“Ah. And there you've hit upon it. 'If we wanted.' It takes some energy, that's a fact, to live our best, most fulfilling lives.”
Lea slowed to a stop and looked at the Vicar. “So you don't brook the excuses that 'I'm too busy' or 'It's too hard' or 'It's too expensive or 'There's no time?'”
He raised his brows and considered. “Those aren't excuses. Those are choices, make no mistake about it. But 'won't brook'? No, I wouldn't say that. I try to understand. And don't get me wrong. If someone comes to me, unhappy with where there life has landed them, I don't tell them to quit their job, leave their kids, and go take up jai alai.”
“No?” Lea laughed.
“Sometimes, it's enough to listen. But I try to help them find … pockets in life where … one can be more kind.”
“Be more kind?” Lea echoed, taking a drink more quenching than a mere sip. “That's the answer? To everything?”
He considered. “Mmmm … yes.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
“The answer is never to stand up and be strong and fight?”
“Sure. But then aren't you being kind to yourself? A self you've been neglecting?”
“No, Vicar!” Lea shook her head, laughing. “With that argument, you can justify anything.”
“Not at all. So many things that people do, ostensibly for their own benefit, do not make them happy at all. And there is no kindness rendered to the self. Bully someone because someone once bullied you, for example. There is no kindness or goodness there.”
Lea was still shaking her head.
“I do keep an open mind if it might be the case that someone is 'too kind.'” His eyes got bleak. “But that … doesn't happen.” He cleared his throat. “That seldom happens.”
Chapter 34: Managing
As it happened, the shower Mark and Maisy took before going down to the party was, in fact, a quick one, but one that was a bit delayed.
Once they'd careened up all the flights of stairs, they'd barrelled into their attic rooms where they immediately started stripping away their sheepish garments. Maisy kicked off her icy shoes and shrugged out of Mark's jacket as he wrenched off his tie and undid his cufflinks and his top two studs before pulling his shirt over his head. Maisy hurried up to him and turned her back.
“Unzip me?”
Mark did, but before he took his hands off her, he leaned forward and sank his teeth into her shoulder.
Maisy groaned, turning to him. Her dress slipped off as she took him in a hungry kiss. He backed to the bed and when they fell on the flowered duvet, Maisy tried to shimmy out of her panties and garters and thigh high stockings.
Mark had a much easier time getting naked quickly, after which he pulled Maisy, all tangled in her lingerie, on top of him. “I'll manage,” he muttered, and they fell into another ravenous kiss.
Chapter 35: And What About This Cade Fellow?
Jamie didn't like to think of himself as a liar, but he absolutely was and he knew it. As soon as he drifted away from Lea and into the crowd, he headed to the kitchen, not to the library.
He found Kafi almost immediately.
“The children are just starting to mix into the crowd,” Kafi told him. “And the staff who volunteered are dressed as angels. The risers and model are set up and ready for nine o'clock.”
“And your stage box for the presentation? And the drawings?”
“Check.”
“And I'll have to make sure Lea is present and paying attention.”
Kafi smiled a brilliant smile. “No problem there, man. You have back up.”
“I do?”
“I enlisted the aid of another gentlemen to keep an eye on Lea and keep her entertained. When the time comes, if you don't have her where she needs to be, he's ready.”
“Um ...” Jamie rubbed the back of his neck. “Who's this 'he?'”
“Relax, man. Peter Cade. Village vicar.”
Just at that moment, Finola happened to be passing with a silver tray of rosy wine glasses. She spun to face them. And to her credit, she neither spilled nor splashed a drop.
“The vicar's here?” she squeaked. And she was definitely blushing. “Do you know where? Which room?”
“I don't have a GPS on him, woman!”
“I'll find him,” she said, with a saucy lift of her brows as she swept away.
Jamie looked to Kafi with something akin to consternation.
Kafi laughed a bit nervously. “Uh … he's kind of this tall, good-looking guy. Not anyone you would think to swoon over, but the women in this town seem mad enough for him. Keeps pretty aloof though. And the blokes really like him, too.”
“You mean, Like Like?”
“Nah. As far as I know, he's into girls. I guess. He's never really dated anyone that I can remember. But we all just like him. He's a great guy.”
“Huh.”
“Don't worry, man. He's not a player. And he's got my back. And yours. I told him about this project and I thought he was going to bishop me on the spot.”
“I don't think vicars can turn people into bishops.”
“You know what I mean.”
Chapter 36: Sandy and Lou in the Parlour with the Rope
No joke, Mr. and Mrs. Clay had been nervous when they entered the party through the grand hall. But then, well, there just hadn't been any time to feel anxious.
“Ah!” The vicar had come up to them from seemingly out of nowhere. “Peter Cade,” he said, introducing himself with a smile infused with welcome and charm. “Village vicar. And you two, of course, need no introduction. Lou and Sandy Clay, Maisy's parents. The room has been abuzz and we cannot wait to meet you. First, what can we get you to drink?”
And his use of the word we turned out to be spot-on, for so many villagers had gathered round, smiling and welcoming and most excited to meet the Americans who had given them the incomparable Maisy.
Mrs. Nobbles from the post office regaled them with tales of Maisy's willingness to make the harvest fête come off not only seamlessly, but as great fun for even those behind the scenes. Lily who served down at the Horse & Finch on weekends told of how Maisy came in one night brandishing her own billiards cue and how Lily's not been pinched on the bum since. Mrs. Craddock praised Maisy for teaching her how to limit kids from getting on to, er, naughty sites on the library's computers. Mr. Hathaway from the primary school noted Maisy's high spirits and asked what she was like as a child. But he gave no window for the couple to answer, so overcome with he with guesses as to how it must have been.
Sandy and Lou found themselves in a whirlwind, getting spun from cluster to cluster all night, absorbing all the affection everyone in the village had for Lord and their own dear Lady Shiley.
And they found themselves talking about Maisy when they had to answer questions. About how they didn't see her much because she had always had, ahem, they had raised her to have, ahem, a fierce independent streak. She'd always been smart as a whip, they said, and they'd never wanted anything holding their Daisy back.
“Daisy?”
“Their nickname for her, don't you know,” piped in Peter Cade, appearing at Sandy's elbow with a small sherry, a new taste for her that she found herself quite liking. “Maisy, their little Daisy.”
They told tales of Maisy playing in the creek all day long in the summers, coming home to chatter on and on all about the frogs and crawdads and … oh, and what are crawdads?
And so Sandy and Lou held forth on describing slices of Americana of which the villagers had been heretofore unaware. Mr. Kemp from the gazette serving as the exception, of course. But he was eager to bolster his great stores of knowledge with as much colourful detail as the Clays could furnish. Over the course of an hour, Lou and Sandy Clay forgot that they had come to Drakenfall to tell Maisy what she owed them, to make no bones about their willingness to cause trouble for the Lady of the Manor, if need be.
As Sandy listened to Miss Cavendish wax on about how Maisy had tripped the l
ight fantastic through her and Mark's wedding reception, she remembered her neighbour's reaction to the news that Maisy had gotten married—Karen's knee-jerk opinion before Sandy informed her that Maisy had snagged herself an English baron.
“Can you believe it?” Sandy had been pacing and fuming. “She got married! And not a WORD to her parents about the ceremony or the reception!”
Karen lit a cigarette from the stub of her last one. “So?” She blew a puff of smoke upward and away from Sandy's face. “Why would she tell you? You never did her birthdays and you didn't go to her graduation. If you ask me, you should count yourself lucky. Another one of Maisy's Me Me Me days safely avoided. And you didn't have to buy some ridiculous pink dress that cost a thousand dollars.”
Sandy looked around her. Maisy was admired and loved by all the village, and in turn, all the village and staff seemed in awe of Sandy and Lou. No one had ever been in awe of them before. The right honourable Mr. and Mrs. Clay stole glances at one another when they could. Sure seemed like they weren't going to score any points by going against Maisy. Did they tar and feather in England? Because they were getting the feeling that their fate could lean that way if they trash-talked the beloved Maisy Potter-Prebys in any way. No, if they wanted to keep enjoying all the free flowing food and drink, the nice clothes, the gigantic house, and the adoring fans, then they'd better stay in Maisy's good graces.
Chapter 37: Brightly Shone the Moon That Night
Thirty-five minutes after they'd fallen across the bed, Mark zipped up Maisy into her fresh dress with more restraint than he'd shown when he'd unzipped her. And Maisy behaved herself, too. They were nicely scrubbed and turned out. Maisy's hair, very messy after a quick blow dry, was tangled into a loose up-do reminiscent of Lily Langtry.
Mark kissed her shoulder and snaked his arms around her from behind. “Maisy, you're amazing.”
She turned around to kiss him on the nose before stepping back. She twirled in front of him. “Focus, Mark. Any lint or anything on my dress?”
But the rich black silk of the off the shoulder gown looked pristine.
“Sorry it's not as Christmasy as the last one.”
But Maisy just smiled. “Remember I texted Glynis from the Rover?” She moved to the armoire and opened the third drawer. She rummaged around in back until she pulled out the velvet box. She took out the ruby necklace and handed it to Mark as she turned around. “Do the honours?”
“Really, Maisy? You're going to wear jewellery?”
“It was just knocking around in the safe and it's a nice touch for Christmas, don't you think?”
He fastened the diamond accented rubies around her neck. “You could be wearing a plastic bag from Marks & Spencer and this Christmas couldn't be any more perfect.”
“Same goes,” she said softly, leaning in to kiss him lightly. Then she took a deep breath. “Okay, let's do this.”
They took each other's hands and headed for the stairs.
Three floors below, they made their way from the back stairs through carpeted halls to the top of the grand staircase that descended into the festive hall below. A buzz, then a hush seemed to fall over the crowd.
“Lord and Lady Shiley!” The announcement set Maisy to giggling.
“Cade,” muttered Mark through his smile to the crowd. “Just like him.”
“Cheeky,” she decided on a laugh.
“Welcome, one and all!” Mark called to the crowd.
“I'm so glad you're all here!” Maisy added with glee. “Let's all have the Happiest Christmas!”
“Happy Christmas,” Mark echoed.
As they headed down the staircase, the party's clamorous gaiety resumed.
When they reached the tiled floor, Maisy could smell the delicious food laid out in the dining room and she could see glasses of all manner of libation in the hands of the guests. She noted the Grant Street children dotted through the crowd and the members of staff dressed like angels. Though the streamlined diaphanous robes of many sparkly layers they wore were both ethereal and elegantly festive, Maisy was pleased to see they looked quite comfortable and workable for moving about and dealing with the children.
Her own heart nearly combusting, she sighed and met Mark's gaze, and he was looking truly verklempt himself. After all, ringleaders Lord and Lady Shiley had scarpered off to deal with an unplanned family-induced breakdown on Drakenfall's biggest night of the year. And what had happened in their absence? The festivities had zinged along in their merry, fizzy way as everyone at Drakenfall and, indeed, in the village of Tippingstock, pitched in to make the magic happen.
And as though to add a soundtrack to their unspeakable joy, a chorus of voices rose in song. A light and delightfully high pitched version of “Good King Wenceslas” wafted up from a few of the Grant Street children in the crowd. Then another pocket of children joined in from across the hall. And like glow worms lighting up across a field, more children's voices at the Drakenfall Christmas Ball joined the carol.
And then Maisy joined in. And Mark. And Kafi. Then everyone.
And one and all were singing without abashment, or humming emphatically if they didn't know the words.
Pippa looked around in gobsmacked wonder. She thought the children had been brought in to help everyone celebrate Drakenfall's wonderful largess for the season. She'd had no notion that they would burst into impromptu song. How did she not know that? Had she missed the essential discussions while she'd been watching films with Maisy? How is it that no one had told her? Had thought to clue her in?
Pippa drifted into the grand hall just as the singing was ending, having lately refreshed the platters in the dining room. Though she oughtn't to have been wandering among the guests with empty trays, distracted Pippa scarcely knew what she was about. She'd thought she made a difference in a small way, working below stairs at Drakenfall to help weave the magic. But the magic was whooshing right past her.
A cork popped nearby, and her head shot up. She tried to shake herself back into duty.
That's when she saw him. Standing across the hall, near the foyer.
Kafi.
As if he didn't look like the king of men every day of his magnificent life, tonight, with his dreds loose and that dark suit, Pippa thought she might pass out. Kafi. The unattainable, gorgeous, bound-for-greater-things Kafi. He was laughing with Maisy's parents when he caught her eye. He turned toward her and looked at her full-on. Kafi, resplendent in his finery. And Pippa. Hot and red-faced and sweaty in a soft cotton maid's uniform and sensible, cushy shoes.
Just looking at him stabbed her through the gut, making her want to double over. It hurt, really viscerally hurt, to see him standing there. Kafi. The Kafi she knew and worked with every day. The Kafi who would and could never be hers. Kafi. A sculpted god who went to university and was heading out of her life.
She couldn't take it. She couldn't stand looking at him, not for one second longer. And him looking at her and seeing scullery drudge Pippa. It was mortifying just to be in the same room with him.
She turned and stalked back to the kitchen. Back to below stairs.
Twice more over the next hour, the pockets of children were tapped to sing, but Pippa didn't reappear to enjoy the merriment.
Kafi kept a lookout, but no Pippa. If she wasn't serving, she must be back in the kitchen helping Cook or doing clean up. Kafi longed to dash away from the party so he could just go talk to her. But at the stroke of nine, the children began to sing again.
This was it.
This time, the pockets of young carollers began moving, coalescing in the gallery. They drew everyone in behind them and kept all eyes focused on the west end. Risers seemed to appear out of nowhere, guided by the angels, as the children took their places in choral formation. And as the spectacle unfolded at one end of the gallery, Mr. Shaun Fletcher and Ms. Glynis Ferry worked away like Christmas mice behind partitions erected at the other end of the great room. They set up the display of Kafi's model and drawings of The Grant S
treet Job Centre and the small stage for Kafi to stand on as he addressed everyone. Well, it was a box, really. But it looked nice.
All was set.
Chapter 38: Good King Kafi
Lea turned to Jamie, who she'd finally tracked down in the conservatory. “Where is everyone going?”
Jamie crooked his elbow. “Shall we find out?”
“I don't know ...” Lea said with mock suspicion. Yet she fell into step with Jamie, following the sound of the children. “Doesn't this seem like a Pied Piper situation? But this time, the children are leading us with the music?”
Jamie shrugged. “Will you mind if we find cheese at the end of this journey?”
“Yes,” she hooted. “If I'm expected to jump into the river for it!”
“Not a member of the Polar Bear Club, then?”
“Definitely not.” Lea laughed. “But you would probably find something like that bracing.”
“Well ...”
“You know,” Lea said, looking around as they entered the gallery. “I'm surprised. I thought this village was on the small side. But it seems to be overrun with little ones.”
Jamie leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Maybe they shipped them in for the Yuletide.”
She playfully swatted his arm. “I'm pretty sure you can't just 'ship in' kids for Christmas parties.”
“Perhaps not.”
When the children wrapped up their third carol, and all the guests were pleasantly crowded into the gallery and focused on the kids, Kafi spoke from behind everyone. His deep, vibrating voice had all the party guests turning to face the east end of the room. But all they saw were the pale blue partitions adorned with elaborate white wainscoting and festooned with all manner of Christmas wreaths and garland. Then slowly the partitions rolled back, powered by Glynis and Shaun, of course.
Kafi and his Job Centre project were revealed to the crowd.
“Let's give a hand to these wonderful young singers!” Kafi boomed, gesturing to the kids on the risers. And the place erupted with clapping and hooting.
A Drakenfall Christmas: A Novel Page 14
