A Family For Christmas (24 page)

‘You did say three bottles of each perfume,
sir?'

‘I did indeed. This remarkable assistant of
yours has been most helpful and I am truly grateful. She is a wonderful woman,
Monsieur.'

Monsieur Farrant turned to Eliza, a smile curling
his lips. ‘She is indeed, sir, and that is why I am hoping one day she will do me the
honour of becoming my wife.' Monsieur Farrant turned and smiled at the constable.

Eliza heard a gasp and couldn't be sure if
it came from her or the constable, who was edging towards them. Even the client was looking
shocked.

‘Oh, but I thought you … well, never
mind. That's wonderful news. I hope you will be very happy,' the gentleman said
quickly. ‘Now, would cash be all right?'

‘Indeed, indeed.' Monsieur was beside
himself as he made out the gentleman's bill. ‘Eliza will wrap and write any cards
you require.'

‘Monsieur Farrant, I need to ask you some
questions, please,' the constable interrupted.

‘Ah, Constable, I expect you'll be requiring
assistance choosing a special fragrance for that lovely wife of yours,' Monsieur said,
turning to the policeman. The constable shook his head and made for the door, an incredulous
look on his face. ‘I will return when you are less busy, Farrant, and then you will answer
my questions.'

Too stunned to speak and wondering what game
Monsieur Farrant was playing, Eliza wrapped the perfume and penned the requisite words. Marry
Monsieur! What an absurd notion. She had as much intention of marrying him as flying to the
moon, and something told her that wasn't really his objective either.

‘You have my undying gratitude,' the
gentleman said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Season's greetings to you both,'
he added, clutching his parcels and hurrying towards the door.

‘Goodbye, sir,' Eliza called, then
noticed the perfumery was empty of customers. ‘Oh, the constable didn't wait,'
she stammered in surprise.

Monsieur Farrant laughed. ‘I think when he
heard you were to become my wife he got the shock of his life.'

‘But …' she protested, but he
held up his hand.

‘Don't worry, Eliza, you and I are
going to get along famously.'

Not sure what he meant, and not sure she wanted
to find out, she smiled nervously. Thank goodness tomorrow was Christmas Day and she'd be
able to spend the day away from him.

‘Now that is all for today. Do not worry,
though. Monsieur Farrant, he will be making the formal proposal for he likes to do things
properly, non?'

‘But …' she began again.

‘None of these buts. We will lock up early
and prepare for the festivities. I am sure you will want time to beautify yourself, oui?'
he declared, giving her a wink.

Not sure if this was an insult or compliment, but
relieved to be able to leave, Eliza hurried out of the perfumery before Monsieur could change
his mind. Thankfully, for once he didn't follow her. He really did come out with the most
preposterous things at times. Lost in thought she'd just reached the dining hall when Mimi
stopped her.

‘Cook's in a right state. She's
got so much to do, she said to tell you supper will have to be early tonight. She'll be
serving up pot luck or lump it at five o'clock,' the maid stammered before dashing
back to the kitchen.

Eliza sympathized, guessing Cook was overtired.
As for herself, after monsieur's preposterous declaration, she'd welcome the company
of the other staff and their excitement about the coming festivities.

Back in her room, the half-finished letter to Fay
seemed to mock her. Tears welled and she wished she was back in the safety of the hobble.
But Fay didn't want you there
, a voice inside her head reminded her. Snatching
up the paper, she tore it to shreds.

Wiping her face, she changed into her cotton
clothes and made her way to the dining room. However, instead of the usual convivial atmosphere
she was met with mayhem.

‘I've never heard the like
before,' Mrs Symms cried.

‘And where he expected me to get a goose
from at such a late hour, I don't know,' Cook wailed.

‘You didn't; it were me who had to
plead with the butcher,' Dawkins protested. ‘Mind you, when he heard who it were
for, he suddenly remembered he had a spare one. At twice the price, I might add.'

‘Well, it's me who's got to
cook the blooming thing,' Cook moaned.

‘I told him the staff would never eat
goose,' Mrs Symms continued. ‘But all he said was, “Then let them eat
beef.”'

‘So I have to cook beef as well as goose,' Cook
spluttered. ‘Then he wants asparagus soup to start. Where the heck am I expected to get
asparagus from at this time of year? He'll have to make do with green vegetables. And does
he want Christmas pudding like the rest of us? Does he heck; he wants a soufflé, if you
please!'

When the moaning and groaning finally ground to a
halt, Eliza asked what was wrong.

‘His lordship's decided he's
staying home for Christmas. Apparently he intends entertaining a friend and would like the table
set for two in his downstairs parlour, no less,' Mrs Symms informed her.

‘So much for our staff Christmas
luncheon,' wailed Cook. ‘By the time we've served him and his so-called
friend, we'll be too knackered to enjoy ourselves.'

‘And we won't be able to have a
snifter until he's finished either,' moaned Mrs Symms.

‘Can I help?' Eliza asked.

‘You can't work with us,' Mimi
exclaimed.

‘Why ever not? I'm one of the staff
too, aren't I?'

‘But yous works in the perfumery,
that's different,' Mimi stated.

‘You could help decorate the room.
I've been that busy making the parlour look festive I haven't had time to do
anything in here,' Mrs Symms suggested.

Glad to be able to help, and remembering
she'd seen holly and ivy in the garden, Eliza said, ‘Leave it to me, Mrs Symms.
I'll make this room look cheerful and celebratory. Anything else?' She turned to
Cook. ‘Can I help in the kitchen?'

‘Don't like people under me feet. Ta for the offer,
though.'

‘Better get eating,' Bertram ordered.
‘His lordship's decreed it's to be early doors tonight.'

As Eliza frowned, Mimi whispered, ‘It means
we got to be in our rooms by seven 'cos the door's going to be locked then. See
you're wearing your skirt. Toby thought I looked lovely in it,' she sighed.

‘I'll make sure it's laundered
and you can borrow it again next time you see him,' Eliza promised.

‘I told me mum you're a good
un,' Mimi smiled.

Next morning, Eliza woke early, determined to
make the dining room look as festive as possible, then enjoy the day with these people who had
become her friends. Humming under her breath, she was about to make her way to the garden when
there was a sharp rap on the door. To her surprise, the butler was standing there looking even
more officious than usual.

‘Merry Christmas, Bertram,' she
smiled.

‘Indeed,' he said gravely, handing
her an enormous box tied with a gold bow. ‘Monsieur Farrant sends his greetings and
requests you join him in the parlour at noon for pre-luncheon drinkies.'

‘What?' she asked, wide-eyed.

‘I believe you heard, miss. I shall return
at 11.55 a.m. precisely to escort you. He wishes you to wear …' He sniffed and
pointed to the box.

‘But you know I promised to collect
greenery to decorate the dining room,' she explained.

‘I think not, miss. His lordship is most
emphatic you do not mingle with the domestic staff. You are to stay here
and prepare yourself for festive celebrations in the parlour. As
I said, I shall return.' Then he gave a formal bow and marched away, leaving Eliza staring
at him open-mouthed.

What was going on? She threw the box down on the
bed. Why would Monsieur send her a present? Surely this didn't have anything to do with
his preposterous suggestion in the perfumery? He wasn't about to propose officially, was
he? Perhaps she could stay here, ignore him and his present.

But the box was too tempting to resist and,
tearing open the wrapping, she gasped in amazement. Nestling in the softest tissue, was a
shimmering swathe of gold silk and lying alongside, a little amber bottle of Gold Etoile.
Remembering its pungent smell, she wrinkled her nose. No way was she wearing that.

She shook out the dress and held it up in front
of her. It was absolutely gorgeous. Unable to resist, she tore off her clothes and stepped into
it. As the silky folds slithered over her body like a second skin, she shivered in delight, then
ran over to the mirror. Was that woman with sparkling eyes and radiant skin really her? She
swished this way and that, quite overcome with delight. Realizing her hair spoiled the effect,
she coiled it into its customary Cadogan, covered it with the little net and stood back to
admire the effect: much better.

Then, as if someone had thrown a large snowball
at her, she shivered and slumped down on the chair. Why would Monsieur give her an expensive new
dress and perfume? And why had he invited her to luncheon in his parlour? Did this really have
anything to do with his outrageous
suggestion the
previous day? She sat for an age, staring out of the window, trying to make sense of it all.

A sharp knock on the door rudely roused her from
her reverie. It couldn't be that time already, surely? Opening the door, she saw Bertram
striding back towards the main house and had no option but to follow. As they passed the staff
dining room, she wondered if she should explain why she wouldn't be joining them but, as
if her thoughts had been transmitted, Bertram turned and frowned.

‘May I wish you the season's
greetings, Mademoiselle?' Monsieur Farrant said, rising to his feet as she was shown into
the parlour.

‘Thank you,' she stammered, staring
at the most enormous fir tree that graced the window. It was lit by myriad candles and she
couldn't help exclaiming, ‘Why, that's beautiful!'

‘Mais oui, but not as beautiful as you,
Mademoiselle. I must say, you look enchanting, non?' he said, gazing at her so intently,
she felt uncomfortable and had to look away.

‘Thank you for this dress but I don't
understand why you've given it to me.'

‘You don't like it?' He
frowned.

‘It's gorgeous but …' Her
voice trailed off.

‘It is my Christmas box to you. I believe
it is the custom for an employer to give a token of his appreciation, non?' He sniffed the
air and frowned. ‘But you are not wearing the perfume?'

‘I'm sorry, I was so surprised by
your invitation I forgot to put any on,' she stuttered, not wishing to admit she hated its
potent smell.

‘Never mind, you can wear it when we dine
together
again, non?' She stared at him in
horror. This was going to be repeated? ‘You see, Mademoiselle Eliza, I chose that
fragrance because I think it the very epitome of you. It captures your very being,
non?'

She shuddered, hoping the overpowering pong was
nothing like her.

‘You are cold? Come and sit down nearer the
warmth,' he said, taking her hand and leading her towards the enormous fireplace where
logs crackled and snapped. She was just comparing it to the tiny grate and twigs Fay used at the
hobble when Bertram appeared offering refreshment.

‘A glass of lemonade would be nice,'
she said, smiling at the butler, who sniffed and turned away.

‘You would perhaps prefer a glass of
champagne instead?' Monsieur Farrant asked.

Eliza shook her head and he sighed, then took a
sip of his own. The bubbles fizzing in his glass seemed extraordinarily loud but his next words
took all thought of their drinks from her mind.

‘I expect you are deliriously delighted I
have invited you to join me today but you would not be a woman if you were not wondering why,
eh?'

Not sure what to say she merely nodded.

‘It is simple, dear Eliza. I thought after
my proposal in the perfumery yesterday we should get to know each other better,' he said,
placing his glass on the table beside him.

‘But surely you weren't
serious?' she stuttered, her stomach churning.

‘You were surprised, non? Mais, you are a
beautiful woman and I'm a handsome man so …' he shrugged, leaning forward so
the smell of him wafted her way.
NO!
she
wanted to shout, instinctively pulling away. ‘Now, before we eat, I think we should get
one thing straight, yes?' He paused and her stomach tied itself in knots as she wondered
what was coming next.

‘When we are alone, I shall call you Eliza
and you may call me Charles,' he said, smiling as though he were bestowing a great honour.
She was saved from answering by the dinner gong.

‘Luncheon is served,' Bertram
intoned, appearing in the doorway.

Monsieur Farrant rose to his feet and held out
his hand.

‘Allow me to escort you to the table,
Eliza,' he said, taking her arm and leading her all of eight paces to the table that was
set on the other side of the room.

‘May I sit beside the tree?' she
asked, thinking the smell of pine might mask the smell of him, though how she was going to eat
she couldn't think. She gazed at the ornate, and no doubt expensive, decorations
smothering every branch of the tree and couldn't help thinking less would be more
tasteful. In her mind, Christmas should be about family, sharing and warmth, not possessions and
shows of ostentation.

‘Ah, you like it, oui?' he smiled,
mistaking her look. Bertram hurried over and pulled out her chair, then shook out a snowy white
serviette and placed it over her lap. She just had time to take in the flickering candles in the
silver candelabra and the holly adorning the picture rails, when a dish was slapped down in
front of her. Startled, she looked up only to be met with the glacial look of the
housekeeper.

‘Hope it chokes you, I'm sure,' the woman
hissed.

‘Oh, Mrs Symms, I was going to help but
…' Eliza gasped, hurt that the woman had misunderstood her reasons for dining here
rather than with the people she would prefer to be with, but the woman stuck her nose in the air
and hurried away. Eliza stared down at the green gloop and gulped. Oblivious, Charles began to
eat, making little slurping noises that, had she been hungry, would quite have put her off.
Luckily he was so engrossed he failed to notice Eliza surreptitiously spooning her soup into the
poinsettia. When the empty bowls had been cleared, he turned to her and smiled.

‘Tell me, Eliza, I have been perusing
Fay's receipts. They are most interesting. Did you perchance find any more?' he
asked, staring at her intently.

‘I'm afraid not,' she said
quickly. Then anxious to change the subject, added. ‘You have a delightful garden,
Monsieur. I was hoping to take another walk around it later.'

He sighed. ‘Alas, by the time we have
finished the meal today, it will be dark, non?' Eliza's eyes widened in amazement;
how long could it take to eat Christmas luncheon?

‘Ah,' he said, looking up as Mrs
Symms reappeared. She was carrying an enormous salver on which lay the cooked goose, an apple
adorning its neck end and a little white frill covering its behind.

‘Cook said she's cooked it à la
française,' she sniffed, as Mimi bustled in with dishes of vegetables. Eliza looked
at her and smiled but the little maid seemed too busy to notice.

Monsieur Farrant made an elaborate show of
carving
but luckily left Eliza to help herself.
As the meal dragged on, she made a pretence of eating, spreading the food around the plate,
wishing her ordeal over. As the room grew hotter, the smell of Monsieur got stronger and she
turned towards the tree, inhaling deeply. But the freshness of the pine reminded her of Duncan
and his beloved woods. What she wouldn't give to be walking in them now.

‘Would you care for dessert?' Charles
asked, breaking into her thoughts.