If You Were the Only Girl. Anne Bennett
at that,’ Lucy said.
No one said anything to this because they were suddenly aware of someone in the church eyeing their chatter with disapproval. Lucy bowed her head in prayer. Suddenly, the strains of the organ could be heard and the congregation got to their feet. The priest in his colourful vestments, and two young altar boys dressed in red with pure white surplices, came out of the vestry and Mass began. Lucy loved the Mass in Advent because of the expectation in the air and the age-old carols to sing instead of the dirgy songs the priest often chose. The Advent candles burning above the altar reminded people what it was all about.
The priest, no doubt feeling the cold himself, cut Mass short, and soon the three girls were hurrying through the dark again and were all mightily grateful to reach the kitchen when the welcome heat hit them as soon as they opened the door. They attacked the food Cook had left out with relish.
‘That’s lovely,’ Clodagh cried. ‘I’ll be able to feel my hands and feet soon, no doubt.’
‘Yes, I’m starting to feel a bit more human again, too,’ said Evie. ‘Oh, and Happy Christmas to you both.’
‘Happy Christmas,’ Lucy and Clodagh replied together. They raised cups of tea in a toast, and though Lucy regretted her Christmas wish was not to come true she felt blessed to have found such good friends in her new life.
None of the girls wanted to leave her bed early the next morning, but on Christmas morning there was more to do than usual. Lucy, with a sigh, began to dress quickly, for the cold was so intense her teeth were chattering. The family and their guests were going to church that morning, but before that all the servants were summoned to the library. Clara, Mr Carlisle, Cook, Jerry and Norah seemed to be expecting this, but the girls looked at each other in surprise.
‘It’s when they give us their presents,’ Clara whispered to Lucy.
Lucy’s mouth dropped agape. ‘Presents?’ she echoed. ‘They give us presents?’
‘Don’t look so surprised,’ Clara said. ‘It is Christmas Day.’
‘I know,’ Lucy said, ‘but somehow, I never associated it with presents and certainly not from the Family. I mean, presents are not much a part of the celebrations at home.’
Clodagh’s eyes were sad as she asked, ‘Did you not ever hang stockings for Santa to fill?’
‘When Daddy was alive and well enough to work we did,’ Lucy said. Her eyes were bleak as she went on, ‘He used to make everything more alive somehow. I used to think Christmas was magical and there was always something just lovely in my stocking that Santa had brought.’
‘I knew your father well,’ Clara said gently, ‘because he and my own husband were great friends. I know how fine a man he was.’
‘He was, yes,’ Lucy maintained, ‘though the younger ones can barely remember a time before he was sick and there was no money. Mammy used to try really hard to put a good meal on the table and, believe me, that was treat enough. I didn’t look for presents as well. Here I get all that, anyway. I am warm and well fed and don’t really have a need for anything else.’
Clara was very moved by Lucy’s words. In the household, she was the bottom of the heap, she worked long hours and the work was hard, especially for someone her size, and yet she never moaned and usually had a smile on her face. Lucy was content as few people are and Clara was glad that in the little card she would give her later, when she might get her on her own, she had put in five shillings.
They walked past the magnificent Christmas tree in the hall and they were told to enter. Lucy had her first glimpse of Lord Heatherington and she suddenly felt immensely sorry for him. She imagined that once he had been a fine, upstanding man, before his injuries had robbed him of his health and stripped the flesh from his bones.
She was unaware how expressive her face was, or that Lord Heatherington was amused by the little maid’s scrutiny – and she was a little maid. In fact, he thought, he had never seen such a small girl in his employ before and realised that she must be the scullery maid his son had referred to when he had asked Amelia how old she was.
Lucy, embarrassed that Lord Heatherington had seen her regarding him, averted her eyes and looked instead at Rory Green, who stood behind him. Then she glanced discreetly round to take in the others. Lady Heatherington was seated beside her husband, and a smiling Master Clive was on the other side. In front of them on the table were a selection of gifts, which Lady Heatherington and her son proceeded to dispense. Lucy bobbed a curtsy as Evie and Clodagh, who were in front of her, had, as she accepted the package Lady Heatherington gave her, and shook hands with Lord Heatherington. He said to each employee, ‘I hope you have a very happy Christmas Day.’
Lucy was the only one who answered him. ‘I hope you do, too, sir,’ she said. ‘I hope all of you have a good day.’ She heard Mr Carlisle’s hiss of annoyance and knew that she shouldn’t have spoken, just accepted the greeting, but it had slipped out automatically.
They all returned to the kitchen to open their packages, and though the butler glared at Lucy, it wasn’t the moment to upbraid her among all the bustle and excitement of present-opening.
Lucy had a set of six soft cotton hankies with yellow flowers all over them and trimmed with lace at the sides. She had never owned hankies and thought that ones like these were far too good just to wipe a person’s nose. She also had two pairs of black woollen stockings, which she knew would keep her legs warm all winter. Clodagh and Evie had the same. Jerry had hankies and three pairs of warm socks, but Mr Carlisle was given sparkling gold cuff links as well as the hankies and socks. Cook was given a shawl with a pretty brooch to fasten it, and Clara had a pretty pearl necklace.
Lucy, while admiring the presents of the butler, Cook and Mrs O’Leary, was more than pleased with hers, and the morning seemed to fly by because there was so much to be done. The servants’ dinner that day was stupendous – that was really the only word to describe it, Lucy thought.
Mr Carlisle agreed. ‘Ada,’ he said, ‘you have excelled yourself.’
Lucy had never heard Mr Carlisle address Cook as anything other than ‘Mrs Murphy’ before, and her eyes widened, especially when she saw Cook’s cheeks look more crimson that they did when she bent to withdraw something from the range oven.
She looked across to Clodagh, who winked in response, as Cook, almost simpering, said, ‘It’s very nice of you to say that, James.’
‘I’m only saying what everyone around this table is thinking,’ the butler said. ‘Isn’t that right?’
There was a murmur of agreement to this. Then the butler got to his feet, for he had to see if the male guests needed help getting dressed for dinner, and Jerry followed him. Norah had to do the same, for her Mistress and the female guests, and Lucy had to start on the mountain of washing up.
‘What was up with old Carlisle at dinner?’ Clodagh whispered as she passed Lucy.
‘I don’t know,’ Lucy said. ‘But I have heard him praise Cook before. He likes his food, does Mr Carlisle.’
‘Yeah, but I have never heard him call Cook “Ada” before. He’s had a little bit of the Christmas spirit, if you ask me’ Clodagh grinned. ‘I think he has been on the bottle.’
‘No!’ Lucy said, shocked.
‘Well, he keeps a bottle of whisky in his pantry,’ Clodagh said, knowledgeably. ‘Jerry told me.’
Lucy couldn’t quite believe it. The butler was so prim and proper. ‘Huh,’ she said, ‘I would take anything Jerry said with a pinch of salt.’
However, both girls had forgotten to lower their voices sufficiently and Cook shouted across the kitchen in a caustic tone, ‘I hate to break up the conversation