A Family For Christmas (2 page)

‘But …'

‘Now, or I'll have Bert set the dogs
on you,' she snarled, looking so fierce Eliza couldn't help thinking that with a
face like that, they surely didn't need to keep dogs. Knowing it would serve no purpose to
protest further, she squared her shoulders and retraced her steps.

As soon as she was safely outside, Eliza
collapsed against the wall, fighting back her tears. What was she to do now? Suddenly a window
nearby was flung open, and she was engulfed her in a balloon of steam. Once it had cleared, she
saw a jolly-faced woman beckoning. Eliza moved closer.

‘Come to see Izzie, did I hear you
say?'

Eliza nodded, glancing apprehensively back at the
door. She didn't want to get her sister into trouble.

‘Don't mind the housekeeper, dearie.
She's had her nose put out 'cos her ladyship left her behind. My, you look
perishing. Take yourself down to the summerhouse and wait in there.' She indicated the
direction. ‘Izzie's due a break. I'll send her down. You hungry?' she
asked. Then when Eliza nodded again: ‘Off you go then and I'll see what I can rustle
up.'

The window snapped shut and, feeling more
cheerful, Eliza hurried down the path with its neatened borders. The red sandstone outbuilding
with its ornate portico was bigger than the family cottage and she couldn't believe how
luxuriously furnished it was inside. Thankful to be out of the biting wind she sat on one of the
seats, sinking right into the plush crimson cushions, and closed her eyes.

‘Eliza, I couldn't believe it when
Cook said you were here.'

Eliza started as the door opened and Izzie was blown in on yet
another gust. Jumping up, she waited while her sister carefully set a tray down on the wooden
table, then threw her arms around her.

‘Oh, Izzie, it is good to see you.
You're looking well and so smart,' she exclaimed, noticing how grown up her sister
looked in her smart pale blue and white pinafore.

‘Afraid I can't say the same about
you, sis. You always were like a string bean but now you look positively starved. Here, have
some of Cook's stew.' She handed Eliza a steaming bowl. It smelled delicious and she
tucked in ravenously. Izzie looked on indulgently. ‘It's chicken,' she
informed her. ‘And I helped make it. Well, I chopped up the vegetables, anyway. Cook baked
fresh bread this morning, too.'

Whilst Eliza ate, her sister told her about the
Christmas party the staff had held, and how Hester was now her ladyship's maid. Then, when
Eliza had mopped the last vestiges of gravy with the generous crust that accompanied it, she
turned and took her hand.

‘What's up, Eliza? Why have you come
all this way? There's nothing wrong with Mother, is there?' she asked, her eyes
clouding with concern.

Eliza shook her head. ‘Mother's
expecting again, but she's all right. It's Father …'

‘He hasn't hurt you, has he?'
Izzie asked, perceptive as ever.

‘Oh, Izzie, it was terrible. He called me a
devil child and said no man would ever want me. The mine's closing, you see, and he said I
was a burden on the household budget so I decided to leave.' The words tumbled out in
a rush and she took a deep breath. ‘Do you
think I could come and work here?' she asked.

‘I wish you could, but it seems his
lordship lost a fortune at the betting tables so they'll not be hiring anyone. Oh, Eliza,
you didn't really think you'd get a job here? I mean, your …'
Izzie's voice tailed off as she stared at Eliza's foot.

‘That doesn't stop me working,'
Eliza pointed out. ‘I already tend the cot …'

A bell chiming in the distance interrupted their
conversation and Izzie jumped to her feet.

‘I hate to leave you, Eliza, but I
daren't risk losing my job. You do understand, don't you?' she asked.
Swallowing her disappointment, Eliza nodded. Izzie kissed her cheek. ‘Go home,
Eliza,' she pleaded. ‘Father will have calmed down by now; you know how he blows hot
and cold. Please?'

Bravely, Eliza forced a smile. Izzie didn't
know the half of it, for she'd always been their father's favourite. Sadly she
watched as Izzie picked up the tray and hurried back up the path, taking her hopes for the
future with her.

Dashing away the tears that were now running
freely down her cheeks, Eliza clambered to her feet and prepared to brace the elements once
more. She'd only just stepped outside when she heard her sister shout. Her heart soared.
Could there be a job for her after all? But as Izzie ran towards her, Eliza noticed she was
holding out a shawl.

‘Here, take this. It's perishing out
here.'

‘Thank you,' she whispered, her heart
plummeting. ‘But won't you be needing it?'

Izzie shook her head. ‘I've got a fine fellow to keep
me warm,' she giggled, draping the woollen garment around Eliza's shoulders.
‘Anyhow, it'll soon be spring and I'll be coming home for Mothering Sunday.
You can give it me back then.' A gong sounded from inside the house and, with a quick peck
on Eliza's cheek, Izzie disappeared.

Wending her way back along the path the cart had
taken, Eliza looked around, disappointed to see no sign of Carrots. She trudged on and,
fortified by her stew, made good progress. Even the wind had dropped and before long she reached
the lane. Knowing the right turn would take her back towards South Wood and the Mole Valley
Mine, she resolutely turned left. Barnstaple was a big town and she'd surely be able to
find work there.

Hefting her bundle, Eliza continued her journey,
hoping a passing carter would stop and offer her a lift. It had been good to see Izzie but was
it so far-fetched to think she could have found her some work at the manor? She was her sister,
after all. Her foot began to throb, but thoughts of how intolerable life would be at home if her
father lost his job spurred her on. Devil child indeed! How dare he? She was no longer a child
and knew no man would want to marry her but she was prepared to work hard, get a job, become
independent and show them all.

Thick cloud was building and lowering over the
moor. It was growing darker by the minute and as a biting wind cut right through her, she sighed
and pulled the shawl tighter round her. More bad weather was on the way. Despite her foot, she
quickened her pace. Surely Barnstaple couldn't be far?

Then she heard the approaching sound of hooves
and
the rumbling of carriage wheels. Her spirits
rose and, hopeful of a lift, she turned and waved. To her horror, instead of slowing, the driver
whipped the horses, urging them on faster. Momentarily, Eliza was frozen to the spot. Then
reason returned and she threw herself into the ditch as the carriage wheels missed her by
inches. Shaken, she lay there gasping for breath as the thundering and rattling receded into the
distance. Only when the lane was silent once more did she reach for her stick and scramble back
up onto the lane. Bending to retrieve her bundle she saw her skirt and stockings were torn,
revealing scraped knees. Although they stung, they weren't bleeding, and apart from being
mud-spattered, her sister's shawl hadn't suffered any damage. Brushing herself down
as best she could, she continued her journey.

Anger at the driver's behaviour fuelled her
steps, but she knew it would be foolish to stay on the highway. Hitching up her skirts, she
clambered awkwardly over the next stile and began making her way along the edge of the moor. If
she kept to the line of the fence, she would surely be following the lane to Barnstaple, she
reasoned. But the ground was uneven, with bushes and boulders impeding her progress. Then the
dimpsy light began playing tricks on her orientation and she lost her way. When she'd
passed the same gnarled tree with its spreading roots for the third time, she knew she had
strayed up onto the moor itself.

Exhaustion and the rougher terrain made her limp
more pronounced. Knowing she couldn't walk much further, she peered around, hoping to see
the flickering light from a homestead or farm. In every direction the barren
landscape brooded under the prospect of bad weather and dark,
sinister shapes loomed out of the darkness. Recalling tales she'd heard of people
blundering into bogs and being sucked to their deaths, she shivered. Then the clouds parted and
she saw one single star shining brightly out of the inky sky. If she used that as a guide, it
would surely save her from going round in circles again.

With renewed hope, she trudged on, but had only
gone a short way when large white flakes of snow began to fall, quickly covering her hair and
the ground before her. The howling wind soon whipped the snow into a blizzard and before long
she couldn't tell where sky met ground. There was no way she could continue walking, yet
to stay in the open would mean certain death.

She squinted into the darkness and her heart
leaped. Surely that was a tumbledown shed? Summoning the last of her energy, she made her way
towards it and stumbled inside. Exhausted, she sank down onto soft dry hay, hardly noticing the
ponies eyeing her curiously. As if sensing her distress, they moved closer and before long the
heat from their bodies began to thaw her icy bones. Their snuffling and shuffling was comforting
and she snuggled further into the hay. With the warmth from their breath wafting over her, she
was asleep in moments.

Eliza came to with a start, almost blinded by
dazzling brightness. The ponies, with their long shaggy coats, stood munching contentedly and
through the doorway beyond, all she could see was shimmering whiteness. Struggling to her feet,
she stretched her cramped body and pulled the shawl tighter around her. Her stomach growled,
reminding her she'd had nothing to eat since
noon the previous day. Picking up a mangold from the heap in the
corner of the shed, she bit into it and grimaced. A pony lifted his head and whinnied as if he
was laughing at her reaction and, despite her hunger, she couldn't help smiling.

‘It's all right for you,' she
whispered, picking out burrs and gorse from his grubby grey coat and patting his head.
‘Well, boy, it's been lovely sharing your shed but I must be making tracks,'
she added, more to convince herself than her companions.

Stepping out into the glistening wonderland, she
shook her head. Talking to animals indeed! Carefully picking her way across the snow-covered
ground, for the first time in her life she was glad for the protection her thick, ugly boots
afforded. The sparse vegetation was bent away from the wind, rimed with frost and capped with
snow. It looked so pretty, and despite the cold air that almost took her breath away, she felt
her spirits lifting. If she kept going in the same direction, she'd surely come to a farm
or dwelling before long.

She plodded on but as the terrain rose higher the
drifts became deeper impeding her progress. All she could see was an endless expanse of white as
sky merged with ground. The crunch of her footsteps was accompanied by the lone call of the
stormcock, the only bird brave enough to sing in this wild weather.

Then the singing stopped, the sky darkened and
out of the east came more snow, blotting out the moor ahead. Tears rolled down Eliza's
cheeks and she felt as if they were frozen to her skin. Stopping to pull the shawl further over
her head, she caught a whiff of smoke. She sniffed
again, her spirits rising. Was civilization close after all? Hope
lending her strength, she followed the scent until she found herself at a rickety fence. Beyond,
a low building, its sloping turf and gorse roof powdered with snow, huddled into the side of the
moor.

Unlatching the gate, Eliza limped up the
white-blanketed path. As she stood there plucking up courage to seek refuge, the door burst open
and a strange-looking woman appeared, shot-gun in hand.

‘Who's there?' she demanded.
Then, spotting Eliza, she lifted it to her shoulder and aimed directly at her head. Eliza
slumped to the ground, her clothes and her precious box spilling out over the snow.

Red eyes grinned. ‘We've come to get
you,' the goblins hissed, long arms reaching out to snake around her body.

‘No!'

‘Drink this,' a voice urged. Liquid
wetted her lips. They were poisoning her. No goblin was going to get her. She tried to spit it
out but her head was heavy and wouldn't move. Darkness closed over her.

Green lips grinned. ‘Devil child
…' the dragons hissed, breathing red flames over her face.

‘On fire,' she mumbled, her throat
burning. Damp material smothered her. It smelled vile. She couldn't breathe. Darkness
descended.

Icy laughter crackled. ‘Turn hideous child
to toad,' the witch cackled, rubbing her long fingers together with glee.

‘No!' she croaked.

Something washed over her face, damp,
harsh-smelling. More liquid was poured down her throat. Cold, it was so
cold. White powder drifted down, enfolding her in its soft
cloud.

Through the fog, came voices. Cackling and
croaking; spitting and smoking. She tried to open her eyes but couldn't. Cotton wool
engulfed her, thick, warm and so snug.