Page 2 of Christmas Spirits at Honeywell House (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #3)

AGNES

‘You know, I’ve never really understood the need for an advent calendar,’ Agnes said, ‘but I’ve come to accept that this is now a tradition, as are so many strange and improbable things.

But this—’ she waved a hand dismissively at the one that hung on the kitchen wall in Harling Hall, ‘I completely fail to see the point of. There isn’t even a pretty scene behind the door. ’

‘Chocolate, Mrs Wyndham,’ Imogen told her patiently. ‘Chocolate’s the point!’

‘A chocolate advent calendar.’ Agnes shook her head. ‘I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous.’

‘All the shops are full of them,’ Imogen’s mother, Callie, explained. ‘It’s harder to find an advent calendar that doesn’t have chocolate in it these days.’

Agnes sighed. ‘Disgraceful.’

‘Didn’t you have an advent calendar when you were a kid?’ Imogen asked.

Agnes snorted with laughter as the eleven-year-old girl gazed at her with eyes full of curiosity. These youngsters knew nothing about history, clearly.

Back in the early nineteenth century, when Agnes had been alive, there had been no such thing as advent calendars.

She understood they were a German invention, but though poor King George and the Prince Regent were, after all, of German blood, such things were unheard of – certainly in Agnes’s circle.

She pondered that so many things associated with Christmas in England these days had originated in Germany. She doubted Imogen had any idea.

Dear Florence was just as ignorant of the facts, even though Agnes had tried her best to teach her.

Maybe, now that she was having lessons with Walter Tasker, her daughter might finally start to learn something.

Walter might be a pompous ass, but as he had once taught William Shakespeare himself, no less, Agnes had to concede he was probably worthy of Florence.

‘There were no advent calendars in my day,’ she told Imogen.

‘Indeed, I don’t remember seeing one in this house until Sir Edward was a little boy, and it looked nothing like this one.

And after that…’ She thought for a moment.

‘No, no I believe they vanished again. Probably something to do with the wars and the shortage of cardboard. Now, let me see. Did Lawrie have one when he was a child? No, I really don’t believe he did.

I think, perhaps, William was the first to have what you’d consider an advent calendar in this style, although there was certainly no chocolate in it. ’

‘Is William Brodie’s dad?’ Imogen checked.

Agnes nodded. ‘He is indeed. Ah, it’s been a long time since I saw him, or his dear wife, Katya. Brodie must miss him dreadfully. It’s a shame he never visits, though I suppose it’s a Herculean task, travelling from Australia.’

‘Not that difficult,’ Callie told her. ‘He could get a flight here any time, but he’s so busy. And we can hardly complain, since we’re too busy to go over there.’

Agnes gasped. ‘I should think not indeed! Why would you want to travel to Australia, of all places?’ She shuddered at the thought of being perched in the belly of an aeroplane for all those hours.

So vulnerable. How could they possibly stay up in the air all that time?

‘Although,’ she conceded, ‘it is a shame that so many miles separate Brodie from his parents. And, of course, you’ve never met them, and you really should, since you and Brodie are courting. ’

‘Courting!’ Immi – as she insisted on being called, to Agnes’s disapproval – wrinkled her nose, her hazel eyes bright with laughter.

Agnes frowned. ‘Have I said something amusing?’

‘It’s that word,’ Callie explained, giving Immi a reproving look. ‘It’s a bit old-fashioned. No one says courting any more.’

‘Then, what do they say?’ Really, Agnes couldn’t believe how many things had changed. She’d always prided herself on keeping up with modern developments, but sometimes the ways in which things altered bewildered her.

Callie shrugged. ‘I don’t know really. I suppose you’d say, Brodie and I are going out.’

‘Going out? Going out where?’

Immi giggled. ‘Just going out. Or dating.’

‘Dreadful term.’ Agnes sniffed. ‘Courting is a much more elegant and suitable phrase. You are, after all, in a period of courtship which will, one assumes, lead to marriage.’

Callie visibly gulped. ‘Steady on, Agnes. We’re a long way from that.’

‘I don’t see why,’ Agnes said. ‘After all, it must be on your minds. I’m quite sure it’s on Brodie’s. He is not one for trifling with a woman’s affections. Why else would he woo you?’

She reared up indignantly as Immi collapsed in a fit of giggles.

‘Now what have I said?’

‘“Woo”!’ Immi managed, clutching her sides in mirth. ‘What the heck does “woo” mean?’

‘Good gracious,’ Agnes said huffily. ‘Am I here simply to be an object of your ridicule, young lady?’

‘Immi, don’t be rude,’ Callie said sternly.

‘But – but woo ?’ Immi wiped her eyes. ‘Isn’t woo the noise a ghost makes?’ She flapped her hands in some dreadful attempt to impersonate a ghost, and made a spooky noise, which, it had to be admitted, did rather sound like a distorted ‘woo’.

‘Immi!’ Callie said, shocked.

‘Well, really!’ Agnes shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you’re mocking me. What have I done to deserve it, may I ask? That was in extremely poor taste, Imogen.’

Immi’s laughter died. ‘Sorry, Mrs Wyndham. I wasn’t mocking you, honestly. I really didn’t mean it.’

As Callie and Immi gazed sorrowfully at her, a spark of mischief ignited within Agnes. She threw up her arms in an imitation of Immi’s earlier actions and uttered a bone-chilling cry of, ‘Woo!’ making them both jump and leap back, alarm on their faces.

‘Agnes!’ Callie burst out laughing. ‘I never knew you had it in you.’

‘Not such a fuddy-duddy after all,’ Agnes said, nodding her head vehemently.

‘Well, well, what’s all the jollity?’

They all turned to see Aubrey striding into the kitchen, looking the very picture of a Victorian gentleman, with his dark, grey-streaked hair, almost white at the temples, and an impressive beard, moustache and sideburns.

Dressed in a black frock coat and grey trousers, with a stiffly starched white collar and a wide, blue necktie tied in a loopy bow, he was the epitome of elegance, unlike poor Agnes who, in a white cotton nightdress, woollen stockings, a flannel bed jacket, and a white linen nightcap, was doomed to spend eternity looking as if she’d just got out of bed.

‘Agnes just played a joke on us,’ Immi said, her eyes still wide with shock at such an unexpected event.

‘Did she indeed?’

As Agnes looked sheepishly at Aubrey, she noticed the twinkle in his eyes, and yet again imagined that her long redundant heart fluttered wildly. After all these years, he still had that effect on her. Had there ever been a more handsome man than Aubrey Wyndham?

‘She did this .’ Immi demonstrated Agnes’s actions, which caused Aubrey to laugh heartily.

Agnes peered up at him, feeling almost shy at his obvious approval.

‘That doesn’t surprise me in the least,’ Aubrey told Immi and Callie, while never taking his eyes off Agnes. ‘She has the most delightful sense of humour, haven’t you, my dear?’

Agnes dimly registered Immi’s incredulous gasp of, ‘She does ?’ but she was too busy basking in Aubrey’s loving gaze to care.

Callie cleared her throat.

‘We, er, were just discussing advent calendars,’ she said. ‘Agnes tells us there wasn’t really one in this house until Brodie’s dad was a child.’

With seeming reluctance, Aubrey turned to face Callie, and Agnes pulled herself together, tugging at her bed jacket and adjusting her nightcap, as if it had somehow slipped.

‘I don’t think there was, no,’ Aubrey considered.

‘I remember young Brodie always had a chocolate advent calendar. Ah, much like this one here,’ he added, peering at the one on the wall.

‘“An assortment of chocolates, toffees and chocolate Santa figures”,’ he read.

‘Sounds marvellous. Vegetarian and fair trade, too. Splendid.’

‘Do you know what fair trade is, Mr Wyndham?’ asked Immi.

‘Of course he does!’ Agnes said indignantly.

‘Mr Wyndham is an extremely well-educated man. I do wish,’ she added wistfully, ‘that we could give one of those to Florence. It’s hard enough at any time of year, but I feel it at Christmas most of all.

Not being able to give her gifts. Not being able to feed her all manner of delicious treats.

Oh, she would have loved plum pudding, I’m sure. ’

‘Plum pudding.’ Aubrey gave a longing sigh. ‘And roast goose…’

‘It must be awful,’ Immi said sadly. ‘It doesn’t seem fair that we get to do all those nice things at Christmas, and you can’t.’

‘Well,’ Agnes said thoughtfully, ‘we still have each other. Our little family. And home.’

‘Exactly, my dear,’ Aubrey said. ‘What more do we need? And you must remember, Immi, that Agnes and I have had our turn at living. We’ve enjoyed many Christmases. We’ve sung carols, eaten the delicious food, and given and received gifts. Now it’s your turn.’

Agnes said nothing, but her eyes misted with tears that could never fall.

She remembered Aubrey’s last Christmas before he died.

He hadn’t been able to see her, of course, and had no idea that she’d been with him that day.

She knew what it had been like for him. She would hardly have called it a merry Christmas.

As usual, whenever she remembered those days, she was filled with rage at the injustice of it all.

Even so, she did her best to subdue her feelings.

She had never let on to Aubrey what she had witnessed, though she supposed he must have realised.

He was a man, after all, and had his pride.

She cared far too much about him to take that from him, unlike certain others who seemed to have derived great pleasure from trying.

‘I’ve never had plum pudding or roast goose,’ Immi admitted. ‘What is plum pudding anyway, Mum?’

Callie shrugged. ‘I’ve never had it either. I couldn’t tell you.’

Agnes tutted at their ignorance. ‘It’s the most delicious, steamed pudding, rich with dried fruit. And are you seriously admitting that you’ve never had roast goose? You must try it! You should order a goose for Christmas this year.’

‘I don’t really fancy it,’ Callie confessed. ‘I’ve heard it’s a bit fatty. I like my turkey. Christmas just wouldn’t be Christmas without a turkey.’

‘I remember having roast beef as well as goose,’ Aubrey said dreamily.

‘We had venison,’ Agnes remembered. ‘Roast goose, roast beef, and venison. And wassail!’

‘Mulled wine.’

‘Mince pies.’

‘What’s wassail?’ asked Immi.

Aubrey and Agnes blinked and pulled themselves together.

‘Wassail,’ explained Agnes, ‘was a sort of spiced cider. Delicious.’

‘You had a lot of exotic things to eat and drink for Christmas,’ Immi observed.

‘But you must remember,’ Agnes told her, ‘that our celebrations didn’t start on the first of December – unlike yours.

’ She nodded at the advent calendar. ‘The festivities in my day began on Christmas Eve and ended on Twelfth Night, though of course we always marked Advent. These days you begin the celebrations far too early. It spoils the whole thing.’

‘Quite,’ Aubrey agreed. ‘Too long a build-up.’

‘Those advent calendars were in the shops straight after Halloween,’ Callie told them.

Aubrey shook his head sadly. ‘Not everything has changed for the better, if you ask me.’

‘It’ll be Easter eggs in the shops by January,’ Immi said cheerfully.

‘Anyway,’ Callie said hastily, no doubt noticing the horror in Agnes’s eyes, ‘it may seem like Christmas has started too early in this house, but bear in mind we’ve got a whole village to get ready.

The market huts are arriving at the weekend, and we’re going to start transforming Rowan Vale into a winter wonderland. ’

There was to be a Christmas market for a whole fortnight in the run-up to the big day, and the last weekend before Christmas was going to be Dickensian themed, with everyone dressing up in costumes.

‘I’m so excited,’ Immi said, clapping her hands. ‘Me and Florrie are going to watch them putting the huts up. You’re going to love it, Mr Wyndham, what with there being a Victorian weekend. You will come, won’t you? Florrie really wants you to.’

Agnes swallowed as Aubrey’s gaze fell on her. Her hands flew to the ribbons on her bed jacket, which she fiddled with as she always did when she was nervous.

Aubrey stifled a sigh and said, ‘We’ll see, Immi. We’ll see.’

He looked so sad that it broke Agnes’s heart. She might not wish to hurt his pride, but she knew she was hurting him in other ways and hated herself for it.

But what can I do? I have no choice. He mustn’t go into the village!

She was a coward, and she knew it, and her cowardice was keeping him a prisoner at Harling Hall. Well, she would do her very best to give her beloved Aubrey the best Christmas she possibly could, to make up for the pain she was causing him.

It’s only because I love him. So much.

She couldn’t be without him. If she didn’t keep him close, she might lose him forever. She simply couldn’t take that risk.