Twelve Days of Christmas (38 page)

The wish inside mine said,
Follow your heart: you are already in the place you were meant to be
.

If the chocolate hadn’t already been moulded together, I would have suspected Jess of writing it herself and putting it in there.

‘So we’re not even kissing cousins any more – or perhaps this means that we
are
?’ Jude said, following me into the kitchen later while I was stashing a load of dirty crockery in the dishwasher.

I turned to find him standing too close for comfort and looking down at me very seriously.

‘It’s good news anyway, because ever since we kissed, I can’t stop thinking about you and you’re driving me mad!’

‘You’re driving me mad too, Jude Martland, but
not
in a good way!’ I snapped, on the defensive as usual. But this time I knew it was because I didn’t want my heart breaking again – and Jude could do just that, if I let him.

That sudden smile appeared. ‘Couldn’t we try that kiss again? You might change your mind!’

‘No! I’ve had such a rollercoaster of a journey finding out about Gran – and now this, to end it all! I don’t know what I think any more about
anything
: I’m
totally
confused.’

‘Poor Holly,’ he said sympathetically – and just then Jess burst in to ask if either of us wanted the last Chocolate Wish.

‘No, I think I just got the answer I wanted from mine,’ Jude told her.

Chapter 39
Signs and Portents

Right at the end of her journal, in an entry dated simply ‘Christmas 2001’, Gran had written very poignantly:

I don’t think having my heart broken by another Martland is quite what Gran was praying for and Jude certainly didn’t fit into the pattern of
my
life sampler. In fact, he was more in the nature of a huge, tangled knot, rather than a True Cross, and I’m sure she herself would have described him as a great streak of nowt – I could hear her saying it now.

What on earth was I thinking of, agreeing to stay on tomorrow, for Twelfth Night?

Becca got up early this morning, which I was grateful for, since it meant I wasn’t left alone with Jude. After a largely sleepless night I still felt just as confused about my feelings for him – and about
his
intentions.

When they came back in from the stables, bringing that now-familiar sweet smell of horses with them, Jude didn’t linger helpfully in the kitchen, but went off to shower and change and by the time he’d come down again the rest of the party had started to appear, too.

There was that strange last-day-of-the-house-party feel about things that I was familiar with at second-hand: a reluctance to leave, mingled with looking forward to being home. But since I shared it for once, I found it unsettling . . .

‘We didn’t put the horses out first thing, since Becca and Nutkin are off after breakfast,’ Jude said, constructing a giant egg and bacon sandwich using a large, floury bap.

‘We thought they might as well spend a little time together in the stable before we go, then Jude can put Lady and Billy out in the paddock,’ Becca said. ‘I mucked out yesterday, so a bit of a clean-up should do the trick.’

‘Yes, I’ll do that, then drop your bags off afterwards,’ Jude agreed.

‘And Edwina will come to fetch us shortly, too,’ Noël said.

Tilda had actually come down for breakfast, and I thought that now Edwina was back to look after them, they were quite happy to go home – even if Jess would clearly rather have stayed at Old Place!

‘I could stay tonight, at least, couldn’t I?’ she wheedled. ‘It’s Holly’s
last
night!’

‘Of course, if your Uncle Jude agrees,’ I said quickly and he gave me one of his more unreadable stares.

‘Your Uncle Jude is entitled to a bit of peace occasionally!’ he told her.

‘Ooh! You want to be alone with Holly!’ Jess exclaimed with an air of discovery and I felt myself go pink.

‘I do, but I can’t imagine how you guessed,’ he said sardonically.

‘Jess; don’t tease,’ Tilda said. ‘Of course you are coming back to the lodge with us.’

‘We’ll all be meeting up at the Revels later in the day, anyway,’ Noël pointed out. ‘I can hardly wait!’

Once they had gone, the house felt strangely empty. I expect Lady and Billy were already missing Nutkin, too.

Jude was busy helping to ferry luggage about and then cleaning out Nutkin’s empty loosebox and Michael, who had already packed, kept me company in the kitchen while I was doing a few last-minute jobs.

I decided on some of the turkey curry as an easy dinner for tonight and took that out to defrost, then froze lots of single portions of leftover venison casserole (I’d made a double quantity, especially), with easy heating instructions written on the lids: Jude’s diet before I came was
dreadful
and I didn’t want him to lapse entirely as soon as I’d gone . . .

It was odd with just the three of us eating lunch in the kitchen at the big table and I think Michael felt a bit of a gooseberry, even though I was glad he was there – and Jude didn’t seem to mind at all! In fact, he seemed amazingly cheerful, so perhaps he actually preferred being alone and now couldn’t wait to have the place to himself?

‘Could you take Holly down to the Revels with you this afternoon, Michael?’ Jude asked. ‘Only I have to go early to get ready and Edwina will drive Noël, Tilda and Jess there.’

‘If you’ve got room for that enormous basket of Revel Cakes, too?’ I said. ‘Otherwise I’ll take my car.’

‘No problem: they can go on the back seat,’ he said. ‘My bags all fit in the boot.’

‘What about Merlin? I presume he stays here?’ I asked Jude. ‘Yes, he wouldn’t like all the noise.’

He vanished after lunch, but came downstairs later with an armful of mumming costumes from the attic, which he stowed carefully in his Land Rover before driving off with a casual, ‘See you both later!’

His mind seemed to be elsewhere: but then, with Jude, I have learned that this is
not
unusual.

I changed into my red dress, boots and long winter coat for the occasion, with the bright green scarf Laura had given me . . . in fact, if we got down to the village early enough, I hoped to get a chance to slip away and ring her, because I really
needed
to talk to her!

When I carried the huge basket of Revel Cakes into the snug of the Auld Christmas, Tilda, Noël, Becca and Old Nan were already there in front of the fire, but there was no sign of the usual inhabitant. He was probably off donning his costume.

‘Where’s Jess?’ I asked.

‘Gone to fetch Nan’s distance glasses, she left them behind,’ Tilda explained. ‘And Edwina’s gone to see Oriel – they are old friends, but she will be back in good time for the start. We old things sit outside, well wrapped up, you know.’

‘I wondered who the chairs were for,’ Michael said.

‘I don’t want to sit out: I wish I could still take part,’ Noël said wistfully.

‘I feel a bit left out, too,’ Michael agreed, ‘but I expect that’s the actor in me!’

Nancy was gathering ingredients by the vast vat in which she intended mixing the wassail and I went to see what she was putting into it.

‘I’ve another panful mixed ready in the kitchen,’ she told me. ‘It’s best to be prepared early.’

‘Yes, I’ve always found that a good plan in life, too,’ I said, though the more I thought about it, the less prepared I felt to spend a night alone at Old Place with Jude Martland!

‘This thing is insulated,’ she said, banging the side of the vast tub with a wooden spoon the size of a small paddle. ‘They used to keep the wassail hot by sticking red-hot pokers into it, but times have changed and this is much easier.’

‘It smells like a fairly heady mix – what’s in it?’

‘Ale, cloudy apple juice and a roasted apple or two, cinnamon and nutmeg . . . A baby could drink it,’ she assured me. ‘But it keeps everyone warm and gives them stamina.’

‘Stamina?’

‘Yes, for the dancing.’

‘Right . . .’ I said, thinking that that sounded pretty harmless. ‘Well, I’m just slipping across to the church for a few minutes – I want to ring a friend and there’s a good signal in the porch.’

‘I’d have suggested the barn, you get a pretty good signal there, too, but that’s where they’re all getting their costumes on. I hope they’ve remembered to make the circlets: I wonder if
you
will get one this year?’ She eyed me thoughtfully.

What circlets? I wondered, as I dashed across to the little church and called Laura’s number, hoping desperately that she would answer. When she did, I barely let her get a word in before pouring out the news of my latest discovery.

‘Laura, I’m
not
Jude’s cousin after all! Well, actually, I suppose I am, but so many times removed I’m probably just as much cousin to half of Little Mumming!’

‘What do you mean?’

I explained about Ned, my grandfather, having been adopted by the Martlands and she said, ‘Great! So now your little Puritan soul has been satisfied, you’re free to lust after Jude?’

‘And vice versa – not that the thought that we were related seemed to be holding him back from making a move on me before.’

‘There you are then, go for it,’ she encouraged me. ‘I can tell you want to.’

‘Yes,’ I admitted, ‘only I don’t know what he wants!’

‘I think I could make a guess,’ she said dryly.

‘Yes, but he’s already made it plain he doesn’t want to fall in love again and neither do I. But on the other hand, I’m not a light-affair sort of person, am I, let alone a one-night-stand person? And . . . well, he’s
difficult
. There’s an attraction between us, there’s no denying that, but we argue and snap at each other all the time and although he did say once he’d like me to stay on, I don’t know if he wanted me as cook, bottle washer and unpaid artist’s model, or
what
!’

‘
What
, I should think, by the sound of it,’ she said, amused. ‘Why not just go with the flow tonight and see what happens? Put your Strange Baptist upbringing and all those carefully-worked-out life plans to one side, and go off-piste.’

‘You’re advising me to have a night of mad passion?’

‘If it pans out that way and you want to. Then you can just walk away tomorrow . . . or not. Go for it!’ she encouraged.

‘I’m afraid, if I do, I might get hurt,’ I confessed.

‘That’s better than keeping your heart in a block of ice for the rest of your life, isn’t it?’

‘I think you’re quite mad!’ I said, though I could feel a bit of a smile trying to drag up the corners of my mouth. ‘You know, Gran said she hoped I’d meet another nice man and settle down, it was at the back of her last journal.’

‘There you are, then.’

‘I’m sure Jude Martland isn’t thinking about settling down and anyway, he’s not really nice, he’s surly and bossy most of the time.’

‘Artistic temperament?’ she suggested. ‘And he sounds as if he has lots of good things going for him too. He loves his animals, for a start.’

‘I suppose so,’ I conceded reluctantly, and sighed. ‘Not only the circumstances but the signs and portents seem to be conspiring against me, too: we had some Chocolate Wishes after dinner last night, and the message in mine implied I’d found what I was looking for.’

‘So, what are you waiting for?’

‘Ah, but I don’t believe in signs and portents.’

‘Then perhaps you ought to start!’ she told me. ‘Where’s Jude now?’

‘I haven’t seen him since after lunch and he was a bit distant: but then, he was probably psyching himself up for his performance later.’

‘Sounds promising!’

‘His performance in the Revels, I meant, idiot,’ I said. ‘He’s Saint George . . . and speaking of the Revels, I’d better get back: it must be about to start soon.’

‘Call me tomorrow, let me know you’re okay,’ she said more seriously.

‘I’ll be back tomorrow, so you will be able to see for yourself,’ I reminded her.

By now it was mid-afternoon and the light was just starting to fade. People had begun to gather around the green and in front of the pub, where the vat of wassail had been carried out and set on a sturdy table, together with my huge basket of Revel Cakes.

Tilda, Noël and Old Nan were enthroned nearby, wrapped in tartan travelling rugs and fussed over by Edwina, but I went with Becca, Nancy, Jess and Michael to stand on the grass with the other spectators after we’d had a warming beaker of wassail, though by then Jess was sulking because Nancy wouldn’t let her have any.

The crowd murmured and then hushed as a torch was put to the big bonfire and carried round to light the circle of twelve braziers spiked into the ground. Now I noticed for the first time that there was also an inner ring of strangely-wrought metal horses’ heads, unmistakably Jude’s work, to which had been attached bunches of holly, ivy and mistletoe and red bits of cloth that stirred in the breeze: the whole green looked like a barbaric henge of fire.

Then, approaching from the direction of the barn behind the pub, I heard the sound of a fiddle and Richard appeared, playing a lively air as he walked and dressed in a long green fur-edged velvet robe over (I hoped) lots of warm clothes.

Following him into the circle of light from the braziers jogged six Morris Men dressed in traditional white, with bells jingling and red ribbons flying, but carrying long swords and with painted black masks across their faces, which gave them a strange, slightly sinister look.

‘Those are the Rappers,’ Becca whispered.

I recognised George Froggat and Nancy’s husband, Will, but not the rest. They formed a set and danced, using their swords a bit like staves (so I hoped they were blunt!), and then fell back into two rows, leaving the centre free for the strange figures who now came forward in procession, each introducing himself to the spectators with a short, rhyming couplet.

There was Auld Man Christmas, the diminutive Nicholas Dagger, in a blue velvet robe, an evergreen crown, and carrying a club almost as large as he was; a scary Red Hoss, painted scarlet and with jaws that could open and close with a loud snap; the Dragon, green and leathery, with a fearsome head and long tail that dragged on the ground and the strange Man-Woman figure. From the front he – or perhaps that should be
it
– looked just like the Rappers in white shirt and trousers and straw hat; but then he turned around, revealing a woman’s mask over the back of his head and a long skirt.

‘That’s Liam as the Man-Woman,’ giggled Jess, as he began to circle round, handing out circlets of ivy and mistletoe to any woman who seemed to catch his fancy, which included an excited Jess, Nancy and Oriel Comfort. But he didn’t give
me
one and I felt quite left out!

Richard stopped playing for long enough to bow and introduce himself to the crowd as the Doctor. And then, finally, Jude in his guise as Saint George walked out of the darkness to large cheers: a huge and strangely fearsome figure, wearing a white surcoat with a red cross and a helmet with a nosepiece. He was carrying an even bigger sword than the Rappers . . . and in his other hand, a gilded, sparkling circlet of ivy and mistletoe. He strode over and placed the circlet on my head, and I was so surprised by this that I expect my jaw fell lower than Red Hoss’s (who was Henry, by the way – I’d spotted him inside when he snapped his jaws in my face).