Chapter Twenty-Six

1911

Unsurprisingly, Laurie thought, Elsie had decided not to host a traditional wedding reception. Instead, the wedding party went to Claridge’s for afternoon tea and, to the boys’ delight, lots and lots of cake.

First of all, though, they had to suffer the indignity of wedding photographs. Laurie felt he looked particularly stiff and unpleasant on them, his habitual scowl the expression of the day. Probably because he didn’t have the opportunity to spend any more time alone with Viola. He kept glancing at her, though, all the while wishing it was just the two of them here.

The photographer seemed to be a perfectionist and even Elsie started to get annoyed — she was, after all, a keen photographer herself. ‘Natural photographs are so much better,’ Laurie heard her mutter to Louis at one point, all the while fixing a smile on her lovely face. If you saw the pictures afterwards, unless you knew Elsie extremely well, you’d not understand how irritated she was becoming.

‘Excuse me, Miss Arthur, can you confirm you are maid of honour here today?’ There was seemingly a reporter lurking nearby, his American accent thicker even than Viola’s. ‘The New York socials will be delighted to see this report. Say, Mr Photographer, I’d be interested in buying some of these shots. Just name your price.’

“Mr Photographer” initially bristled, but looked interested and afterwards they went off together — possibly to discuss prices.

Viola had not had the chance to respond to the reporter, though.

‘I swear,’ Laurie heard her say to Pearl, once they were taking their seats at Claridge’s. ‘If that report goes out and says I’m maid of honour, I’ll come back and haunt the fellows who think that!’

Laurie, from his table too far away from her, could see the pent-up rage in her face and it softened his heart towards her again. She and he were very alike in some ways. That afternoon in Russell Square had definitely changed his opinion of her, and, despite his proclamations of not being very gallant and all the rest, he wanted to do something to make her see him in a different light. Because he was still afraid that she might not see him as Laurie, a flawed Byronic-hero type, who could be bad-tempered and speak without thinking, but deep down, actually, he wanted to tell her how he felt. How he realised he now felt and how, perhaps, he had felt since they’d first bumped into each other that day outside the toy store in Bodmin.

He fiddled with the cuffs of his rather fancy wedding shirt, while tuning in to a conversation Elsie was having with their mother.

‘I think we’ll come to Pencradoc on Christmas Eve,’ she was saying. ‘It will be Marigold’s first Christmas there and we want it to be incredibly special for her.’

‘Oh, that will be delightful!’ their mother replied. ‘She’ll love it. Our first family Christmas with her. We’ll be decorating the tree on Christmas Eve and we’ll leave the star for her to put on top. It’s always been the tradition that the youngest Pencradoc does it, although I think Arthur might be a little put out that it’s not his job this year.’

Elsie laughed. ‘Oh, we’ll let Marigold have her time this year. After all . . .’ She let her voice taper away and flushed. But Zennor placed her hand on Elsie’s and said, ‘It’s all right, darling. We’ll let her do it again next year because her little brother or sister won’t be quite big enough, will they.’

‘Indeed.’ Elsie replied, flushing even pinker. ‘Quite.’

Laurie dipped his head and hid a smile. And there it was. Congratulations, Elsie and Louis, then . He wasn’t quite sure why Elsie hadn’t revealed that news earlier, if he was frank. But then she had kept Marigold secret for three years — even from Louis. God knew how she’d done it but perhaps old habits died hard, even with Lady Elsie Pencradoc.

Then, as if she was changing the subject quite quickly, Elsie rushed in with her next question, which made Laurie jerk his head up and stare at her. ‘Do you think we could ask Louis’ parents, and Pearl and Holly and everyone as well? Just for part of the day, perhaps?’ she asked hopefully.

‘I don’t see why not.’ Zennor smiled at her daughter. ‘I’m sure Louis’ parents are just as anxious to spend Christmas with their granddaughter as we are, and it will be lovely to have them at Pencradoc. And I did hear that Viola and Sam were to spend Christmas with Pearl and Ernie. They said they might even come to midnight mass with us, so Viola and Sam experience a proper Cornish Christmas this year. We can’t promise snow, of course. Not in Cornwall — but we can certainly be merry otherwise.’

Laurie sat up straighter. That was certainly good news. Obviously, the fact that Elsie, Louis and Marigold would be part of Christmas at Pencradoc, but also that Viola might be there as well. And, even more splendidly, that they would be there at midnight mass in the little church in Pencradoc village that the family had been attending for more years than anyone could count. The church had always, he knew, held an odd sort of fascination to Elsie — her father’s first wife, along with her father, Ellory, the duke who had preceded Jago, were buried there.

Laurie cast a glance at Elsie, catching her profile alongside his own father’s, and, possibly, for the first time, he saw how similar they were . . . He blinked. It was rather obvious, really, when you saw something like that. Perhaps there was something in those rumours after all, then . . .

When he was very young, he remembered asking his mother why Elsie had a title and he didn’t, and was his father not as important as Elsie’s? Zennor had smiled and replied that in her eyes all her children were equal and equally loved, and nobody was as important to her as Laurie’s father and Laurie and his brothers and sisters.

The response had satisfied him at the time and he had thought no more of it. But now, as an adult, it made him wonder a little more than he possibly should as to the intricacies of Zennor’s response . . .

He pushed the thought out of his mind. It really didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact that Viola would be at Pencradoc church on Christmas Eve. And he would be there as well.

He looked across the room and saw her at a table with Pearl, Ernie, Holly, Noel and Sam. The children were with them and it was clearly a noisy, happy meal. Viola had, apparently, given up on her hairstyle and her long fair hair was now in a plait, hanging down her back, the red, green and gold ribbons wound through it.

Almost as if she could sense him watching her, she turned and looked at him. For another moment, they caught each other’s eyes and he tentatively smiled. She smiled back — also tentatively, and then, after another moment, she turned back to her family and friends.

Laurie, though, was still smiling — he must look rather stupid, he thought, smiling at nothing. So he forced the expression off his face and replaced it with his more usual semi-scowl.

‘You quite all right?’ Fabian, who was sitting next to him, asked. ‘Do you need more champagne? Or more cake?’ He nodded at the younger boys who were manfully chewing their way through some enormous slices of fruit cake.

‘What? No. Thank you.’

‘Fair enough. Just let me know if you do need anything. I’m damn sure I’m having more champagne. It’s dreadfully good.’

‘Enjoy it! That’s what it’s there for.’

Fabian nodded his agreement and poured a glass, and Laurie twiddled with the annoying shirt cuff again — the sleeve was far too long and far too flouncy for his liking, and would definitely be more suited to a romantic hero such as Byron or Keats or Shelley. Then he paused for a moment and a plan began to formulate and then crystallise in his mind . . .

‘Actually, old man, you could help me,’ he said to Fabian.

‘Fire away. Anything at all. Just ask.’

So Laurie did.

* * *

It was Christmas Eve! The most magical day of the year, as far as Viola was concerned. Obviously, when she was younger, she much preferred Christmas Day, with all the food and the gifts and the music and the company . . . But as an adult, and, more specifically, an aunt ensconced for a few days among four small nieces and nephews, she was far more aware of how special Christmas Eve actually was.

That was the day the tree went up — or rather the trees, plural — at Elton Lacy, because there was one in the hallway, one in the morning room, one in the dining room, one in the nursery . . . the whole day seemed a mess of greenery and candles and baubles, and then it was story time for the children as they imagined a world inhabited by dancing sugar-plums, miniature reindeer and a jolly old fellow called St Nicholas coming to call on them at midnight. That book had been rapidly pulled off the nursery bookshelf, to replace the story Viola had originally begun to tell them, as The Snow Queen had resulted in four pairs of eyes getting rounder and rounder, and then wails of horror at the fact the little boy was trapped with the evil queen and bad things were happening.

Viola was appalled. She had never been scared of the story like that, but then she’d certainly not been as sensitive a child as these four treasures seemed to be.

She must have been an awful, awful little girl!

After the story — the nice story — there were some slight tantrums by the twins as they found that their stockings were not hung up on the fireplace in exactly the same way, so that had to be rectified before they were chased good-naturedly off to bed by Sam, who then had to prance around the night nursery reciting, ‘“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on Cupid! on Donner and Blitzen!”’ as the children clapped along in time.

When they had finally been settled and had asked for the fifth time would Father Christmas land on the roof atop of their nursery, Viola was relieved to back out of the night nursery with her brother, and leave Pearl and Ernie in there to give final kisses before they all went to Pencradoc for midnight mass.

‘Jeepers,’ Viola said to Sam as he helped her on with her heavy winter coat. ‘How do parents deal with small people?’

‘Practice, I guess,’ he said with a laugh. ‘What are you betting that it’s chaos at Pencradoc as well?’

‘I shall bet the coal from my Christmas stocking.’ She grinned. ‘I think I’m probably on the naughty list, so I don’t expect anything else in there. Anyway, it’s just Marigold, so it’ll be a little calmer I think — unless Enyon and Arthur have wound her as tight as a bobbin, of course.’

‘They may have done. But hopefully it’ll be the older people at midnight mass, so we may escape the worst of it.’

‘Hopefully.’ They made their way outside and were soon joined by Pearl and Ernie as they waited for the carriage that would take them to Pencradoc. When it finally came to the door, Viola gasped with delight as even the carriage and the horses had been decorated festively.

‘Oh, Pearl! This is your doing. It has to be!’ she said in delight, fingering the tiny sleigh bells and ivy wound around the door handles.

‘It most certainly is.’ Pearl smiled. ‘I’ve heard that there could be snow tonight, so I thought what better way to travel than in a fine-and-dandy Christmas carriage.’

‘My car,’ muttered Ernie. ‘It would get us there more quickly.’

‘But would it really?’ asked Pearl. ‘And could four of us fit in it comfortably? Perhaps not, darling.’

Ernie, knowing the truth of her statement, said nothing and tucked his chin further into his overcoat. Viola hid a smile. She knew how proud Ernie was of his car, but she too could see the logic — and the magic — of travelling in that beautiful carriage on Christmas Eve.

Eagerly, she clambered in and made space for Pearl to sit next to her, while the men sat opposite. And with a lurch and a clip-clop of hooves — but perhaps not the “prancing and pawing of each little hoof” the children might have been waiting for — they were on their way to Pencradoc!

‘Oh!’ As they headed down the well-lit drive — because, again, someone had had the foresight to put lanterns on the driveway — Viola saw some small flakes of snow begin drifting into the lamplight. Not enough to cover the ground yet, perhaps, because the little flakes were melting onto the surface of the driveway, but, of course she was hopeful that it would settle tonight and complete the magic.

No. Actually, that would not complete the magic.

Something else would — her secret Christmas wish. It seemed foolish now she was an adult, yet . . .

Pearl leaned over to her and whispered. ‘It’s the first snowfall of the season — have you made your secret wish yet? Your heart’s desire wish?’

‘Honey, it snowed when I was in London,’ Viola replied. ‘So technically it’s not the first snowfall of the season for me.’ But still, she smiled out into the night.

‘But it’s the first snowfall of our season down here,’ said Pearl. Her hand crept over the seat and she took Viola’s and squeezed it. ‘You gotta try.’

Viola lied. ‘There’s nothing I really want to wish for.’

‘Sure there is,’ replied her sister. ‘I haven’t known you all your life to not know when you’re lying.’

Viola’s smile widened as she remembered someone else saying something similar about their sister. ‘Sure,’ she said mildly.

But she had to try. She actually, really had to try.

Didn’t she?

So she closed her eyes and she wished her wish.