(12/20) No Holly for Miss Quinn (11 page)

"That's my Daddy!" cried Robin joyously, much to the delight of nearby worshipers. Jenny and Hazel shook their heads with disapproval, but were obviously secretly proud of their brother's intelligence.

The service began, but its measured beauty failed to hold Miriam's attention, distracted as she was by having to find the place for the two little girls and by restraining Robin, who was busy licking the varnished pew shelf as though it were made of butterscotch, which it somewhat resembled.

This activity was accompanied by loud smacking noises and an appreciative growling, such as puppies make when enjoying a bone. Miriam's effort to divert him were met with vociferous resistance and a renewed attack upon the woodwork. A particularly solemn silence, at the end of one of the prayers, was broken by a crunching sound. Robin, raising his head to admire his toothwork, turned, dribbling heavily, to Miriam, and patted the wet shelf encouragingly.

"Auntie bite!" he demanded. "Auntie bite too!"

"No!" hissed Miriam fiercely. Really, to think that a two-year-old could cause so much embarrassment! She was conscious of considerable merriment in the pews behind her. Should she take the child out, she wondered?

Luckily, at this juncture they all stood for the hymn preceding the sermon.

"Do we put our money in now?" enquired Hazel loudly. "Because I've lost mine."

Jenny, with sisterly concern, fell to the floor and began searching busily along a very dusty heating pipe.

"P'raps it's rolled under the seat," she suggested, pointing with a black hand. Hazel bent down, as though about to join her in the depths.

"Leave it," begged Miriam helplessly. "I will give you some more."

"But we
can't
just leave it!" protested Jenny. By now her face was striped with grime. She looked like a very cross tiger cub.

"It's not now anyway," responded Hazel. "It's the next hymn we put the money in. Daddy does his talking, and then we put it in, don't we, Aunt Miriam?"

"Well, we won't be here then," argued Jenny, "so what shall we do with our money? Aunt Miriam, we don't want any collection money, so can we keep it?"

Powerless to check this flow of conversation, Miriam saw, with infinite relief, that Lovell was ascending the stairs to the pulpit. This was her cue to remove his lively offspring.

She began to usher the children into the aisle. Fortunately, she had purposely taken a pew near to the door. Robin resisted strongly, and appealed to the distant figure in the pulpit.

"Dadda!" he screamed lustily. "Dadda do! Dadda do!"

The two little girls contented themselves with waving cheerfully as they made for the door, but Robin sat suddenly in the aisle and refused to budge.

An elderly usher, seeing Miriam's dilemma, advanced and picked up the boy, who made himself as stiff as a board, whilst keeping up a barrage of ear-splitting yells.

He was borne towards the door, Miriam following. She gave one apologetic backward glance towards Lovell. His dark face was impassive, but there was a gleam in his eye which told her clearly of his enjoyment of the scene.

"Like a sweet?" said the usher to Robin, when they gained the porch. The screams stopped abruptly.

He deposited the boy on the gravel path outside and felt in his waistcoat pocket. Hazel and Jenny watched with attention.

He produced three small fruit drops each wrapped in cellophane, and handed them down.

"Always as well to have sweets on you when there are children around," he said kindly to Miriam, and departed before she had time to thank him properly.

It was wonderful to be out in the air again. The wind was still strong, but the rain had gone, and now the scudding clouds parted, and the sun lit up the wide Norfolk fields around the flint church.

"I
love
Christmas!" said Jenny, cheek bulging. "Do you?"

Miriam looked at the three children, so quickly transformed into angels.

"Yes," she said. "I do."

***

The turkey, which had been left to its own devices in the oven much to the concern of the two little girls, had assumed a luscious golden brown when Miriam returned to baste it.

She put on the vegetables and topped up the water in the steamer holding the Christmas pudding before going to set the table.

She had ransacked the airing cupboard and at last found a large white damask cloth, old and beautifully starched, with several darns executed, she guessed, by a long-dead hand. No one these days, surely, could be bothered to do such fine work.

Spread upon the dining room table and decorated with two candlesticks borrowed from the mantelpiece, it began to look more like a festive board, although Miriam cursed herself for forgetting to buy crackers, those instant decorations. As it was, there was no time to search for flowers or ribbons, but she filched a few holly sprigs from above the pictures where the children had put them, and set them round the candlesticks.

"It's
marvelous!
" cried Hazel.

"Can we put some pretty things too?" queried Jenny.

"Yes, do," said Miriam, rushing to the kitchen to attend to an ominous hissing noise.

When she returned, she found that Hazel had added a small sleigh holding Father Christmas and bath cubes, an inspired present from an aunt in America, whilst Jenny had purloined the fairy from the top of the Christmas tree to add to the scene.

Robin's contribution was a toy camel with three lead legs and one of plasticine. It added an exotic touch as it leaned, in a drunken fashion against a candlestick.

Lovell admired everything warmly when he returned from church, and the meal was as cheerful as he and Miriam could make it for the children.

Afterwards, the two adults dozed while Robin slept upstairs and the two little girls played with their new toys. A walk was planned for three o'clock, but when the time came Miriam saw that Lovell was still deep in sleep. Now she observed how tired he looked, how the lines had deepened in his face and how his dark hair was showing flecks of gray. His work and Eileen's illness were taking their toll of his energy, and she grieved for him.

Quietly, she slipped from the room and summoned Hazel and Jenny. A look into Robin's room showed the boy as deep in slumber as his father.

"We'll play games at the end of the garden," said Miriam, "instead of going for a walk. Then we can be near Robin if he wakes."

"Goody-goody-gum-drops!" cried Jenny. "We'll have longer with our toys then."

The kitchen garden was a vast area with a mellowed brick and flint wall. A hundred years or so earlier it must have been the pride of a head gardener and probably two or three undergardeners. Now it sheltered only a few rows of Brussels sprouts, carrots, and parsnips, but it afforded a playground out of the wind and far enough away from the house for the children's shouts to be unheard.

Miriam showed them how to play two-ball against the wall, and was surprised and proud to find that she had not lost her skill over the years. After initial difficulties, the girls soon became quite dexterous, the only snag being that only two balls could be found, and they had to take it in turns.

"As soon as the shops open," promised Miriam, "I'll buy you two new ones each."

"But that's not till Monday," wailed Hazel. "It's ages away!"

"What can't be cured must be endured," Miriam said cheerfully, quoting Euphrosyne.

"I don't understand that," said Jenny flatly.

"It means you have to lump it!" her sister told her, appropriating the balls briskly.

***

The menfolk were much refreshed after their naps, and over tea Lovell spoke of the Boxing Day meet which was always held in the square of the local market town.

"Shall we all go?" he asked.

"Yes, yes!" chorused the children. "All in one car! All squashed up and cosy. And take our presents so we can play while we wait!"

Lovell looked at Miriam. She thought quickly. Certainly lunch would be cold turkey, and that presented no difficulties, but she longed to attack some of the more urgent cleaning that had obviously been neglected since Eileen's departure. She did not want Lovell to see her scrubbing his kitchen floor, but that is what she had planned to do if she could manage it unobserved. Then there was the gammon to cook, and a vast amount of necessary sweeping and dusting to do. To have two hours alone would suit her plans perfectly.

"I think I'll stay here, if you don't mind," she replied. "There are several things to do, and I really ought to ring Joan. I shall probably catch her in the morning."

"Of course, of course," said Lovell. He spoke sympathetically. To his eyes, the girl looked absolutely exhausted and he felt horribly guilty. She worked hard at the office, had undertaken a long journey, and was coping superbly with his family. Obviously, it would do her good to have a brief time on her own.

"I'll take the brood off soon after ten," he promised. "The meet is at eleven, and we'll be back before one o'clock."

"Marvelous!" said Miriam, with relief.

The rest of the day passed quietly. Lovell went to the hospital alone to see Eileen, and the children, tired after all the excitement, were docile enough to go to bed early.

Miriam put the gammon to boil, averted her eyes from the state of the kitchen floor, and fell, bone-weary, into an armchair.

A vision of Holly Lodge as it would be in the New Year, if she ever returned to her ministrations there, floated before her. Quiet, warm, clean—a haven of solitude and silence—it hung before her mind's eye as beautiful as a jewel.

She sighed, and slept.

Chapter 9

BOXING DAY

I
T WAS OVERCAST
when Miriam awoke next morning. From her bedroom window she looked out across the flat countryside towards the sea, some twenty miles away.

Inky-dark clouds were moving in slowly, dwarfing the trees and farmsteads with menacing stature. Already, a boisterous wind was blowing, and Miriam predicted storms before long. She only hoped that the rain would hold off long enough for the family to enjoy the meet.

They all drove off in high spirits, and Miriam returned from waving goodbye to tackle the worst of the mess.

She tidied the larder, ruthlessly throwing away the flotsam and jetsam of the past week: stale bread, ancient scraps of cheese, decaying and unidentifiable morsels on saucers, withered apples, and the like. The birds descended in a flock, sea gulls among the more usual visitors, and snapped up this bounty.

She scrubbed the sink and draining boards, thankful that, with all its drawbacks, the vicarage was blessed with plenty of hot water.

There was something rather satisfying, she found, in scrubbing the tiles of the kitchen floor. The clean, sweet-smelling wetness, which grew as she retreated backwards from it on her knees, delighted her, and although she doubted if anyone would ever notice the result of her labors, she was content with her small reward of a job well done.

That finished, she mounted the steep stairs, manhandling the vacuum sweeper and dusters, and set about the bedrooms. The chaos of the girls' room was daunting, and the fact that the dirty linen basket was overflowing was another reminder of work ahead. Really, thought Miriam, dusting vigorously, I should never have made a wife and mother! Looking after Barney from nine till five is more than enough for me!

By twelve-thirty the house looked reasonably tidy, and she skinned the gammon, gave up a fruitless search for breadcrumbs with which to adorn it, and set the table. It was while she was doing this that she heard the car return, and voices in the hall.

She emerged from the kitchen to find that Lovell was accompanied by another man.

Who could this stranger be? She looked again, and hurried forward smiling.

"Why, Martin, how lovely to see you again!"

***

"Brought him back from the meet for a drink," said Lovell beaming. "It must be nearly a year since we met."

"And more like ten since I saw Miriam," said Martin. "And as elegant as ever."

They moved into the sitting room, the children following.

"You run and play in the garden for a few minutes," directed Lovell.