Читать книгу The Christmas Card: The perfect heartwarming novel for Christmas from the Sunday Times bestseller - Dilly Court, Dilly Court - Страница 7

Alice was too shocked to argue. If Aunt Jane had told her that she was going into service it might have given her time to prepare, but this sudden turn of events had caught her unawares. She hurried after Mrs Upton, who took the stairs with the ease of a mountaineer. Clearly she was used to such exercise, but by the time they reached the third floor Alice was out of breath and her legs were aching. The somewhat gaudy décor had ended on the second floor, and the third floor seemed to have been reserved for the nursery suite. Mrs Upton selected a key from the bunch hanging at her waist and unlocked the door.

‘Stand back and don’t let her slip past you. Miss Flora is as slippery as an eel.’ She opened it and ushered Alice inside, quickly closing the door behind them as a small child hurtled towards her and tried to grab the handle. ‘Now, Miss Flora, that’s not the way to behave, is it?’

Flora Dearborn skidded to a halt, glaring at her through a mop of tousled blonde hair. She was barefoot and wearing a cambric nightgown. ‘I want to see Mama. You shouldn’t lock me in, you horrible person.’

‘That’s no way to speak to anyone, Miss Flora,’ Mrs Upton said, bristling but obviously making a huge effort to control her temper. ‘What will Miss Radcliffe think?’

Flora tossed her hair back from her face, staring at Alice with a hostile look in her china-blue eyes. ‘Who the devil are you?’

‘Language, Miss Flora.’

‘Shut up, Upton. You’re just a servant.’ Flora stood, feet wide apart, arms akimbo. ‘Cat got your tongue, Miss Radcliffe?’

Alice met Flora’s unfriendly gaze with a steady look. She saw a disturbed and angry child and felt a sudden burst of fellow-feeling for the little girl, who could not have been more than nine or ten. The mere fact that Flora had been locked in her room all night, and possibly longer, was enough to make Alice feel outraged and arouse her sympathy. It brought back unhappy memories of her childhood when, during one of the long bouts of illness suffered by her mother, the woman who had been hired to look after Alice had proved to be a drunk and a bully. If it had not been for the sharp eyes of their maidservant the situation might have escalated, but she had discovered the tell-tale empty gin bottles and had reported the woman to Clement, who had sacked her on the spot. Alice had been six at the time, but she had never forgotten the feeling of isolation, and the frustration of being unable to communicate her fears with the adults who should have been there to protect her.

She held her hand out to Flora. ‘How do you do, Miss Flora? My name is Alice.’

Flora clasped her hands behind her back, ignoring the friendly overture. ‘What’s she doing here, Upton? You know what I do to governesses, and I’m too old for a nanny.’

Mrs Upton slid her fingers around the door handle, her knuckles whitening. ‘Miss Radcliffe is going to look after you. She is an artist,’ she added, wrenching the door open. ‘I leave her in your capable hands, Miss Radcliffe.’ She shot out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Alice waited for the rasp of the key in the lock and was relieved when nothing happened. The sound of Mrs Upton’s retreating footsteps faded into the distance, and Alice stood facing Flora, whose sullen expression was not encouraging.

‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘you obviously don’t want me here, Flora. Would you like to tell me why?’

A fleeting look of astonishment was replaced by a frown. ‘What do you care? Who are you, anyway?’ Flora threw herself down on her bed and pulled the counterpane over her head, peering at Alice from beneath its folds. ‘You’re just like the rest of them.’

Alice was quick to hear the note of desperation in Flora’s childish voice. She stood perfectly still, as if facing a wild animal, clasping her hands in front of her. ‘I don’t even know why I’m here, Flora. Tell me about yourself.’

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence while Flora seemed to weigh this up in her mind. Then to Alice’s surprise she leaped off the bed, flinging the counterpane onto the floor. ‘I’m a bad child. They’re always telling me so.’ She glared up at Alice, teeth bared. ‘I bite and I scratch.’

Alice stood her ground. ‘If you bite or scratch me I’ll do the same to you, Flora.’

‘Lay a finger on me and I’ll tell Papa. And it’s Miss Flora to you, Radcliffe.’

‘Miss Flora is a young lady. You are a spoiled brat.’

‘I am not spoiled.’ Flora lunged at Alice, grabbing her by the sleeve and tugging with all her might.

Alice felt the stitching give way at the shoulder seam and a searing pain where Flora’s sharp fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her forearm. Flora opened her mouth as if to bite but Alice was too quick for her. She raised her free hand and caught Alice a mighty clout round the side of her head, but at that moment the door opened and a maid entered carrying a breakfast tray. Flora uttered a loud wail, clutching her hand to her ear. ‘You hit me. I’ll tell Mama what you did.’ She turned to the maid, who was standing in the doorway open-mouthed. ‘You saw what she did, Nettie. She struck me.’

The maid recovered quickly. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Flora. I never saw nothing.’

Alice rubbed her sore wrist where crescent-shaped nail marks had begun to bleed. She had always disapproved of corporal punishment, but Flora had been out of control. ‘You will sit at the table and eat your breakfast, young lady,’ she said firmly.

Nettie bustled over to the table and put the tray down, keeping a wary eye on Flora, who advanced on her with clenched fists. ‘You’re a liar,’ she hissed. ‘You saw what she did.’

‘I’m sorry, Miss Flora. I dunno what you’re talking about.’ Nettie backed away. ‘The porridge is just how you like it, miss. Nice and sweet with a dollop of honey.’

Moving swiftly, Flora snatched up the plate and hurled it, but Nettie was too quick for her and was out of the room in a flash of starched white petticoats. The bowl hit the door as it closed, spreading the thick, sticky oatmeal in a starburst on the floor. Alice watched it drip down the wall and her stomach rumbled. The waste of good food was appalling and she was hungry. She faced Flora, folding her arms across her chest. ‘You will clear that up before you start your meal.’

Flora poked her tongue out as she took her seat at the table. ‘It’s your job, Radcliffe. You’re the servant.’

Moving swiftly, Alice crossed the floor and lifted Flora bodily from the chair. ‘You will do as I say, or we will not get on at all well. I’ve never seen such disgraceful behaviour and it’s quite unacceptable.’

‘I knew you were like the others,’ Flora said sulkily. ‘They all hate me.’

Alice stood her ground. ‘If this is how you behave it’s hardly surprising no one likes you.’

A look of uncertainly crossed Flora’s small features and she tossed back her unruly curls. ‘They’re paid to like me. I’m Flora Dearborn. My pa is a rich man.’

‘I don’t care if your pa is an Indian nabob, you’ll clear up the mess you made.’

‘What’s a nabob?’

‘Someone who is much wealthier than your pa, and I don’t suppose they boast about their riches. It’s not considered good manners.’

Flora’s curious expression was replaced by a pout. ‘I don’t care about manners.’

Alice knew she was losing the battle of wills, but was saved by the timely appearance of Nettie, who entered the room with a bucket slung over her arm and a scrubbing brush in her hand. ‘I’ve come to clear up the mess, Miss Radcliffe.’

‘Thank you, Nettie, but Miss Flora has something to say to you.’ Alice sent a meaningful look in Flora’s direction. ‘She wishes to apologise for her behaviour.’

Flora stared down at her bare feet. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘I’ll just do my work,’ Nettie said hastily.

‘No.’ Alice moved to her side and took the bucket from her grasp. ‘Miss Flora created this mess and she is going to clear it up.’

Nettie’s lips worked silently as she stared wide-eyed at Flora.

Alice nodded her head. ‘You may go, Nettie. This will be done, I assure you.’ She waited until they were alone again. ‘You and I have been thrust together, Flora. I didn’t choose to work here and you didn’t ask to have me, so we’ll have to make the best of it.’

‘I’ll get rid of you like I got rid of all the others,’ Flora muttered half to herself, but just loud enough for Alice to hear.

‘We may have more in common than you think,’ Alice said casually. ‘I’ll tell you my story and I’ll be happy to listen to what you have to say. Maybe we can come to a truce, but first you will clear up the mess you made.’

‘My boiled egg and soldiers are getting cold. I’m hungry.’

‘Then you’d better hurry up or they’ll be stone cold and I’ll ring for Nettie to take the tray away.’ Alice could smell the hot buttered toast and she was so hungry she could have gone down on her knees and lapped up the porridge like a cat, but she had her own feelings under control. She met Flora’s rebellious gaze with a steady look. This was a battle she had to win.

‘All right, but I’ll make you suffer for this, Radcliffe.’ Flora went down on her hands and knees and picked up the scrubbing brush.

Alice smothered a sigh of relief. Life was difficult enough without a child dictating the odds. She stood in silence while Flora dabbed ineffectively at the glutinous mass, which was seeping into the cracks between the floorboards. In the end Alice went down on her knees beside her, taking the cloth from the bucket of rapidly cooling water and wringing it out. ‘We’ll do it quicker together.’

Flora said nothing and turned her head away, but not before Alice had seen tears glistening on the ends of her long eyelashes. She’s just a child, Alice thought wearily; a lonely child in desperate need of companionship as well as a firm hand. She sat back on her haunches. ‘I think we’ve done all we can, Flora. Eat your breakfast before it gets too cold.’

Flora scrambled to her feet, flinging the scrubbing brush into the bucket. ‘I’ll tell Mama of you, Radcliffe.’

‘Do as you please, but I can play that game too. I don’t suppose she would be too pleased to learn that you threw a plate at Nettie.’

Flora resumed her seat and ate in silence, while Alice tidied the room. It was simply furnished with a child’s desk and chair at the far end and a larger desk, which presumably must have been used by Flora’s governess, but was now littered with books and drawing materials. Sorting through them, Alice was encouraged to find that Flora had a talent for drawing, although most of the sketches had a dark, nightmarish quality that was disturbing. Another factor that seemed unnatural was the lack of playthings. There was not a doll in sight nor anything that might keep a nine-year-old amused during the long hours that Flora seemed to spend on her own. There was a bookcase but most of the shelves were empty, and there was not much reading material to occupy the mind of a lively child. There were a few framed prints on the walls, but these were mostly sombre lithographs of winter scenes, which were hardly cheering on a cold and snowy day. Alice sighed. This was not how she had foreseen her future, if she had ever thought about it at all, but at least she was attempting to put her time to good use. She put a shovelful of coal on the fire and sat down to wait for Flora to finish her meal.

Alice soon discovered that everything was a battle with young Flora Dearborn, from the frock she was to wear that day to the boots that went with it, and when Alice tried to run a comb through her young charge’s tangled mop there were shrieks and tears.

‘You’re hurting me.’ Flora cried petulantly. ‘Leave me alone, you bitch.’

Alice held the tress of hair firmly in her hand so that Flora could not pull away. ‘Mrs Upton said that we were to go down to the drawing room at half-past eleven to see your mama. I’m sure she wouldn’t want to see you looking as though you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’

Flora stopped struggling. ‘Have you ever seen any- one who’s been dragged through a hedge backwards?’

‘It’s just a manner of speaking, but you know very well what I mean.’

‘You’re tugging too hard. You’re doing it to hurt me like Smithson used to.’

‘Who is Smithson?’

‘She was my nanny. She used to pull my hair and pinch me if I was naughty. She told me that Spring-heeled Jack would get me if I was bad. He’d jump up to my window and come in while I was asleep.’

‘That’s nonsense, Flora. Spring-heeled Jack is merely a tale told to frighten little girls. Now let’s try and get the comb through the worst of the tangles so that your mama will be proud of you.’

‘She’s not my mama,’ Flora said sulkily. ‘I have to call her mama but she just wanted a little girl to show off to her friends.’

Alice paused with the comb poised over Flora’s curly head. ‘Is this a tale you’re making up?’

‘No.’ Flora twisted round to look her in the face. ‘That’s why they lock me up at night. I keep trying to go home to my real mama, but they won’t let me.’

Shocked and upset, Alice could hardly believe her ears. ‘Where is your home then, Flora?’

‘It’s far away from here where the sun always shines. There are flowers all year round and tall trees with birds nesting in the branches. They took me from my real mama, but no one loves me here. I’m too horrible, like you said.’

‘If what you say is true then it’s quite appalling.’

‘I’m not a liar.’ Flora snatched the comb out of Alice’s hand and started dragging it through her hair, tugging at the stubborn tangles with tears spurting from her eyes. Alice covered the small hand with hers, gently prising Flora’s fingers apart and taking the comb from her.

‘I believe you.’

‘You do? No one else does. Mrs Upton says it’s a wicked lie and the others laugh at me. I know they do.’

‘How long have you been here, Flora?’

‘I don’t know. A long time.’

‘Who told you that Mrs Dearborn is not your real mama?’

‘Smithson did. She told me when she’d been drinking from the bottle she hid at the back of the cupboard. She said she’d been the midwife attending my real mama, and Mrs Dearborn gave her ten pounds to buy a baby girl.’

Alice stared at her, frowning. It was almost impossible to believe that a woman could sell her newborn baby, but Flora seemed certain that it was true. ‘Perhaps she was lying. Sometimes people say stupid things when they’ve been drinking.’

‘Rory says it’s true.’

‘Who is Rory?’

Flora smiled and her eyes lit up for a brief moment, but then the sullen look returned like a tragic mask. ‘Rory is my uncle, or that’s what I have to call him. He’s Papa’s younger brother.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Alice said, frowning. ‘Why would he say such a thing?’

‘He came to visit and found me crying.’ Flora’s eyes filled with tears, making her look vulnerable and completely different from the wild child who had greeted Alice earlier that morning. ‘It was after Smithson told me about my real mama. Rory said he’d find out if it was true, and if it was he promised that one day he’d take me to see my real mother.’

Alice ran the comb through Flora’s tangle-free hair. ‘There you are. Now you’re presentable.’ She glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘We should go downstairs to see your mama.’

‘Do you believe me?’ Flora turned to face her. ‘You think I’m lying, don’t you? They all think I’m a liar.’

‘No, I don’t think you’re making it up,’ Alice said slowly. ‘But I’d like to speak to your uncle. Does he come here often?’

‘Not often enough. I love Uncle Rory. He makes me laugh.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘You won’t tell Mama what I said, will you? She won’t like it.’

‘Of course not. It will be our secret.’ Alice held out her hand. ‘You’ll have to show me where we will find Mrs Dearborn. I don’t know where to go.’

The drawing room was a complete contrast to the nursery. It was furnished in the latest style and it did not take an expert to see that no expense had been spared. Alice would not have been surprised to see price tickets hanging from the opulent velvet upholstery of the chairs and sofa. The smell of the showroom still lingered, despite the bowls of potpourri placed on highly polished mahogany side tables, and the vases of hothouse chrysanthemums affordable only by the wealthiest in society. Alice felt her feet sinking into the thick pile of the Aubusson carpet, and each movement she made was reflected in one or more of the gilt-framed mirrors that adorned the walls.

Mrs Dearborn was handsome in an austere way, and elegantly dressed in the height of fashion. Pearl drops dangled from her ears and strands of pearls were hung around her slender neck. She was seated in a wingback chair by the fire with an embroidery hoop in her hand, although she did not seem to have progressed very far with the complicated pattern. She shot a wary glance at Flora. ‘Sit down, child. Don’t just stand there.’ She turned her attention to Alice, looking her up and down with a critical gaze. ‘So you are Mrs Radcliffe’s niece?’

Alice inclined her head. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘They might have found you a better garment to wear.’ Mrs Dearborn raised a lorgnette, peering at the ripped shoulder seam. ‘You cannot go round looking like a ragbag, Radcliffe.’

‘I’ll see to it, Mrs Dearborn.’ Inwardly seething, Alice made an effort to sound submissive.

‘Stop fidgeting, Flora.’ Mrs Dearborn put her embroidery aside, glaring at her daughter. ‘Have you been behaving properly this morning? Radcliffe will tell me if you’ve been a naughty girl.’

‘Miss Flora has been a model child,’ Alice said quickly. ‘I think we will do very well together.’ The words tumbled from her lips before she had time to think, but she had taken an instant dislike to Mrs Dearborn, who might have been a beauty had it not been for her dissatisfied expression. Her thin lips hinted at a discontented nature, and this was borne out by the twin furrows on her forehead, which created a permanent frown.

Flora shot Alice a puzzled glance, as if amazed to think that an adult would stand up for her, and for once she seemed to have nothing to say.

‘You surprise me,’ Mrs Dearborn said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Flora needs a firm hand. My husband spoils her and she thinks that she can do as she pleases, but the sooner she learns to behave properly the better.’

‘May I ask you a question, Mrs Dearborn?’ Alice moved closer, lowering her voice. ‘Why was it thought necessary to lock Miss Flora in her room? Surely it’s frightening for a young child to be treated so harshly?’

Mrs Dearborn leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed. ‘If you are to work for me you will not question my authority. Is that clear?’

The temptation to tell Mrs Dearborn that she would not be accepting the position in her household was almost too great, but one glance in Flora’s direction was enough to convince her otherwise. Whether or not she was the daughter of the house was immaterial. Whether it was true or just a story made up by a lonely little girl, Alice could not simply walk away. She nodded. ‘Perfectly clear, ma’am.’ Even as she spoke she felt small fingers curling around her hand. She gave them an encouraging squeeze.

‘You said we could have a Christmas tree, Mama,’ Flora said slyly. ‘I promise to be very good.’

‘I’m not sure that you deserve anything at all for Christmas,’ Mrs Dearborn said stiffly. ‘Mrs Upton tells me that you attempted to leave the house again yesterday. Hoskins had to chase you round the square twice before he caught you.’

‘I was going home.’ Flora squared her small shoulders, meeting her mother’s angry gaze with a toss of her head. ‘You don’t really want me. You only bring me down here to show me off when your friends are visiting.’

For a moment it seemed that Flora had gone too far. The look on Mrs Dearborn’s face was a mixture of chagrin and rage. ‘Take the child back to the nursery, Radcliffe. You have my permission to chastise her as you see fit.’ She rose to her feet. ‘And you, Flora Dearborn, will apologise or you will not have Christmas at all. There will be no tree and definitely no presents. I’ll tell your father and he will agree with me, so don’t think you can get round him.’ She slumped down on her seat, mopping her brow with a lace handkerchief. ‘Ring the bell on your way out, Radcliffe. I feel quite faint and in need of my smelling salts.’

Alice seized Flora by the hand and left the room, pausing to tug at the bell pull on the way out.

‘Why did you say that, Flora? You can see that you’ve upset your mama.’

‘She isn’t my mama. I told you that, Radcliffe.’ Flora stamped her foot and marched off towards the staircase.

Alice hurried after her. ‘You and I need a serious talk if I’m to stay on here, Flora.’

‘See if I care.’ Flora took the stairs two at a time, reaching the third floor well ahead of Alice. She slammed the nursery door.

In no mood for childish tantrums, Alice followed her inside. ‘Sit down, miss,’ she said firmly. ‘Stop behaving like that or you’ll hurt yourself.’

‘So what if I do?’ Flora cried angrily. ‘Nobody cares except Papa, and he’s not here most of the time, and he doesn’t always listen to me. He just pats me on the head and gives me whatever I ask for. The only one who does hear what I have to say is Uncle Rory.’

‘I’d like to meet your uncle,’ Alice said, choosing her words carefully. ‘He sounds nice.’

Flora came to a halt, looking up at her with a sudden sparkle in her blue eyes. ‘He is nice, and he’s funny.’ She threw herself down on the bed, beating the pillow with her small fists. ‘Now I won’t get any presents or a tree. Papa promised me a tree with candles on it and tinsel, like last year.’ She began to sob, her whole body racked by intense emotion.

Alice sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Flora’s wildly curling hair back from her damp forehead. ‘I’m sure it was said in the heat of the moment. If you apologise to your mama it will all be forgotten.’

Flora raised a tear-stained face to look up at her. ‘She won’t forget. She’s mean.’

‘Wipe your eyes and I’ll help you write a note to your mama. You could do a little drawing for her. I know you’re good at that because I’ve seen some of your sketches.’

‘I draw what I see in my nightmares.’ Flora sat up, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. ‘I’ll draw her as a witch.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Alice said hastily. She rose to her feet and went to the washstand to dip a flannel in cold water. Having wrung it out she used it to wipe Flora’s hot cheeks. ‘It would be better to draw something to remind her that it’s the season of peace and goodwill,’ she said slowly. ‘Perhaps some holly and ivy or mistletoe would be nice, and a little note from you saying you’re very sorry.’

‘But I’m not sorry,’ Flora said crossly.

‘It’s your choice. You apologise and try to make amends or else you’ll have a very miserable Christmas.’

Flora stared at her, head on one side. ‘What sort of Christmas will you have, Radcliffe?’

‘I think we should start by being on first-name terms. I want you to call me Alice and I’ll drop the title Miss and simply call you Flora, at least when we’re on our own.’

‘All right,’ Flora said, nodding. ‘So will you be here with me on Christmas Day, Alice? Or will you go away like everyone else and have a jolly time with your family?’

‘If you want me to be here, then I will. I told you how it is with me and my mama. There’s little enough cheer in my aunt’s house.’

Flora threw her arms around Alice, giving her a hearty hug. ‘Then it’s the same for you. I want you here, with me. You can bring your mama, if you like, and I’ll tell Mrs Upton to give us a special luncheon.’

‘Don’t you ever take your meals with your parents, Flora?’

‘Sometimes, but they have friends to dinner on Christmas Day. I just go downstairs when the ladies sit in the drawing room afterwards and they give me crystallised fruit. And sugared almonds – I like that.’

Alice rose to her feet, turning away so that Flora could not see the tears of sympathy that welled in her eyes. She went to the desk and searched for pen and paper. ‘Come over here, Flora. You can write the words but I’ll help you with the picture.’

After several false starts with ink blots flying in all directions, Flora finally managed to write a short note of apology, and she drew some spiky holly leaves with berries that varied in size and shape. It was a good effort, but she was not satisfied.

‘Please draw some mistletoe, Alice. I remember Papa kissing Mama under the mistletoe last Christmas. She went red and giggled, but I think she liked it really.’ She pushed the piece of paper towards Alice. ‘Please. A lovely big bunch of mistletoe.’

Alice smiled. This was a different child from the brat who had greeted her first thing that morning. ‘All right, I will, just this once.’ She took the pen and began to draw. Flora leaned over her shoulder, making encouraging remarks and breathing heavily down Alice’s neck.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Flora said delightedly when Alice put the pen down. ‘Let’s go and give it to Mama now.’

‘We’ll wait until the ink dries or it will smudge, and then we’ll go downstairs and you can give it to her.’

They were prevented from going straight away by the arrival of Nettie with a tray of food for their midday meal. Flora picked at hers but Alice was starving and she ate with relish. One thing in Mrs Dearborn’s favour was her choice of cook. The chicken soup was rich and delicious, and the bread, hot from the oven, was liberally spread with butter. Followed by treacle tart and custard, it was the best meal that Alice had eaten in days and she finished off what Flora left for good measure.

‘You’ll get fat if you eat that much.’ Flora shook her head, staring pointedly at the empty plates.

‘There’s little chance of that,’ Alice said, wiping her lips on the starched white napkin. ‘My aunt doesn’t believe in overfeeding us. I just wish my mama could have had some of the chicken soup.’

‘I’ll tell Mrs Upton to prepare a basket for you,’ Flora said grandly. ‘Now, let’s go downstairs and give the note to Mama. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow and it’s getting very late to get a tree, or to buy presents.’

Flora ran ahead of Alice and burst into the drawing room without bothering to knock. Mrs Dearborn looked up from her embroidery, frowning ominously. ‘What now, Flora? Where are your manners?’

‘I’m sorry, Mama.’ Flora ran to her side, thrusting the note into her hands. ‘I made this for you.’

Mrs Dearborn scanned the paper. ‘You did this unaided, Flora?’

‘I had a bit of help from Radcliffe,’ Flora said airily. ‘I did most of it, but she did the mistletoe.’

‘Mistletoe?’ A male voice from the doorway made Alice turn with a start, but all she could see was a tangle of pine branches as a tall figure hefted a huge tree into the room.

‘Uncle Rory.’ Flora rushed to greet him. ‘I hoped you’d come. There’s someone I want you to meet.’