Prue Phillipson - Hordens of Horden Hall (38 page)

Bel saw a real shadow of disappointment fall across Celia’s face. She reached a hand out and clasped hers where it had flopped to the table.

“No, you
shall
give us a party, Celia. Last Christmas was so sad for us without Dan. Let it be a Twelfth Night party. Nat’s spiritual duties will be over by then.”

The shadow was gone in a moment. “That will give us more time and who knows,” Celia was looking from Dan to Eunice, “there may be more to celebrate by then.”

Instantly she had spoilt Bel’s pleasure as she sensed the embarrassment of the young couple.

Nat had not missed that and Bel could tell from his expression that it angered him but he kept up his unfailing courtesy. “Well, Celia, it is most handsome of you and we are grateful.”

Celia wagged her finger at Dan. “Now, young man, you shall come of age properly whatever you say.”

There were times in the next weeks when Bel wished she had not been so ready to accept Celia’s idea. Celia could talk of little else and her ideas for musicians, decorations and the food and drink to be ordered made them wonder if the pearls would stretch so far. She hired a coach to take them into Newcastle to a jeweller’s and insisted on Eunice accompanying her.

“You shall choose the material for your dress. Oh how I would have loved to dress my little girls who died. Now I have a daughter again. What fun this will be!”

Eunice confided to Bel that she would be pleased to take advantage of Celia’s experience in these matters but would pay for her own dress. When they returned Celia said it must be a secret till Twelfth Night and Eunice told Bel, “I will sew it in my room to humour her but it will be no great surprise – just a dress.”

“But the first evening gown you have ever worn so you are allowed to be a little excited.”

Dan pressed on doggedly with the work he had set himself, rain or shine. As he extended the path further into the wood there were places where he could move faster because it was too dark for much undergrowth but he was ruthless in removing dead branches and closely set saplings and Bel and Eunice or sometimes Eunice alone, now she had become familiar with the village people, kept them supplied with logs and kindling. The pile for the Hall’s own use grew in the tool-shed.

Bel was closely observing Dan’s changes of mood. Mostly he seemed quiet and she was sure he was avoiding being alone with Eunice. Bel blamed Celia’s little hints and teasing. “She will drive them apart,” she said to Nat. “Dan has a rich vein of obstinacy in him. I have tried to explain this to Celia but she just laughs and says they are bound to come together living in the same house. Poor Eunice suffers worst because she is seriously in love with him. Oh she keeps her composure outwardly but it must be a torment for her.”

“It’s a pity then that he has not been summoned back to his ship.”

“Don’t say that. I couldn’t bear to lose him again. Surely the peace negotiations will be concluded soon and then the navy will not
want
him back. They can’t pay so many in peacetime.”

“Being away however might make him realise what a treasure Eunice is.”

Bel shook her head. “Too high a price for me to pay.”

One thing Bel had insisted on was that the village who were invited en masse to the party should have some part in the preparations so instead of ordering costly hanging decorations she and Eunice visited the school with some old paper bills and dried up tubs of paint and suggested the children could cut the paper into triangles like little flags and paint over the writing in different colours. The children had a lovely messy time pounding the paints into powders and mixing them with oil and brushing them onto the flags. They spread these out on the schoolroom floor to dry. Old lengths of ribbon were gathered together from every household, slotted through a corner of each flag and tied together to make long streamers. On the afternoon before the party two of the older children brought them to the Hall in a clean sack.

“I can’t put them up till I’ve finished my path,” Daniel said, but he hacked through the last branches and beds of nettles as the short winter daylight faded. Then he brought in from the barn the ladder he had used for putting up holly and mistletoe on Christmas Eve.

“You’re tired,” Bel said. “Do them in the morning.”

“No, I’m happy, Mother. I’ll do them after supper.”

She looked into his face then, wondering at the excitement in his voice.

He grinned down at her. “Nana Sula was right. I had to make that path. Those last yards I could see the low light shining through the church tower windows. It was good, that light.” He gave her a spontaneous hug and she hid her tears of joy against his chest.

Later when she had a moment alone with Nat, she told him, “You have your short-cut to the church and we have our son back.”

“God be praised,” he said.

There was a light-hearted atmosphere at supper in the small dining-room which Bel could see puzzled Celia. Eunice had caught the meaning of it though Dan had said no more to her than, “I’ve finished the path.”

Celia looked from one face to another. Ursula’s ugliness was radiant. “Well, parties should happen more often at Horden Hall,” she said. “It’s put you all in a good mood. I’m glad I suggested it.” But she obviously felt left out of something she didn’t understand and her little eyes darted about like angry flies.

When the meal was over Dan and Adam carried the old deal table from the curtained off corner into the centre of the hall and set two candlesticks on it to illuminate the proceedings. Then Daniel tipped out the contents of the sack onto the floor and Eunice crouched down and began very carefully untangling it all as he set the ladder against the wall above the great doors. There was a brass rail for a curtain to keep out draughts there but the curtain had long since become threadbare and had not been replaced.

Bel was intrigued to see Dan and Eunice working together and kept her distance.

“There are two separate lengths which should reach across,” Eunice called up to him. “If you attach one to each end of the rail I think the other ends can be tied round the banisters near the top of the stairs. Here, I’ve freed one end.” She carried it over to him and held it up. He took it from her hand and climbed up till he could fasten it round the rail.

Bel could see he was looking at Eunice with new eyes. Always she had noted Eunice’s intense awareness of his proximity but now she could see it in his manner with her too. It’s as I hoped, she thought, love spills over in all directions like a flood.

As Daniel drew the ribbon over the rail and tied it Eunice crouched down to separate the rest of that line from the other one.

Bel had left Celia dozing in the small parlour but it was at this moment that she came out to see what was going on.

She trotted over to Eunice exclaiming, “Why are you stooping like that? Here, get it all up off the floor,” and she grabbed the whole bundle and dumped it on the table.

Eunice jumped up too, exclaiming, “Don’t tangle it again.”

Between them somehow – and Bel was sure it was Celia’s flapping arms – one of the candlesticks was knocked over.

It fell among the paper and ribbons and there was an instant flare up. From it fire began to run from one flag to another up the ribbon towards Daniel. Eunice screamed as the ribbon burnt through and flaming flags fell against him. He flapped his hands at it and it was almost instantly extinguished. He jumped down and swept the little fire from the table top onto the floor where he stamped it out. Eunice righted the candlestick which was blackening the table top and in a moment there was nothing but ash and scorch marks left.

Bel had started to run to the kitchen for water but seeing it extinguished she came back, shaking her head, devastated at the thought of the children’s work so quickly destroyed.

Eunice was white and shaking. “Oh Daniel, your hands!” she gasped out.

“No damage.” He held them out. “They are like leather after all the work I have been doing.”

Bel could see Eunice was deeply shocked by the incident. She vanished into the kitchen and came back with a broom and shovel but she was still trembling as she tried to clear up the mess. Ursula followed her with a bucket and a scrubbing brush.

“We’ll soon have it cleaned up but whatever will we say to the children?”

“We’ll have to tell them the truth,” Bel said.

Celia had retreated, squealing, at the blaze. Now she came back to the middle of the room with an air of defiance. “Well, they were tawdry things. The hall will look better with just the greenery. Come it is late, Eunice. Help me to bed.”

Leaving Ursula to finish the clearing up she seized Eunice’s hand and marched her up the stairs.

Bel saw Eunice look back at Dan. He met her eyes for a moment, smiled and shrugged his shoulders before carrying the ladder away.

Eunice’s hands were still trembling as she struggled to undo Celia’s lacings. She could pay no attention to her chatter and when she was allowed to retreat into her own little room all she could see in her mind’s eye was the sudden burst of fire and its rapid ascent towards the figure of Daniel.

She said her prayers and lay down but the picture wouldn’t go away. It was the more horrible because for the first time she had felt a bond with Daniel. I am not just in love. I could love and respect him and he does feel something for me. And then fire had leapt up at him – between them. Was it an omen of doom? She could hear her father’s voice preaching of the fires of hell. She was afraid to sleep in case she had one of her nightmares of the Great Fire but at last weariness must have overtaken her because the next thing she knew she woke screaming. A burning roof was about to collapse on Daniel’s head. His glorious flaxen locks were already alight.

She clutched her own head as she sat up, gasping in bed.

Did I scream out loud? she asked herself. She drew back her bed curtains and listened hopefully for complete silence. No, there were swift footsteps outside and her door opened. The tall figure of Daniel in his night shirt stood there, just lit by pale moonshine. He looked about him.

“What is it? What happened?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She pulled the bedcovers up round her. “I’ve woken everyone. Oh it was a horrible nightmare.”

He listened at the door. There was no more sound anywhere.

“No one else heard. I was awake myself. Your grandmother in the next room must sleep like a log.” He shut the door and came and sat on the edge of the bed

Eunice was trying to collect herself. Her father would have been appalled. She had a man in her bedroom and neither of them were properly clothed. But still she could see the image in her dream. She put out her hand and just touched his hair.

“You’re all right. You were on fire. Oh it was horrible.”

Now she was seeing the house collapsing on the old woman. That was real. That had actually happened.

“What? It was that silly little fire in the hall? It was over in a second or two. You’re still shaking.”

“It’s not the first nightmare I’ve had about fire. You don’t know what it was like in London.”

“Tell me.”

She shook her head. “You must go.”

“Well, I won’t because you may dream again. Tell me and it may go away.”

Oh how she wanted to keep him there, whole and entire! So she began little by little to describe her frantic visit to their old home to fetch her father’s Bible. When she reached the part where she could do nothing but watch as the flaming timbers crashed down on the old woman she was in tears.

“I don’t think it will ever leave me but I have never shrieked out before. Only in
this
dream it was
you
.” She stopped abruptly fully aware now of their position. She was confiding to this man whom she loved – in her bedroom in the middle of the night. And letting him see her raw emotion, uncontrolled.

In the faint moonlight she could make out his profile. He looked thoughtful, frowning a little. It was very cold and she felt him shiver.

“You must go,” she said again. “I am so very sorry.”

But he didn’t go. “Lie down and keep warm,” he said. “I’ll put something round me.” He got up and fumbled in her small closet and found her winter cloak.

“But – but – this is improper,” she murmured, loving to see him wrap it round his shoulders.

“Never mind proper or improper. You’ve told me your nightmare. I shall tell you mine. Maybe we’ll both be free then.”

He began to talk very fast and low. She lifted her head to be sure she could hear every word. He spoke of the naval battle that had gone on for four terrible days. He described his friend Henry, carefree, a joker, a slight athletic figure, his only remarkable feature his protruding ears.

“I had come up from the gun deck to report to the captain that there was no more ammunition. Henry was there and when a sailor fell at his feet he seized the man’s musket and lifted it to fire but instead the musket was flung back so he fired in the air. I looked round and Henry was a headless corpse falling backward. His head with those ears rolled away across the deck. I will never forget the look of astonishment in his wide open eyes.”