After the Snow. Susannah Constantine
and many of the other guests open-mouthed.
Mr Miller, the chauffeur, was waiting at the bottom of the front stairs, with a basket in hand.
‘Your Lordship; tea and flapjacks. The car is just outside.’
‘Thank you, Miller. No need to drive us, I will manage perfectly well. Esme, put your coat and boots on. What fun – a Christmas adventure!’
But Esme noticed that his jolly tone was not reflected in his eyes. They were darting about nervously and he looked worried, even though he was trying to cover it up. Grown-ups often didn’t tell the truth when they were worried. Was it about her mother? Or was he still cross with her father for not seeming to care?
The castle door flew open on turning the brass handle. Snow whipped inside, a frozen rage slicing through the oil-fired warmth. The blizzard had intensified. Esme pictured her mother curled up in a ball, like a frightened rabbit. At least she was wearing a fur coat. That’s how Eskimos kept warm and it was even colder in Greenland. But was mink as warm as sealskin? What if she had fallen asleep? Would she hear them calling?
Mr Miller wrenched the Land Rover door open and as Esme climbed in the wind slammed it shut, almost catching her leg.
‘Where shall we start looking? I mean, Mummy could be anywhere. She might be buried under a snow drift.’
‘Don’t worry, Esme,’ said the Earl. ‘I think I know where she might be. She doesn’t like big parties, so I think she will have gone somewhere she can relax. She just forgot to tell you.’
Of course! He was right. Her mother could be terribly forgetful, especially on bad days.
The Earl wound down the window and yelled over the rumbling diesel engine, ‘Miller, will you call the yard and tell Jimmy we’re on our way?’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘Oh, and tell Mr Munroe that I will drop Mrs Munroe and Esme off at The Lodge. If you don’t mind, you will have to take him home in the Range Rover.’
‘Is that where you think she is?’ asked Esme, at once relieved and puzzled.
‘Yes, I know it. Isn’t that where you escape to when you’re sad or just want to get away?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Esme, wondering how the Earl would know. ‘I go and talk to Homer if I’m unhappy or scared. Do you think Mummy is scared?’
‘Your mother’s mind works in mysterious ways, Esme. She probably thought it was quicker to go to the yard than face the steep drive up to the castle.’
Winding the window back up, the Earl suggested Esme pour them both a cup of tea from the flask in the basket. Esme felt grown up, sharing the responsibility of being part of a search party for her mother.
‘So what was the best thing Father Christmas brought you this year?’ he asked.
‘Oh gosh, I loved all my presents but if I had to choose the most exciting it was probably the towel that he used to dry his reindeer. It was still wet!’ She laughed.
‘Goodness. How fascinating. That just goes to prove that Father Christmas is alive and kicking.’
She was surprised by how comfortable she felt being alone with the Earl. She wasn’t at all shy with him like she sometimes was with grown-ups. She pulled the flask from the wicker basket and unscrewed the lid, releasing a hiss as the compressed heat escaped from its container. A steaming muddy waterfall flowed into the mugs, each decorated with the Culcairn foxhounds. As they drove, the beam from the headlamps cut a slice of amber through the speckled grey twilight. The snow was falling so thick and fast it was almost impossible to differentiate individual flakes.
‘Goodness,’ said the Earl, ‘I bet you haven’t ever seen snow like this before, Esme. I haven’t seen it this thick since I was a boy. I remember taking that sleigh – you know, the one on show in the main entrance – for a turn down the drive. My brothers and I used it as a toboggan. We got into so much trouble! Not only for touching a piece of history – Queen Victoria once sped around Scotland in it, you know – but also because it was so heavy it broke Robert’s leg when he fell off head-first.’
Esme could picture them, wild and laughing, using all their boyish strength to pull the thing out from the arch of the great stone hall, its runners scraping over the flagstones. She knew exactly which sleigh he meant. It now sat unused and roped off from tourists tempted to hop in.
‘Good Lord, there’s your car Esme. How on earth could your father have ended up in the ditch like that?’
‘It just sort of happened.’
A warm chuckle escaped the Earl’s throat as he looked at the abandoned car in the snowy trench. It was almost unrecognizable, so deep was the snow covering its roof and clinging to its windows, bolsters of white like sagging bags under tired eyes.
As they passed The Lodge, Esme saw a faint glow of light from the kitchen window. She could just make out Mrs Bee at the sink and waved, in case the housekeeper could see them.
‘Who are you waving to? Mrs Bumble?’
‘Yes. I feel sorry for her having to work on Christmas Day.’
‘But I’m sure she does it gladly to help your mother.’
‘Yes. She loves Mummy so much. Says she’s the kindest lady in the world.’
‘I’d agree with that, Esme. Does your mother ever do the cooking?’
‘In our London house she does. But sometimes she burns things as she forgets to take food out of the oven. Once she left a cottage pie in for a whole night! Daddy said it looked like dog poo.’ Esme felt immediately guilty for telling tales about her mother. ‘But most of the time she makes us lovely food.’
The village appeared before them, unfamiliar with all the houses thatched in snow. As they passed the cottages Esme imagined the families inside; happy, cozied up together, Christmas lights twinkling and brightly wrapped presents nesting under baubled firs. That should have been her family. Instead, here she was with her best friend’s father, scouring the countryside for her mother.
Driving past the village shop she caught a flash of red; mistletoe hanging by a noose of tartan ribbon above the door. A chill gripped her. What if her mother wasn’t at the yard? She might not have made it that far. Again, Esme imagined her stuck in a hole, stiff with cold like the frozen carcasses Digger sometimes found.
Leaving the village behind, the Land Rover started to climb the steep incline. She wondered how they were going to make it up the hill. It was very cold now. She daren’t speak as she could see how hard the Earl was concentrating to keep the car on the road. She studied his profile. She had always liked his face. Greying hair that was swept back off a high forehead, strong nose and thin lips. His eyes had unusual flecks of yellow and orange but if asked what colour they were she’d say green. She noticed that his eyebrows were lower than usual, set in a frown – not cross but more concerned, unlike his jaunty tone of voice.
‘Now, Esme, here comes the tricky part.’
‘Will we get up the hill, do you think?’
‘My dear, of course we will. This old thing can get anywhere. It’s a marvellous lump of metal. Come on, why don’t you sit on my knee and help me drive? Don’t think I don’t know about your and Lexi’s little escapades in the Triumph.’
Esme felt her face flush at being caught out for driving the little green car around the estate. She waited for the reprimand, but it didn’t come.
‘Come,