The Orphan's Dream (19 page)

Tilda was stoking the fire in the range and Mrs Flitton was at the kitchen table breaking eggs into a bowl. She looked up in surprise. ‘I didn't expect to see you so early in the morning, ma'am.'

‘I've just realised that it's Christmas Eve, Mrs Flitton,' Mirabel said excitedly. ‘What do you normally do at this time of year?'

Mrs Flitton stared at her blankly. ‘What do I do, ma'am?' She shook her head, puzzled. ‘The same as every other day, I suppose. I hadn't given it much thought.'

The memory of Christmas in the past, before her father had come under the thrall of Ernestine Mutton, flashed into Mirabel's mind, together with the rich aroma of roasting turkey, the spiciness of the pudding bubbling away in the copper, and the pine-scented tree laden with candles, glass baubles and tinsel. Pa had been kinder in those days and more generous. At home he had shown a nicer side to his nature than that which he presented to the outside world. They had been happy then, and she had had her dreaming place where she could sit and look up at the stars twinkling in the night sky, and allow her imagination full rein.

‘Did you want anything special, ma'am?' Mrs Flitton's sharp tone broke into her reverie.

‘No. I mean, yes. Of course we must celebrate Christmas properly. I daresay my husband had no taste for such celebrations in the past, but things will be different from now on.'

‘The master always attends church on Christmas Day,' Mrs Flitton said, bristling. ‘Dinner consists of roast goose followed by apple pie, and I have the bird on order at the butcher's.'

‘Then cancel it,' Mirabel said recklessly. ‘Order a large turkey, Mrs Flitton. We'll have stuffing and gravy and everything that goes with it, followed by Christmas pudding.' She came to a halt, frowning. ‘Have you made a pudding this year?'

Mrs Flitton stiffened visibly. ‘I haven't been required to do so, ma'am. The master likes simple food.'

‘Fortnum and Mason,' Mirabel said eagerly. ‘Where's Gertie? She should be up by now. We'll take a hansom cab to Fortnum's and buy whatever you haven't got in store, Mrs Flitton.'

Tilda looked from one to the other, shaking her head. ‘We'll be lucky to have bread and dripping at home.'

‘Who asked you, girl?' Mrs Flitton snapped. She sat down heavily, fanning herself. ‘Really, Mrs Kettle, this is very short notice. We were a quiet household . . .'

‘Things change,' Mirabel said airily. ‘And we need a tree. I'll send Alf out to the market to see if he can get one.' She frowned. ‘We need decorations too. I'm sure I can find some somewhere. This is so exciting.'

Mrs Flitton's frown deepened into a scowl. ‘Such goings on, ma'am. The master won't like it a bit; I'll tell you that for nothing.'

Mirabel ignored this outburst. ‘I'll have a bowl of porridge when it's ready, Mrs Flitton, and then I'm taking Gertie with me to buy what we need.' She did not stop to argue, hurrying outside instead to seek out her husband.

‘I need some money, please,' she said, holding out her hand. ‘I'd almost forgotten about Christmas with everything that's happened recently, but Alf reminded me.'

Hubert stared at her, eyebrows raised. ‘What do you need money for, my dear?'

‘To buy certain things, Hubert. I'm not telling you because it's to be a surprise.'

He smiled. ‘You are so young, Mirabel. I'd quite forgotten what it's like to have the enthusiasm of youth.'

‘Nonsense. I won't allow that. You're extremely enthusiastic about your plants.' She wiggled her fingers. ‘I do need some money, though. If it weren't for Ernestine I would have been a wealthy woman in my own right.'

He put his hand in his pocket and took out a leather purse. He counted out a handful of silver, adding two golden sovereigns. ‘I think we ought to apply for a copy of your father's will so that we know exactly how you stand,' he said calmly. ‘But what I have is yours, Mirabel. I'm not a mean man, and I want you to be happy.'

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alf heading for the boiler house, carrying a bucket of coal in each hand. She smiled. ‘I'm very happy, Hubert.' She reached up to brush his cheek with a kiss. ‘Thank you.'

She left him staring after her with a bemused expression on his face. Outside a bitter wind slapped her cheeks as she made her way to the boiler house to give Alf the money to purchase a tree. ‘A nice big one,' she said firmly. ‘And I want you to bring the children here for dinner tomorrow.' She saw that he was about to refuse and held up her hand. ‘You can't deny me this pleasure, Alf. It's an army tradition, you know that. Officers serve the men their dinner on Christmas Day. I read about it in the newspapers so it must be true.'

‘But missis, I've only just started here today. Captain Kettle won't like it.'

‘Captain?' She smiled, trying to imagine Hubert as a dashing young officer and failing miserably. ‘Captain Kettle will be delighted to entertain you and your family and so will I.'

‘You never told him that, did you?' Gertie stared at her incredulously as they sat side by side in the hansom cab on their way to Piccadilly.

‘I most certainly did.' Mirabel stared straight ahead, noting for the first time the festive atmosphere that pervaded the streets away from the gloom of the East End. The snow might have turned to slush but holly and mistletoe were draped around lamp posts and naphtha flares illuminated the costermongers' barrows, breaking through the gloom of the early morning fog. It was not quite a peasouper, but Mirabel knew that when darkness fell smoke and fumes from manufactories and domestic chimneys would engulf the city in a dense, choking yellow mass that clogged lungs and brought traffic to a standstill.

‘What was you thinking of, Mabel?'

‘Those children deserve better. I'll never have a baby of my own, so the least I can do is to help others when I see them in dire need.'

Gertie eyed her doubtfully. ‘Are you sure you know what you're doing, Mabel? You might end up back in Tenter Street if you go on at this rate.'

THE HORSE PLODDED
along slowly, edging its way through the traffic, which was gradually coming to a halt as the suffocating pea-green fog descended on the city, blanketing everything and muting sound. Mirabel and Gertie sat inside the hackney carriage, holding their handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses to keep out the noxious smell of sulphur and soot. The floor of the carriage and the opposite seat were piled high with the result of a day's shopping, and Mirabel was tired but content. She had purchased two large plum puddings, a box of glace fruits and a jar of brandy butter from Fortnum's, and a foray into a street market had found glass baubles and tinsel for the tree, and a box of candles with metal holders to clip onto the branches. She had visited a tobacconist and bought a box of Hubert's favourite Havana cigars, and, at Gertie's suggestion, she had purchased an ounce of tobacco for Alf. They had spent an hour in William Hamley's newly opened toy shop in Regent Street where she found presents for all the Coker children, with the exception of Tilda. A short walk away she and Gertie had visited Dickins, Sons and Stevens department store, where Mirabel bought a brightly coloured scarf and hat for Tilda. A silver bar brooch caught her eye and she had a feeling it would be just the thing for Mrs Flitton, but there was still Gertie to buy for. Having distracted her maid's attention by sending her to look for buttons of a certain shape and colour, Mirabel selected a cashmere shawl and asked the shop assistant to wrap it quickly before Gertie returned.

Such a shopping expedition was enjoyable but exhausting, and Mirabel sat back against the stale-smelling leather squabs, closing her eyes. This would be the best Christmas ever. She might not be leading the life she had dreamed of as a young girl, but there were compensations. She had a home of her own and a kind husband. Hubert was a good man and deserved a little happiness. The faded portrait of his lost love had haunted Mirabel's thoughts, and it was not hard to imagine how the young army officer had felt on learning of his beloved's death. Perhaps her senses had been made more acute by her own feelings for Jack Starke, although she doubted if he had given her a second thought, and now he was gone she would never know.

The cab drew to a halt and Gertie scrambled to pick up the larger parcels. She climbed down and disappeared into the gloom, leaving Mirabel to cope with the smaller packages and pay the fare. The thickening fog was made even more oppressive by the gathering darkness, and as the vehicle lumbered off Mirabel found herself alone in the eerie silence. She was disorientated, and could see neither the kerb nor the railings outside her house.

‘Mirabel Cutler.'

Her heart thudded against her ribs at the sound of her maiden name and she spun round, but she could see no one. For a moment she thought it must have been her imagination but then it came again, deep and sonorous as if the man had disguised his voice in an attempt to hide his identity. ‘Who's there?' she demanded. ‘What do you want?' The blood was pounding in her ears as she peered into the murk. Her instinct was to hurry indoors, but she had lost all sense of direction and in the dense fog she might as well have been blindfolded. The ensuing silence was more frightening than the sound of a strange voice, and she blundered towards what she hoped was the railings, only to bump into something solid. She dropped her packages, and the scream that left her lips was instantly muffled by a gloved hand.

‘You should have listened to me, you stupid little fool.'

She knew that voice, and she recognised the odour of stale alcohol and tobacco that followed Wiley wherever he went.

‘I'll take me hand away, but if you scream I'll break your neck.' He shifted his grasp to encompass her slender throat.

‘Let me go. They'll come looking for me when I don't go into the house.'

‘My understanding is that your old man is planning to get a copy of old Cutler's will.'

‘How do you know that?'

‘I knew he wasn't the sort to let matters lie. I have my informants and pay for information.'

‘So Pa did leave something to me.'

‘That you'll never know. Tell your old man to stop interfering in my business or it'll be the worse for you. I've gone this far to get what I want and a slip of a girl ain't going to stop me now. You're the only thing that stands between me and a fortune, so you'll tell him to leave well alone if he wants to enjoy his child bride.' He gave her a violent shove that sent her cannoning into the railings, and then he was gone, his footsteps muffled by the fog.

‘Mirabel. Where are you?' Hubert's anxious voice was just a few steps away.

‘I've dropped something,' Mirabel called out. ‘Can you bring a lantern?'

‘What happened?' Hubert demanded as he ushered her into the house. ‘You're white as a sheet and you're trembling. What frightened you out there? And don't say it was because you dropped your packages and couldn't find them in the fog because I don't believe it.'

She took off her bonnet and mantle, handing them to Gertie who was staring at her with a worried frown. ‘You was ages, ma'am,' she whispered. ‘I thought something bad had happened to you.'

‘Come into the parlour, Mirabel,' Hubert said firmly. ‘Gertie will see to your purchases, although heaven knows what you've been buying.' A flicker of amusement lit his pale eyes. ‘Is there anything left in the department stores?'

Mirabel made her way into the parlour and sank down on a chair by the fire, warming her chilled hands. ‘I didn't want to say anything in front of Gertie, but Wiley was waiting outside. Heaven knows how long he must have been lurking there, or if it was just by chance that he was passing the house when I arrived.'

Hubert stood with his back to the fire, eyeing her anxiously. ‘Did he hurt you? If he did I'll . . .'

‘No,' Mirabel said hastily. ‘He grabbed me and I couldn't get away, but he didn't harm me. His intention was to scare me. He knows that you mean to apply for a copy of my father's will, and it was his way of warning you not to continue with your searches.'

‘How in hell's name did he find that out?'

‘He said he'd paid someone to keep him informed. I don't know any more than that.'

He moved swiftly to a side table and picked up a decanter, pouring a tot into two glasses. He handed one to her. ‘Sip this. It will help to calm you.'

The smell of the brandy made her stomach churn and she put the glass down. ‘I can't. It reminds me of Wiley. He used to drink my father's best cognac and he reeked of it. I can't bear the smell.'

Hubert took a swig of his drink. ‘I'll go to the police. He can't be allowed to get away with behaviour like this.'

‘What could they do?' Mirabel asked tiredly. ‘He's only made threats. They can hardly arrest him for that.'

‘Well I won't stand by and see you tyrannised by a man like him. I'll think of something, so you mustn't worry.'

She could see that he was sincere even though she doubted his ability to prevent a man like Wiley from doing exactly as he pleased. She rose to her feet. ‘It's Christmas Eve. I've got presents to wrap and a tree to decorate.' She moved to his side and took his hand, raising it to her cheek. ‘Thank you for being so understanding, and for allowing the Coker family to come to dinner tomorrow.'

His cheeks flushed and he lowered his gaze. ‘I've lived a selfish life, my dear. I think it's high time I did something for someone other than myself.' He downed the last drop of brandy. ‘And I must thank you for suggesting Coker. He's been a tremendous help today. He's a good man who's fallen on hard times.'

‘I'm so glad you found him useful.'

‘He bought the most enormous tree. I think it was left unsold because it was too large for most people's taste.'