by Dilly Court
Tilda looked from one to the other, shaking her head. ‘We’ll be lucky to have bread and dripping at home.’
‘Who asked you, girl?’ Mrs Flitton snapped. She sat down heavily, fanning herself. ‘Really, Mrs Kettle, this is very short notice. We were a quiet household . . .’
‘Things change,’ Mirabel said airily. ‘And we need a tree. I’ll send Alf out to the market to see if he can get one.’ She frowned. ‘We need decorations too. I’m sure I can find some somewhere. This is so exciting.’
Mrs Flitton’s frown deepened into a scowl. ‘Such goings on, ma’am. The master won’t like it a bit; I’ll tell you that for nothing.’
Mirabel ignored this outburst. ‘I’ll have a bowl of porridge when it’s ready, Mrs Flitton, and then I’m taking Gertie with me to buy what we need.’ She did not stop to argue, hurrying outside instead to seek out her husband.
‘I need some money, please,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘I’d almost forgotten about Christmas with everything that’s happened recently, but Alf reminded me.’
Hubert stared at her, eyebrows raised. ‘What do you need money for, my dear?’
‘To buy certain things, Hubert. I’m not telling you because it’s to be a surprise.’
He smiled. ‘You are so young, Mirabel. I’d quite forgotten what it’s like to have the enthusiasm of youth.’
‘Nonsense. I won’t allow that. You’re extremely enthusiastic about your plants.’ She wiggled her fingers. ‘I do need some money, though. If it weren’t for Ernestine I would have been a wealthy woman in my own right.’
He put his hand in his pocket and took out a leather purse. He counted out a handful of silver, adding two golden sovereigns. ‘I think we ought to apply for a copy of your father’s will so that we know exactly how you stand,’ he said calmly. ‘But what I have is yours, Mirabel. I’m not a mean man, and I want you to be happy.’
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alf heading for the boiler house, carrying a bucket of coal in each hand. She smiled. ‘I’m very happy, Hubert.’ She reached up to brush his cheek with a kiss. ‘Thank you.’
She left him staring after her with a bemused expression on his face. Outside a bitter wind slapped her cheeks as she made her way to the boiler house to give Alf the money to purchase a tree. ‘A nice big one,’ she said firmly. ‘And I want you to bring the children here for dinner tomorrow.’ She saw that he was about to refuse and held up her hand. ‘You can’t deny me this pleasure, Alf. It’s an army tradition, you know that. Officers serve the men their dinner on Christmas Day. I read about it in the newspapers so it must be true.’
‘But missis, I’ve only just started here today. Captain Kettle won’t like it.’
‘Captain?’ She smiled, trying to imagine Hubert as a dashing young officer and failing miserably. ‘Captain Kettle will be delighted to entertain you and your family and so will I.’
‘You never told him that, did you?’ Gertie stared at her incredulously as they sat side by side in the hansom cab on their way to Piccadilly.
‘I most certainly did.’ Mirabel stared straight ahead, noting for the first time the festive atmosphere that pervaded the streets away from the gloom of the East End. The snow might have turned to slush but holly and mistletoe were draped around lamp posts and naphtha flares illuminated the costermongers’ barrows, breaking through the gloom of the early morning fog. It was not quite a peasouper, but Mirabel knew that when darkness fell smoke and fumes from manufactories and domestic chimneys would engulf the city in a dense, choking yellow mass that clogged lungs and brought traffic to a standstill.
‘What was you thinking of, Mabel?’
‘Those children deserve better. I’ll never have a baby of my own, so the least I can do is to help others when I see them in dire need.’
Gertie eyed her doubtfully. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Mabel? You might end up back in Tenter Street if you go on at this rate.’
Chapter Twelve
THE HORSE PLODDED along slowly, edging its way through the traffic, which was gradually coming to a halt as the suffocating pea-green fog descended on the city, blanketing everything and muting sound. Mirabel and Gertie sat inside the hackney carriage, holding their handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses to keep out the noxious smell of sulphur and soot. The floor of the carriage and the opposite seat were piled high with the result of a day’s shopping, and Mirabel was tired but content. She had purchased two large plum puddings, a box of glace fruits and a jar of brandy butter from Fortnum’s, and a foray into a street market had found glass baubles and tinsel for the tree, and a box of candles with metal holders to clip onto the branches. She had visited a tobacconist and bought a box of Hubert’s favourite Havana cigars, and, at Gertie’s suggestion, she had purchased an ounce of tobacco for Alf. They had spent an hour in William Hamley’s newly opened toy shop in Regent Street where she found presents for all the Coker children, with the exception of Tilda. A short walk away she and Gertie had visited Dickins, Sons and Stevens department store, where Mirabel bought a brightly coloured scarf and hat for Tilda. A silver bar brooch caught her eye and she had a feeling it would be just the thing for Mrs Flitton, but there was still Gertie to buy for. Having distracted her maid’s attention by sending her to look for buttons of a certain shape and colour, Mirabel selected a cashmere shawl and asked the shop assistant to wrap it quickly before Gertie returned.
Such a shopping expedition was enjoyable but exhausting, and Mirabel sat back against the stale-smelling leather squabs, closing her eyes. This would be the best Christmas ever. She might not be leading the life she had dreamed of as a young girl, but there were compensations. She had a home of her own and a kind husband. Hubert was a good man and deserved a little happiness. The faded portrait of his lost love had haunted Mirabel’s thoughts, and it was not hard to imagine how the young army officer had felt on learning of his beloved’s death. Perhaps her senses had been made more acute by her own feelings for Jack Starke, although she doubted if he had given her a second thought, and now he was gone she would never know.
The cab drew to a halt and Gertie scrambled to pick up the larger parcels. She climbed down and disappeared into the gloom, leaving Mirabel to cope with the smaller packages and pay the fare. The thickening fog was made even more oppressive by the gathering darkness, and as the vehicle lumbered off Mirabel found herself alone in the eerie silence. She was disorientated, and could see neither the kerb nor the railings outside her house.
‘Mirabel Cutler.’
Her heart thudded against her ribs at the sound of her maiden name and she spun round, but she could see no one. For a moment she thought it must have been her imagination but then it came again, deep and sonorous as if the man had disguised his voice in an attempt to hide his identity. ‘Who’s there?’ she demanded. ‘What do you want?’ The blood was pounding in her ears as she peered into the murk. Her instinct was to hurry indoors, but she had lost all sense of direction and in the dense fog she might as well have been blindfolded. The ensuing silence was more frightening than the sound of a strange voice, and she blundered towards what she hoped was the railings, only to bump into something solid. She dropped her packages, and the scream that left her lips was instantly muffled by a gloved hand.
‘You should have listened to me, you stupid little fool.’
She knew that voice, and she recognised the odour of stale alcohol and tobacco that followed Wiley wherever he went.
‘I’ll take me hand away, but if you scream I’ll break your neck.’ He shifted his grasp to encompass her slender throat.
‘Let me go. They’ll come looking for me when I don’t go into the house.’
‘My understanding is that your old man is planning to get a copy of old Cutler’s will.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I knew he wasn’t the sort to let matters lie. I have my informants and pay for information.’
‘So Pa did leave something to me.’
‘Mirabel. Where are you?’ Hubert’s anxious voice was just a few steps away.
‘I’ve dropped something,’ Mirabel called out. ‘Can you bring a lantern?’
‘What happened?’ Hubert demanded as he ushered her into the house. ‘You’re white as a sheet and you’re trembling. What frightened you out there? And don’t say it was because you dropped your packages and couldn’t find them in the fog because I don’t believe it.’
She took off her bonnet and mantle, handing them to Gertie who was staring at her with a worried frown. ‘You was ages, ma’am,’ she whispered. ‘I thought something bad had happened to you.’
‘Come into the parlour, Mirabel,’ Hubert said firmly. ‘Gertie will see to your purchases, although heaven knows what you’ve been buying.’ A flicker of amusement lit his pale eyes. ‘Is there anything left in the department stores?’
Mirabel made her way into the parlour and sank down on a chair by the fire, warming her chilled hands. ‘I didn’t want to say anything in front of Gertie, but Wiley was waiting outside. Heaven knows how long he must have been lurking there, or if it was just by chance that he was passing the house when I arrived.’
Hubert stood with his back to the fire, eyeing her anxiously. ‘Did he hurt you? If he did I’ll . . .’
‘No,’ Mirabel said hastily. ‘He grabbed me and I couldn’t get away, but he didn’t harm me. His intention was to scare me. He knows that you mean to apply for a copy of my father’s will, and it was his way of warning you not to continue with your searches.’
‘How in hell’s name did he find that out?’
‘He said he’d paid someone to keep him informed. I don’t know any more than that.’
He moved swiftly to a side table and picked up a decanter, pouring a tot into two glasses. He handed one to her. ‘Sip this. It will help to calm you.’
The smell of the brandy made her stomach churn and she put the glass down. ‘I can’t. It reminds me of Wiley. He used to drink my father’s best cognac and he reeked of it. I can’t bear the smell.’
Hubert took a swig of his drink. ‘I’ll go to the police. He can’t be allowed to get away with behaviour like this.’
‘What could they do?’ Mirabel asked tiredly. ‘He’s only made threats. They can hardly arrest him for that.’
‘Well I won’t stand by and see you tyrannised by a man like him. I’ll think of something, so you mustn’t worry.’
She could see that he was sincere even though she doubted his ability to prevent a man like Wiley from doing exactly as he pleased. She rose to her feet. ‘It’s Christmas Eve. I’ve got presents to wrap and a tree to decorate.’ She moved to his side and took his hand, raising it to her cheek. ‘Thank you for being so understanding, and for allowing the Coker family to come to dinner tomorrow.’
His cheeks flushed and he lowered his gaze. ‘I’ve lived a selfish life, my dear. I think it’s high time I did something for someone other than myself.’ He downed the last drop of brandy. ‘And I must thank you for suggesting Coker. He’s been a tremendous help today. He’s a good man who’s fallen on hard times.’
‘I’m so glad you found him useful.’
‘He bought the most enormous tree. I think it was left unsold because it was too large for most people’s taste.’
She pushed her encounter with Wiley to the back of her mind. ‘Really? Where is it?’
‘Come upstairs to the drawing room and you’ll see it.’
‘I can’t wait,’ Mirabel hesitated. ‘But first I think I’d better go and make my peace with Mrs Flitton.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Don’t pretend you aren’t aware that I’ve rather coerced her into cooking a huge meal when she’s used to catering for you only. The poor woman had no choice and I feel rather guilty about that.’
‘She is a servant after all, my dear.’
‘She’s more than that, Hubert. She’s served you faithfully for many years and she’s fiercely loyal to you.’
‘I hope she hasn’t been treating you with disrespect, Mirabel. I won’t stand for it.’
‘No, on the contrary, she’s doing her best to accommodate to a situation she can hardly have imagined. I’ve bought her a small present to put under the tree and she must join us at dinner tomorrow. I insist.’
In the kitchen Mrs Flitton was preparing the evening meal. Her face was red and strands of grey hair had escaped from her mobcap. From the scullery came sounds of splashing and the plop of vegetables being dropped into pans of cold water. Mirabel could see Tilda standing on a box as she worked at the large stone sink. She held up her hands in a gesture of submission. ‘Before you say anything, Mrs Flitton, I’ve come to apologise for putting you to so much trouble, and to thank you for agreeing to cook for so many on Christmas Day.’
Mrs Flitton’s lips pursed into a prune-like expression of disapproval. ‘I do what’s required of me, ma’am.’
‘And much more,’ Mirabel said gently. ‘Gertie and Tilda will help you tomorrow and I want you to join us at table for the festive meal.’
‘What? No, ma’am – I wouldn’t think of it.’
‘It’s an order, Mrs Flitton,’ Mirabel said, tempering her words with a smile. ‘Mr Kettle is carrying on the army tradition where the officers serve their men on Christmas Day. We will wait on you for a change, and we’ll all eat together in the true spirit of Christmas.’
‘I don’t know what to say, ma’am.’
‘Not all change is for the worse, Mrs Flitton.’ Mirabel glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘I didn’t realise it was so late. There’s so much left to do, but now I’m going to take a look at the magnificent tree that Coker found for us.’
Hubert retired to his room soon after dinner that evening, leaving Mirabel free to decorate the tree with Gertie’s help. The result was stunning, even before the candles were lit, and Mirabel stood back to admire their work. ‘I can imagine the children’s faces when they see this tomorrow,’ she said happily.
‘It is tomorrow already.’ Gertie stifled a yawn. ‘Merry Christmas, Mabel.’
Mirabel gave her a hug. ‘Merry Christmas, Gertie, and thank you for all your help.’
Gertie put her head on one side, eyeing Mirabel curiously. ‘What happened when you stopped to pay off the cabby? You wasn’t in a state because you’d dropped a few parcels, was you?’
‘No, it was Wiley. He scared me, but he didn’t hurt me.’
‘You want to watch out for that one. I see’d him at the church and I didn’t like the cut of his jib.’
‘He’s all talk, Gertie. There’s very little he can do apart from trying to frighten me. I don’t think he’d harm me physically because he’s got too much to lose.’
‘Bodger would sort him out for you.’
Mirabel smiled and shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t want him to waste his time on a man like Wiley. He’s married to Ernestine and that will probably be punishment enough.’ She leaned over to kiss Gertie on the cheek. ‘Go to bed, dear. You’ve earned a good night’s sleep.’
‘What about you? Don’t you want me to help you?’
‘I can put myself to bed, and I’ve got a few things to wrap and put under the tree. Good night, Gertie.’ Mirabel waited until Gertie had left the room before embarking on opening the packages, sorting the presents and wrapping them in brown paper tied with coloured ribbon she had bought for the purpose. When the last one was labelled and placed under the tree she stood back with a contented sigh. It would be a Christmas to remember, she thought, but her happiness
was tinged with sorrow. There was someone missing and a secret longing in her heart that could never be fulfilled. She made her way through the silent house to her room.
Ragged, but freshly scrubbed and very subdued, the Coker children filed into the house after their father. Alf took off his cap, clutching it nervously in both hands. ‘This is more than kind of you, sir.’
Hubert smiled, although Mirabel could see that he was not entirely comfortable in the presence of the young family. ‘You’re very welcome, Coker,’ he said hastily. ‘Will you come into the parlour and share a glass of punch with me? My wife will look after the children.’
Alf turned to the children, addressing himself mainly to the boys. ‘I wants you to be on your best behaviour. D’you hear me?’
A murmured chorus of assent was accompanied by nods. Tilda held Kitty by the hand and Nora clung to her skirts, but Jane and Maisie hung back, largely due to the fact that the four older boys had pushed forward and were taking in their surroundings open-mouthed.
Mirabel encompassed them all with a genuine smile of delight. Suddenly the staid old house seemed to burst into life, and she was touched to see the effort that must have gone into making the children presentable. ‘Merry Christmas to you all. Come upstairs with me and see what I’ve got for you.’
‘It’s a bit early to go to bed, ain’t it?’ Daniel, the eldest boy, who Mirabel judged to be thirteen or fourteen, received a clout round the ear from his father that wiped the cheeky grin off his face. He reddened, clutching the side of his head, and his eyes watered as he struggled to hold back tears.
‘It’s all right, Alf,’ Mirabel said hastily. ‘Don’t worry about them. I’ll see that they behave.’
‘Me too, Pa,’ Tilda added fiercely. ‘I’ll keep ’em in order.’
‘You and whose army,’ Daniel muttered rebelliously.
Mirabel chose not to hear. ‘Come on then,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Follow me.’
In the drawing room the tree, ablaze with lighted candles, was an instant hit, causing the children to exclaim loudly and even the boys clapped their hands in delight, with Daniel apparently forgetting that he was almost a man and a breadwinner in his own right. Mirabel could not help noticing that the smell of the river still clung to all four boys, and despite their efforts to scrub themselves clean the mud of the foreshore was ingrained in their hands and under their nails. She moved swiftly to the octagonal table in the window where she had, with Gertie’s help, laid out a selection of small cakes and two jugs of lemonade. The children needed no second bidding to help themselves to the food. They sat round the tree, gazing at it and munching happily. Mirabel was pleased to see that the older boys and girls looked after the little ones, and she caught Tilda’s eye, smiling at her in approval.
