We had begun as maids at the infamous Stapleford Hall, Richenda’s birthplace. Merry had always been supportive of my various promotions, but now I had risen to a level that was closer to lady than servant. To complete matters Bertram, Richenda’s half-brother and my unwilling, but loyal, companion in various adventures, was due to arrive to spend Christmas with us all.
Of course I would have liked to have been back home with Little Joe and Mother, but I had been able to send them a substantial amount of money, so I was assured they would be having a very merry Christmas too.
All in all, everything was right in the world. I found myself humming a carol under my breath as I used the wash-stand. Despite the fire it was cool in my room and I promised myself I would have a bath before dinner. This morning, after breakfast, Richenda, Merry, Amelia, and I were to decorate the huge tree the new head gardener had set up in the hall. Hans had spared no expense for his daughter’s first Christmas here and had sent for the most expensive of tree trimmings from Harrods store. Boxes of them were downstairs waiting to be opened.
I chose my older green dress to wear. I expected that tree-trimming, especially with a toddler, might get quite messy. [1] Richenda was already at breakfast, picking at a smoked haddock on her plate, and looking glum. My heart sank.
‘Is something wrong?’ I asked.
Richenda gave me a tired smile. ‘I’m feeling a little under the weather this morning. It must have been something at dinner last night.’
Yes, too much cake, I thought. Richenda was extremely fond of cake. She could also be temperamental, so we were all inclined to ply her with yet more cake when she was low or difficult. I could see from her waistline that this was something all of us would have to curb. Since she had married Hans, though, and since the arrival of Amelia in particular, Richenda was improved beyond measure from the old days at Stapleford Hall, when she had been under the sway of her manipulative and, quite frankly, black-hearted brother. In contrast, she had shown herself to have a heart of gold.
‘Shall we put off dressing the tree till tomorrow?’ I suggested. ‘It is only the eighteenth of December and many families do not decorate their tree until Christmas Eve.’
‘No, I don’t want to do that. Amy has been so excited about the boxes in the hall. It would be a great shame to disappoint her. I will be fine.’ She pushed away the plate of haddock. ‘I usually love it,’ she said, ‘but the smell is making me feel sick.’
‘Shall I ring for some more hot toast? That always settles my stomach.’ I lifted the lid of the teapot. ‘And more tea. This is rather stewed.’
Richenda nodded. ‘Hans came down very early this morning. There’s some surprise he is arranging. He thinks I don’t know anything about it.’ She gave a very feminine smile. ‘He can be so sweet.’
Pleased as I was for Richenda, I did not want to listen to romantic anecdotes over my breakfast. Instead I asked her about the toys ordered for Amelia. Her face softened and she began an alarmingly long list. Really, if they gave all these toys to the tot she would disappear under the mountain they made and never be seen again. However, I kept my thoughts to myself. Instead, when I could take no more about how Professor So-and-so thought it good for children to be introduced to musical instruments early in their life – a decision I knew we would all come to regret – I turned her thoughts to the estate ball for the servants and we passed the time quite happily thinking of games and treats for the staff. Richenda wanted to organise a game of blind man’s buff. At that moment Stone, the appropriately named butler, came into the room and Richenda and I almost fell off our seats laughing. The idea of such a correct and serious individual playing silly Christmas games was irresistible.
Fortunately Stone had not heard our conversation and stood there stoically regarding the opposite wall until we composed ourselves. When Richenda had wiped the last tear of mirth away, Stone announced, ‘Mr Bertram Stapleford is here.’
‘Gosh,’ said Richenda. ‘I wasn’t expecting him until just before dinner.’
‘I cannot explain the gentleman’s early arrival, ma’am, but I feel I should inform you that Mr Stapleford does not appear happy.’
‘Oh,’ said Richenda, somewhat taken aback. It was most unlike Stone to venture an opinion on a guest and on a member of the family it was unheard of.
‘I did not like to mention it, ma’am,’ continued Stone, ‘but I felt you should be warned.’
The words were barely out of his mouth before Bertram erupted into the room. His face was black as thunder and contorted in a ghastly frown. His unfortunate beard, one no one could convince him to get rid of, seemed longer in a tufty sort of way.[2]
‘Damn, this bloody season!’ he cried and threw himself down into a chair. ‘Eggs, Stone. I want eggs. Fresh and scrambled. Toast, and coffee as black as ink.’
‘At once, sir,’ said Stone and left.
‘It’s lovely to see you too, brother,’ said Richenda.
‘Gah,’ said Bertram.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Richenda, a note of warning in her voice.
‘It is fortunate you have arrived early,’ I interjected, hoping to avoid a sibling spat, ‘we are shortly to dress the tree with Amelia. It should be most entertaining.’
‘Pah,’ said Bertram, showing a little diversity in his speech, ‘McLeod would be more use. He’s taller.’
This was said with all the bitterness of a shorter gentleman. Rory McLeod, now butler at Bertram’s estate, White Orchards, and once my fiancée, was tall, broad, golden haired, and handsome. Bertram was short and dark, his delicate features taken from his French Mama. [3] Both men had once been rivals for my affection. Rory from real affection and Bertram out of a misplaced sense of duty. It was all terribly awkward.
‘Amelia will be down shortly. She will be delighted to see you,’ I said desperately. Bertram, although approving of children in general and Amelia’s adoption in particular, had the natural wariness of the male towards small, unpredictable creatures.
‘Hmm,’ said Bertram, toning his grumpiness down slightly.
Bertram’s eggs, Merry, and the aforementioned small creature arrived at the same time. Amelia ran to her mother.
‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself,’ said Richenda. ‘What have you and Merry been up to?’’
‘’Umptious,’ said Amelia.
‘Christmas porridge,’ explained Merry. ‘She means it’s scrumptious.’
‘My, that’s a big word,’ said Bertram, trying to be avuncular. ‘Scrumptious.’ Amelia happily turned her attention towards him and trotted over. Bertram’s eyes rolled in his head, displaying far too much white, rather like a frightened horse.
‘I ate lots ’n’ lots ’n’ lots,’ said Amelia proudly. She then gave a little hiccough. Merry and I moved as one, but we were too late. Amelia deposited a substantial portion of her breakfast in Bertram’s lap. Bertram leapt to his feet, uttering a small cry of distress.
‘Shall I get Stone to show you to your room?’ said Richenda with all the nonchalance of a mother used to the activities of toddlers.
Bertram stood, Amelia’s vomit dripping slowly down onto his shoes, and nodded forlornly.
Merry and Richenda fussed over the child, who having now lost her the contents of her stomach was asking for more porridge. I found the view out of the window most attractive. Stone whisked Bertram away without further embarrassment.
‘Well, I suppose if Uncle Bertram doesn’t want his eggs,’ Richenda said to her daughter.
‘I think perhaps a little toast, ma’am,’ said Merry quickly. ‘We don’t want Amelia’s tummy being yucky on the Christmas tree, do we?’
Amelia, having argued for jam, sat down to the task of making herself seriously sticky.
‘I don’t think that improved Bertram’s mood,’ I commented.
‘No,’ agreed Richenda, ‘but it was rather funny.’
‘I’d be surprised if you saw him before dinner,’ said Merry, who having served the Sta
plefords since her childhood, knew Bertram’s sulks of old.
Richenda poured Merry a cup of tea. When no one else was around the distinction of rank was not as defined as it should be. My mother would be horrified, but then the three of us had been through so many adventures separately and collectively that if sometimes felt as if the rules of the normal world didn’t apply to us. ‘I’m thinking,’ said Richenda eyeing Merry meaningfully, ‘that it is going to put a bit of a dampener on Christmas if Bertram continues in this frame of mind.’
‘You mean we need a plan,’ said Merry, grinning mischievously.
I regarded them with foreboding. ‘Perhaps there is something amiss that is causing his distress,’ I said.
‘Other than Rory being taller?’ said Richenda.
‘Other than Amelia being sick?’ said Merry.
‘Beard bad,’ said Amelia through her toast.
‘Why does he persist in trying to grow it?’ asked Richenda.
I shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Will you be wearing the lovely evening gown I had made to go with the hats I gave you last Christmas?’ asked Richenda suddenly. She turned to Merry. ‘I am trying to make Euphemia understand that she needs signature colours. I have chosen purple and green for her.’
‘Lovely,’ said Merry, her eyes sparkling, ‘I’d give a lot to see that. How about a fashion show, Euphemia?’
Richenda’s pet project of clothing me had on more than one occasion led to my doing an excellent impression of a mouldy cabbage. An experience I was not keen to repeat. ‘So what are we going to do about Bertram?’ I said, heartlessly sacrificing him in my own interest.
By the time the tree was finished we had a plan. I felt it was both highly imaginative and doomed to failure from the start. Fortunately, I would not be the one starting it off. Richenda stood, hands on hips, in the centre of the lobby, looking up at our efforts. The tree had been placed next to the sweeping staircase so we could reach the higher branches from the stairs. The whole thing sparkled and glittered. Each branch was laden with the finest baubles, some of hand-blown glass, others brightly painted wood, and some intricate half-hollow porcelain affairs with miniature snowy landscapes inside. Amelia clapped her hands in delight. ‘Pretsy,’ she said. ‘Pretsy as Mama.’ She cast her mother a sly smile. Even at two pushing three I could tell this one was going to be a handful. Richenda glowed with the compliment and hugged her. ‘And well done you. You only broke one bauble.’
Merry, still picking bits of glass out of her hair, did not smile. We had all told Amelia not to attempt to hook decorations on through the stair-rail, but a few minutes’ inattention when the three of us were hotly debating whether an angel or a star should go on top of the tree had enabled the naughty sprite to sneak to the top landing clutching the ill-fated bauble. Richenda seemed proud of her daughter’s wilfulness. Merry and I foresaw a minx in the making.
Merry departed to thoroughly brush out her hair and consult Merrit on the technical aspects of our operation. Richenda called for Stone and asked him to locate the magic lantern, a novel way of displaying lighted pictures, which she told Stone would delight Amelia. Stone received his orders stoically though I detected from the slight twitch under his eye that the task was less easy than Richenda blithely assumed. Once he had departed I said, ‘The attic is rather large, if you remember.’[4] Richenda shrugged. ‘It gives him something to do. I have been meaning for ages to get those attics sorted. There’s enough space up there to let Amelia have a suite of rooms of her own.’
‘She already has some,’ I said.
‘Not big enough,’ said Richenda. ‘She needs more space.’
I looked down at the tiny mite. ‘At least promise me you won’t start on clearing the whole lot out before Christmas.’
Richenda gave me a non-committal smile. She held out her hand to Amelia. ‘Let’s go and have lunch with Daddy down at the Estate Office,’ she said brightly. ‘You can get it sent down, can’t you, Euphemia?’
‘Of course,’ I said, knowing Hans would have only ordered sandwiches for himself. I asked the cook to add more of these and some cake to the lunch basket. That should more than suffice. Then I went into the dining room to enjoy a solitary lunch. Much as I liked Amelia, time away from her company was a relief. Richenda was too indulgent, and Merry, who was only a temporary nursery maid, was enjoying the novel experience too thoroughly to discipline the child in the manner it was becoming most clear she needed. If it had been possible, one afternoon with my mother, the estranged daughter of an Earl, would have straightened out Amelia. At least, she had straightened me out. I suspected Amelia might be more of a challenge even for Mother.
Dinner that night was strained. I do not know precisely what Amelia had done in the Estate Office, but it had taxed even Hans’ patience, and he was a man known throughout the business world for never losing his cool. He was a good host over dinner, but I could see his smile was taut on his face and did not reach his eyes. Richenda was also remarkably subdued; although she still ate all of her dinner, she did so with her eyes downcast. Bertram glowered at me, but was taciturnly polite to his hosts. It was not a jolly meal. Amelia, of course, did not join us, but I was sensing that she was going to be as much an obstacle to a jolly Christmas as Bertram’s sour mood. I could only hope tonight did not end too disastrously.
I met Merry on the servants’ stair around 11 p.m. She giggled nervously as she clutched a candle. Wax dripped onto the stone steps.
‘You were right,’ she hissed, ‘Richenda is much more fun now. This is going to be a great laugh.’
I tugged my shawl more tightly around my shoulders and thought wistfully of my own warm bed. ‘I only hope Bertram sees it that way.’
‘Oh come on! There’s no way we could put him in a worse mood.’
I was spared the necessity of answering this foreboding comment by the arrival of Richenda. She held her candle high, and perilously close to her hair, so we were able to see even at a distance that she was not looking happy. Indeed, her face resembled that of a woman who, expecting to bite into a cake, had found herself biting into a lemon. ‘Stone didn’t find it,’ she said.
Merry gave a humph of exasperation. ‘Merrit spent ages drilling me.’ She saw the look on our faces. ‘I told him it was to give Amelia a show. You know how difficult she’s being about Father Christmas.’
‘Father Christmas?’ I said blankly.
‘She thinks he’ll never find her now she’s living here. Gawd, if she could but see the boxes Mr Muller has stacked up in the cupboard downstairs. It’s like the whole bleedin’ Elves’ Workshop has moved in.’
‘You can’t tell her!’ exclaimed Richenda.
‘Of course not,’ said Merry. ‘But she does go on about it.’
‘I suppose we will need to rethink our plans,’ I said, trying not to show how relieved I was. ‘Tonight’s adventure cannot now take place.’
‘Don’t be a spoilsport, Euphemia,’ protested Merry. ‘I’m sure we can do it without it.’
‘She’s right,’ said Richenda, nodding in my general direction and setting her fringe on fire, ‘it won’t work anywhere near as well.’ She was so concerned about making Amelia’s first Christmas a happy one that she barely registered she was alight.
I patted Richenda’s hair and Merry repositioned her candle. ‘You want to get it right, don’t you?’ she continued barely missing a beat. ‘If he guesses it is us straight away there is no point.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Merry glumly. ‘So we give up on the whole idea.’
‘Not at all,’ said Richenda. ‘I shall instruct Stone to look harder. We will reconvene on December the twenty-first. The night of the Solstice. It will be most appropriate.’
I protested, but to no avail. Richenda had once been interested in Spiritualism, but I thought she had long given up on such things. I returned to my bed feeling very like one of Macbeth’s witches. What on earth would my dear departed father, the vicar, have said?
Richenda stood heavily on her foot. ‘You’re spoiling the mood. I need to get into character.’
This set Merry off so badly she had to put the lantern down and stuff both her small fists in her mouth to muffle her laughter. Richenda cast her a look of disdain. I found myself biting my lip as she pulled an edge of the sheet up to obscure her face. She gestured to me to open Bertram’s bedroom door. As his sister, we had decided Richenda was the only one who could enter his room without impropriety. Besides, if it all went wrong she would be the one left dealing with him. I was fairly sure that Merry, like myself, was ready to bolt and leave her to it if disaster fell. After all, she was the hostess!
Very carefully I tried the knob of Bertram’s door. I had the master key with me in case, but the door opened easily. I pushed it wide, my teeth on edge waiting for the hinges to creak, but the housekeeper had instructed her staff well and the door opened without a sound. I moved back, so I was hidden from sight, but not before I had caught a glimpse of a large hump in the bed that stood in the centre of the room. A combined loud snort and snuffle confirmed it was Bertram. Merry slid the magic lantern along the floor and aimed it into the room. I took a quick peek. The effect was most ethereal. Colours swarmed and swam across the room. The white-blue light from the full moon leaking through the curtains only added to the ambience. I hoped the girls were right and that Bertram would believe this to be a dream. He had a weak heart and the last thing we wanted to do was frighten him to death. I began to have strong qualms about the whole project.
Wishing on a Star Page 8
