The Christmas Card: The perfect heartwarming novel for Christmas from the Sunday Times bestseller. Dilly CourtЧитать онлайн книгу.
She didn’t seem to have any or she wouldn’t have been living in such a dreadful place.’
Alice sat down beside her. ‘That could be a possibility.’
‘But you don’t think so?’
‘To tell you the truth I don’t know what to believe. There’s one thing for certain, and that is your uncle really loves you and I’m sure that your father does too. Your mama might have an odd way of showing it, but she obviously cares about you or she wouldn’t take so much trouble to keep you safe.’
Flora put her head on one side, a frown creasing her brow. ‘I suppose so.’
‘And you have a good home here, even if the rules are very strict. I think what you need most is the company of other children.’
‘I don’t know how to play games. When Smithson used to take me for a walk in the square I used to see children playing together, but they never asked me to join in with them.’
Alice stared into the flames as they danced around the coals, creating glow fairies in the soot on the fireback. ‘I know how you feel. I was an only child and it can be lonely, but you have me now.’
‘And Uncle Rory. I wonder what’s he’s going to give me. There was that big present he put under the tree and now there’s the little package he had in his pocket. I can’t wait to find out.’
An hour later a flustered Nettie brought them their luncheon, complaining bitterly about the amount of work that guests created. She thumped the tray down on the table and stomped off, grumbling beneath her breath. Alice attacked her food with a keen appetite, but her thoughts were with her mother and she could only hope that Clara was keeping an eye on her. It had been a traumatic morning, but at least Flora seemed to have recovered from her meeting with Molly Bishop. She appeared to have convinced herself that the woman was lying and that her real mother was the angel she had imagined her to be. Alice did not try to persuade her otherwise. It seemed too cruel to make a nine-year-old face up to such a stark reality.
Shortly after Nettie had cleared the table and taken the tray back to the kitchen, she returned breathless and red in the face to tell them they were summoned to the drawing room. ‘Me legs will drop off if I have to climb them stairs again today,’ she grumbled. ‘Cook is in a flap because the jelly didn’t set in time for luncheon and she had to serve the mince pies she was saving for dinner this evening. She threw a saucepan at Winnie what’s come in to help with the serving up and covered her with custard. Luckily it was cold or she’d have been scalded and might have died.’
‘I wish I’d seen it,’ Flora said, giggling. ‘I wonder if she licked it off. I love custard.’
Alice grabbed her by the hand. ‘Yes, so do I, but I wouldn’t like to wear it. Come along, Flora, we’ve been told to go downstairs. You want your presents, don’t you?’
‘You’re lucky,’ Nettie said gloomily. ‘I won’t get no presents. I’m off to Wapping to visit me mum and dad tomorrow, but I won’t get nothing. Poor folk can’t afford to give each other presents.’
‘Do they live in a cellar, Nettie?’ Flora asked eagerly. ‘Is it cold and damp and smells nasty?’
‘Certainly not, miss. They’re respectable folks. Pa is a lighterman and Ma takes in washing, but there’s twelve of us children and money is tight.’ She made for the door and held it open with a dreamy smile on her face. ‘One Christmas I had a poke of peppermint creams. I loves them more than anything, but I’m quite partial to toffee and barley sugar as well.’ She wandered off, still rhapsodising about the delights of sugary treats.
‘I’ll ask Uncle Rory to buy her some sweets,’ Flora said in a whisper as she followed Alice downstairs. ‘I’ve never thought about how poor people live before. It’s not nice.’
‘No,’ Alice agreed. ‘Poverty is dreadful.’ A vision of Horace Hubble sprang to mind and she shuddered. Would such a marriage be preferable to living hand to mouth? She led the way to the drawing room, putting such thoughts aside, and was about to knock on the door when Flora pushed past her and barged into the room. She dropped a dramatic curtsey for the benefit of the visitors and smiling angelically she marched up to her parents.
‘Merry Christmas, Mama and Papa, and everybody. May I have my presents now?’
A ripple of amusement greeted her theatrical entrance, and Lydia managed a tight little smile. Her husband leaned over to pick Flora up and he dandled her on his knee. ‘Merry Christmas, my darling.’ He kissed her on the cheek and set her back on the floor. ‘You may open your gifts.’
Alice stood at the back of the room watching Flora’s apparently carefree performance. She could only wonder at the resilience of children, and a quick glance in Rory’s direction convinced her that he was thinking along the same lines. Flora was sitting on the floor unwrapping the large present he had given her, and he edged his way through the assembled guests to stand beside Alice. ‘She’s quite remarkable,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I was afraid she would be devastated.’
‘Children are tougher than we imagine,’ Alice answered in a whisper. ‘She’s convinced herself that Molly Bishop is not who she claims to be.’
He frowned, shaking his head. ‘I was wrong to take her there. I should have known better.’
Alice was prevented from replying by a cry of delight from Flora as she opened a large wooden box and showed off its contents. ‘It’s a paint box,’ she cried gleefully. ‘With brushes so that I can make proper pictures. Maybe I could be an artist at your printing works, Uncle Rory.’
‘An able apprentice, I’m sure. You’re a lucky little girl, Flora.’ A large man with a red velvet waistcoat straining at his corpulent belly slapped Rory on the back. ‘That’s a splendid gift.’
Flora closed the box, stroking the polished lid with the tips of her fingers. ‘I want to be an artist like Alice.’
Heads turned to stare at her and Alice felt the blood rush to her cheeks. ‘Thank you, Flora, but I’m sure you are more talented than I.’
‘There is still our present, Flora,’ Lydia said icily. ‘Why not open it now?’
Flora reached beneath the tree and took out a much smaller gift, which she opened carefully. ‘A Bible,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Thank you, Mama and Papa.’
‘A leather-bound Bible,’ Lydia said firmly. ‘With your initials embossed on it in gold leaf, Flora. Aren’t you a lucky little girl?’
‘It’s very nice.’ Flora laid it aside, peering under the tree. ‘Where is the other present from Uncle Rory? He said he brought it especially for me.’
Once again heads turned to stare at Rory. ‘Did I forget to put it under the tree?’ he said loudly. ‘My fault entirely, Floss.’
‘You said you went to your office to fetch it,’ Lydia said icily. ‘Let us all see it, Rory.’
Flora jumped to her feet. ‘I can’t wait. I’m sure it’s something very special.’
Rory leaned closer to Alice. ‘It wasn’t for her. I thought she might forget with all her other gifts to open.’
‘You have to give her something,’ Alice said in a whisper. ‘You can’t disappoint her now.’
‘Well, Rory, we’re waiting,’ Frederick Dearborn rose from his seat. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve lost it.’ He glanced round at the flushed faces of his guests. ‘This is typical of my brother. He always was a scatterbrain. I could tell you stories of our childhood and the pranks he used to play. Our father beat him so often that at times he could hardly sit down.’
‘Don’t be vulgar, Frederick,’ Lydia said primly. She glared at Rory. ‘Well, where is it? We’re waiting.’
Rory patted his pocket. ‘I must have dropped it in the hallway. Perhaps Miss Radcliffe will be kind