Home for Christmas (10 page)

Quartermaster, the butler, awaited them.

The reception hall glowed by virtue of overhead chandeliers; tiers of lights piled one on top of the other. Lydia held her breath. It was exquisite and like nothing she’d ever seen before. A massive Christmas tree stood straight and tall between two separate curved staircases sweeping down from a mutual landing; like welcoming arms to either side of the tree. Glass balls hanging on the tree redirected a rainbow of colour around the room.

A footman carrying their luggage followed them in and asked them if they would be so good as to follow him up one of the curved staircases to the landing, where they followed the jewel colours of Turkish rugs along a wide hallway to their rooms.

Affected still by her visit to the Kinskis’ house in the East End, Lydia tried not to be impressed, though she was. Sir Avis’s London house was splendid enough, but Heathlands astounded her.

‘You’re next door to each other but there’s a bathroom in between,’ the footman stated proudly.

She thanked him. Somehow she’d expected the bathroom to be at the end of the landing, or even on another floor. Bathrooms weren’t usually given high priority and neither was heating. All she could have expected was a coal fire.

She found herself entering a room that was uncommonly warm, quite the opposite of what she’d expected. Grand country houses were famous for having big, draughty rooms.

Placing her tasselled reticule on to a velvet-covered chair, she stood in the centre of the room, taking in the rose-patterned wallpaper, a massive bow window and the pale pink roses of a Chinese-style carpet, the latter almost covering the dark oak floor.

A dressing table with cabriole legs and a triple set of mirrors stood against one wall, a chest of drawers against another.

Pale silk curtains of pink and green hung in front of the windows and a huge painting of a country cottage surrounded by a rambling garden was set over the fireplace where a coal fire shed its glow over a set of brass fire irons hanging from a tripod to one side of the grate.

Lydia’s first thought was to take a bath once she’d unpacked. The footman told her that a maid named Alice would be along shortly to do the unpacking for her.

‘I wouldn’t want to trouble someone with a task I can do myself,’ she informed him.

He had the look of a young man with loftier aspirations than carrying out the tasks he presently undertook. His jaw clenched when he smiled, as though he could be more outspoken if given the chance.

‘It’s no trouble at all, Miss. It’s her job. She expects to be made use of.’

Lydia disliked the comment. ‘You make her sound like a pair of coal tongs; useful to convey coal from scuttle to fireplace,’ she said to him.

His expression was conciliatory as though he had not noticed her sarcastic tone.

‘She is here to be of service – as am I, of course.’

He inclined his head before closing the door behind him. Lydia stared at it while she considered how she was feeling.

She was standing in the middle of the room, unable to dislodge the plight of the poor family she had visited in East London just a few days before. The contrast was frightening: so much opulence for some and such terrible poverty for others. When would it change? What was likely to change it?

Agnes stood at the bottom of the servants’ staircase tossing a coin in her hand at the same time as asking herself a very important question.

‘Heads I go to Robert’s room. Tails I go to Lydia’s.’

The result was tails. Agnes turned up her nose, slid the coin back into her apron pocket and headed for the library. Neutral territory. Not Robert’s room and not Lydia’s either, though she suspected he would be there. He always headed for the library, especially at this time of the year when the gilded lettering on book spines glowed and danced in the flames from the fireplace.

Fir branches, laurel, mistletoe and holly decorated the mantelpiece, their scent mingling with that of apple. It was traditional at Christmas that apple logs burned amongst the coal, filling the house with their pungent aroma.

Robert was stretched the full length of a leather Chesterfield, one foot on the floor, one balanced on the sofa’s arm. He was reading a book, one arm folded behind his head, his trouser legs straining against his strong thigh and calf muscles, the result of playing rugby and riding spirited hunters.

He looked up and smiled before his eyes went back to the book.

‘Do you live in the breakfast room?’ he asked her. ‘Or just hibernate in there around Christmas time?’

She sauntered across the room, resting her hands on the back of the sofa so that her shoulders hunched, and her breasts squeezed together. She had a cleavage. Surely, he would notice it.

‘Of course not,’ she said tartly, annoyed that his eyes were still fixed on what he was reading.

‘Never mind. I depend on you being in the breakfast room when I arrive. It means nothing’s changed.’ He sounded amused though showed no sign of it in his expression.

‘Nothing has changed,’ she said to him.

A slight frown creased his brow when he looked at her.

‘Should you be here?’

‘Of course I should.’

‘I would have thought your mother would have need of you in the kitchen – you don’t have time to spend with childhood friends.’

‘I will always have time to spend with childhood friends,’ she said hotly, not wanting to face where this was going. ‘Unless you want me to go. Unless you want me to spend the rest of my life in the kitchen.’

‘Nonsense. That wasn’t what I meant.’

‘You should be more careful what you say.’

‘Oh dear. I sound quite selfish, don’t I? Sorry. I suppose I am. I hate the thought of things changing. I’d like us to stay the same forever, but that’s not possible. Oh well. Never mind. Now put me out of my misery,’ he said, putting the book down and chucking her under the chin. ‘So who’s here this year besides Terrible Travis?’

Agnes laughed. Robert tolerated his cousin, even making the effort to include him in everything they did, but he didn’t especially like him.

‘Siggy is here.’

‘Don’t keep me in suspense.’

Your eyes are so blue, she thought to herself. What are you seeing when you look at me? Are you as enraptured with me as I am with you?

‘Who else?’ he asked again, sounding as though he suspected she had a reason for hesitating and would prefer not to know what it was.

‘The new doctor’s here. And his daughter, Lydia. Sir Avis likes this doctor and hopes he might cure him. And I like Lydia. She’s a nurse. Very friendly. Not at all stuck up.’

Robert laughed, his voice a full-blown baritone that made her toes tingle. Even the sight of his neck when he threw his head back like that was oddly erotic, with something vulnerable and almost naked about him even though he was still fully clothed.

‘Everyone you might wish to meet will be at supper this evening.’

He frowned. ‘How many courses?’

‘Seven.’

‘Then my decision is made. I hate huge meals of many courses. Please arrange for something light to be brought to my room.’

‘I’ll bring you something special.’

‘Whatever.’

His casual response was disappointing. She wondered if he might be warmer when she took supper to his room. In her heart of hearts, she wanted him to desire her, to lock the door and not let her out. It had never happened, but she lived in hope that one day it would. In the meantime she would contrive to be in his company as much as possible over the Christmas period.

‘I thought we could all go for a walk tomorrow,’ she said to him. ‘You can meet my friend Lydia then. It’s her birthday on Christmas Eve and she’s never had a party. Sad, don’t you think?’

‘Very.’

‘I think she deserves one,’ said Agnes. ‘Will you come?’

‘Of course I will.’

‘Just a small party. Lydia, me, you and … I suppose we’ll have to invite Siggy – Terrible Travis,’ said Agnes.

Robert heaved a big sigh and went back to his book. ‘If there’s food and drink involved, just try and stop him.’

‘You will come, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will,’ he repeated, settling himself deeper into the padded Chesterfield.

‘Then that’s settled. I’ll arrange everything. We’ll have a wonderful time.’

Agnes smiled as she thoughtfully played with the locket at her throat. Time with Robert was always precious. Absorbed in her plans and excited they’d have some time together, she didn’t notice Robert’s glance and his secretive smile.

‘Is she pretty?’ he asked suddenly.

‘What?’

‘This new friend of yours. Is she pretty?’

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lips part, her pink tongue licking nervously along her bottom lip.

‘I suppose she is.’

‘Only suppose?’

Agnes shrugged. ‘I’m not a man! I wouldn’t know.’

Her tone was sharp. Robert smiled to himself. He knew Agnes cared for him, and he cared for her, though only as a brother might care for a sister. He could never foresee her being anything else.

Robert smiled into his book.

‘Very well. Let me know what time this party is happening and I’ll be there.’

Agnes stayed by the door. There was something she wanted to say, something she just HAD to say.

‘Robert. You mustn’t fall in love with Lydia.’

Surprised, Robert looked up from his book.

‘Good grief. That’s a tall order. Do you mind telling me why I shouldn’t?’

‘Because …’ For one bold moment she had been going to say ‘because you must fall in love with me’, but she couldn’t do it. ‘You have to establish a proper career before falling in love.’

Robert threw back his head and laughed uproariously. ‘I will take your advice, my sweet.’

She smiled, wishing she could stroke the back of his head when he bent back to his book. He’d called her my sweet. She tingled from head to toe.

Feeling warm all over, she began to take her leave.

‘Agnes,’ called Robert, his attention still speared into his book. ‘I have to say you look very fine. Very fine indeed.’

Agnes flushed furiously, though she managed to say a rushed thank you before closing the door.

Once the door had closed behind her, she leaned against it and shut her eyes. Her heart was racing and every inch of flesh tingled. How she ached for him to touch her bare flesh, for his hand to seek out her most secretive places …

She consoled herself with the knowledge that he had noticed what she was wearing. He loved her. She was sure of it.

On the other side of the door, Robert Ravening raised his eyes from his book and frowned. Agnes had indeed looked very fine, the darkness of her dress complementing the delicate pallor of her skin.

He’d also noticed her fingers playing with the silver locket she was wearing. Agnes wore it quite regularly. It was only now it occurred to him that he’d seen that locket, or a similar one, before, hanging around his mother’s neck. Perhaps they were two of a kind, he thought. He frowned as another thought took root. Had they been given as a present by the same person?

There was a sharp rapping at Lydia’s door followed by Agnes floating in and stating that she was here to help her unpack and put her things away.

‘I was expecting someone called Alice,’ said Lydia, ‘though I’m very pleased to see you.’

‘I happened to drop a hint with Sir Avis. It’s quite easy to put an idea in his head if you know how to go about it. Not that he needed much urging. He has a high regard for your father. I hated to think of you sitting down to Christmas dinner with just your father for company.’

Lydia grimaced. ‘No need to. I would have stayed at the hospital. There are never enough staff over Christmas. People still get ill at Christmas or have accidents or have difficulty giving birth …’

‘Shall I make a start?’ said Agnes, cutting in across her statement whilst eyeing the luggage Lydia had already opened.

‘So, what about Alice?’

‘I swapped. I told her to help out in the kitchen where my mother is running around like a headless chicken.’

Lydia eyed her new friend with interest. ‘Does everyone in this house always do what you tell them to do?’

Agnes grinned. ‘Not always, but Alice prefers to be where the food is. She likes her food, does our Alice.’

‘Now listen. A footman will come for the portmanteaus and your trunk once everything is put away. They’ll go into storage downstairs until you’re ready to leave,’ added Agnes, stroking one of Lydia’s dresses as she shook out the creases.

Lydia looked towards the window and the gracious parkland beyond. The white mist had thickened, hovering among the top branches of the trees. The sky was leaden, heavy with snow.

‘It looks very cold out there.’ Agnes went over to the fireplace, picked up the poker and gave the coals a poke until the sides that glowed red were upended and giving out their heat.

‘There you are. That should keep you warm.’

‘It’s a lovely fire and a lovely house. I’ve never stayed in such a grand house before. Now tell me what I can expect,’ said Lydia, flexing her fingers towards the flames. ‘There won’t be any lords and ladies will there, or royalty? I’ve never met people like that.’

‘Of course not,’ said Agnes, shaking her head and laughing. ‘First there’s high tea in the drawing room or in your room if you’re feeling too tired to face company,’ she added, counting on her fingers. ‘Dinner is at seven and supper is at eleven, if you’re still hungry, that is, after a seven-course dinner …’

‘Wait! No. I don’t think so,’ said Lydia, laughing and holding her stomach. ‘My corset would give way if I ate all that.’

‘Just a light meal in your room?’

‘Yes please.’

Agnes continued putting things away, hiding her expression as she did so. She didn’t want Lydia to see the look in her eyes, the sudden suspicion that either Lydia and Robert were alike in their tastes, or that they had met before.

‘Breakfast is from seven-thirty to nine-thirty,’ Agnes went on, hurrying around the room, putting away stays, skirts, blouses and hats. Lydia was dealing with underwear, opening drawers and wondering at the amount of storage she had – certainly too much for the amount of clothes she’d brought with her.