A Question of Inheritance (12 page)

Polly said, ‘Which is what?’

‘You ask Miss Freya. She’ll see to it for you.’ She put down a plate of mince pies. ‘Hot from the oven so eat them quickly. If you want some orangeade to go with them, you have to come along to the kitchen.’

By mid-morning, the tree was as gaudily dressed as a tree could be. Babs’s efforts had made it look, Freya thought, a little bit less like an offering from Woolworths, but it was still rather overburdened. She said as much to Hugo, who grinned and said, ‘Isn’t that what Christmas is all about? Light and colour and fun and not taking anything too seriously?’

Sonia, drifting through the Great Hall, raised her eyes to heaven as she saw the Christmas tree, muttered, ‘How vulgar.’ Then she said to Gus, who was telling Polly he was going into town to visit the electrical store, ‘You’d do better to call Mr Trusby. You really don’t need to do that sort of thing yourself.’

Gus said, ‘I like doing that kind of thing.’

Sonia said, ‘It’ll cause quite a lot of gossip in town. They’ll think that the new Earl is an electrician.’

Polly said fiercely, ‘Well, he isn’t.’

‘I doubt we could get an electrician so close to Christmas,’ Gus said. ‘It will need proper work, with new wiring; the whole thing needs to be replaced, but for the moment it’ll be better if we can get it working. There are some tender plants in there that are going to suffer if the thermostat doesn’t work.’

Scene 4

Martha Radley was reading the tea leaves. Seated at a round table in the Daffodil Tearooms with Mrs Partridge and Mrs Svensson, she expertly tipped her cup upside down and examined the soggy remains.

The other two drew closer, and Jamie came sauntering over, trying to affect an air of disbelief but as the three women well knew, with his ears pinned back to catch every word.

‘What do you see, Martha?’ Mrs Svensson said. ‘You’ve got that dark look on your face.’

Martha said, ‘That’s because I see a death.’

Mrs Partridge leaned forward. ‘Whose death?’

Mrs Svensson said, ‘You don’t need the tea leaves to tell us that. There’s old Mrs Gilbert fast approaching her end.’

Mrs Partridge agreed. ‘Only hours to go I hear. Dr Rogers was up again this morning, and they say the vicar’s been called. So there’s your death, Martha. And as Mrs Svensson says, that’s no surprise to anyone. Mr Trusby has been sharpening his spade these last two days.’

Martha said, ‘She may rally.’

Mrs Svensson said, ‘At the age of a hundred and three she’s no business to be rallying. It’s time she went to her Maker.’

Martha prodded at the tealeaves with an experimental little finger. ‘This is nothing to do with Mrs Gilbert. This is a death at the Castle.’

Mrs Partridge poured herself another cup of tea. ‘That’s looking into the past, not the future, Martha. That’s all over and done with.’

Mrs Svensson said, ‘Not necessarily. Look at what happened in the museum, with his lordship nearly getting thumped in the head with a crossbow bolt.’

Martha said, ‘It missed his lordship, and that’s not what I’m talking about. I see a death up at the Castle, not here in the town. It’s quite definite, just look at this grouping here. And there’s some strange force involved in it.’

This was too much for Jamie. ‘Really, Martha! Strange force, indeed. What nonsense you do talk.’

Martha poured some more tea, swirled her cup round and put it down defiantly. ‘You know perfectly well, Jamie, that the tea leaves never lie. You mark my words, something’s amiss up at the Castle.’

‘Plenty amiss for Freya and the Hawksworths,’ Jamie said. ‘Having to leave and find a new place.’

There was silence for a minute and then Mrs Partridge said, ‘Nightingale Cottage has been let over Christmas.’

Jamie had gone into the back of the tearooms, and Martha said, ‘Are the Pearsons away for Christmas then? How did you hear about it?’

‘Irene told me.’ Irene worked at the telephone exchange and was a fount of knowledge about what was happening in Selchester. ‘She said it was all fixed up on the telephone. You know they put an advertisement in
The Times
about letting the cottage? They went off yesterday. They’re going to Cornwall for Christmas, no doubt to practice some heathen rites or other. A Mr Sampson has taken the cottage. He rang them up and it was all fixed up there and then, on the telephone. He’s paying £10 for the week.’

The three women looked at one another, lips pursed. ‘And who is this man? Apart from knowing his name is Mr Sampson, did Irene find anything else about him?’

‘No, except he’ll be coming by train.’

There was a further silence, and then Mrs Svensson said, ‘It’s a strange choice to spend Christmas by yourself.’

‘Perhaps he won’t be alone. Is there a Mrs Sampson?’ Martha said.

‘Irene said he’s on his own.’

They turned their attention to Dinah. ‘I hear she’s been asked to spend Christmas Day over with those cousins of hers in Berkshire.’

Martha said, ‘There’s bad weather coming, she won’t be able to get over there.’

‘In which case, Miss Freya will invite her to the Castle,’ Mrs Partridge said.

‘You’ll have quite a party there over Christmas,’ Martha said. ‘I saw Lady Sonia in a car with a gentleman beside her and another one squashed in the back. It was one of those sports cars.’

‘That’s Mr Dauntsey’s car,’ Mrs Partridge said. ‘He’s engaged to Lady Sonia, and the other gentleman is a Mr Seynton, come about the pictures.’

Jamie brought a fresh pot of tea. ‘They don’t look like an engaged couple to me. Lady Sonia looks thoroughly discontented.’

Mrs Partridge said, ‘Her nose has been put out of joint, that’s what it is. No longer lady of the Castle.’

Jamie raised dramatic eyes heavenwards. ‘And may we thank God for that. Of course we don’t know what Lord Selchester’s plans are. He may decide that he can’t keep the Castle and estate going and is going to sell up after all. But it seems from what Mr Jonquil says that he intends to settle here.’

‘I hope so,’ Mrs Partridge said. ‘Sugar, Lara? I don’t think he’s finding the Castle comfortable, though, and his daughters don’t like it. He needs to take a look at Lady Mathilda’s wing. Of course, it’s all shut up, but it was modernised in the war and it wouldn’t be much trouble to make it habitable.’

‘He’ll settle,’ Martha said confidently.

Scene 5

Gus was enchanted by Hodges Emporium.

‘It never changes,’ Freya said. ‘It’s exactly the same as it was when I was a girl. I used to love coming here. All these mysterious objects hanging on hooks or stored away in boxes. And how Mr Hodges knows where every item is, however small or unusual, is another mystery.’

Gus said, ‘It’s straight out of Dickens.’

Freya said, ‘I expect it was here in Dickens’s day and no doubt kept by a shopkeeper called Hodges. It’s certainly been here a good long while, isn’t that right, Mr Hodges?’

Mr Hodges, clad in his habitual brown overalls, was searching with grubby, capable fingers among his boxes for the requisite thickness of fuse wire. ‘That’s right, Miss Freya. I’m the fourth generation of my family to keep this store, and there’s my son will take it on after me.’

He found what he wanted and laid it on the wooden counter for Gus to see. Gus handed over the fuse he’d brought with him, and they looked at it together. ‘I reckon that’s the one you need, my lord.’ He paused and then said, ‘If there’s trouble with the fuses and so on, I’m sure Mr Trusby would be glad to come up and have a look at them for you.’

Gus said, ‘I think I’m okay with the fuses. I won’t bother Mr Trusby until after Christmas. The trouble’s in the hothouse, and if this doesn’t work, I’ll isolate it. Not good for the plants, but at least that way we won’t be plunged into darkness in the rest of the house.’

Mr Hodges went up the ladder to replace the box on the shelf. He came down and called out to the girl at the till, ‘Ninepence, please, Gloria.’ Gloria, who had been gazing vacantly into space, flicked a brassy curl behind her ear and rang the amount up on the till which gave a loud ping as the drawer opened. Gus handed over the money.

Georgia, too, loved Mr Hodges’s shop and she been wandering about, picking up things and peering into the gloom at strange objects hanging from the ceiling. ‘You put that down Miss Georgia, that’s sharp, that is.’

‘What is it?’ Polly said.

‘It’s a widget,’ Mr Hodges said. ‘Not something any of you will be needing.’

With a chorus of ‘Good afternoons’ and ‘Happy Christmases’, they filed out past the other customers patiently waiting their turn. Freya knew they would all have taken in every word, and the news would be flying around Selchester that the new Earl had been buying fuse wire and was planning to use it himself. She could hear the comments as she went through the door.

‘Hothouse fuse,’ he said.

‘Mr Trusby says that old fuse box outside the Castle kitchen needs a proper overhaul. His late lordship died before he could finish the work and those trustees said it wasn’t necessary.’

‘Good thing there’s a new Earl to set things right.’

‘Let’s hope so. He might sell up like Lady Sonia was planning to do, and go back to America.’

‘Shame, if he does.’

Chapter Eight

Scene 1

In addition to helping her mother with her bed and breakfast, Pam worked two or three days a week at the Dragon. She was in the bar early that afternoon, helping Mr Plinth, the landlord. He was checking over the contents of the bottles while she was busy polishing the long wooden bar. There was only one customer in the saloon, a man in a trench coat with a trilby hat who was sitting in the corner reading a newspaper.

Pam glanced at him, decided that she needn’t bother about him and in a low voice said to Mr Plinth, ‘I won’t be coming in tonight, because I’m wanted up at the Castle again. Just with preparation for Christmas dinner tomorrow because there’s only a light supper tonight, but there’s a lot to be done. I’ll be up there tomorrow as well. I really like working up at the Castle. You should see the great big Christmas tree they’ve got, with electric lights and everything. I was up there this morning, taking some extra eggs for Auntie and they were putting all the decorations up on the tree.’

Mr Plinth, who had been butler to the previous Lord Selchester, was longing to hear more about what was going on up at the Castle, but he considered it beneath him to let Pam see how curious he was.

She didn’t need any encouragement. She said, ‘It’s ever so nice being up there, with all those guests for Christmas. Lady Sonia and there’s a Mr Dauntsey. He’s her fiancé, but you wouldn’t know it they don’t seem affectionate together at all. He’s a gentleman as knows his worth, but perfectly polite. The one who’s really nice is his lordship. He’s got ever such a kind smile and he always has a please and thank you when you do anything for him. Auntie says he should to be a bit more distant and mindful of his position, and behave a bit more like the last Earl, but these days it’s all different, we’re all equal now, after the war.’

Mr Plinth said, ‘It was a pleasure to work for the late Lord Selchester. He knew his place all right and expected everyone else to know theirs. Aloof is what he was.’

Then, remembering some of the things that he knew about the late Lord Selchester, he thought it better not say any more. Instead, he said, ‘What did Mrs Partridge serve?’

Pam launched into a lavish account of the meal. She was keen to learn to cook, and described the meal in great detail.

‘Was everything amicable at the dinner table? You never know with these families.’

‘They didn’t argue, but there was quite a bit of excitement. First of all a parcel came for his lordship.’

Mr Plinth said, ‘A parcel at the dinner table?’

Pam said, ‘It came earlier in the day. I wanted to see what it was. At first I thought it was some kind of black book.’

She stopped and looked suspiciously at the customer in the corner, but he was only folding his newspaper back.

‘It wasn’t though, it was black tissue paper wrapped round an old photograph in a frame. It was a photograph of his mother. She died when he was born, that’s what Auntie told me. His lordship looked quite upset.’

‘Who sent it to him?’

‘The solicitors did. They’d posted it to him in America but it arrived after he left. So it was sent back to England, to the Castle. Only imagine, it’d been all the way across to America and then back.’

‘Was there a letter from his father, the last Lord Selchester?’

‘No, just a note from the lawyers.’

The man in the corner folded his newspaper, thrust it into his coat pocket and came across to the bar. He said to Mr Plinth, ‘I won’t be staying any longer. Get my bill ready for me and I’ll settle up.’

‘Right away, sir, if you like to come through,’ Mr Plinth said, lifting the hinged part of the counter. ‘You stay here, Pam. I’ll be back in a minute.’

Scene 2

Mrs Partridge served an early light supper that Christmas Eve. While they were eating, Lady Sonia asked what people’s plans were for the evening. ‘I suppose you’ll be ringing your wretched bells, Freya?’

Freya, her mouth full of coronation chicken, nodded. And when she finished her mouthful, she said, ‘Yes, we’re ringing a quarter peal before the service. Normally we’d ring a much longer one, but quite a lot of people in the town have got colds, and we’re a bit of a scratch band.’ She looked at Hugo. ‘I suppose you and Georgia will be going to the Cathedral for the midnight service?’

Georgia said, ‘You bet.’

Lady Sonia sighed. ‘I suppose it’s down to St Aloysius for me. You’ll be going to Mass, Gus?

Gus nodded. ‘Yes, we’ll all be there.’

‘What about Father Leo?’ Polly said. ‘He’ll have to go to Mass? Where is he?’

Hugo said, ‘He went down to the Presbytery. He said he’d be helping celebrate Mass tonight.’

Lady Sonia said, carelessly, ‘What about you, Rupert? And Oliver?’

Oliver, who had sat rather silently through the meal, said, ‘I’m no churchgoer. I’ll probably turn in early.’

‘I suppose I’d better come along and experience some of your bells and smells, Sonia darling,’ Rupert said.

‘Are you going to convert when you marry Aunt Sonia, Mr Dauntsey?’ Polly said.

‘Just Sonia will do, Polly,’ Sonia said.

Rupert said, ‘I’m not certain. I don’t have to, do I, Sonia?’

Polly knew all about that. ‘You don’t, though it’s better if you do. But Aunt Sonia will have to get special permission. And your children will have to be brought up Catholic. She’ll have to agree to that and so will you.’

Gus said, ‘I don’t think your aunt needs a lecture on this, Polly.’

She looked at him indignantly. ‘It’s not a lecture. Those are the facts. It’s always best to know the facts.’

Sonia whose eyes had narrowed, chose to take this in good part and laughed. As she got up from the table she gave Polly’s cheek a careless flick. ‘You be careful with your facts, sweetie. You’ll find an awful lot of people in life will do anything rather than face facts. You’d better come to Mass, Rupert. It’ll be good for your immortal soul.’

Rupert said lazily as he got up from the table, ‘I don’t think I have one of those.’

Polly was about to speak again, but this time a quelling look from her father succeeded in silencing her.

Sonia and Rupert drifted out of the dining room. Babs, like Oliver, had said very little during the meal. Now she said, ‘I don’t believe they’re ever going to get married, Polly. So it doesn’t matter what Rupert is, he can be a tree worshipper for all it will matter to Sonia.’

Oliver said, ‘Why do you say that, Lady Barbara?’ He gave her name an ironic formality.

She shot him a swift, angry look, then shrugged. ‘Oh, just because.’

Scene 3

Hugo drove Georgia down to the Cathedral and parked the car on the other side of the Green. It was brilliant moonlit night, frosty and bitterly cold. ‘Too cold for snow yet,’ he observed as he slammed the car door shut.

Georgia huddled into a tweed coat and scarf wrapped round her neck and a woolly hat on her head said, ‘Why do people always say that? How can it be too cold to snow? If it was too cold to snow why is there any snow at the Arctic and the Antarctic?’

Hugo said, ‘You’d better ask your uncle, he may have an answer to it. I just speak from experience that when it’s been cold, clear and frosty like this, it usually gets a bit warmer before you’ll see any snow.’

Georgia walked alongside him, her feet scrunching on the frosty ground. ‘Oliver looks awfully fed up at having to be here. He should come to the service and sing a few hymns and carols. It’s always lovely on Christmas Eve, and that would be much better for him than being alone at the Castle. Listen to the bells, there’s Freya’s heaving away. She rings Number 4, it’s the G sharp one.’

‘You have a better ear than I have; it’s all a jangle of sound to me. Pleasing, but unintelligible.’

‘Freya said I could learn to ring. I might not be quite tall enough, but you can stand on a box. After the New Year. They quite like learners.’ She paused and they walked on in silence. ‘If we’re still here, that is.’

Hugo caught the note of anxiety in her voice. ‘We’ll find somewhere to live, don’t you worry about it.’

The service was indeed magical. It was a long time since Hugo had been to a Christmas service. He had spent the previous years in all kinds of places, but never expected to end up celebrating Christmas in this English cathedral town. There was a beauty and peace to it; a continuity with the past and his roots that he had never felt before, and it tugged at his heartstrings. He looked down at Georgia’s clear young face beside him and felt a surge of affection. He put an arm round her and gave her a hug. She looked up at him, surprised. ‘What was that for?’

‘I just felt like giving you a hug,’ he whispered. ‘Happy Christmas.’

Georgia said, ‘Happy Christmas to you.’

Although they were in good time, the candlelit Cathedral was nearly full. Freya joined them when the calling bell began to ring, slipping into her seat as the choir assembled at the rear of the Cathedral. A boy’s pure, cold voice began the first verse of ‘Once in Royal David’s City’, and then the long procession made its way down the nave, the choir in red and white and the clergy in the embroidered vestments that the Cathedral was famous for.

They sang lots of favourite carols, although Georgia grumbled that they didn’t include ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’. ‘That’s my number one favourite.’ The infant Jesus was laid in the crib in the sanctuary by a solemn little girl, the Blessing was given, the procession made its solemn return journey, the bishop nodding to either side and the service was over.

The congregation gathered its wits and scarves and streamed out towards the big west doors, wide open to night. The Hawksworths’ progress was slowed by Freya, who was greeted with warmth and smiles and ‘Happy Christmas’ by dozens of people.

‘You know everyone,’ Georgia said. ‘It must be nice to belong.’ She yawned as climbed into the back into the car. ‘Polly won’t be back till after us. Their service doesn’t actually start till midnight. She’ll be awfully tired. She won’t want to wake up early and open her stocking.’

Hugo said, ‘And I hope you won’t either.’

Georgia said, ‘In all the children’s books, that’s what Christmas is about, waking up very early and feeling the stocking at the end of your bed and so on. I don’t usually wake up specially early at Christmas.’

Freya and Hugo looked at one another. Freya said, ‘I used to love opening my stocking at Christmas, as I always knew I’d get a pink sugar pig. I never actually ate it, because I hated the taste. But the pink sugar pig meant Christmas to me more than anything else.’

Georgia said, ‘You should have told me. They had some for sale in the sweet shop.’

Freya said, ‘Much better spend the money on some sweets for yourself.’

‘Quite,’ Georgia said. ‘That’s exactly what I did.’

Hugo felt guilty about those years of Georgia’s lost childhood. She had been born in the Blitz, bombed, orphaned and then brought up by their Aunt Claire, a kind and capable woman, but a busy one. While he had been enjoying his life. He’d relished the danger and excitement and lack of routine and barely spared a thought for his young sister. If he was in England, he’d nearly always chosen to spend his Christmases among his own friends, salving his conscience with lavish presents for the sister he hardly knew.

He’d only got to know her at all these last few months, and she was still a conundrum to him. Sometimes she reminded him so much of his mother, and that still caused him a pang of anguish. Yet there was a steeliness to her character that was more like his father. And, damn it, now he was all she had, and he couldn’t even provide a decent home for her.

Freya, sitting beside him, caught the change of his expression and said, ‘Penny for them?’

He’d keep his melancholy reflections to himself. After all, Freya had nowhere to live either. ‘Just hoping that I’ve got the right number of presents and cards.’

Freya said, ‘Pity poor Oliver. Coming not planning to spend Christmas here and finding himself in a big household. He took himself off down into town to do some Christmas shopping. I said no one would expect it, but he was worried about it.’

Georgia said from the back, ‘Oliver’s all right but he does smoke those disgusting cigarettes.’

Freya laughed. ‘His cheroots? They are rather horrible. But at least he doesn’t smoke them in the Castle.’

Georgia said, ‘I expect he would, if he could. Only Sonia won’t have it, she’s so bossy. He goes and lurks in the hothouse and puffs away.’

‘How do you know that?’ said Hugo.

‘I’ve seen him, from my bedroom window. He switches on the light and I can see him standing there in clouds of smoke. Poor plants; I don’t suppose they like it at all.’

Scene 4

Freya hadn’t spent the last few Christmases at the Castle. If she was in Selchester, Aunt Priscilla always invited her to Veryan House, and if her parents were in the country she spent Christmas with them. So she woke on Christmas morning happy to be in the Tower. She looked at the bedside clock. Eight o’clock.

She stretched, wondering how long Georgia had been awake, and at that very moment there was a knock on the door and Georgia’s head came round it. She was wearing a red flannel dressing gown, which her aunt had sent from America. Freya remembered that when she’d first arrived at the Castle, she wore a rather elegant robe that had belonged to her mother. It always upset Hugo to see her in it. Red flannel was much more sensible for warding off the chilliness of the castle.

‘Good heavens, Georgia, bare feet. You must be frozen. Hop into bed and get them warm.’ She moved over, holding the covers aside and Georgia jumped in, snuggling her cold toes against Freya’s legs. ‘I won’t stay; I’ve come to get you. You’ve got to come and open your stocking.’

Freya said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t have a stocking.’

Georgia said, ‘Much you know. Father Christmas called by to leave a filled stocking for you. It’s downstairs in the library, hanging over the fireplace.’ She giggled. ‘Uncle Leo’s got a stocking too, and he looks quite perplexed by it.’

Freya knew that Georgia had planned a stocking for Hugo. She had put in some things she’d made at school and had laid out some of her pocket money at Woolworths. Freya had helped out by adding a couple of items of her own.