Page 46 of Christmas Spirits at Honeywell House (Ghosts of Rowan Vale #3)
AUbrEY
It was most gratifying, Aubrey thought, to be greeted with such warmth and kindness by their fellow ghosts, despite having hidden away from the village all those years.
Arriving arm in arm at the Magic Lantern Cinema for the final rehearsal of A Christmas Carol , a thrilled Florence by their side, they were hailed by Mr Swain, the station porter, who couldn’t have sounded more delighted to see them.
Then those two bizarrely dressed young people, Danny and Brooke pushed past them at the entrance, issuing a cheery hello.
Peter the baker rushed over to greet them, seeming thrilled that they were out and about at long last. They had seen him a few months ago, when he’d turned up at the Hall to see young John and Robert, but it had only been a brief visit, and events had rather meant they’d had no chance for a real conversation.
‘We must have a catch-up,’ Peter told them. ‘Perhaps you could come to my house one day? Or we could meet up in The Quicken Tree? I’m sure Isaac would be delighted to see you there again.’
As Agnes’s eyes widened in horror, he added hastily, ‘Or perhaps somewhere more suitable? I’m sure Polly Herron would welcome us at the teashop.’
‘Perhaps,’ Agnes agreed. ‘After Christmas. It’s very nice to see you again, Peter. Good luck with the play. I understand you’re playing the role of Jacob Marley.’
‘I am that,’ he said proudly, ‘and thank you kindly for your good wishes.’
Aubrey squeezed her hand approvingly as Peter headed over to the stage, and Florence said, ‘Ooh, it’s smashing in the teashop, Mother. You’ll like it there. All them cakes and pastries wot smell so luvverly.’
‘I sometimes wonder,’ Agnes said with a sigh, ‘if it’s really worth continuing our daughter’s elocution lessons.’
‘Perhaps we shouldn’t try to change her,’ Aubrey suggested. ‘After all, we love her just as she is, don’t we?’
Agnes hesitated, then smiled, almost mischievously. ‘We do,’ she agreed. ‘And perhaps we can find better things to do with our time once we are married.’
He gazed at her in wonder, thinking how much she’d changed since he’d proposed to her.
Why, she’d become almost daring! He couldn’t deny he loved this new side to her and hoped it would continue after their wedding, especially as she’d made it as clear as she could without actually saying the words that she would like them to share a room in future.
A thrill of anticipation had run through him when she’d cautiously suggested that perhaps, if he was agreeable, they should inform Mia that they would only need one photograph of Florence, after all.
He’d smiled, understanding. ‘Quite so,’ he’d said warmly.
She’d lowered her face and gazed up at him through her eyelashes, quite coquettishly, looking far younger and even more beautiful than usual.
He had to confess, Christmas Day couldn’t come soon enough for him, especially as Callie had discreetly suggested to him that Florence might like to spend their wedding night in Immi’s room, having something called a sleepover.
He tugged at his shirt collar, feeling suddenly inexplicably hot. Luckily, his attention was drawn away from the forthcoming nuptials and the promise of their wedding night by Florence tugging on his hand.
‘Gotta go, Poppa. The re’earsals are starting. Just sit right at the front so I can see you both, won’t you?’
Agnes and Aubrey promised her they would indeed, and duly settled themselves in the best seats in the cinema as the final rehearsal before the Christmas Eve performance began.
It made him quite emotional when he saw his little girl acting the role of Bob Cratchit’s daughter, although the part evidently required little from her other than to look poor but grateful until Tim – played by a terrified-looking Robert – passed away, whereupon she had to look poor but sad.
He doubted the cheerful wave she gave her parents was part of the script, but nevertheless he returned it, surprised and gratified to see that Agnes did, too.
Percy Swain was the epitome of festive jollity in his role of Fezziwig, while Peter clearly relished the role of Jacob Marley, issuing bone-chilling ghostly howls to make up for the absence of rattling chains.
Quintus Severus had failed to turn up, as he considered being on duty at the market far more important, and had decreed that, since his part consisted of nothing more than pointing and glowering, he needed no rehearsals.
No one was going to argue with that, so a delighted Ronnie Smith had agreed to be his understudy, although that sparked the inevitable argument with a jealous Bill Fairfax, and there seemed to be quite the kerfuffle backstage when the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come finally made his exit.
Agnes complained that Walter Tasker was overacting his part dreadfully, and Aubrey privately agreed, but he had grown rather fond of Walter so gently reminded his fiancée that the man was a teacher by profession, not an actor, and his enthusiasm should surely be applauded.
Agnes, quite the new woman, had graciously agreed and clapped even louder than Aubrey when the play finally ended.
‘Well done, everyone,’ Walter called, having clearly taken it upon himself to not only be the star of the show but the director, too.
‘The next time we perform shall be on Christmas Eve in the ballroom at Harling Hall, with an audience of Mistress Chase, Sir Lawrence, and Miss Imogen. I expect you all to be word perfect. You are now dismissed.’
Like most of the ghosts, Aubrey, Agnes and Florence immediately left The Magic Lantern and headed for the Christmas market.
Florence, already hyped up from her star turn as Belinda Cratchit, grew increasingly excited as they neared the green. She gave a loud squeal.
‘Poppa, look at the Christmas lights. Ain’t they smashing?’
She sounded so thrilled to show them to him that Aubrey decided not to remind her that he’d already seen them strung all over the village.
‘They do indeed,’ he agreed.
‘Quite beautiful,’ Agnes said with a sigh. ‘I’d forgotten how lovely the village is,’ she admitted. ‘It’s so nice to be out of the grounds again. I have been such a foolish old woman.’
‘We’ve agreed to put all that business behind us,’ Aubrey said. ‘A new start, remember? Do look at the shops! How beautiful the buildings look in the snow.’
‘Like a Christmas card,’ she agreed fondly. ‘And just listen to the carols. How wonderful it all is.’
Christmas carols were indeed playing through the speakers and the hum of the excited crowds drifted through the air, causing Agnes to shiver slightly, being unused to so much activity.
‘Are you well, my dear?’ Aubrey asked anxiously, knowing what a momentous occasion this was for his betrothed and hoping she wouldn’t change her mind.
‘Perfectly well, thank you, Mr Wyndham,’ she assured him.
She’d reverted to addressing him formally, telling him that the emotion of his beautiful proposal had quite overwhelmed her, and she could only apologise for calling him by his Christian name, but that she would do so with pleasure once they were married.
They gazed in wonder at the scene before them. In the snow the little wooden huts with their strings of fairy lights looked even more enchanting than when Aubrey had caught sight of them upon leaving Honeywell House.
Although it had stopped snowing, Aubrey imagined it must be very chilly indeed, but that didn’t seem to have deterred the crowds, who were milling around, chatting excitedly, queuing at the little stalls and strolling along the pavement outside the row of shops that edged the green – many of them dressed in costumes.
There were replica Fagins, Dodgers, Bill Sykes, Tiny Tims, Bob Cratchits and Mr Bumbles. One woman had made a real effort and looked incredible as an eerie-looking Miss Havisham.
Jasper Edgecumbe’s photography studio was so busy there was a queue stretching along the pavement, and various tourists were cheerfully posing for photographs outside the Curiosity Shop, which had stuck a cheeky poster over its signage, adding the words ‘The Old’ to the start of its name.
‘It’s such a shame Lawrie didn’t feel able to join us,’ Agnes said with a sigh. ‘He would have loved this.’
‘I’m afraid his mobility is getting worse,’ Aubrey agreed. ‘And unfortunately, he’s too proud and stubborn to use one of those strange little vehicles that Callie told us about.’
‘Scooters, they are,’ Florence said knowledgably. ‘I’ve seen ’em. Old people scootin’ up and down on ’em, looking like they’re ’aving a great time. I reckon Lawrie’s soft in the ’ead to say no.’
‘Florence!’ Agnes chided, ‘Lawrie is certainly not soft in the head, as you so charmingly put it. He is a proud man. One cannot blame him for that.’
‘I do think,’ Aubrey said thoughtfully, ‘that he is finding the stairs too much at the Hall these days. I really don’t know what’s going to happen. Oh, I say! Look who’s here!’
Agnes followed his gaze, and he felt the shudder run through her. ‘Good heavens!’ she whispered, in awe. ‘The Roman!’
Quintus Severus was truly a sight to behold, with his impressive centurion’s uniform, complete with shield, spear and sword.
A Roman African, who had reached an impressive age for the times he lived in, being somewhere in his late fifties, he had spent years guarding the Wyrd Stones as ordered by Sir Edward Davenport, before his mission had finally been ended by Callie.
Now he lived in the village, sharing a cottage with the elusive ghost of Hollywood actress Harmony Hill, and an oblivious elderly villager called Mrs Smithson. Callie had given him the new responsibility of policing the ghosts and making sure there was no disorder in the village.
As she’d explained to Lawrie one evening, within Aubrey’s earshot, there was no real need for his services, but Quintus wasn’t the sort of man who could be left without a role, and she wanted him to feel needed and useful.
Callie, Aubrey thought, was a most perceptive and compassionate young woman.