with the delicious aromas of festive season cooking, evocative of childhood days, houses and Christmas trees were adorned, and Christmas cards, in all their abundance or scarcity, were being carefully arranged on mantelpieces, or in Louisa Wentworth’s case, anywhere where they were likely to be seen.

  On the day before Christmas, when expectations were running high, the spare rooms at Wintersleigh were fitted up for the guests, and as family tradition dictated, Christmas presents were wrapped, the house was decorated with colourful wreaths of flowers, and last, but not least, the Wentworth family Christmas tree was erected in the drawing room. Thanks to Frances, Louisa and Agnes, the tree was soon draped with rope garlands of tinsel, iridescent glass beads, gossamers, gelatine candy ornaments, silver and gilt paper stars and leaves, coloured candles attached with spring clips, and a myriad collection of coloured diaphanous ornaments. As a final touch, and at Agnes’s insistence, pieces of cotton were placed along the tree limbs, to simulate snow. By the time the guests arrived at Wintersleigh on Christmas Eve, the house was glowing with light from the gasoliers in each room, and from the candlelight on the Christmas tree, playing gently about the ornaments.

  Outside Wintersleigh’s entrance, servants were unloading the luggage and parcels from the Brearly’s carriage, and were going back and forth into the house like pendulums in a clock shop. As the guests made their way inside, they were hospitably greeted by Louisa who, having discarded her usual black attire for the festive occasion, was dressed in an evening gown of silver grey silk, with low set balloon sleeves. Her hair was dressed the way she always wore it.

  To the hum of conversation and blithe cries of, ‘Merry Christmas!’ Louisa and Agnes led the Brearly brothers, a sailor suit clad Jack, and his immaculately, almost clinically dressed father, Thomas Maycroft, into the drawing room. Agnes, on this night, was attired elegantly in daffodil satin, with long matching gloves, and while the colour tended to drain the colour from her face, no-one, particularly the gentlemen, seemed to notice it. They were too busy showering her with compliments.

  To his own mind, however, George had his eyes more pleasingly engaged on the tall figure of Miss Norwood, who was wearing a unique and very becoming velvet gown, accompanied by a long flowing caftan of beige-coloured cloth. Unbeknownst to him, she was wearing a Liberty tea gown, which was all the rage amongst some women in Melbourne’s artistic circles. Frances’s mass of golden hair was also beautifully dressed, and was bundled at the nape of her neck with several dainty clips, except for several strands of curly hair that were allowed to hang down the sides of her face.

  ‘Well, well,’ George cried, transferring his gaze to the others around him, ‘don’t we all look fetching this evening?’ Nobody answered. ‘Yes, very fetching indeed!’ He returned his attention to Frances. ‘We should have Christmas more often, don’t you think, Miss Norwood?’

  ‘Not at all, Mr Brearly,’ she replied cordially, ‘once a year is more than enough.’

  George grinned and turned towards his diminutive nephew. ‘And what about you, Jack, my little whipper snapper?’ he probed. ‘You’re looking awfully grand in that sailor suit.’

  ‘Daddy doesn’t like it,’ Jack whined.

  ‘What?’ George cried. ‘What rubbish!’ He leaned over and began tickling Jack under the arms. ‘You’re the best looking guest here tonight,’ he declared, ‘except for me, of course.’ He stopped tickling the giggling Jack, and looked up at the tall and distinctive figure of his brother-in-law, Thomas Maycroft. ‘What’s the matter, Tommy?’ George queried. ‘Don’t like the sailor suit?’

  Thomas adjusted his spectacles and glanced derisively at George through them. ‘Not especially, no.’ He then plunged his hands into his trousers and looked away.

  George sensed the undercurrents of hostility from Thomas, and he decided to remain silent. He had never much liked his haughty, scholarly brother-in-law, and as he studied Thomas’s oiled hair, manicured moustache and gleaming shoes, he prudently decided to change the subject.

  ‘Let’s go and sit down next to Miss Norwood,’ he suggested to Jack, and sweeping his blonde-headed nephew up into his arms, he carried him over to where a smiling Frances was now sitting.

  ‘But why?’ Jack cried.

  ‘Because Miss Norwood is sitting all by herself near the window, and she looks as though she could do with some company.’

  ‘But I don’t want to sit over there,’ Jack declared sullenly.

  ‘Where do you want to sit then?’

  ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘You’re going home soon, Jack,’ George explained, easing himself into a nearby armchair. He then placed Jack on his lap. ‘Until then, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to put up with us.’

  ‘I’m hungry!’ Jack then protested. ‘When are we having dinner?’

  ‘You had better ask your Auntie Louisa,’ George said, with a sigh of exasperation.

  ‘When can I eat?’ Jack called out rudely.

  Louisa had just settled herself by the drawing room window, and looked up at Jack in surprise. ‘You have only just got here, Jack,’ she said reprovingly. ‘Dinner will not be served for some time yet.’

  ‘But I’m hungry,’ Jack whined, rubbing his eyes, ‘I’m hungry and I want to eat now!’

  For some time no-one in the room knew what to do. Thomas, it appeared, seemed little concerned with his son’s deteriorating behaviour, and was content to sit back in his chair and stroke his moustache. Frances, whose patience had already come to an end, was tempted to remove the child from the room, but it wasn’t her child, thankfully, and she decided not to interfere.

  It was Agnes, however, who eventually came to everyone’s rescue. She promptly removed Jack from George’s lap, and held him lovingly in her arms. She then suggested to him that they go and hunt for the chocolates she had hidden throughout the house. Jack’s eyes instantly lit up, and in the next moment, he was jumping up and down with irrepressible elation—Agnes hadn’t really hidden chocolates around Wintersleigh, but she vowed to reward him for his searching.

  ‘Well, I’ll be in that!’ George proclaimed, rising quickly to his feet. ‘Anything’s got to be better than sitting around here and making polite conversation.’

  Agnes glowered. ‘Oh, no you won’t, George. You had your chance. Jack is coming with me.’

  George placed both hands on his hips. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Agnes snarled, ‘you’re allegedly intelligent. Work it out for yourself.’

  ‘There’s no supposing about it,’ George heatedly retaliated, ‘I am intelligent.’

  ‘Well if that’s so,’ Agnes quipped, ‘explain to me then why you abandoned your university studies.’

  George looked desperately towards Michael. ‘I, I can explain!’

  ‘I’m leaving now,’ Agnes announced. ‘This is no place for a child.’ She stared stonily at George as she accentuated this last word. She then kissed Jack lovingly on the forehead, and swept triumphantly out of the drawing room.

  When Agnes closed the door behind her, the room was immersed in a seemingly impenetrable silence. In addition to this, each occupant in the room was regarding George with censorious stares. To hide his discomfiture, George lowered himself onto the sofa.

  ‘Is this true?’ Michael finally asked. ‘You’re no longer studying?’

  George began to squirm about in his chair. ‘I, I think I might attempt a hasty escape at this point.’

  ‘Stay where you are, George,’ Louisa warned. ‘Your brother wants an explanation, as we all do. Are you, or are you not, studying?’

  George began chewing nervously on his fingernails. ‘Let’s just say that there won’t be two Doctor Brearlys in the family,’ he eventually declared.

  ‘Oh, Ge
orge!’ Louisa cried, falling back in her chair with a disenchanted air. Beside her, Michael raised a hand to his head.

  ‘Not that it’s anyone else’s business,’ George added in a louder and more defensive tone. ‘What I do is a matter for me and for me only. I have, and will always act, in a way that contributes to my own happiness. To be frank with you, I couldn’t give a fig about anyone else.’

  ‘Then why tell falsehoods?’ Michael demanded, unexpectedly springing to life. ‘Why didn’t you say something when you arrived? When we asked you about your studies, you said they were going well. You even told us some of your university anecdotes.’

  Despite the tenseness of the situation, George smiled. ‘I’d only just arrived. I didn’t want to rock the boat, so to speak. Besides, I gave up my studies an age ago. In fact, if I remember correctly, I only attended classes for a few weeks. Nearly fainted away during one of my anatomy lectures. It was too gruesome for my liking. When you really think about it, the human body is awfully revolting.’

  Frances attempted a laugh, but admonishing glances from Michael and Louisa, soon wiped the smile from her face. Feeling fleetingly remorseful, she decided to ask a serious question. ‘And what are you doing now, Mr Brearly?’ she asked politely.

  ‘Never mind that, Miss Norwood,’ Michael cut in, ‘do you mean to tell me, George, that you abandoned your studies three years ago?’

  George reflected. ‘Mmm, yes that sounds about right.’

  ‘And what are you doing now?’ Thomas asked, offering one of his rare pieces of conversation. Again, he condescendingly scrutinised George through his spectacles.

  George looked about him expectantly. ‘I have my own column in a well-known Melbourne newspaper.’ He seemed impressed by his assertion and crossed his arms proudly over his chest.

  ‘Are you saying that you are a journalist?’ Louisa gasped.

  ‘You bet I am. ‘Barnacle Brearly’ they call me. Once I set my sights on a good story, I just never let go.’ He chortled to himself.

  ‘And why does that not surprise me?’ Thomas murmured under his breath.

  ‘Yes, well I dare say my situation is more interesting than yours, Tommy,’ George retorted. ‘It’s common knowledge that you scholars live in your own little sphere. It must be all that rarefied air. Just look at you. You’re prime evidence that there is a place in the world where time stands still.’

  ‘George Brearly!’ Louisa cautioned. ‘There is no need to resort to personal insults. We are all trying to come to terms with what you have just told us.’

  Frances deliberated. Given her cousin’s aversion to George, Frances wondered how it was that Agnes knew about his decision to abandon medicine in favour of journalism. She also wanted to know how long Agnes had known about it. She intended to ask her cousin these questions when Agnes returned to the room.

  ‘And how is it that Agnes knows about your change in occupation?’ Michael queried, as if reading Frances’s mind.

  George’s eyes widened. ‘I believe that Agnes, found out purely by accident,’ he replied with hurried defensiveness. ‘I, I can’t remember the exact details, or when it happened exactly, but it seems as though a friend of hers read one of my articles. She then mentioned it to Agnes.’

  ‘Then why didn’t she tell me?’ a nettled Michael asked.

  ‘Well how should I know?’ George shot back.

  ‘And what does your employer think about you spending all this time in Hobart?’ Michael inquired. ‘Shouldn’t you be working?’

  ‘I am working, of sorts. I’m writing as a freelance, which means I get to scribble out a few stories here and there. I’ve already written three articles since I’ve been here.’ He then studied the faces of each occupant in the room. ‘You all pity me, don’t you?’ he suddenly demanded of the group. ‘You pity me for being a lowly journalist, but at least I’m following my convictions and doing something I’ve always wanted to do, instead of doing what I am supposed to do. And do you know something,’ he added, in a voice that was under better control, ‘I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. That’s more than anyone else in this room can say about themselves. No offence intended, Miss Norwood,’ he added hurriedly.

  ‘None taken, Mr Brearly,’ Frances assured him.

  George drew in a long, deep breath. He then exhaled loudly as though he was purging himself of all his earlier frustration. ‘Well, I don’t know about anyone else here, but I certainly feel better. I’ve unburdened myself at last and I feel like a new man.’

  ‘Good for you, Mr Brearly!’ Frances exclaimed.

  George’s face brightened. ‘Why thank you,’ he said, rewarding Frances with a famous George Brearly smile, ‘I appreciate your support.’

  No-one else in the room, be that as it may, shared Frances’s sentiments or voiced their encouragement for George. To their collective relief, the dinner bell finally rang, and the group was invited into the dining room for Christmas Eve dinner. They did not need to be summoned twice.