A Family For Christmas (21 page)

‘Is he your follower?' Eliza
asked.

The little maid blushed as red as the rose
she'd picked that morning. ‘He's a friend of me brother's, miss, but I
catch him staring at me when he thinks I'm not looking. My brother says he only visits
when I'm home and … well, he is very nice,' she said, the last bit coming out
in a rush.

‘Then why don't you borrow it on your
next half day?' Eliza suggested.

‘Oh, I couldn't,' Mimi
protested, staring at her in surprise.

‘Why ever not? We're about the same
size so it should fit. Mind you, it needs laundering first.'

The girl's face lit up. ‘I'll
wash it for you right now,' she said, snatching up the skirt and hurrying away before
Eliza could change her mind.

What a busy morning it had been, Eliza thought as
she settled in the chair to enjoy her late meal. She'd only just taken the first bite when
there was another knock at the door. This time it was Mr Leatherjacket with Mimi dutifully
hovering behind, still hugging Eliza's skirt.

‘Begging your pardon, miss, only Monsieur
said yous needed these as soon as I could have them ready,' he said, holding out a shiny
pair of brown leather boots.

‘They look lovely. Do come in,' she
said to them both, opening the door wide.

As she eased off her scuffed ones, Mimi perched
on the bed, lovingly fingering the different materials on the skirt.

‘Oh, you look so smart,' she exclaimed, as Eliza
walked across the room in her new footwear. ‘And you're hardly limping
either,' she said. Then, worried she'd spoken out of turn her hand flew to her
mouth.

‘I must agree, they make walking much
easier,' Eliza said.

‘Well, them old things were much too small
and you was literally on your uppers, so you should find these are better,' Mr
Leatherjacket pointed out. He bent down and felt along Eliza's feet, pressing down on the
toes, before straightening and giving a grunt of satisfaction.

‘Are they comfortable, miss?' he
asked.

‘Indeed they are,' she assured him.
‘Thank you so much, Mr Leatherjacket.'

‘My pleasure, I'm sure,' he
said, pulling his old cap out of his pocket and heading for the door. Mimi hurried after him,
clutching the skirt as if her life depended upon it.

Eliza took a last look in the mirror before
returning to her meal and the notes Monsieur Farrant have given her. Never before had she worn
such fine clothes and she hoped he would approve of her attire. She would write to Fay and thank
her. It would be nice to tell her what she had learned so far, except that didn't seem to
be much. She didn't want to upset the woman so perhaps she'd wait until she actually
had something to tell her. Eliza couldn't help wondering if she'd have learned more
if she'd stayed with Fay. But that hadn't been an option, had it?

As she glanced down at her new clothes,
excitement bubbled up inside her. She couldn't wait for breakfast time when she'd be
able to show her friends in the dining room her new things.

Eliza felt as if she was walking on air as she
made her way to breakfast the next morning. However, her appearance was met with stunned
silence.

‘I think you'll find this is the
staff dining room, my lady,' Bertram sniffed.

Eliza giggled, thinking he was joking. As she
took her usual seat, the housekeeper stared at her and frowned.

‘My, aren't we all dressed up like a
dog's dinner?' she commented, looking so surly Eliza felt obliged to respond.

‘I was not aware dogs wore their dinners,
Mrs Symms. Still, at least I don't feel the need to hide behind a big hat.' The
housekeeper sniffed and turned her attention back to her food.

‘Well, you looks right dandy to me,'
Dawkins said, winking at Eliza across the table. ‘Now let's finish our meal before
Monsieur comes in and finds us gossiping.'

‘In that case, we've got all
morning,' Mrs Symms muttered, eyeing Eliza's outfit with what could only have been a
covetous look.

Eliza helped herself to stewed fruit and bread
and butter, and while she ignored the sour yogurt stuff, she couldn't help comparing it to
the housekeeper's demeanour. The atmosphere round the table was frosty and Eliza ate as
quickly as she could. Then, excusing herself, she hurried out of the room.

Making her way to the laboratory, as Monsieur
Farrant
had told her to call it, she
couldn't help wondering why her new clothes should have caused that much of a stir. As she
opened the door, Amos looked up and whistled.

‘Well, that's a sight for sore eyes.
You look absolutely stunning, Eliza.'

‘Thank you, Amos,' she said, her
confidence restored. Then she noticed he was wiping the floor and her hand flew to her mouth.
‘Oh, no, in all the excitement of being fitted for my new things I forgot to come back and
do the cleaning. I'm really sorry.'

‘Don't worry. Grab that cloth and
wipe the counter tops while I finish this. I've used a dry one, in case Monsieur arrives.
Luckily, it's brought up the shine, for you know what a stickler he is for
appearances.'

‘It's kind of you to do this, Amos. I
would have been in real trouble if Monsieur had seen the place dirty. You'll have to let
me know what I can do to repay you.'

‘With you looking like that, my working
days will be much brighter,' he said, eyeing her appreciatively. For a moment their gaze
held and something sparked between them. Then he turned his attention back to the floor,
muttering, ‘Better get this cleared up.'

Eliza noticed the red flush creeping up his cheek
and she began polishing the worktops furiously.

Soon the room was spotless and Amos, having
recovered his composure, put the cleaning cloths away, then perched on his stool.

‘So have you been studying the notes ready
for Monsieur's exam?' he asked.

Eliza stared at him in dismay. ‘You mean
he'll expect me to know the answers already?'

‘Most of them. He's quite a stickler. Want me to test
you?'

Eliza gulped. ‘I suppose so, but I've
only had the notes a couple of days.'

‘That won't worry him,' he
said, raising his eyebrows in the way Monsieur did. ‘Now, he usually begins with
chemistry, so do you know where does the word come from?'

‘It's from the Greek word
chemia
, meaning plant juice,' she answered.

‘Good. And where is the best place to
harvest the plants for making perfume?'

She closed her eyes, trying to remember what was
on the notes. ‘Where they grow best,' she said.

‘Correct. What used to be our prime
sense?'

‘Smell, until the time we got colour
vision.'

‘There, not so difficult, is it?' he
asked, grinning. ‘Now I'd better get on with this blending before Monsieur arrives.
Want to watch?'

‘Yes, please. What are you doing
exactly?' she asked as he took a pipette and began counting out drops from the array of
bottles in front of him.

‘Making up a perfume for one of his
clients,' Amos said, furrowing his brow in concentration. As he began stirring the
concoction in the glass beaker before him, she bent over and inhaled deeply.

‘That smells pungent,' she cried,
wrinkling her nose. ‘Almost sort of animally, if that makes sense.'

‘Très bon, Eliza, you are quite right.
Amongst the ingredients in here, we have the musk, but where does it come from, eh?' he
asked, waving his hands around theatrically like Monsieur Farrant did when he was in full flow.
She
giggled. ‘You don't know, hmm?
Well, I will tell you, Mademoiselle, it is from the civet.'

‘You are only partly right, Amos. What you
are using comes from the male musk deer,' Monsieur Farrant announced, having crept into
the room without them hearing. ‘Before you presume to elevate your status to that of
tutor, Amos, kindly make sure your facts are right. Now, if you have time for the chatting then
I assume you have finished making up the perfume for my client's mistr— er,
lady,' he asked, green eyes glittering.

‘Bonjour, Monsieur,' Eliza greeted
him, jumping to her feet and smiling sweetly. ‘I'm afraid I'm to blame for
keeping Amos from his work. Being anxious to please, I asked him to test me on my
notes.'

‘Ah, bon,' he said, his eyes sweeping
over her. ‘Mademoiselle, may I say how delightful it is to see you suitably attired. It is
a great improvement, non? The length of the skirt, it hides a multitude of sins, yes? You also
have the jacket to match?'

‘Mrs Buttons has nearly finished it,'
she answered, crossing her fingers and hoping it was true. The last thing she wanted was to get
the helpful woman into trouble.

‘Once it is made, then you may assist me in
the perfumery. So Amos has been testing you, has he? Well, Mademoiselle, you will probably find
my way more difficult, for I like to start at the beginning with chemistry. Tell me, where does
the word come from?' he asked, arching his eyebrow.

‘From the Greek word
chemia
,
meaning plant juice,' she repeated.

‘Bon, I am teaching you well,
oui?'

Eliza could see Amos grinning behind his back and
tried to keep her face deadpan as she answered.
‘Indeed, Monsieur, you are the finest teacher.'

He nodded and preened his moustache with a
manicured hand.

‘That is true. Now to business. We are
heading towards Christmas, which is one of our busiest times of the year. From now on it is all
hands to the perfume bottles,' he said, grinning at his perceived joke. ‘Until you
have your jacket, you must remain working in here, Mademoiselle. Now, this is your writing,
non?' he asked, holding up her bottle of rose perfume and pointing to the label.

‘Yes, I wrote out all the labels for
Fay's …' she began, but he cut her off.

‘Yes, yes. Now, the man who usually pens
for me has gone and died, which is most inconvenient,' he said, throwing up his hands as
though the unfortunate being had done it on purpose. ‘As you have elegant script, I wish
for you to write out the ones for my festive fragrances,' he said, placing a pile of
labels, ink and a quill in front of her.

She stared at them in dismay. When was she going
to start making perfume?

‘Here are the names for you to copy.
Underneath each title you write “Fine Fragrance by Monsieur Farrant”.' Eliza
gulped, wondering how on earth she would manage to get all that written in such a small space,
but already he had turned his attention to Amos. ‘You will have to work in the perfumery
with me today.'

‘Of course, Monsieur,' he answered,
starting to take off his tabard though by the time he had shrugged on his jacket, the man had
disappeared.

Seeing Eliza grimacing at the labels, Amos placed
a hand
sympathetically on her shoulder.
‘You practise on some scrap paper first, eh, Mademoiselle?' he suggested, waving his
hands in the air.

She laughed at his imitation and immediately the
task seemed less daunting.

‘Good idea,' she agreed, picking up
the quill. It was long and white, reminding her of the goose feather Fay had given her to clean
the hobble. How she missed the woman, and Duncan too, although she was still cross with him.
Sighing, she dipped the plume into the ink and began practising the names Monsieur had written
out for her.

Gold Etoile
,
Frankinscent
and
Myrrh Maid
. Oh, please! When she had her own perfumery she would certainly think up
more imaginative names than that. She shook her head, wondering where that ambition had sprung
from. Forcing herself to concentrate, she mastered the words and painstakingly set about her
task.

A fortnight later and her matching jacket was
ready. Proudly, Eliza made her way towards the laboratory. Mindful of the way the staff had
treated her the morning she'd appeared in her new dress, she decided to give the dining
room a miss for that day. Although they'd resumed their friendly manner, she wasn't
taking any chances. Besides, Amos had taken to sharing his noon piece with her and she enjoyed
the easy friendship that had developed between them. He was happy to teach her what he knew and
in Monsieur Farrant's frequent absences, she'd learned a lot from him.

‘Excuse me, your highness, you surely have
strayed into the wrong place, for this is the workhouse, you know,' Amos
joked when she appeared beside him. She thumped him playfully on
the arm, then sighed when she saw the stack of labels still waiting to be written.

‘I swear blind Monsieur adds more to that
pile each evening.'

‘Well, it's your fault for having
such elegant script. One of his clients was admiring it the other day and Monsieur told him he
prided himself on training us in calligraphy as well.'

‘Calli what?' she asked. ‘I
tell you, Amos, I've never heard so many fancy words in my life. What magic potion are you
brewing today?' She pointed to the bottles in front of him, which were of far more
interest.

‘This is a blend of patchouli, bergamot and
rose,' he explained.

She leaned forward and inhaled deeply.
‘It's quite nice but too overpowering for me,' she said, winkling her
nose.

‘So what perfume does my lady desire? What
are your favourite smells?' he asked, watching her keenly.

‘I'd like to smell light and fresh,
like the heather on the moors, the moss in the woods, the sweat peas in Fay's
garden,' she enthused, hugging her arms around her.

‘A blend like that could work,' he
agreed, jotting down a few notes.

‘Bonjour,
mes enfants
.
With all the tasks I have set you, I am surprised you have time to think, let alone chat,'
announced Monsieur Farrant, his green eyes glittering with something Eliza hadn't seen
before. It was gone in a flash and he was all smiles again. ‘I see Mrs Buttons has at last
finished your jacket, Mademoiselle, so today you may work alongside me in the
perfumery.'

‘If you really think I will be of help, Monsieur,'
she cried, her heart skipping a beat.

‘Indeed. All the scent bottles need dusting
and the shelves restocking from the storeroom, ready for our Christmas rush,' he said,
rubbing his hands together. ‘Amos, when you have finished what you are doing, here is
another receipt for you to make up. I need it for this evening, so none of your dallying and
dillying,' he said, reminding Eliza of the song her mother used to sing about
lavender.

‘Of course, Monsieur Farrant,' he
answered seriously, giving Eliza an outrageous wink behind the man's back.

Stifling a giggle, she followed Monsieur from the
laboratory and down a passageway until they came to the hallway beside the front door. She
stared in wonder at the crystal chandelier twinkling above the grand staircase that led to the
upper floor.

‘They're your quarters up there,
aren't they?' she asked.

Immediately, his back stiffened and, as he turned
to face her, she saw he was glowering.

‘The rooms upstairs are private. You are
never, ever to go up there, understand?' he snapped, for a moment forgetting his French
accent.

‘Of course, Monsieur,' she said,
smiling sweetly at him.

‘Now we find the perfumery,' he said,
tugging down his jacket and leading the way along another passage. This one was thickly carpeted
and although the walls were hung with yet more pictures of perfume bottles and amphorae, these
were more elaborately adorned than the ones she'd seen before. Then they came to a painted
wall and she gasped.

‘It is magnifique, n'est-ce
pas?' Monsieur asked, stopping to admire the nubile maiden being anointed with oil by the
handsome youth. At least she assumed it was the
maiden's glistening body he was admiring. From the way he was staring, she couldn't
be sure.