Fragile Blossoms (34 page)

An invitation to the Play and a glass of sherry is the result of his promise.

There was a time when he’d think twice about a job this size never mind refusing it but those days are gone. He is not as he was a bruised fingernail skirting the edge of life. Master they call him now and not only the gangs of workers he employs, the joiners, glaziers and carpenters, it is suppliers who call him and the bank manager. ‘Good day, sir, what can we do for you?’ They can handle his brass is what they can do, tidy sums going in week-after-week, and for that matter tidy sums coming out. Money was never the objective, it was more a by-product. It’s the same with property. He has the house on the Common and several more around Norfolk in various states of renovation. Last week in Manchester he bought a whole street of worker’s cottages. He hadn’t gone with thought of buying but they were derelict and the council looking to sell. It was too good a deal to miss and he bought them thinking Lucca Aldaro would have been pleased.

Windows boarded up, and dandelion clocks blowing, it was summer when he first saw East Street, Little Ancoats. He thought of his father and the kiddie that fell into the lock, Letty, who grubbed for pennies under a cotton gin, then he thought of Susan Dudley and the waxen doll in her arms and decided he must help otherwise what’s the point of living. He’s no philanthropist. Too many years of hard graft have made that way of thinking impossible but when renovated he will let the cottages at a reasonable rent, and if children thereabouts need a school one day he will build one, and his son, when he does come along, will go to college and to University, to Cambridge, perhaps, where Owen Passmore taught.

These were but dreams once, now they are possibilities.

Dreams? Owen Passmore? Didn’t he dream of him last night?

It was a familiar dream, Italian mountains and digging gullies so that the rain coming down the mountains might bypass the vines. It’s always the same. He and his father load a wagon and they set off. His wife walks alongside. He can see her clear as day the blouse she wears dipping over her shoulders, the rich cleavage of her breasts inviting a kiss. And he does kiss her but on her lips, his wife a modest woman not given to displays of affection. A child cries. Anxious, she turns back her skirt flaring. ‘Don’t fret!’ He says. ‘That’s not our son.’

Last night a third man sat aboard the wagon. Tall and scholarly looking he stared at Luke and said, ‘no, he is mine.’

Luke woke with Owen Passmore’s voice in his ear. He’s never met the man but knows it was him on the wagon. It’s Matty. Luke is always worrying about that lad especially after that foolish séance. For some reason he sees that message, a child singing and dog’s tail wagging, as a warning of danger.

He loves Matty and has missed him these last years. According to Nan it’s a two-way love. She’ll phone when Luke’s away, ‘the kiddie was here this morning asking when you were coming home.’

Luke made sure he was home for this Christmas. There’s something in the air, a rustling sound snowflakes in the wind and hidden voices in the crackle of ice. He needs to be here. Matty, and Jacky his brother, and Freddie Carrington, have merged to become one constant anxiety. Luke’s never been one for praying. These days pray is all he does. A silent thing, like a nursery rhyme, he hears it back of his mind, ‘Dear Lord, keep Matty and Freddie safe, and bless my brother Jacky.’

What the hell! It’s absurd! He hasn’t seen Freddie since the séance. There is the occasional letter filled with bad jokes and doodles, mostly of Freddie nailed to a cross. He never hears from Jacky, doesn’t dream of him. Matty he sees all the time. Yesterday he caught the early morning express Manchester to Kings Lynn and then the link to Bakers. Twelve minutes to four the train pulled into the station. Four-thirty Luke turned the key in the door, four forty-five there was a dog scratching at the door. He knew who was there a lop-sided grin on his dear little face and one sock falling down.

He sent them home again. ‘You can’t come here without telling your mother. You’ll have me in trouble.’ Matty didn’t seem to mind he only got a hug and kiss. Maybe it’s Luke’s need that brings Matty, whatever the cause he is loath to discourage it. He knows the visits for what they are gifts of love.

A crisis with the fire range in the kitchen made Julia late to the play. Matty had gone ahead with the children ‘to rehearse our entry,’ said Mrs Perkins, still harassed. ‘The donkey must not get ahead of the sheep when entering the stable. They must enter together and not pushing and shoving.’

Julia was almost ready when the wretched range began belching smoke and had to be raked back. Normally she’d call Joe but can’t now. With Maggie at her mother’s, and Mrs Mac and Leah on their way to Dorset, and Dorothy on her day off, there is only Julia. She took Kaiser and the cats to the laundry room and shut them in. An apron over her dress she raked out the embers and was soon covered in ash and then damn it, transferring coke to a bucket she dropped a live coal on her skirt. There was nothing for it but to bath and change. It was a horrible rush and conscious of Matty, who in the barber’s earlier, sat grizzling she wove her damp hair into a plait and secured it. Then disdaining a hat took her cape and hood and went out into the snow.

The House was a blaze of light. A sombre faced Dulce hovered by the door.

‘Good afternoon, Dulce.’

‘Good day, Mizz Dryden.’

‘Is everything going as it should?’

‘It would seem so.’

‘And Mrs Masson? Is she well?’

‘I don’t know about well but she surely is happy. See for yourself.’

The Great Hall had been arranged as a theatre sofas and chairs drawn in a semi-circle about a raised wooden dais. Callie was centre of the front row. Overtopped by a pink hat and clutching a pink feather boa she occupied a huge throne-like chair and sat bowing and smiling, the feathers on her hat rippling.

Julia smiled. ‘Callie and her hats!’

Dulce nodded. ‘The smaller she gets the bigger the hat.’

‘This one is tremendous and she sits in an equally tremendous chair!’

‘She says it used to belong to one of the Aunts and prior to that an Italian Doge. It weighs a ton. She found it in the West Wing attics and had Crosby and another poor soul carry it down three flights of stairs.’

‘Why didn’t they use the lift?’

‘She won’t let anybody use it. She’s afraid of it getting stuck and them inside.’

‘I’ve never seen her so elated. She looks like an American version of Britannia. All she needs is a trident.’

‘It’s as well she’s happy considering Mister Daniel will not be coming back for Christmas. He sent a cable. Not only has he forgotten his mother needs him to be here he sent a cable. He should know a wire and she has him dead and buried. He said he was sorry he wouldn’t be home, he was with a missionary.’

‘A missionary?’

‘Uh-huh, giving out food.’

‘That sounds an important job.’

‘So is giving his Mama a joyous last Christmas.’

‘Last Christmas?’ Julia drew back. ‘What do you mean?’

Dulce shrugged. ‘It’s always somebody’s last Christmas, Mrs Dryden. He don’t know that it’s not Mizz Callie’s.’

I do hope it’s not her last, thought Julia, gazing about the room, not when as Nan would say the Big House is finally as it should be, carriages in the drive and the windows bright with the light of a thousand candles. For a chilly house it looks quite splendid. A fire blazing in the hearth, the sweeping staircase hung with boughs of holly, and in the corner of the room by the long window the tallest massive fir tree frosted with tiny crystal bells.

‘What pretty bells!’

‘They came down with the chair,’ said Dulce. ‘They belong to the Grevilles and were stored in the attic along with old rocking horses and perambulators. They were thick with dust. Me and Mizz Callie spent half of yesterday cleaning ‘em.’

‘Have the children seen the tree?’

‘No, madam, they were brought in the back way so to surprise them.’

‘And that wooden dais I assume is for the play?’

‘It is. When she knew they were going to do the play she had it made. A local man put it together and made a crib to go with it.’

‘It’s wonderful. Callie has made the old house live again.’

‘Yes, madam, one last hurrah.’

The audience settling, and Miss Perkins poking her head round the door, it seems the play is about to begin. Nan is in the audience and an empty seat beside her. Julia pressed Dulce’s hand. ‘Thank you for this. It’s a wonderful way to start Christmas.’ She moved away. ‘It’s a pity Daniel isn’t here. When he learns of it I’m sure he’ll be sorry he missed it.

Dulce watched her go, the beauty in the flame coloured gown. ‘Yes, fool of a man,’ she whispered, ‘and the loss of Christmas won’t be all he’ll regret.’

‘May I sit with you?’

‘Sit, Anna, and be welcome.’

Julia settled beside Nan. ‘Isn’t this exciting?’

‘You’ve cut it a bit fine. I wasn’t sure you were comin’.’

‘The stove.’

‘Oh, say no more! I’ve had my struggles with the blessed things. They can be so very temperamental.’

‘Mine certainly is.’ Julia gazed about her. ‘Is Luke not coming?’

Nan laughed out loud. ‘Now what prompted that question? Might it have been the word temperamental?’

‘It might.’

‘My poor lad,’ said Nan. ‘He is a man of property. He has his own home and runs his own business with half the country beggin’ his time, Mrs Masson here callin’ him all the hours of the day and yet he still carries the mark of Cain.’

‘That’s not what I meant!’ said Julia. ‘I suppose I was thinking of the stove.’

‘You mean overheated and in need of rakin’ out?’

Julia glanced sideways and meeting Nan’s twinkling gaze laughed.

‘He is here,’ said Nan, ‘but he’s out the back with the kiddies.’

‘What’s he doing there?’

‘You may well ask. Mrs Masson put him there. It was him made that wooden stage the kiddies stand on. She said she wanted it like a real theatre. Not only that, she needed a crib for Baby Jesus. Guess who got the job?’

‘He is very much sought after.’

‘You can say that again, especially with Mrs Masson’s son away.’ Nan smoothed her gloves. ‘You know he’s not coming home for the holiday?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s a bad sign.’

‘A bad sign?’

‘Yes.’

‘For whom?’

‘For you.’

Julia sat very still. She felt Nan’s gaze and knew she waited a response, as did Dulce when she said the same. Daniel Masson is a twentieth century man comfortable with modern trends yet first and last a gentleman, a Greville Warwick, and au fait with the customs and mores of courtship. That he chose to stay away at such an important time, and not bother to inform Julia, suggests a cooling of ardour and a casual handling of her feelings. But what are her feelings? If Nan and Dulce are seeking an answer to that question they’ll have to wait. If Julia’s unsure she can hardly enlighten them.

There was a shuffling back of the Hall and a sudden drop in noise. The church organist sat at the piano and began to play. Then there was Luke.

Nan nudged her. ‘Here he comes.’

For an absurd moment Julia entertained the notion of Luke dressed as an angel or some such but he came as himself and carrying a wooden crib. He set it centre of the dais. Then glanced out at the gathering and returned the way he came.

‘I took his seat?’ Julia whispered.

‘Yes but it don’t matter,’ Nan whispered back. ‘He’d sooner it be you than anyone else.’

Luke returned to the anteroom and to Matty who sat on a stool, the knitted lamb crushed in his arms and his face tear-stained.

‘Is Mumma there?’ said Matty.

‘Yes she is. She’s with Nanny Roberts so no need to worry.’

‘Is Matthew alright?’ The teacher came fussing.

‘He’s coming along.’

‘I can’t hold things up any longer. We have to go on.’

‘Then go on.’ Luke sat beside Matty. ‘He’ll be fine. It’s just a touch of stage fright. I’ll stay with him until he’s ready.’

Out in the Hall the piano was playing and the audience singing ‘
Once in Royal David’s City
.’ The teacher rallied the children. ‘Come along now! Mary and Joseph lead the procession, the sheep, the cows and the donkey to follow.’

The children shuffled through the door. Luke sat with his arm about Matty. He’s not sure how he got himself into this other than when he came to set up the crib he found Matty in tears. It’s the words, bless him! He’s afraid he’ll mess it up. ‘You’ll be alright. There’s nothing to fear. All you have to do is kneel at the crib, offer the lamb, and say, ‘I bring you a lamb, Dear Baby Jesus.’

Face ashen Matty croaked. ‘I bring a lamb, Baby Jesus.’

‘Aye, that’ll do.’

They waited Matty clutching his hand. Luke could feel the child getting more wound up. He knelt down. ‘Matty, you know my old horse? When you’ve done your bit here shall we go fetch her back so you can look after her?’

‘Betty?’

‘Yes. She’s not being cared for as she should.’

Matty gave a great shuddering sigh. ‘I love Betty.’

‘I know you do.’

Again they waited. There was a lot of mumbling from the kiddies and then the teacher was heard declaiming. ‘...
and there were shepherds abiding in the fields keeping watch over their flock by night
. ‘

‘That’s you, Matty,’ said Luke drawing him to the door.

Matty dug in his heels. ‘No.’

‘Yes! It’s your cue.’

‘No! I can’t do it.’

‘You can. You’ll be really good.’

Matty tugged his hand. ‘You come with me!’

‘I can’t, my love. It’s for you to do it.

A tear rolled down Matty’s face. ‘Come, Mister Wolf, please.’

‘Alright then.’

Hand-in-hand they entered the Hall and there was a whispering and a smile passing round the people, and then they were both kneeling at the crib, and Matty was holding out the knitted Lamb. ‘I bring you a lamb, Dear Baby Jesus.’

The Play over the gathering quickly dispersed. It was Matty’s idea to bring Luke back to the cottage. ‘You’ll come won’t you!’ he said hanging on his arm.