The Victory Garden(90)

Afterwards, Emily and Lady Charlton took sherry before Christmas lunch. Emily handed the old lady her present and was surprised that Lady Charlton seemed so touched. “What a delightful gift. Hand-made. The best,” she said. “And I have something for you. Come with me.” She led Emily upstairs and along the corridor to the far end, where she opened a door to a bright room. It was the former nursery, with a rocking horse in the window, a shelf of toys and books and, in the middle, a basinet draped with lace.

“This is now yours,” she said. “I hope you will move into the house before the baby arrives, and we shall acquire a nursemaid for him.”

“How lovely.” Emily could hardly say the words, knowing that by the time the baby arrived she would probably be with Clarissa.

When they came downstairs again, Lady Charlton took her not into the sitting room, but along the hall to the library. “I want you to choose something,” she said. “Anything you like.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Emily stammered.

“Please. It would give me pleasure to know that some of our prized possessions were going to you instead of an auction, or being disposed of by my grandson one day.”

“But didn’t you say it’s really his house now? I couldn’t take anything belonging to him.”

“These artefacts are all mine. Collected by my own hand on my travels around the world, and I want you to have one.”

Emily hesitated. She was loath to take a book, but the artefacts were equally precious.

Lady Charlton went to one of the display tables. “You seemed particularly interested in Egypt,” she said, and opened the glass top. “I think you’d enjoy this scarab. It is a symbol of good health and good luck.” She handed Emily a golden scarab encrusted with semi-precious stones.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Emily stammered. “It’s much too valuable.”

“I insist you must have it. I want to give it to you, and you wouldn’t deny an old woman some pleasure, would you?” She pressed it into Emily’s hand. “My husband gave it to me in Cairo. It had come from a pharaoh’s tomb, so one gathers.”

The object felt heavy and cold in Emily’s hand. She stood staring at it.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You could try ‘thank you.’”

“Oh yes. Thank you.” And impulsively she hugged the old lady, who turned quite pink.

They celebrated with a huge traditional Christmas dinner: turkey, chestnut stuffing, roast potatoes and root vegetables, followed by the Christmas pudding carried flaming to the table with a sprig of holly in it. When Emily went back to the cottage that night, she thought about her parents. This was their first Christmas without her. Were they missing her? Thinking about her with regret? She felt a great longing for them, for her home and for security. “But I can’t go back,” she told herself. “I can never go back.”

And she thought of Robbie’s parents, facing Christmas without their son. Again, she was tempted to write to them. When the baby is born, she decided. I’ll send them a photograph, so that they know. Her hand moved to her belly, and the baby responded with a sharp kick.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Christmas was followed by the first serious snowstorm of the season. Emily slid and floundered as she made her way up from the cottage to the big house, hardly able to see in the wind-driven snow. She was gasping for breath as she entered the front hall. Lady Charlton came down the staircase and saw her.

“My dear girl, what possessed you to come out in this storm?” she demanded.

“I thought you wanted to start on the Indian artefacts this morning,” Emily said.

“Such devotion to duty, but foolhardy. What if you had lost your way in the blizzard? Or slipped and frozen to death?”

“I’m really quite hardy.” Emily grinned. “And it isn’t too far from the cottage to the house. I could see the shape of it, even in a blizzard.”

“You have no idea how difficult the weather can be here in winter. Almost arctic,” Lady Charlton said. She went ahead into the sitting room and jerked violently on the bell. Daisy appeared almost instantly.

“A cup of something hot for Miss Emily. She has braved the storm to come here. And, Daisy, please put sheets on the bed in the blue bedroom and light a fire. There is no way she is attempting to go back to the cottage until this storm abates.”

“But my cat!” Emily blurted out. “I can’t leave him alone.”

“Oh yes, the witch’s cat.” Lady Charlton looked amused. “But trust me, my dear, cats can fend for themselves in any weather. Is it shut inside?”

“No, I leave the scullery window open a sliver and he goes in and out that way.”

“Then I assure you he will be fine. And we can send Simpson down later to have a look when the snow stops.”

“Lady Charlton, Simpson is almost as old as you. It’s a wonder he can do half the work you give him.”

“Nonsense. Keeps him young,” she replied.

Lady Charlton would not allow Emily to go home that night, or the next. She had to admit to herself that it was rather nice to sleep in a big warm bedroom with a silk eiderdown over her and someone to bring her a cup of tea in the morning. It reminded her of her old life. It was so tempting to give in and tell Lady Charlton that she would move up to the house. But the cottage nagged at the corners of her brain. “I should go back,” she told herself. “I am supposed to be there.”