Margaret tried valiantly to sing the traditional Sussex carol ‘On Christmas Night All Christians Sing’ and to pretend this was like all other Christmas Eves, now the war was over. But it wasn’t, not here in the Rectory, nor anywhere in Ashden. There was too much grieving to lay aside even for the celebration of the Lord’s birthday. Even that, she supposed, had been tinged with grief. The slaughter of the innocents. The innocents in Ashden were poor Mrs Isabel and Nanny Oates. Then there was Agnes’s Jamie. Agnes was still walking around as if hit by shell blast and no wonder. What kind of a Christmas was it for her, with the end of all her dreams?
Margaret had done the best she could to make it seem like a real Christmas. She only had the mince pies left to bake now; they were oval-shaped, cut as her mother had taught her, but even they failed to raise the usual anticipation in her. Today, everyone would be gathering under the Rectory roof, including Miss Tilly, Miss Penelope and her father. They hadn’t had such a full house since before the war. Agnes was busy making up beds, Mrs Lilley was looking flustered instead of absent-minded, and perhaps by this evening when they all attended the midnight service, the Christmas spirit would come in more generous measure. Most of them had problems, but being all together must help. Poor Miss Caroline had been looking like a white ghost when she came ten days ago, though she was pretending all was well. No mention of her Belgian officer though. No doubt he’d gone back to his wife with not a thought for the girl he was leaving behind him. Then there was Agnes. She was working too hard, for all her abstraction.
‘You ought to be with your ma, Agnes, or Mrs Thorn, at Christmas.’ Margaret was concerned. ‘Not that I can’t do with you here, of course.’
Agnes had just said flatly: ‘This is my home, Margaret.’ Margaret had shut up quickly, and Agnes obviously felt guilty for snapping for she continued: ‘At any rate, it’s almost as good as a home of my own, the one Jamie promised.’ That was all she could manage before she broke down. To Margaret’s way of thinking, she’d never fully got her strength back after the birth of little Isabel, and Jamie’s death had made life all too much. Margaret felt guilty at her own private joy. Joe would be home from Austria for Christmas, and he and Muriel had chosen to come here for Christmas Day. If it hadn’t been for poor Lizzie she’d have been on top of the world.
Lizzie had arrived last evening, clutching Baby Frank, and sobbing her heart out. Agnes and Myrtle took one look, and tactfully withdrew, leaving the kitchen for Margaret to cope with her daughter as best she could.
‘What’s the matter, love?’
‘It’s Frank,’ Lizzie wailed. ‘I told him he’s got to go.’ She burst out crying again, and Mrs Lilley put her head round the door to see what was up. She hastily withdrew it when she saw what it was.
‘I had this letter from Rudolf,’ Lizzie hiccuped. ‘I never told you, nor Frank I’d written to him. He thinks he can get back here in the spring, and says he understands about the baby. I told him Frank was ever so nice, and that he would like him.’
Bet that cheered him up, Margaret thought, while uttering clucking sounds of sympathy. ‘So you’ve chosen old Rudolf. Not that I don’t agree with you, but what made up your mind?’
Lizzie howled again, and Myrtle popped in with a glass of the medicinal brandy that Lady Buckford kept for emergencies, sent by courtesy of the Rector. A gulp of that, and Lizzie was calmer. ‘I love them both, like I told you. But Frank and me are different somehow, and Rudolf and I are the same. Do you know what I mean?’
Margaret did. It used to be called knowing your place, but nowadays it didn’t have a name. Not that Frank Eliot was gentry – far from it – but he was an educated man who’d seen the world, and, love Lizzie or not, it set him apart. And her Lizzie had had the sense to see it.
‘What for?’ Lizzie was astounded. Ma had never said anything like that before. Proud of Joe, proud of Fred even, but her?
‘For having the Sussex sense to see where your long-term interests lie, and they’re not in Frank Eliot’s bed.’
Lizzie giggled. ‘I wish I could have Frank in bed, and Rudolf the rest of the time.’
‘Lizzie Dibble, I’m ashamed of you.’ Two pink spots appeared in Margaret’s cheeks. In her day one might think such things, but never, never did one voice them. It was her own fault for speaking too free, she supposed. All the same, she felt very sorry for Frank. She’d been set against him at first, and looking back maybe that was because he was ‘different’, as well as being a foreigner to Ashden. Ah well, if there was one thing this war had taught them, it was that foreigners weren’t that much different to themselves.
Ah well, Christmas Eve morning and a lot of work still to do. Sir John had provided two geese and a turkey, which was all very well, but what was one to stuff them with? Supplies weren’t back to normal yet, and she hadn’t got that young Peter Bertram at the butcher’s trained to save her a nice bit of suet, the way his father did. Wally Bertram had hung up his cleaver at last when the war ended and decided to hand over the reins to his son, now Peter was coming back from war.
Luckily Mrs Coombs had come over herself from the Dower House with a lump of suet. Before the war, she wouldn’t give you the time of day, she was so proud of her position at the Manor. Now she was a regular jaw-me-dead, and Margaret couldn’t get rid of the woman. She sat at the kitchen table drinking tea and telling her all about Lady Hunney and how the atmosphere had changed.
‘And a good thing too,’ Margaret said politely. But she was thinking of that new song everyone had been singing since the armistice: ‘What shall we be when we aren’t what we are?’
‘Mother, what can I do?’ Caroline was determined to be bright – made harder by the fact that her mother had long since given up trying to pretend all was well, and Christmas was just one more burden. She had a perpetual puzzled look as though continually wondering why there was one fledgling missing from the Rectory nest. It had its blessings in that she had taken the news of Phoebe’s deception remarkably well – which was more than Father had.
‘Tidy the drawing room?’ It was almost a standard reply to keep her quiet. The drawing room always needed tidying, although since it contained not only the presents awaiting wrapping in tissue paper but Phoebe and her paraphernalia, it was more cluttered than usual.
Caroline had been here since yesterday, having travelled down on the Monday evening. Luke had volunteered to man the office and to travel down on Christmas morning. It was very self-sacrificing of him, but as he said jestingly, he was so confident of Felicia’s answer that he didn’t mind allowing Daniel the field for another day. Phoebe had arrived by motor car yesterday evening too, beaming and very large. The baby was due in three weeks’ time, but Mrs Dibble was still maintaining it would be early.
‘I think you decided to have a baby just to get out of household chores.’ Caroline cheerfully tidied up around her.
Phoebe grinned and stretched lazily. ‘Perhaps I like watching you do them, though.’ She ducked, as a duster came whizzing through the air. ‘It’s like old times, isn’t it, being here at the Rectory?’
‘You once told me you never did feel at home here.’
‘That was before I had a home of my own.’
‘O wise young sage.’ Caroline bowed.
‘Will you move back to the Rectory, Caroline, when your job comes to an end?’
‘I don’t know. I gather that Lizzie Dibble has decided to remain with her husband, and now the delightful Swinford-Browne has closed the cinema, I can’t even take over Frank Eliot’s job.’
‘You’re usually so enthusiastic about work.’
‘Just at the moment, sister dear, I don’t feel very enthusiastic about anything.’ Especially, she smarted inside, about younger sisters who sat smugly awaiting their firstborn and lording it over their elders.
‘I think Yves behaved very badly.’ Phoebe managed to put her dainty foot right in it, as usual.
‘No, he did not,’ Caroline yelled, red-faced, all good intentions of remaining calm forgotten. ‘It was always agreed what the end of the war would bring and so would you please not talk about it?’
‘Sorry.’
‘What on earth are you two shouting about?’ Elizabeth came in crossly. ‘Didn’t you hear me calling, Caroline? Luke is telephoning from your office.’
Instant alarm. What had gone wrong? Was it a summons to return to London immediately, or to say that Luke could not come? And if so … She flew to the telephone, a hundred horrors flicking through her mind.
‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away,’ Luke reassured her. ‘I’ve had an odd telephone call from your own wild horse, however.’
It took a moment before Caroline realised whom he was talking about. ‘Yves?’ Her heart pounded in a fanfare of joy.
‘It was a very bad line from Belgium. I couldn’t hear all he was saying, and then we were cut off.’
Keep still, heart, she silently ordered. Keep still, hope.
‘What did he want?’
‘I gather he’s been sent back to England today. All I could make out was Caroline, Dover, Town and half past three, and then the line went completely. Oh, and Caroline, tell Felicia not to get married before I get there tomorrow.’
Caroline’s hand trembled as she hung up the receiver. Why couldn’t Yves have rung her here? She knew the answer. Lines were difficult, to say the least, across the Channel, and only the line to the office would have any priority. Sent back to England? For how long? For Christmas? For two days? A month? Frustration clouded her mind, and only one thing was obvious. Yves would be at Dover Town Station at half past three, and that was where she must go. Now. She flew to the Bradshaw in the drawing room, leafing nervously through its bulk for the timetables she needed, for she’d have to change trains twice.
‘Tell Mother I have to go to Dover,’ she told Phoebe. ‘I’ll be back in time for the midnight Mass.’
Would she? She didn’t know, she couldn’t think. Would Yves be with her, or would it be just a fleeting encounter on his way to London?
‘Caroline, don’t be silly!’ Even Phoebe was alarmed and went through to find Elizabeth, who came back hurriedly from her glory-hole, but too late. Caroline was already running for the railway station. If she hurried, she could just get the twelve twenty-four to Tunbridge Wells, which might, if she were lucky with her connection, get her to Tonbridge in time to catch the Dover train from London. She’d arrive there at three-fifteen.
Why on earth had Yves cut it so fine? Was it a sudden mission?
The problem was that timetables were almost irrelevant nowadays with so many troop trains and delays, and that hadn’t stopped just because the war had. British troops had advanced into Germany to occupy it while they were establishing their political system and that, with returning POWs crowding trains in the opposite direction, guaranteed wartime train travel conditions still prevailed.
Suppose she missed Yves? Suppose he had been planning to go to London after seeing her? At the very least he might come down with Luke for Christmas Day. Even King Albert wouldn’t insist he worked then, so Caroline might have her Christmas after all. What matter if her happiness was restored only for a short time? Omar Khayyám, whose Rubáiyát she had given Yves in 1916, worked to the philosophy of eat, drink and be merry. Very well, she would, she vowed, though could not quite convince herself that this was wise. All she cared about was that in about two hours’ time she would see Yves.
She leapt onto the train just as it was about to puff off once more, and it was only as the train steamed out she saw two familiar figures. Felicia had obviously just arrived and was now in Daniel’s arms. She hadn’t even had time to call out hello. No matter, she was decidedly de trop, and anyway she was en route to a tryst of her own. God had been listening to Caroline Lilley after all.
‘I feel we’ve both come home at long last,’ said Felicia contentedly, as they walked down Station Road.
‘Are you sure it’s a home with me you want?’ Daniel asked. She smiled at him, for they both knew the question was superfluous.
‘Oh, yes.’
‘And what of Luke?’
‘If the boot were on the other foot, would he be asking the same question about you?’
Daniel sighed. ‘I must be the most selfish chap alive – and the luckiest. Shall we live in Ashden?’
‘No. You want to travel, remember?’
‘But I can’t—’ He grinned. ‘I can, but it’s no life for a married man.’
‘I don’t want to prevent you from doing what you want.’
‘Climb the Himalayas? Go diving in the Seven Seas?’
‘Anything you like. And I’ll come with you.’
Caroline fumed. Why did trains have to be so maddeningly slow? Clickety-clack, clickety-clack, Yves is back, she silently chanted in excitement as the train steamed on. At last it condescended to reach Dover Town Station. Why had he said the Town Station and not the harbour if he had come by ferry or troop ship? She dismissed this puzzle as she hurried over the bridge and into the booking hall. It was the scene of many family reunions, but there was no sign of Yves. Well, she was five minutes early. She tried to busy herself at the station news stand, then by staring at the timetables. Anything to make the time pass more quickly. With the short days, light was already fading and she envied those who had departed to their own homes, reunited with loved ones. How would Yves arrive here? It was a long walk from the harbour. A train? There was none due according to the timetables. A troop lorry from the docks?
Trying not to feel concern, she watched the hands of the station clock creep round to twenty to four, then quarter to the hour. She went to look at the timetable again. Could Luke have misinterpreted what Yves said? Could she have done so? Dover Town – suppose there had been a break between the two words: Dover … I’m going to town. That’s how everybody referred to London casually, and Yves had caught the habit. He could have gone straight to Victoria from the harbour and would be in London at three-thirty, not here. That’s where she should have met him.
With growing dismay, she studied the timetable again. She had only five minutes in which to catch the train she had believed she and Yves might return to Tonbridge on, and it was the last that could reasonably be expected, allowing the two changes, to get them to Ashden this evening. Get her to Ashden, she sadly corrected herself. Yves might just be late, but in her heart she knew this was not the answer, and slowly she walked back to the London platform.
Even if she saw Yves for a few hours tomorrow, there would be no precious night together.
‘I’ll answer it, Percy,’ Felicia called out. She was busy decorating the Christmas tree in the entrance hall, with Phoebe shouting orders at her from the comfort of an armchair.
‘Isn’t it wonderful to be home?’ Phoebe had said.
‘Yes,’ she had answered mechanically, but it wasn’t that wonderful. The deep joy of her new understanding with Daniel was marred by the thought of having to break the news to Luke tomorrow.
‘He’ll take it better than you think,’ Daniel had said consolingly.
‘Yes, but—’ She stopped, for she could not put the thought behind the ‘but’ into words, even for herself.
She opened the front door, and to her astonishment there stood a familiar khaki-clad figure.
‘What on earth are you doing here, Yves? And where’s Caroline? Mother said she’d gone dashing off to Dover to meet you.’ Felicia was alarmed.
His face changed in shock. ‘But I told Luke my train would get in at three-thirty here at Ashden.’
No wonder Caroline had not been at the station to greet him as he had expected and longed for.
Felicia groaned. ‘Luke said it was a bad line. It wasn’t even clear whether you were coming to the Rectory or going to London.’
Yves glanced down at his luggage in despair. ‘I must go. Now. She may be waiting for me alone in Dover. This is terrible.’
‘Yes, but—’ This time Felicia could frame the thought behind the ‘but’; it was too late, however. Yves was already running across to Station Road. The ‘but’ had been that it would take hours to get back to Dover, with no surety that Caroline would be there to meet him.
‘Who was that?’ Her father appeared in the hallway.
‘Yves. There’s been a mix-up,’ she explained, and the Rector paled.
‘Caroline would surely have the sense to go to Buckford House if she were stranded?’ It didn’t sound as if he had any confidence about this.
‘She’s more likely to go to London or try to get back here. Probably the latter, seeing how slow the trains will be tomorrow.’
‘She’ll telephone, surely. How long is Yves here for, and where is he?’
‘I didn’t think to ask him – and he’s gone rushing back to Dover.’
‘They’re both as mad as each other,’ Laurence said crossly.
What a to-do. Here it was time for Christmas Eve dinner, and no one knew where Miss Caroline was, and no sign of Mr George yet, though he’d promised faithfully he’d be home. At least Miss Tilly was home, together with Lord Banning and his daughter.
‘Myrtle, get those potatoes out of the oven,’ Margaret commanded. ‘They’ll be done to a crisp. And next Christmas Eve, mind you get that stuffing done quicker.’
Myrtle obeyed, then straightened up as she dumped the somewhat charred potatoes onto the table. ‘There may not be a next year,’ she muttered.
‘What’s that, Myrtle?’
‘I really am going to leave soon, Mrs Dibble.’
Margaret snorted. ‘Leave the Rectory? You’ll never do that, not while the kiddies are here.’
‘I don’t want you to think I’ve not been happy here, Mrs Dibble,’ Myrtle said fiercely, ‘but now the war’s over it’s time to think of kiddies of my own. Times are changing. A girl’s got to look after herself now, and there are no prospects here.’
‘Prospects?’ Dismay made Margaret curt. ‘What do you think you are – a bank manager? You thank your lucky stars you got a job at all, Myrtle.’
‘And I don’t meet any young men here.’
‘There aren’t any to meet any more,’ Margaret replied soberly. ‘There’s many a girl in England not going to have a man of her own ever.’
‘So you see,’ Myrtle came back quickly, ‘I’m right to get out and look around.’
Perhaps Myrtle would change her mind, perhaps she wouldn’t. Margaret made herself a cup of tea and thought about it. Once she accustomed herself to the idea that Myrtle was leaving, it wouldn’t seem so bad. Just because she, Margaret, would never leave the Rectory, she couldn’t expect the same to apply to everybody else. She’d have to train a new girl though. Agnes couldn’t manage alone. And come to that, what might Agnes’s plans be?
Penelope finished helping Felicia with the Christmas tree, and decided to take a stroll around the village before dark fell completely. Her footsteps took her to the cinema, and she stood outside it for some moments, surprised to see it in darkness and obviously closed up. Then briskly she walked away along Bankside. Where the bombed cottages had been, she had expected to see an empty shell, a scarred hole of rubble, but instead she saw an orderly piece of ground, fenced off and with winter vegetables growing in it. At the moment it also contained Frank Eliot, whom she hadn’t seen since he had returned to Ashden after his illness.
‘Hallo, Frank,’ she said brightly, opening the new wicket gate and going in. ‘Growing for England, are you?’ she continued.
He grinned. ‘Something like that, Miss Banning.’
‘I heard you had gone into the cinema,’ she continued doggedly. ‘I imagined you’d be another Douglas Fairbanks by now, not growing vegetables.’ With his moustache and tall, lean figure, he did have something of the Fairbanks look.
‘Not exactly a Douglas Fairbanks. More of a Charlie Chaplin. I’m afraid the cinema is no more. Swinford-Browne couldn’t wait to get rid of me in gratitude for all the work I did for his hop fields.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not. It’s given me more time to create this garden. It won’t be a vegetable garden for long. When life is normal again, it will be a flower garden in memory of Isabel Swinford-Browne.’
‘I hadn’t heard about that either. What a nice idea,’ Penelope said approvingly. ‘Are you in charge of the project?’
He hesitated. ‘Partly.’
‘What will you plant—?’
‘I won’t be planting anything,’ he cut in abruptly. ‘I’m leaving the village.’
‘Leaving?’ Penelope was taken aback. ‘But your son—’
‘I hear Rudolf is a good man. He says he’ll take care of him.’
‘But,’ Penelope struggled to cope with this unexpected development, ‘what about Lizzie?’ Having heard no more from Caroline, she had assumed Lizzie had elected to stay with Frank.
‘She says it’s best this way, and I agree.’
‘What will you do?’
He shrugged. ‘Go into hops again, perhaps. Not here, though. I’ve had enough of Sussex, even if the old hop fields are kept up.’
‘Are hops really your life’s work?’ Penelope asked hesitantly.
‘I’m over forty now, rather old for dreams, Penelope – I’m sorry, Miss Banning.’
‘Penelope.’
‘You have youth on your side, so what’s your dream?’ Frank abruptly turned the tables, perhaps, she guessed, to ignore the gauntlet she had just laid down.
She longed to answer, ‘You, Frank,’ but instead she said, ‘Some kind of venture of my own. Some business I can run. I’d be good at that. Now tell me yours.’ She spoke so firmly he could not refuse her this time.
Unwillingly he replied, ‘I’d like to design gardens, huge gardens, small gardens, and then watch them grow.’
‘Then why don’t you?’
‘It requires money,’ he said wryly. ‘And connections. Pity. I’d be good at it.’
Penelope stared at him. In 1914 she had gone on an impulse out to Serbia. Now she felt a similar impulse. Again it was a risk, but she had the same feeling that it was right. ‘That might be no problem.’ She was nervous, not because she doubted herself but because she feared his reaction.
He flushed, and started to say something. ‘My money, my connections, your creativity. Think about it, Frank,’ she interrupted quickly, before he could turn her down.
He looked at her, saw that she was serious, and nodded his head. ‘Very well. I’ll think. May I call on you in London?’ He seemed surprised himself at his answer, and, well satisfied, she strode away.
Frank watched her go. Not for the first time, it occurred to him she had somewhat the look and character of his Jennifer.
Caroline sat despondently on a bench at Tonbridge, waiting for the Tunbridge Wells connection. It was all a terrible nightmare. There was no Yves and she’d missed the Christmas preparations too. Furthermore she wouldn’t be home until eight o’clock at the earliest, and would undoubtedly miss Yves’ telephone call from London. She felt very sorry for herself indeed, and for the first time tears began to flow.
‘Poor dear.’ The woman next to her on the bench drew nearer. ‘Lost your sweetheart, have you?’
‘Yes,’ said Caroline bleakly. She had. Not once, but twice.
About six-thirty the doorbell rang again, and Felicia ran to open it in the hope of its being Caroline. It wasn’t. In the Rectory drive was a large and unfamiliar army staff car, and on the doorstep were three large male strangers, one in civilian clothes of a very odd type indeed with a three-cornered hat, and two younger men in army uniform, which Felicia belatedly registered was American. All three of them were grinning and had a somewhat familiar air about them.
‘Laurence at home, is he?’ the older man asked, as she confusedly stood aside to let them in. He then proceeded to pump her hand up and down. ‘Where is the old son of a gun?’
Attracted by the loud noise, Laurence came out of the drawing room with Elizabeth close on his heels. He stopped short, and stared at the three of them, his gaze going from one to the other. Then two strides took him to the older man, where he proceeded first to pump his hand up and down, and then to hug him.
‘Gerald! Taken your time, haven’t you?’ He was half laughing, half crying.
‘Sure have. Gave up waiting for you to come over to Colorado, and when Jake and Pete here came over to bail you folks out in France, I thought why not meet them and go down to see the folks?’
‘And I’m delighted,’ Laurence said simply. ‘How did you know to come here and not Dover though?’
‘Dover?’ Gerald grinned. ‘How is the old battleaxe?’
Lady Buckford descended the stairs in stately fashion. ‘The old battleaxe is quite well, thank you, my son.’
No Caroline at the Town Station, and no sign of her at the docks. Yves had gone straight to Buckford House but no one there had seen her either and when he telephoned the Rectory, Caroline had not returned. Someone at the station remembered seeing a young lady wearing a WAAC’s uniform waiting much earlier in the afternoon, but she’d left alone on the London train. He promptly rang the office and then Queen Anne’s Gate, but there was no reply from either. There were two choices. Either Caroline was on the way back to Ashden, or on her way to London and Queen Anne’s Gate. He’d understood Luke wasn’t going to Ashden until morning so she could be planning to travel with him. What a waste of precious, precious time.
‘Pick me a leaf or two of sage, Agnes.’ A little sage went a long way but it was useful because it kept green all winter. ‘And then you’d better make up those three rooms.’ What a to-do! The Rector’s long-lost brother and his two sons come to stay, which meant a full house at the Rectory. She didn’t know whether she was on her head or her heels.
There was no reply from Agnes who came to with a start as she saw Margaret staring at her. ‘Sorry, I was just thinking.’
Once Margaret would have snapped, ‘No time to think, not on Christmas Eve.’ And certainly not this one, but she didn’t do that tonight. There were more important matters.
Poor Miss Caroline didn’t get home till eight-thirty – and she was alone. Mrs Lilley popped out from the family reunion and had asked Margaret to get her something to eat in the dining room until she felt up to facing her new relations. Margaret promptly whisked out the nice piece of beef she’d kept warm for her. Miss Caroline only toyed with it, however, and seeing that, Mrs Lilley had decided she’d better tell her the truth.
‘Yves has been here, darling.’
‘What?’ Miss Caroline’s eyes grew round with horror. ‘I thought he’d gone to London,’ she wailed. ‘Where is he now?’
‘He went to find you. He’ll be back, Caroline. Do try to eat something,’ Mrs Lilley coaxed.
‘Where did he go?’
‘Dover, of course.’
It was a good job Margaret was still in the room because she was able to slam the door shut to prevent Miss Caroline rushing straight off to Ashden Station again. Mrs Lilley took firm control for once, bless her. ‘No, Caroline. Wait here, we have some news for you. Isn’t that best, Mrs Dibble?’
Margaret nodded.
‘He may think I’m up in London,’ Caroline said desperately, eyeing the door and her chances.
‘You wouldn’t get to Dover tonight. Besides, Caroline, we all need you here, and especially tonight.’
‘You don’t understand – I could get to London at least.’
‘And what if Yves comes here? He will come, even if it is tomorrow.’
‘I’ll go to the station then to meet the trains.’
‘No, darling, you will spend Christmas Eve here with us, just as you always have. Now let me explain …’
Of all the stupid things to happen. If Yves was only here for a very short time, he might not have the time to come, he might think it was not worth all the anguish of another parting. Caroline tried in vain to eat the unappetising slice of beef Mrs Dibble had proudly put before her, but found it as hard to digest as the news of Uncle Gerald’s reappearance. In the end, she quietly slid it onto the fire, and compromised with the potatoes and cabbage. Just as she was wondering how to dispose of the roly-poly pudding, there was a ring at the door, and Caroline rushed to answer it, almost colliding with Agnes who promptly retreated.
‘Yves!’ she cried as she threw open the door.
It wasn’t Yves. It was George and he was not alone. With him was a shy-looking, slender girl whom Caroline vaguely recognised from one of George’s photographs. ‘Oh, George, how wonderful.’ At least some nice things were happening for Christmas.
‘Meet Florence, Caroline.’ The girl smiled shyly.
Caroline shook Florence’s hand. ‘How lovely to meet you. Er – if you’re both staying, I’ll ask Agnes to make up the rooms.’ What, she was feverishly wondering, had happened to buxom Kate Burrows?
‘George.’ Elizabeth came hurrying into the hall, hearing the sound of his voice. ‘I thought you’d never get here. Where have you been?’
‘Meet Florence, Ma.’
‘Oh, how rude of me. Are you both staying? I’ll ask Agnes to make up another room besides yours. That’s if there are any.’ Elizabeth was immediately flustered. ‘I’m sure we—’
George grinned. ‘We only need one, Mother. Father’s been keeping it secret. We were married this morning.’
‘We ought to be leaving for church, Caroline.’ Penelope had stayed behind with her as she refused to go till the last possible moment in case Yves arrived. That moment had come, and the bells were ringing out to call them to the midnight Mass. Even in her own misery, Caroline was pleased to see Penelope looking so happy, not to mention George and Florence. In fact, everyone was save her, she reflected. Even Felicia, and as for Father and Grandmama, they had remained closeted after dinner with Gerald in the morning room, while Jake and Peter overwhelmed the drawing room with their good humour, loud voices and funny stories. Caroline had done her best to contribute to the convivial atmosphere, hard though it was. Then her conscience struck her as she remembered Agnes, and she tried to rationalise her own unhappiness. Yves had gone to London, and she had missed him. Perhaps he had even left the country by now. After all, she had assumed he was entering Britain when he telephoned Luke. Suppose he had come for a mere twenty-four hours and had been leaving it?
The peace of St Nicholas calmed her. Lit by its Christmas candles, the church was full, as had not been the case during the war. Grief could bring people to God; it could also estrange them. Now the odd unreality of the armistice was past, Ashden seemed to be preparing to heal its wounds and reunite as a village, although it was true that yesterday evening her father had told her that the Mutters and Thorns had once again come to blows. Once Father would have been deeply disturbed by this but he had actually laughed about it.
‘Miracles need more work devoted to them than either the Mutters or the Thorns are prepared to give, I fear.’ Oddly enough it was this humanity on her father’s part that made Caroline realise she was once again at ease in God’s presence, and this evening she felt her faith restored for the first time since Isabel’s death. Her father too seemed to have taken on new fire, and the emotion and passion that had been absent since Isabel’s death to be rekindled.
Behind her, her ladyship was no longer alone in the Hunney pew; Sir John was once again at her side, and Daniel too. What’s more, Eleanor and Martin had joined them; another rift was obviously now mended, Lord Grey had said in August 1914 that the lamps were going out all over Europe, but Ashden was replacing them with its candles of peace (even if they flickered occasionally between Mutters and Thorns).
Caroline had offered to help Mrs Dibble with the mince pies, and therefore emerged with Felicia and Daniel into the cold, still night ahead of the main Rectory party. She had hoped against hope to find Yves waiting, and at the sight of a tall khaki-clad figure at the lych gate, her heart leapt, then fell again.
‘That’s Luke, isn’t it?’ Daniel asked, surprised.
‘No. He’s not arriving till tomorrow morning,’ Felicia replied.
‘Then that looks uncommonly like his twin brother.’
Luke strolled up to meet them, and Felicia, overcome with pleasure, ran to meet him, throwing her arms around him. Caroline glanced involuntarily at Daniel to see his reaction. He watched with impassive face.
‘I managed to leave earlier than I’d hoped.’ Luke’s voice was flat with tiredness.
‘Have you seen Yves?’ Caroline could wait no longer.
‘No, I came straight here. Is he at the Rectory?’
‘I thought he was in London.’ It came out as a wail. The Christmas angels were neglecting her badly.
Luke sighed. ‘Not so far as I know. It’s the fault of that bad line. I’m sorry, Caroline.’
So was she. Yves had obviously gone to London in search of her and missed Luke who was on his way down here. By the time he realised what had happened, it would be too late to get a train to Ashden.
As her mother opened the door of the Rectory, the warm glow from the entrance-hall fire cheered her a little. Furthermore, there was a smell of mince pies, which meant Christmas was almost here.
The drawing-room door opened and Christmas presented itself. It was Yves.
Agnes was woken by the sound of Myrtle playing with Elizabeth Agnes next door. Isabel, bless her, was still sound asleep in the crib at her side, but the Christmas stocking had obviously proved too much of an allure for her sister. Agnes realised just how much she was going to miss Myrtle when she left. She had longed for nothing more than to have a house alone with Jamie and have the time to look after the children herself, but now that Jamie had left her alone, she had to decide what to do herself.
Tears of self-pity for her lonely Christmas threatened, but she managed to fight them off. She wasn’t alone. She lived in the Rectory surrounded by people who cared about her. Moreover, the war had shown that women could lead their own lives without men, by earning their own living. Plenty had done so before of course, but not women like her. Now she could be independent like Miss Tilly and Miss Caroline, and she might or might not continue in service. Service conditions would change because too many Myrtles and Agneses had had a taste of freedom. If they did return to service, it would be on their terms. This war was fought for all; the men who were lucky enough to come home from the trenches expected a better deal from life, and there was no reason women should be any different. They’d worked just as hard. Anyway, Jamie had fought for her independence and she wasn’t going to let him down. Not again. Perhaps she’d take up Lady Hunney’s surprising offer. Myrtle offered to look after the kitchen, and so Agnes had gone to the midnight service. Afterwards Lady Hunney had stopped to speak to her in the churchyard.
‘Agnes Thorn, isn’t it?’
Agnes had been amazed. Lady Hunney never spoke to her own servants, let alone someone else’s.
‘I was very sorry to hear about your husband.’
‘Thank you, your ladyship.’ Agnes bobbed and went to move on.
‘It occurs to me,’ Lady Hunney stopped her, ‘that with two little children you cannot live in the Rectory indefinitely.’
Agnes flushed red. ‘That’s my business, Lady Hunney.’
‘I know that, my dear, but I wondered if I might help. There is an estate cottage in Station Road that might suit you and your two children nicely. I would be happy to allow you to occupy it for a very small rent.’
‘But the Rectory—’ Agnes couldn’t think clearly.
‘You don’t have to live there to work there.’ Times were changing, and even Lady Hunney saw it. Perhaps to live alone was not so impossible after all. Indeed, in the light of Christmas morning, Agnes began to see that it was very possible. It occurred to her that perhaps Jamie had provided a house of their own after all.
Caroline knew she must soon ask Yves when he had to leave, but she kept postponing the question so that she could enjoy the morning service, the unwrapping of presents, and Christmas luncheon. Oh, how happy she was. This morning at least there was only one sadness, and that was not on her own behalf.
Daniel had not appeared at morning service, much to Felicia’s puzzlement, but afterwards, when walking home with Yves after the main party, he unexpectedly appeared. ‘Caroline,’ he said jerkily, ‘I’m sorry to ask you this, but could you break the news to Felicia that I’m returning to London?’
She was alarmed, for he looked very pale. ‘You mean you have to work after all?’
‘No. I think it has to be for good, so far as she and I are concerned.’ He managed a grin. ‘You see why I haven’t the courage to tell her myself. I might all too easily change my mind.’
Caroline was both horrified and mystified. Only yesterday Felicia had hinted that all was settled and that she and Daniel would be married.
‘Why have you suddenly had this change of heart?’
‘Bad words to choose, change of heart. I haven’t. Because I wanted it so much, I convinced myself Felicia was right when she said it would work. It wouldn’t, I see that now.’
‘But what will you do?’
‘I shall travel, as I always intended. But alone.’
‘You’ll break her heart.’ It was a cliché, but it could well be true.
‘I thought that too – until I saw the look on her face when she greeted Luke last night. Felicia thinks—’ Daniel stumbled over his words and began again. ‘She will believe that she will never recover, but I know the pain will grow less, and in any case she loves Luke too. You know it’s right, don’t you, Caroline? She’s not yet twenty-three, which is incredible to believe when you think of all she’s achieved. How can I take the responsibility of her assurance that she doesn’t want children or a normal married life? She’s too young to take that decision.’
‘I can’t bear it, Daniel,’ Caroline said miserably. ‘For either of you, but most for you, for she has Luke.’
‘Nor can I. That’s why I want you to tell her, Caroline. You know what suffering is, because you and Yves are parted too. You have Yves this Christmas as a surprise present, but sooner or later the holiday is over, and life must begin again.’
‘How can you, Laurence?’ Elizabeth cried. The sight of her husband dressed in his jester’s costume as narrator of their traditional Christmas game appalled her. She had assumed he would drop the idea for today at least. Even in the excitement of meeting Gerald and his sons, the missing one must be remembered.
‘My dear,’ Laurence came to comfort her, ‘this year of all years we should play the Family Coach.’
‘But Isabel—’
‘For Isabel,’ Laurence replied gently. ‘Isabel is in our thoughts all the time; she cannot be displaced by a game. And not only our thoughts either. Our Maud had a word with me after the service. She – you will hardly believe this, Elizabeth, when you recall Sir John was as opposed to it as I was four years ago – has arranged to buy the cinema from Swinford-Browne, and to open it up as a commercial venture, and ensure that Isabel’s name is firmly connected with it.’
‘What?’ Even Elizabeth began to laugh at that. ‘Is she going to manage it?’
‘No. Janie Marden is going to try.’
‘Oh, Laurence, that is—Isabel would have been delighted.’ Janie, the doctor’s daughter, was a close friend of all the Lilley girls.
‘Maud said she had to fight off a rival offer from Patricia Swinford-Browne by pointing out she was clearly set for promotion in the police force.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ Elizabeth said fervently.
‘So we may have our Family Coach? It would please Gerald immensely.’
‘Yes, Laurence.’
When the players had taken their places in the drawing room, where all the chairs had been positioned in the usual circle, Laurence announced: ‘This year my subject is Good King Wenceslas. Alas, a fall in the forest incapacitated him, and he was forced to make use of—’
‘The Family Coach,’ came the unison chant.
‘I bags the wheels,’ Phoebe yelled, getting up to demonstrate.
‘No, Phoebe,’ Elizabeth began, but she cried in vain as Phoebe took no notice.
‘Guess I’ll be the cowboy outrider,’ Gerald said.
‘You will not, Gerald,’ his mother said firmly. ‘You have clearly forgotten the rules. All players must be inside or part of the coach.’
‘Yes, Ma.’ Gerald winked at his sons. ‘Just for once, eh?’
‘No, Gerald. Mother’s quite right,’ Tilly said, straight-faced.
Lady Buckford looked at her. ‘That, Matilda, is the only time in your life you have admitted I am always right.’
Her three children, her daughter-in-law and grandchildren examined her face for a smile. It did not come. Just when Caroline had given up hope, something else even rarer issued from Grandmother’s lips: a laugh.
The trials and tribulations of King Wenceslas and his page exhausted even Caroline, and she was weak with laughter as an hour later the Family Coach rattled its triumphant way back over the drawbridge. Phoebe, on the other hand, still seemed to have boundless energy, and insisted on pounding out the accompaniment to Billy’s songs on the piano.
‘Our baby will get used to racing around before he’s even born, won’t he, Billy?’ she said happily, when Elizabeth remonstrated again.
Apparently it didn’t, for just as supper was served, Phoebe gave a shriek.
‘Anyone would think you’d never seen a trifle before,’ Caroline laughed as Mrs Dibble triumphantly bore in the fruits of her hard labour.
‘It’s not the trifle,’ Phoebe gasped. ‘I think it must be the baby.’
‘This staircase is a real Jacob’s ladder,’ Caroline flung over her shoulder in passing to Yves. ‘Just look at all us ministering angels running up and down.’
No midwife could be found on Christmas Day, and Felicia had once again, with Mrs Dibble’s help, put her nursing experience to good use – assisted by Dr Marden, since the baby was premature. Mrs Dibble was highly satisfied at being proved right about it’s not being six weeks late. At seven o’clock on Boxing Morning, weary from lack of sleep, Phoebe produced Billy’s daughter three weeks early.
Caroline took the first opportunity to fall into bed, and awoke three hours later to find pale December sunshine streaming through the curtains, and Yves patiently sitting at her side.
Her eyes were instantly wide open. ‘You’re leaving?’ she cried. She had delayed and delayed asking him this, and then Phoebe’s baby had made it impossible. That he was still at her side seemed enough.
‘For what?’ He seemed surprised. ‘I do not take up my position until the New Year.’
‘You’re here until then? I have you for another …’ she counted busily, ‘five days.’
‘Here, yes. Then we return to London.’
For a moment she thought she did not hear properly. ‘We? So how long are you here for in all?’
‘Why, for ever.’ And seeing her lack of reaction, added uncertainly, ‘If you will have me.’
The words finally made sense in a Boxing Day gift of glory. ‘For ever?’ It came out as a squeak.
‘I told Luke—’
‘The line was cut.’
It was Yves’ turn to be shocked. ‘You mean you did not know? All this time you thought I was here but for a day? Oh, cara, cara.’
She was in his arms, he was cradling her, rocking her to and fro, stroking her hair while she sobbed out her happiness against his shoulder.
‘Why?’ she asked, for it mattered that she should know. ‘You have always said it was a matter of honour to return to your wife.’
‘And you said, my love, that even I had a choice. I did not believe you then, but I changed my mind, thanks to King Albert and your Aunt Tilly.’
Caroline began to laugh. ‘Tilly?’
‘I will tell you of King Albert first. He asked me about my plans, and I explained my problem – or rather as I saw it, my duty. I had to tell him, for he had met both my wife and yourself. He thought for a moment and then said at the outbreak of war he had had three choices, each of which could be said to be the honourable one: to stay with his occupied people to encourage them, to fight and lead his free troops against the enemy, or to go to lead the Belgian government in exile to have greater control over Belgian destiny. Faced with three honourable choices, he had followed his instinct, or perhaps one could say his heart. I too had a choice, he said, and I saw he was right. Annette-Marie is my wife in name only, you are my wife in fact. I saw that I am honour-bound to both, and not to recognise that would be to dishonour the love that lies between us.’
Caroline sighed with happiness. ‘And Aunt Tilly?’
‘She came to visit me. You thought she was visiting King Albert. In fact she came to us to see how things were, I suspect. Why did I stay? she asked indignantly, when she saw how hard I found it to adjust and how unforgiving Annette-Marie was of my absence in the war. I replied pompously that I had promised to look after Annette-Marie for the rest of our lives. And did I wish, she asked sarcastically, to take responsibility for her unhappiness if she later decided she loved someone else? Would I insist on remaining with her? I was very angry with Tilly, for I thought I knew that Annette-Marie would never find the love of a man acceptable. She told me then that she herself had believed that of herself, assuming life had omitted to provide her with the necessary feelings. She had had to wait until she was over fifty to meet Simon and find she was wrong. Could I take the risk for Annette-Marie, who is not yet thirty? Tilly asked. Suppose she later met a man – or a woman, had I thought of that possibility – whom she could love?’
‘Dear Aunt Tilly.’
‘It took some time – and it was hard – but Annette-Marie has reluctantly agreed that I should annul our marriage. That too will take time, but after that you will be the wife of Colonel Rosier, at his Belgian Majesty’s Military Legation in London. If you agree, of course,’ he asked anxiously.
Elizabeth came triumphantly downstairs with the baby in her arms to show Laurence.
‘Our first grandchild.’
Laurence looked at his wife, however, not the baby. He saw that her face was alive and glowing once more. Just as the Americans had injected new life into the war, Gerald’s visit might open up new horizons. He and Elizabeth might even visit America if they could afford it, certainly their children might. And as for this little girl – he looked fondly at the now screaming mite in Elizabeth’s arms – who knew to what horizons she might fly?
‘Yes, my darling Elizabeth. A new life in the house—’
‘But she can’t replace Isabel,’ Elizabeth said immediately.
‘No, but we will cherish her memory alongside the living. My love, we have been parted from one another.’
‘And now we are together.’
Mrs Dibble, listening outside the door, having lingered for a sight of Mrs Phoebe’s daughter, crept away well pleased. The Rectory was itself again.