A Family For Christmas (27 page)

Still, it wasn't a day for worrying, she
thought, placing her bottle in a basket. Letting herself out of the side gate she'd seen
the staff using, she headed for the fields. Luxuriating in her unaccustomed freedom, she ambled
leisurely, picking a plant here, plucking a bloom there. It was only when her foot began to ache
that she realized she'd wandered further than she intended. She was about to go back when
her attention was caught by a bright blue flower beside the river. Turning to take a better
look, she didn't notice the old tree stump sticking out of the bank, and caught her foot
in its root. She went sprawling, hitting the earth with a thud. Stunned, she lay there, her
breath coming in little gasps. As she struggled to get up an agonizing pain shot through her
good foot.

Ominous clouds were gathering in the previously
clear sky and, knowing she couldn't stay in the open field, she began crawling towards the
nearest building. It took an age, the sharp stones and thistles making her cry out in pain. Eyes
fixed determinedly on the sprawl of outbuildings ahead, she was inching slowly forward when,
seemingly from nowhere, a shadow hovered above. As it towered over her, blocking out the light,
she froze in fright.

‘You all right?' a male voice
asked.

Hearing the concern in his voice, she looked up
and found herself staring into the worried face of a young man. He had eyes the bright blue of
cornflowers and his strong jaw spoke of determination.

‘Yes, I'm just dandy,' she
gasped, not sure if she was breathless from the fall or the way he was looking at her.

‘Sorry, that was a stupid question.
I'm James Cary and I work in the tannery over there,' he said, pointing to the
buildings she'd been making for. ‘You can probably smell it,' he added with a
grin.

‘Not half,' she grimaced.

‘Let's get you to the workshop before
it rains, then we can see what damage you've done,' he said, putting out his hand
and helping her to her feet. She wobbled woozily for a moment and for the first time since
she'd left the moors wished she had a stick with her. But, as if she weighed little more
than thistledown, James swept her up and hurried across the field. The warmth of his strong arms
penetrated the material of her dress. It was a pleasant sensation and made her feel safe, but
she had no time to dwell on the thought, for no sooner had they reached shelter than the heavens
opened.

‘Just made it,' he said, setting her
onto a chair. ‘Now let's have a look at that ankle. I'll need to remove your
boot before your ankle swells, otherwise
you'll never get it off.' He gave a sharp tug and she gripped the chair arms, trying
not to cry out as a sharp pain shot right up her leg. Although his hands were calloused, they
were surprisingly gentle as he felt along her foot. ‘No bones broken, just a wrench, I
think.'

‘I'd hate to think how much
it'd be hurting if I had broken it,' she muttered.

He patted her shoulder, making her skin tingle so
that she felt bereft when he took his hand away and went over to the fire. She watched as he
poured something into a mug.

‘Here, drink this. It's good for
shock,' he said, handing it to her then perching on an upturned box. As the sweet tea
revived her, she became more aware of the way he was staring at her than the pain in her
foot.

‘Gosh, I must look a sight,' she
gabbled, grimacing down at her torn dress and pushing her straggling hair back into its net.

‘Well, apart from a few smudges of earth,
you look fine to me,' he grinned. ‘Here, use this to wipe your cheeks and
hands.' He untied the red and white scarf from around his neck and held it out to her. She
rubbed her face and hands, frowning when she saw the dirty marks left on the cloth.

‘I'm sorry, I'll wash it, then
bring it back,' she offered.

He stared at her with those cornflower-blue eyes,
then smiled. ‘I was going to say there's no need, then realized it'd be a good
excuse to see you again …?'

‘Eliza,' she said, smiling back. As
their gaze held she felt her face growing warm and looked quickly away.

In
the ensuing silence, she sipped the rest of her tea and stared out over the yard beyond. The
rain had stopped but the wind was freshening, blowing that unpleasant smell their way. She
wrinkled her nose.

‘'Tis the finest oak bark tannery
around and that be the hides you can smell. I'm apprenticed here and hope to be a trained
currier one day.'

‘What's that?' she asked,
curious to know more about this attractive man, who, unlike Monsieur Farrant, seemed interested
in her and not the least bit concerned she wasn't looking immaculate.

‘'Tis someone who dresses and
finishes the leather after it's been tanned. Of course they give me all the menial tasks
to do at the moment, but I'm a fast learner,' he said, flashing his easy grin.
‘What about you?'

‘I'm apprenticed to the perfumer,
Monsieur Farrant.' His eyes widened in amazement but she was too concerned to notice.
‘Which reminds me, I must be making tracks,' she said, getting to her feet then
wincing as a sharp pain shot up her leg. ‘How will I get back? I'll never be able to
walk all that way,' she cried.

‘Don't worry, Eliza. I've an
idea,' James said. He went over to the nearby shed, then returned trundling a little
wooden cart. ‘Hop on,' he grinned.

‘You couldn't possibly push me all
the way back,' she gasped.

‘Doth the lady dare to challenge the
strength of James Cary?' he quipped, flexing his arms so that she could see the muscles
rippling through the coarse material of his shirt. ‘Besides, do you have any
choice?'

‘I guess not.'

‘Wait a moment,' James said, running outside and
talking to a burly man with a ginger beard. He returned directly.

‘Right, that's cleared. Guv says I
can borrow the cart and take you back as long as I make up the time this evening.'

‘Are you sure you don't mind?'
Eliza asked.

‘Do I mind taking the prettiest girl
I've ever met for a ride on the cart? Hmm, hard question,' he grinned, helping her
up.

To the whistles and shouts of ‘Go, Jimmy,
go,' from his workmates who'd gathered to watch, he pushed her out of the yard.
Steam was rising from the rapidly drying ground and the river chuckled as they made their way
back towards the fields. When they came to the spot where she'd tripped, Eliza remembered
her basket and gave a groan.

‘Something wrong?' James asked,
grinning at her over the handles.

‘I was gathering flowers and dropped my
basket when I fell. Oh, there it is.' She pointed to where it still lay beside the stump.
He bent and retrieved it, then shrugged.

‘No flowers, though,' he said,
handing it to her.

As their fingers touched she felt a tingle up her
arm and looked away. Must be the effect of the shock, she thought. However, James's gaze
was still upon her but thoughts of Duncan flashed through her mind and she turned slightly
away.

As if he sensed her mood, James began singing a
song, adding silly words here and there until they became so ridiculous, she had to laugh. He
grinned and let go of the cart. To her surprise she saw they'd already arrived back at the
house.

‘My lady,' he said, holding out his hand to help her
down. She hesitated then took hold of it, trying to ignore the funny sensation that again
tingled through her.

‘Thank you, my good man,' she
quipped.

‘Will you be all right?' he asked,
holding out her boot and staring down at her ankle.

‘Yes, and thank you for bringing me
home.'

‘Erm, I, er … that is, I finish work
around seven most evenings and wondered if you'd care to go for a walk? We could pick more
flowers for your basket,' he added, the words coming out in a rush.

‘I'd like that. Better give it a few
days for my ankle to recover.'

‘Right, Saturday evening it is, then.
I'll meet you here?'

She frowned. ‘Can we make it by that big
oak?'

He followed the direction she was pointing and
nodded.

‘Till Saturday then, Eliza,' he said,
doffing his cap, then snatching up the handles of the cart and running back the way they'd
come.

Although she was limping as she made her way
towards the little gate, she couldn't help smiling. What a nice, easy-going man he was,
and such a contrast to Monsieur Farrant with his pernickety ways. Catching sight of herself in
the glass in the closet, she gasped at her bedraggled state yet, curiously, her eyes were
shining like the little stoppers on Monsieur's perfume bottles.

Next morning she answered the knock at her door
to find Mrs Buttons, tape around her neck, material under her arm and sewing box in hand,
hovering on the step.

‘Morning, ducks. Oh, what you done to your
foot?' she asked, staring at Eliza's bare feet.

‘Wrenched my ankle,' she grimaced. ‘Are you
coming in?'

‘Better had, ducks, Monsieur Farrant sent
me a note detailing what he wants me to make. Right posh costumes, they are, and a toque, no
less.'

‘A what?'

‘One of them hats that stand right up in
the air.' Mrs Buttons sniffed. ‘Surprised you'd want to wear something like
that, but then you've done well for yourself, haven't you?'

‘Sorry?' Eliza frowned.

‘Getting hitched to the boss,' Mrs
Buttons said, spreading out a length of rich-coloured material across the bed. It reminded Eliza
of raspberries. Then she realized what the woman had said.

‘Look, Mrs Buttons, when Monsieur made his
proposal in the perfumery before Christmas I was too stunned to say anything, let alone refuse.
Why, even the constable looked shocked.'

‘The constable, you say?' the
dressmaker's eyes flashed with interest. ‘Well, 'tis none of my business,
I'm sure,' she sniffed, snatching her tape from her neck. ‘My, my, we have
grown, ducks,' she commented, jotting down measurements in her little book. Then she stood
back appraisingly. ‘You know, you look much prettier in that little blouse and skirt. More
natural, like.'

Eliza stared down at her green cotton skirt,
which was looking the worse for wear, and sighed.

‘I prefer wearing clothes like this but the
skirt's really too tight now. Anyway, Monsieur insists I wear all that fitted
stuff,' she pouted.

‘Well, I guess that's the price you pay for elevating
your status, as they say.'

‘Look, Mrs Buttons, I have no intention of
marrying him. It's in my interest to finish my apprenticeship, then I'll
disappear.'

‘I guess you know what you're doing.
Just be careful, eh? Can you sew, ducks?'

Eliza nodded.

‘Well, happen we might have a little of
this left over here.' She winked and tapped the side of her nose with her finger. Then
noticing the torn work dress hanging on the door, she added, ‘I've still got a bit
of that material so I'll take it away and mend it.'

They were interrupted by Mimi coming into the
room, tray in hand. When she saw Eliza, the little maid gasped.

‘Sorry, miss, I thought you'd be in
the laboratory. I just came to take your breakfast tray and leave this,' she said, putting
down the lunch tray and snatching up the remains of Eliza's breakfast.

‘That's all right, Mimi,' she
said, but the girl hurried out without responding.

‘What was all that about?' Mrs
Buttons asked, lifting the cloth, sniffing, then wrinkling her nose. ‘Blimey, what's
that stuff when it's at home?'

Eliza laughed. ‘Hazelette. Cook makes it
for Monsieur and is probably trying to use up what's left.'

‘Yes, but why are you having trays sent to
your room?' the woman persisted.

‘Monsieur doesn't want me mixing with
the staff. Mind you, they don't want to mix with me either,' she muttered.

‘Don't tell me you eats all your meals in
here?' Mrs Buttons asked, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.

‘I don't mind,' Eliza answered.
‘Besides, I have Monsieur's notes to study.'

‘Well, it don't seem right to
me,' the woman sniffed, gathering up her things. ‘I'll drop your dress in
later then be back when these are finished, ducks.' And with another frown, she left.

Eliza spent the rest of the day resting her foot
and reading her notes. Then she got out Fay's receipt book and flicked through the pages.
The flower illustrations were beautiful and so lifelike Eliza could almost smell their
fragrance. She took out the little black bottle and inhaled its lingering scent, but even now
she couldn't identify what it was. It certainly was something she'd never
encountered before. By contrast, no sooner had she taken the top off the little green bottle
than she was transported back to the moors. Compared to Monsieur Farrant's complex
perfumes, the smell in both bottles was more natural. As she sat reflecting, the sun glinted on
the jewel stopper of the black bottle, reminding her of James's bright blue eyes. She
sighed, thinking how good it would be to see him again.

On Saturday, James was waiting by the oak and
smiled warmly as she approached.

‘How's the ankle?' he
asked.

‘A bit weak but it doesn't hurt half
as much. As you can see, I was able to get my boots on.'

‘Want to walk or would you rather
sit?'

‘Let's do both. I'd love to
search for flowers, if you don't mind.'

‘Whatever the lady wishes,' he quipped. ‘Is
this collecting a hobby or does it have something to do with your perfume making?'

‘A bit of both,' she answered, not
ready to share her secret with him.

‘You like your work?' he asked.

‘Oh, yes, I love all the different smells,
and Monsieur Farrant has taught me how to blend them to make the most beautiful fragrances.
Although I still prefer the simple ones. Monsieur's in France at the moment learning about
some synthetic stuff they've discovered.'