A Family For Christmas (23 page)

The housekeeper nodded, becoming quite animated
for once. ‘We do indeed. Cook always does us proud and we even have a glass or two of
elderflower bubbly.'

‘Of course, some imbibe more than
others,' Bertram commented, staring pointedly at the housekeeper.

‘Do join us, Eliza. Monsieur Farrant takes
himself away for the festivities so we are able to eat what we want,' Cook intervened.

‘It sounds fun. You must let me know what I
can do to help,' Eliza offered, happy to be accepted again. Of course she'd rather
be celebrating with Fay and Duncan but this was her new life now and she had to move on,
didn't she?

Bertram got to his feet and stared pointedly at
his pocket watch. Immediately the conversation ceased and everyone began tidying away. Then,
calling goodnight to the butler, they scurried to their rooms before he locked the main
door.

As Eliza lay in her bed reflecting on the events
of the day, her thoughts turned to Fay. She wondered how the woman was. Now she'd begun
learning she would send her that letter. After all, she wanted to thank her for her amazing
generosity and let her know how she was getting on with her apprenticeship. Monsieur Farrant
would have her address, wouldn't he?

Eliza arrived in the laboratory the next morning to find Monsieur
inspecting the bottles Amos was filling. She was relieved to see he was back to his charming
self and when he complimented her on the good job she'd made of the labels, she took the
opportunity of asking for Fay's address.

‘Why would you want that?' he asked,
peering at her suspiciously.

‘I thought I'd let her know about
things here?' she said.

‘What things here exactly?' he asked,
his voice ominously quiet.

‘How I'm getting on with my
apprenticeship, what it's like in the perfumery, that kind of thing.'

‘Ah, yes, I see.' He stood there
stroking his moustache for a moment. ‘However, would it not be better to wait until
you've have made some perfume? Now that would be exciting to tell her, non?'

She nodded. ‘But when will that be,
Monsieur? I'm really disappointed not to have begun making some by now. Why, I
haven't even seen anything made in those,' she cried, pointing to the stills.

‘Patience, Mademoiselle. Have I not told
you it is the lead-in to Christmas? We have to have everything prepared for our clients so the
perfume, it is already made. When Amos here has finished decanting it into the bottles, you, my
dear Eliza, are to be given the prestigious job of placing the festive labels on the bottles. It
was a good idea I had to use the colourful inks, non?' As she stared at him in
astonishment, she heard Amos snort, then quickly turn it into a cough when Monsieur turned his
way.

‘Except it was my …' Eliza began, but Monsieur
Farrant cut her short.

‘Amos, I am out to see a client. Please
show Eliza how I like my labels to be placed on the bottles. Remember, they are to be dead
centre or …?'

‘I'm dead,' he answered.

‘Oui, precisely, Amos,' the man
chortled.

‘Well!' Eliza exploded, as soon as
the door had closed behind him.

‘It's no good getting upset, Eliza,
Monsieur's ways are simple. Come up with a good idea and he takes the credit. Come up with
a bad one, you get the blame. Stop frowning and I'll show you how to place your beautiful
labels dead in the centre so that you are not …' He pretended to cut his throat,
looking so comical with his tongue lolling and eyes popping out, she couldn't help but
laugh.

But each time she slapped on a label she imagined
it was Monsieur Farrant's supercilious grin she was smacking.

The following weeks passed in a frenzy of
activity as they dealt with the ever-growing number of clients to the perfumery. The staff was
busy preparing the Christmas fare as well as carrying out their normal duties.

In the perfumery Eliza was tasked with wrapping
the purchases and scripting personal greetings if the clients desired. Monsieur was emphatic she
keep both the shop and stockroom clean and tidy at all times. It was also her job to replenish
the shelves, and with the seemingly endless demand, Amos was back and forth to the laboratory on
the other side of the house, filling little amber bottles from the flagons.

‘I'll be needing new boots if I carry
on like this,' he muttered, placing yet another full box on the stockroom table.

‘Never mind, Monsieur has locked the shop
and gone out for an hour so we can have a rest.' Eliza gave a sigh of relief and collapsed
onto a chair. Her hands were sore from spending the morning cutting paper and tying ribbons,
while all the traipsing from the perfumery to the stockroom and back had made her limp more
pronounced.

‘Thank heavens for that; I'm
starving,' he said, pulling out the tin his landlady packed his lunchtime piece in.
‘Oh good, cheese,' he observed gleefully, proffering a sandwich.

‘Thanks, Amos. I shouldn't keep taking your food but
I can't bear the thought of walking all the way to the staff dining room,' she
muttered, rubbing her aching foot. He smiled sympathetically, but didn't pass comment, for
which she was grateful.

‘It's just as well you do. Mrs Barker
packs enough to feed a horse. Says she enjoys having a lad to fuss over again. Apparently
she's missing her son since he married and moved out.'

‘Will you be staying with her for Christmas
or going home?' she asked.

He pulled a face. ‘Got to see the folks, be
mothered and smothered. Still, with any luck the old man will slip me a little something to add
to my allowance and Mother will fill my bag with goodies to bring back.' He grinned and
shrugged but Eliza could tell he was fond of them. ‘What about you?'

‘I'll be celebrating with the staff
in the dining room. Apparently Cook prepares a feast and …'

‘This is very cosy, is it not, mes
enfants?' Monsieur Farrant said, appearing in the doorway.

‘We were just having our luncheon,'
Eliza commented, hating the way he always sneaked up on them.

‘And a rest from all that back and forth
from the laboratory,' Amos said.

‘You dare to complain?' Monsieur
Farrant asked.

‘Actually, Monsieur, whilst we were taking
our break we were also debating,' Eliza said quickly.

‘Eating and debating, Eliza? Perhaps you
would care to explain just what it was you were discussing?'

‘Well, I suppose it was me, really,
Monsieur. You see I
was thinking about how much
time we waste every day. Time that could be better spent helping you sell more
perfume.'

‘Indeed?' he answered. ‘Perhaps
you, as my newest, not to mention youngest, employee would enlighten me.'

‘If you were to set up a table in the
corner, Amos could fill the bottles in here. Then I would be able to replenish the shelves as
and when required instead of having to wait while he traipses back to the laboratory each
time.'

‘So now you presume to tell me how to run
my business, non?' He shook his head and went to unlock the perfumery.

‘That makes sound sense, Eliza,' Amos
said. ‘It would also save my poor feet.'

‘Amos, Eliza, come here immediately, there
is work to be done,' Monsieur Farrant called.

Raising their eyebrows, they did as they'd
been bid.

For the next hour or so the perfumery was busy
with a stream of clients. With both men serving, Eliza could hardly keep up with all the
wrapping and entering of purchases in the ledger. It never ceased to amaze her how the customers
made their purchases without enquiring about cost, merely trusting Monsieur Farrant to bill them
at the end of the month. She could only think they had more money than sense, for she could
never consider buying something without knowing how much it was.

‘I have something to attend to, Amos, so
please serve any clients who appear in my absence. Eliza, the counter needs polishing and the
shelves replenishing. I'll be back shortly,' Monsieur Farrant announced, breaking
into her thoughts. They watched as he strode out of the perfumery
and down towards the main hall, then Amos grinned and went to
stand behind the counter.

‘May I help you choose something to delight
your young lady, sir?' he asked, mimicking his boss.

‘Do you only have men buying perfume
here?' she asked.

He laughed. ‘At this time of year, yes.
When they suddenly remember, or have been prompted, that a present will be expected on Christmas
Day.'

‘I'd only want a present if someone
really wanted to give me one,' she said with feeling. ‘Don't suppose
I'll get anything, anyway.'

‘Well, apart from sharing my luncheon,
Eliza, I'm afraid, being a poor apprentice who has spent his allowance, I have nothing to
give you. Unless Monsieur's generous with his Christmas box, of course. When is your
birthday?' he asked suddenly.

‘February the 19th. Why? When's
yours?'

‘May the 21st. We might be impoverished
apprentices but I shall make sure we celebrate your birthday, Eliza,' he said
solemnly.

‘And I yours, Amos,' she replied,
thinking she'd ask Cook if she could bake a cake.

‘Amos, I have had the most marvellous
idea,' Monsieur Farrant said, striding back into the room. Eliza and Amos looked at each
other and grinned.

‘You have, Monsieur?' Amos asked,
regaining his composure as he turned to face the man.

‘Indeed. It occurred to me you are wasting
valuable selling time with all the toing and froing you do. I have instructed Dawkins to place a
table in the stockroom so
that you can fill the
bottles in there. Is that not a splendid idea?'

‘It is indeed, Monsieur,' he said,
winking at Eliza behind his back.

‘Do you not wish you had the genius of your
boss, Eliza?' Monsieur Farrant asked, turning to her.

‘I wish I had your intelligence,
Monsieur,' she responded, ‘for then I would surely set up another table alongside so
that the bottles, when filled, could be wrapped ready to give the client. If they only had to
wait whilst the personal label was scripted for them, they would think your service was par
excellence, Monsieur.' She saw Amos's astounded look and wondered if she'd
gone too far. Monsieur Farrant, however, stared at her with that supercilious look she'd
come to recognize.

‘Ah, but Monsieur would never come up with
a plan that is flawed. For if the bottles were already wrapped, how would you know you were
giving them the correct perfume?'

‘As you say, Monsieur, you are a genius
and, as such, wouldn't.' As he stood there smirking, she added, ‘Of course, if
the bottles were to have ribbons that matched the labels, there would be no confusion. I mean,
it would be obvious that a parcel tied with yellow ribbon would denote the yellow label of Gold
Etoile inside, would it not?'

Leaving him to ponder her words, she turned and
began tidying the counter. Sure enough, moments later Monsieur Farrant disappeared. Amos burst
out laughing.

‘You are priceless, Eliza. My mother always
says women are wilier than wolves and now I see why.'

With the two tables duly set up in the stockroom, Amos was able
to spend the time between attending to clients and filling the bottles, while Eliza labelled,
wrapped and tied them with the appropriate ribbons. Monsieur Farrant, pleased that
‘his' ideas were working so well, strutted around like the proverbial peacock. They
didn't mind, though. It meant they could spend more time together in the stockroom sharing
their easy banter. Amos made the working day fun.

Excitement was building in the staff dining room
and each evening Eliza was regaled with news of the latest preparation for the festivities. It
was so infectious, she found herself looking forward to sharing the day with them. Apparently
they all wore their Sunday best for the occasion, so she decided she'd wear the green
dress that Rose had given her.

First thing on Christmas Eve Amos packed his bag
with the last of the deliveries. Having been told that once he'd dropped off the last
parcel, he could go straight to the railway station, he was in good spirits. As she watched him
preparing to leave, Eliza felt a momentary pang that she had no caring family waiting for her to
visit. Although she'd got on well with her sisters, she'd been a burden to her
parents, and Fay had wanted her gone from her hobble. Even now the letter she'd started
writing lay abandoned alongside her box. She'd thought of adding Christmas greetings but
couldn't shake off the feeling of rejection that threatened to overwhelm her at times.
Amos broke into her thoughts.

‘Season's greetings, Eliza. If I had
a Wishing Ball, well, you know what I'd be doing now, don't you?' he said,
giving her a last cheeky grin before he left. Having no idea
what he meant, she shook her head. Then the little bell tinkled
and his words went out of her head as she hurried through to the perfumery.

To her surprise, Monsieur Farrant was nowhere to
be seen. Fixing on her brightest smile, she turned to attend to the well-dressed gentleman.

‘Good morning. I am looking to purchase two
bottles of perfume, Miss … er …?'

‘Eliza, sir,'

‘Well, Eliza, as I said, I require two
bottles of perfume.'

‘Would that be two of the same perfume,
sir?'

‘Why not – and if they could be
wrapped …?'

Eliza nodded, trying hard to remember what
she'd been taught about attending to the client's needs. ‘May I ask what the
lady in question is like, sir?'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Well, sir, if you could tell me something
about the lady and what her tastes are, I'll be able to recommend something
suitable.'

‘Oh, yes, I see. Well, sort of charming,
womanly, spirited,' he said, a gleam sparking in his eyes.

‘Your wife sounds lovely, sir,' Eliza
said.

‘My wife?' he spluttered, looking
shocked.

‘Sorry, sir, you don't require
perfume for your wife?'

‘Well, yes, of course I do. That is why I
wish to purchase two bottles. Not that my wife ever touches the one I give her.'

‘Then why …' Eliza began, but
he leaned across the counter.

‘One is for my wife, the other for my
special lady,' he whispered.

‘Oh, I see, sir,' she said. ‘You say your wife
never uses the bottle you give her?'

‘No, it's a ridiculous waste of
money, but I have to treat them both the same, don't I?'

‘May I ask if these women are alike? Do
they have the same tastes?'

‘Hardly. Well, apart from their very good
choice in men, of course,' he chuckled. ‘No, my wife is gentle, sweet and very
biddable, whilst my mist— er, other lady is, as I have said, seductive and spirited
…' His voice trailed off as if he was worried he'd said too much.

Determined to appear a woman who knew about such
matters, Eliza turned and selected two tester bottles.

‘Well then, sir, if they are not alike,
does it not follow they will not share the same taste in fragrance? Perfume is such a personal
thing and really needs to reflect the wearer. From what you've told me, your wife would
perhaps like this light, floral fragrance,' she suggested, holding out the glass tester
wand. Hesitantly he gave a sniff, then inhaled more deeply.

‘By Jove, that's Felicity down to the
ground,' he enthused. ‘Do you know, I think she might even wear that?' Eliza
nodded, pleased that she'd got something right. Then she held up the wand from the other
bottle and waved it in front of him. As the aromatic scent of patchouli and spice wafted around,
his face lit up. ‘Perfect. I can just imagine …'

‘I am so sorry to have kept you waiting,
sir,' Monsieur Farrant said, bustling round to where Eliza was standing behind the
counter. ‘I hope Mademoiselle has been keeping you amused in my absence.'

‘More than that, Monsieur, Eliza here has been enlightening
me in the ways of women and their perfume,' he announced.

‘Really? Well, I am pleased she has been of
some help. Now, I expect you would like Monsieur's expertise in recommending a
fragrance?'

‘You misunderstand, Monsieur. Eliza here
has solved my dilemma and I wish to purchase three bottles of each of these wonderful
perfumes.' Monsieur Farrant gasped, but whether it was surprise at the size of the order
or the sudden appearance of the constable who was watching intently, Eliza wasn't
sure.