The Black Mountains Page 19

  “I hope you’re all good and hungry!” Charlotte remarked, coming in with the cockerel, resting majestically on its bed of sausages and roast parsnips.

  Noisily they agreed that they were, and while James carved they struck up a chorus of We Wish You a Merry Christmas and For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow.

  Christmas dinner was always the highlight of the day, and when their plates were full the singing and joking stopped and they all tucked in to their food. Cockerel was a treat—there wouldn’t be another one until next year—so they made the most of every mouthful, and the silence lasted until their plates were empty again. Then they sat, stretching their full bellies, while the plates were cleared and Charlotte carried in the pudding, surrounded by mince pies and topped with a sprig of holly.

  “Now just go careful!” she warned them. “This is the first year I’ve put in sixpences since your father broke a tooth on one when we were first married.”

  “I’ve found one! I’ve found one!” squeaked Harry, and the boys smiled at his excitement. They knew what he did not—that later on Ted was going to dress up in a Father Christmas outfit he had borrowed from Horace Parfitt.

  When no one could eat another mouthful the men sat back by the roaring fire while the women cleared away. James fell asleep in his chair and Alex in Harry’s old cradle.

  “The oldest and the youngest!” laughed Charlotte.

  The afternoon slipped by in a pleasant aura of well-being. The Brimbles came along to join them, and everyone enjoyed Ted’s Father Christmas act, although it was difficult to stop Harry from recognizing his brother. “Look, Harry, see what he’s got in his sack!” Amy pleaded when Harry became too interested in Ted’s false beard, and Ted managed to push it back into place again, and make a hasty exit, waving and ringing his big school bell.

  “Christmas is nothing but one long feed,” Dolly said as she helped Charlotte cut sandwiches for tea and put the finishing touches to the Christmas cake. “ We shall all be too full to move.”

  Charlotte agreed. She was tired but glowing from the goodwill and the comfort that came from having her family all around her. But when tea was over and they had sung yet another chorus of We Wish You a Merry Christmas, Sarah said it was time to be getting Alex home and Charlotte felt the first chill of apprehension whisper over her skin.

  “Stay a bit longer,” she begged them, but Sarah remained firm.

  “There’s always next year,” she said.

  Charlotte turned away quickly.

  As Jim and Sarah were leaving, Colwyn Yelling and the two Brixey boys arrived. They had heard the news about Fred volunteering, and they had come to pull his leg about it.

  “We’re looking for a soldier,” they joked. “Name of Hall—Fred Hall.”

  “You’d better come in then, hadn’t you?” Charlotte said tartly, but her feeling of discomfort was growing. The day that was to be so special was slipping away from her and the Lord only knew what would happen before they had the opportunity to be all together again.

  The boys were teasing Fred, and it made the sick dread in Charlotte all the sharper. “Let’s forget about the war—this is Christmas!”

  she said when she could stand it no longer. “I’ve got a nice fire in the front room, and we could sing some carols round the piano.”

  They agreed, but she felt they were only humouring her. As soon as her repertoire of carols ran out, the boys began singing marching songs.

  “Come on, lads, I’ll drill you!” Colwyn offered. He seemed to have forgotten his fears about going back to France for the moment, and was enjoying being the only serving soldier among them.

  They lined up, using the long-handled broom and the brass fire-irons for rifles, while Colwyn bellowed orders at them. Everyone, even Dolly, who was making eyes at Colwyn, laughed and thought it a great joke. But not Charlotte. She sat on the piano stool watching them, and feeling as if the world were crumbling around her. How could they joke and laugh about it? Didn’t they realize how deadly earnest it was? Colwyn at least should know better. And where would they be next year? Still laughing and playing the fool? Or would they be …

  She stood up abruptly, cutting off her thoughts. “ Supper time lads!” she called to them. To her relief they stopped their drilling and followed her. But for Charlotte the warmth and safety of her Christmas had gone, and as she carved thick slices of ham, desperately preserving the air of jollity, she could not help wondering if it would ever be the same.

  Chapter Ten

  Christmas day in the Church household was a family occasion too, but it was very different from the Halls’ Christmas.

  Every year for as long as Rebecca could remember, it had been the same—midnight mass on Christmas Eve, matins on Christmas morning, thank-you letters to be written while Winifred cooked lunch, and the afternoon spent receiving the first of the endless round of annual visitors.

  There was plenty of good food and wine—Alfred made sure of that—and there was always a Christmas tree tall enough to reach to the ceiling, which it was Rebecca’s job to decorate on Christmas Eve.

  It was the nicest part of Christmas, she had always thought, unwrapping the baubles and the tinsel from their tissue paper and hanging them one by one on the branches until they sparkled like something from a fairy tale. But this year her hands trembled as she eased the tiny bells and globes from their wrappings, and she could not concentrate on what she was doing.

  She had arranged to meet a boy—not just any boy, but Ted Hall, who had sung ‘Burlington Bertie’ in the concert party, and walked home with her afterwards.

  Each time she thought of it she began to tremble again. Deep, deep inside she trembled, her nerves knotted and rose in her throat in little spasms, her mouth became dry in anticipation.

  She had arranged to meet him, and she could think of nothing else, just as she had been able to think of nothing else but the things he had said to her and the way he had made her feel when he had seen her home after the concert party. That made her tremble again, because she knew he was very special. She hadn’t known many boys. The life she had led had been manipulated to prevent her doing so, but none of the ones she had met had affected her in the same way as Ted Hall. In the past she had sometimes been glad of her father’s strictness, for it had prevented her from having to get to know them better. But Ted …

  She wanted to see him again more than she’d ever wanted anything in her whole life. But how could she? Her father would never allow it, and what excuse could she give for going out by herself? When she had been talking to Ted, she had been determined to think of something. But now, at home, in the imprisoning atmosphere, she knew it was hopeless.

  Tears pricked her eyes as she imagined him waiting for her, then realizing she was not coming and going away again, despising her. It was awful, she couldn’t let it happen, but how? How?

  “Please, God, let me think of something!” she prayed, slipping a candle into position in its tiny basket on the tree, and she went on praying until she had finished the decorations.

  Next morning at the service at St Mary’s, Withydown, she still had no solution.

  “Hark the Herald Angels Sing!” sang the congregation, and Rebecca’s lips mouthed the words. But inside she was still whispering, “I must see him. Oh, please, let me think of something!”

  It was as they left the church that she saw a notice that seemed the answer to her prayer. Hillsbridge Girls Friendly Society were giving a carol concert—and it was to be held on Tuesday! Rebecca’s eyes went round with awe. Fancy God hearing her and putting an excuse in her path that way! It must mean it couldn’t be so wrong to deceive her father after all. But still it was only half the battle. She would never be allowed to go on her own. If she suggested it, either Winifred or Alfred himself would take her.

  No, there was only one person who could give her an excuse and that was Marjorie Downs.

  Before moving to Hillsbridge, she had never known anyone quite like Marjorie, who was gay and pr
etty and never seemed to worry about anything. She was a flirt, and she “ told stories,” embroidering her accounts of everything that happened to her to make them more interesting, but there was no malice in her.

  Alfred liked her, too, and this puzzled Rebecca. She did so many things he was always ready to condemn: walking out with boys, and even letting them kiss her, going to picture shows and concerts at the Palace, and working as an apprentice at Fords, the big drapers shop in South Hill. Yet whenever she came knocking at the door, Alfred seemed pleased, smiling a strange smile that turned his mouth down at the corners instead of up, and narrowing his eyes until they were half-closed. Sometimes he patted her on the shoulder, or put his arm around her waist, his hands lingering as if he were fond of her. And when he spoke to her, his voice was low and full of hidden depths.

  Yes, if there was anyone who could get around Alfred and persuade him to allow her to go to the G.F.S. concert, it was Marjorie. And after the way Marjorie had let her down and left her stranded after their last outing, perhaps she would be willing to make amends. But Rebecca knew she would have to see her and explain, and with her father home all over the Christmas it wouldn’t be easy.

  As they walked home along the wintry lanes, Rebecca decided to broach the subject.

  “Can I go round to wish Marjie a Merry Christmas?” she asked as they reached the track leading to their two houses.

  Alfred’s face darkened. He had been hoping Marjorie might come around to wish Rebecca a Merry Christmas. “Your mother will need some help in the kitchen,” he objected.

  But Winifred patted her daughter’s arm. “Not for a bit, I won’t. The vegetables are all done, and the turkey’s in the oven. You go and see Marjie if you like.”

  Rebecca nodded, her heart thudding as she ran down the path to Marjorie’s house.

  Marjorie was one of a big family. It seemed to spill into every room, and although she usually enjoyed their company, today Rebecca began to despair of ever getting her friend alone. At last she managed it, and she quickly outlined her plan before they were interrupted.

  When she had finished, Marjorie laughed delightedly.

  “Well, I am surprised at you, Becky! And I always thought you were too good to live!”

  Colour flooded Rebecca’s face. “ Oh, please, Marjie! I don’t know how I can get there if you don’t help me. You know what he’s like—he’d never let me go.”

  “You don’t handle him right,” Marjorie said wickedly. Then, seeing Rebecca’s worried look, she laughed again. “Oh, all right, I’ll help if it means that much to you. What do you want me to do?”

  “Could you ask him for me?” Becky said eagerly. “He wouldn’t be so likely to suspect anything if he thought it was your idea. Come back with me now—say we’ve been talking …”

  “What did you say it was—a G.F.S. concert?”

  “Yes. On Tuesday. Oh, please, Marjie!”

  “All right. But what am I supposed to do while you go courting?”

  “Oh!” Becky’s face fell. “I hadn’t thought …”

  “Never mind. I’ll think of something,” Marjie said impatiently. “You worry too much, Becky. You want me to come round to see him now?”

  “Oh, please, Marjie.”

  “All right,” said Marjorie, clearly enjoying the whole episode.

  As Rebecca had suspected, her father was so pleased to see Marjorie he agreed to her suggestion without much ado. Though when she had gone, Alfred turned to his daughter sternly.

  “You see, I am trusting you again, Rebecca—for Marjorie’s sake,” he told her. “It would be a pity for your friend to be penalized for your wrongdoing. But I shall not overlook another lapse. I am putting you on your word of honour not to let me—or her—down again.”

  Rebecca flushed slightly, guilty at her own deceit, but she said nothing, and presently the discomfort faded. The happiness, bubbling inside her, was too intoxicating to be suppressed for long.

  After lunch, the visitors arrived in their brand-new, shiny black motor car—Alfred’s second cousin, Kessey Thorne, her husband Donald, and their son, Rupert.

  Of all the relatives who came duty-calling at Christmas, they were the ones Rebecca disliked the most. But because Winifred was still upstairs changing into her afternoon frock when the motor drew up at the gate, she had to go out with her father to greet them, and somehow, happy as she was, even they didn’t seem as bad as usual.

  As they sat in the living room, making polite conversation and inquiring after all the family, Rebecca stole critical looks at them, amusing herself by trying to decide what animals they reminded her of. Kessey, she thought, was like a Pekinese dog, fluffy and fluttery in scarves and feathers. Donald, with his whiskery little beard was like a billy-goat. And Rupert reminded her of a sleek, self-satisfied slug.

  Finally Winifred came down, apologizing for not having been ready, and the conversation broadened, as it always did, to a catalogue of the health and fortunes of every member of the family, from Alfred’s sister, Amelia, who had done very well in life and was a companion and personal maid with a titled family, the Harcourtes, in London, to a number of distant cousins who were apparently eking out their lives in genteel poverty and surviving one crisis after another. Most of them Rebecca had never met, and usually she sat stupefied with boredom, trying to avoid Rupert’s leering glances in her direction. But today she was in a world of her own, glad to be able to curl up on the pouffe and think, and Alfred had to address her twice before she even realized she was being spoken to.

  “Why don’t you entertain Rupert with a piano solo, my dear?” he said benevolently. “There’s a nice fire in the parlour, and I’m sure you two young people don’t want to listen to all our family gossip.”

  Hot colour flooded Rebecca’s cheeks. She did not want to be alone with Rupert, but she did not know how to avoid it.

  “I’m not really very good,” she said lamely, but Alfred could not have that.

  “Not good? Why, you have a wonderful touch! You’ll appreciate it, Rupert, I know you will.”

  He stood up, opening the door, and Rebecca had no choice but to go. She led the way to the parlour, and when she sat down on the piano stool he stationed himself in front of the fire, lifting his coat tails to warm himself as he had seen his father do. But she still felt ill at ease alone with him, and to hide her nervousness she began to sort through her music.

  “What would you like to hear?”

  As soon as she had said it, she realised her mistake. He crossed the room, and leant over her shoulder, his nearness making her stomach churn.

  “How about this one?” she suggested, beginning to play the first tune on the page in the hope that he would go away, but he did not. He stayed beside her, so close that her fingers stumbled over the keys.

  “I … I’ve gone wrong, I’m afraid,” she said.

  “Never mind,” he simpered, his oily voice making her skin crawl. He reached over to turn the page of music, his hand lingering against hers for a moment. It was always the same with him—when they were alone together, or if he thought no one was watching, he touched her as often as he could, but always in such a way that he had an avenue of retreat should she object.

  Now, as on every occasion, his hand was removed before she had any reason to complain, but it left her feeling somehow soiled.

  “You don’t have to be shy with me, Becky,” he said, faintly reproving. “ We know one another too well for that, don’t we?” Then, before she could think of an answer, he had turned the page again. “ How about “Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes”? That’s a nice sentiment, don’t you think?”

  She began to play again, willing herself to concentrate, but she could not rid herself of the unpleasant sensation Rupert’s nearness had on her. There had been a time when she had thought all men would make her feel the same, but now she knew different. Ted Hall hadn’t made her feel that way. He had made her warm and excited and happy. And she was going to see him again on Tuesda
y, whereas if she was lucky she may not have to see Rupert again until next Christmas! The thought cheered her, making her fingers light and nimble, and although he was right beside her, it was not to Rupert that she played “Drink to Me Only.”

  The Thornes stayed until after tea, then left abruptly when Donald looked out of the window and saw the frost shining on the paths. He did not want to risk driving his motor on slippery roads. Rebecca, watching them go, felt heady with relief. Not only had Rupert gone, but Christmas Day was nearly over, and that meant one day less until she would see Ted again.

  The thought made her nervousness return, and day by day it intensified, so that by the time Tuesday came, it was almost stronger than her desire to go. What was the point? she asked herself as she tried to put up her hair with shaking hands. After tonight she wouldn’t be able to see him again, even if he asked. There wouldn’t be another convenient G.F.S. concert. And he probably wouldn’t ask to see her again anyway. Already he might be regretting having asked her out at all, and perhaps he wouldn’t come. She had heard of girls left standing—Marjorie had told her about them.

  If it hadn’t been for the fact that Marjorie would be calling for her, Rebecca thought she might have given up the idea of going herself! But at twenty past seven, Marjorie knocked on the door. Rebecca’s excitement bubbled as she went to answer it, but her father seemed to appear from nowhere and got there first.

  “Marjorie, my dear!” he greeted her warmly, and Rebecca’s heart sank. A few minutes ago, she had been contemplating not going at all, now, she knew if her father kept Marjie talking, she would be late. Already it was going to be a rush to get there—the G.F.S. concert did not begin until a quarter to eight, so it would have looked odd if they had gone too early.

  Rebecca put on her hat and stood buttoning her coat while her father spoke to Marjorie.

  “Now, you will make sure that Rebecca stays with you, won’t you? I don’t want you coming home on your own, the two of you, like last time.”