Grandma’s
Sitting Room
By B. Lewis
Moonlight streamed through a chink in the curtains, falling upon the floor in a pool of silver that contrasted strangely with the surrounding darkness. Three beds stood along the opposite wall, their respective occupants almost invisible beneath the blankets.
A profound silence filled the room. Through the prevailing blackness the dim forms of a large wardrobe, and several other unidentifiable pieces of furniture, could be distinguished, watching like mute, but attentive, sentinels over the sleeping children.
Their task was, undoubtedly, a novel one. The apartment was too uncongenial to be frequently inhabited, and the three piles of clothes lying folded on an oak chest appeared to be huddling together, discountenanced by the unblinking stare of their companions. From somewhere outside the house came the disembodied call of an owl. The sound was disproportionately loud, and its mournful notes re-echoed about the room long after the bird had vanished into the night. One of the recumbent forms stirred, and partially sat up. It remained motionless for a few moments, then turned and fumbled beneath its pillow. A click signalled the end of the search, accompanied by a small circle of light. In the torch’s fragile illumination could be seen the face and tousled hair of a little girl. She was gazing about her with wide-eyed attention, not so much scared, as puzzled by the gloomy surroundings.
The window certainly bore no resemblance to the one at home, neither did the bed, whose old-fashioned blankets and tightly tucked-in sheets seemed expressly designed to make repose as difficult as possible. A murmur arose from somewhere to her left, followed by the unmistakable sound of a person turning over in their sleep. Recollections of where she was, and with whom she was sharing the room, came flooding back to her: how vividly she now recalled every detail of the last twenty-four hours. The journey by car from her house in the town, where a fresh snowfall covered pavements as yet untouched, by the hundreds of feet that would tramp up and down them in the course of the day; the presents which her mother had spent the previous afternoon wrapping, and her frequently-expressed fear that Grandma Margaret wouldn’t like the shawl which she had bought her, after weeks of deliberation. So much had been said about this mythical grandmother, both before and during the long drive up towards the village where she lived.
“She’s my grandmother, so that makes her your great-grandmother Amy,” her father had remarked. “My and Uncle Dick’s parents died when we were very young, so she brought us up almost single-handed.”
“She’s over ninety years old as well – so no rushing about before seven o’clock on Christmas morning,” her mother had warned. “No – she’s not ill, in fact, considering that she had a hip replacement last year, she’s remarkably fit, but when people are her age they haven’t the stamina they once had.”
“Maybe you’re right Emma; it’s over four years since we’ve seen her, after all,” her father had replied doubtfully. “Still, though she may be frail in appearance, I’ve never come across anyone with a stronger will than my grandmother. You’ll like her, I know, Amy. She said that she was ever so excited about meeting you when I rang her yesterday. You’re the only one of her great-grandchildren that she doesn’t know, and she was asking lots of questions about what you like to eat, and whether you’d mind sleeping in with Phoebe and Alison.”
These comments had only increased the interest which the little girl felt in “Grandma Margaret”, and her sense of anticipation was running very high by the time the car drew up with a crunch on the gravel before the house. Her father had leapt out and hurried up the steps leading to the front door: he was always enthusiastic but she had rarely seen him so excited.
“I’d better warn you that your grandmother’s rather – well – peculiar looking,” her mother had whispered, leaning into the back of the car to unfasten the seatbelt. “Daddy’s very fond of her, of course – but I know that the first time we were introduced, I received the shock of my life: no one had prepared me for someone quite so small and wizened.”
Amy shivered and drew the blanket up about her shoulders. The events succeeding this prudent disclosure were too distressing to be dwelt on at length. Even now, she could feel the tears starting to her eyes when she remembered what had taken place; the mortification was as keen as if she were once more in the hallway, gazing with wonder at the boughs of pine that decorated walls and banisters.
“So, this must be little Amy,” a voice had said, from somewhere behind her. “My, she’s certainly grown since I saw her last, and what lovely red hair; I don’t recollect it being so striking when she was a baby.”
“No – it became darker as she got older, contrary to what Emma and I were led to expect. Amy, this is your great grandmother.”
With a sense of excitement stronger than any she had felt before, she turned to meet the old lady, who was advancing smilingly down the vestibule.
“Why,” a second voice, presumably her uncle’s, exclaimed. “So this is Amy is it? Isn’t she just the spitting image of you at her age Grandma? If it wasn’t for the clothes, I’d have thought she’d escaped from that sepia photo in the drawing room: come and look Sally, it’s really quite remarkable.”
A bent figure, walking with the aid of a cane, met the horrified child’s gaze. Her nose was hooked, her hair hung in snowy wisps about her face and the hand that she held out towards her grandchild was veined and shrivelled. Instinctively she recoiled a few paces, unable to believe that this diminutive, wrinkled old woman could be the grandmother of whom she had heard so much.
“Go on sweetheart – you know you’ve been looking forward to seeing Grandma ever since we’ve been back in England. She’s just shy,” her mother explained, raising her head with an embarrassed smile.
“You shouldn’t have told her that she looked like me, Richard,” said Grandma Margaret, glancing back at Uncle Dick. “Imagine what it must seem like to a six-year-old: I can’t think of a less flattering comparison.”
“Don’t say that Grandma,” her father had interrupted. “Amy, stop being silly, and come and say hello to your grandmother.”
But the damage was done. The sight of all those unfamiliar people, gazing down at her with amused smiles, or, in the case of her father, an impatient frown, had robbed her of her fast-failing self-possession, and the sudden appearance of four children in the passageway, caused her to burst into tears.
Everyone had tried to laugh off the awkward incident. Her parents had apologised, assuring all and sundry that fatigue was the reason for their daughter’s incivility. Uncle Richard had knelt down beside her, and explained, with infinite patience, that when he had said she resembled her great grandmother, of course he had meant the Grandma Margaret of five-years-old, who had been a very pretty little girl. No consolation, however, could alter the fact that she had been reproved by her father in front of the entire family, or allay the mixture of disappointment and fear with she still regarded the old lady. Grandma Margaret herself had appeared quite untroubled by the incident, and even Amy’s refusal to kiss her goodnight had only elicited a good-natured shake of the head.
“We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other tomorrow,” she said, smiling at her grandson’s wife who appeared to be bracing herself for an outbreak of anger at this new show of disobedience. “Don’t look so scared, Emma. Phoebe and Alison, Amy will be sleeping in your room, so no whispering into the wee small hours tonight.”
The two girls to whom this injunction was addressed were both older than their cousin. When they came to bed she was still awake, and could not help overhearing their disgruntled communications.
“This isn’t much fun, is it? Why did she have to be put in here with us? It’s not as if there aren’t enough other rooms in the house.”
“No, we always talk late on Christmas Eve. I’m far too excited to get to sleep.”
“She’s a funny little thing, isn’t she Phoebe? Honestly, when I first saw her I felt sure she couldn’t be older than three.”
“I know – she’s a perfect midget. I can see why Dad said she was the spitting image of Gran. Give or take some white hair and a few wrinkles I wouldn’t know them apart.” This sally had been met with a squeak of laughter from the younger girl, quickly stifled with a mouthful of blanket.
“Gran did tell us to be nice to her, though, Phoebe,” she had said, returning to the subject after a whispered discussion about what presents they could reasonably expect to receive on the morrow. “It must be weird for her not knowing any of us, and not having been in the house before. Mum told me to make sure that we wake her up tomorrow when we go to get our stockings from the drawing room, and to include her in the games later on.”
“Hmmm. They can’t seriously expect me and Alec to play with a baby like that, though,” her sister had replied. “It’s not so bad for you and Colin, but I don’t want my Christmas spoilt by having to tend to her. Why couldn’t she have stayed in Singapore, or wherever it was Uncle Stuart was working?”
“A baby like that”, “a perfect midget”, “ the spitting image of Gran”; what worse insults could she have overheard? Phoebe and Alison, unaware that the object of their dissatisfaction was lying wide-awake in the bed beside them, had soon fallen asleep. No doubt they would have been conscience-stricken had they realised that their cousin had been party to the conversation.
The little girl looked round the room again. Darkness did nothing to alleviate the gloom which had impressed her on her first entrance, and she was intensely grateful for the torch that her father had brought in from the car. He had appeared to regret his loss of temper and had spent some time sitting on the edge of the bed, telling her what fun they would all have the next day.
“Really Amy,” he’d said, “you’ve no reason to be afraid of Grandma. I understand that you weren’t prepared for the way she looks, but if you could just ignore that, you’d find her the kindest-hearted person in the world.” A promise that she would try to overcome her dislike had thoroughly restored his good humour, and when she realised that she had left her teddy bear in the drawing room he had offered to fetch it without a word of complaint.
“Only – he didn’t come back with teddy after all.”
What should she do? Her parents were far away, in a room presumably as bleak and cheerless as her own; if she had been informed of the exact location the directions had taken no hold upon her mind; they had simply joined the maelstrom of impressions, too confused to be termed memories, which was all that remained of the two hours spent in her relatives’ company.
Perhaps she should wake up Alison or Phoebe. They must know their way about the passages, which, to one unacquainted with their twists and turns, appeared so very daunting. Their response to such a request could be all too easily foreseen. Even supposing that they were prepared to forsake the warmth of their beds, how deep would be their scorn when she revealed what she wished them to fetch for her.
Sleep was out of the question. The mental review of those events which had caused her so much distress and would, she felt sure, reoccur at frequent intervals throughout the rest of her stay, had made the absence of any familiar object insupportable. Unappealing as the dark hallway and silent house must be, a prolongation of her present misery was not to be considered. The little girl set her teeth, then climbed out of bed. A strip of moonlight shone upon the slippers that she had placed upon an oak chest. She pulled them on, glad of their fleecy lining, for although the house was centrally heated, she could not prevent her teeth from chattering.
Alison’s bed was closest to the door. She paused beside it a moment, taking care not to shine the torch on the sleeper’s face. Her cousin’s hair was long and lay across the pillow casting its pristine whiteness into strong relief. If only she weren’t so in Phoebe’s thrall – if freed from her sister’s influence Amy felt convinced that she would be less hostile.
No moonbeam entered the passageway in which she found herself upon leaving the comparative security of the bedroom. In the ring of light cast by the torch upon the wall, she could see her shadow. Its head brushed against the ceiling, and the sight of its vast, if unsubstantial, form gave her the courage to set forth into the unknown.
At first the fear of rousing the house made her tread with extreme caution, but the floor was carpeted, and she soon realised that such measures were unnecessary. One of the doors that she passed stood slightly ajar. For a moment she halted irresolutely outside it, wondering if she dared enter, on the off chance that the room was occupied by her father and mother. The possibility that she might find herself face to face with a member of Uncle Dick’s family, or – worst of all – Grandma Margaret, was too off-putting, and she pressed on towards the staircase.
Holly, ivy and branches of pine were wound about the banisters, enlivened, every now and again, by a length of red ribbon tied into a bow. She gained the foot of the stairs without mishap, and was pausing to reconsider the direction she should take in order to reach the drawing room, when she caught sight of a figure standing beside the hallstand. Terror robbed her of both speech and the power to move her limbs. Seconds slipped away, and she remained transfixed, gazing at the dim shape which had also stopped dead in its tracks.
It was most peculiar; the unknown was clad in pink, in a shade of pink, moreover, identical to the one which she herself was wearing. Gathering courage from this fact, she advanced a step or two, and shone her torch upon the recess in which he or she was concealed.
A small face with tumbled ginger hair looked back at her from the mirror, which, she now perceived, had attracted her attention. With a sigh of relief she turned away; for an instant she had thought that it was her grandmother, and the fear, unfounded as it had proved to be, continued to make her start at the sound of her own footsteps, and to regard dim corners with suspicion. As far as she could remember, the drawing room lay at the end of the hall. She and her cousins had hung their stockings from the mantelpiece; it was then that she had laid teddy down on a sofa beside the fire.
The doors on either side of the passage were shut or drawn close to. As she approached the drawing room she saw that beneath one of them there ran a narrow band of light. Was someone awake besides herself? It seemed unlikely – perhaps the grown-ups had forgotten to switch off the lamp before going to bed. In the almost palpable silence which invades a house by night, the slightest sound was audible, often magnified beyond recognition. The crackle of a page being turned, which no one would ever have remarked amongst the sounds assaulting their ears by day, was sufficient to make Amy drop her torch, with a clatter that reverberated about the walls and ceiling.
From somewhere within the room beside her came the snap of a book being closed, then a rustle of blankets as whoever it was got to their feet. Faced with the imminent appearance of one of her relations, Amy suddenly lost her head. Not even stooping to pick up her torch, she darted into the room on the opposite side of the hall, and ducked behind a chair that was within a few feet of the door. Her heart was thumping violently; how she wished that she was back upstairs in bed. The thoughts, which had before been so intolerable, seemed attractive when compared with her present predicament. Who was it that read books in the middle of the night, and did not even pursue their nocturnal activities in the upper regions of the house?
The creak of hinges told her that whoever it was had entered the hall – what would happen if he or she found the torch and, putting two and two together, realised that its owner was only feet away? Fortunately this did not take place. The footsteps set off towards the staircase, and Amy felt able to breathe again. Until the investigator returned, and resumed their mysterious pursuits, she could not leave the room in which she had taken refuge.
The minutes passed, and the eagerly-awaited sound of approaching steps did not reach her ears. Her knees began to ache from having crouched so long in the same position, and her forehead repeatedly drooped forward and hit the back of the chair. Sleep, which had hitherto proved so elusive, had finally taken possession of her, and it was all she could do to keep her eyelids open. This drowsiness simply couldn’t be allowed to have its way. Imagine if she were found there on Christmas morning – how would she account for behaviour that, to anyone else, must appear incomprehensible? The very fact that she had hidden was bound to offend whichever relative it was that she had disturbed.
Hardly knowing what she was about, she stood up and looked around. For the first time she saw that the embers of a fire lay in the grate, emitting little heat, it was true, but their faint glow enabled her to form an impression of her surroundings. The room was small, and more comfortable than any she had yet seen in her grandmother’s house. Armchairs, a writing desk and several pots of poinsettias were the first things that caught her eye. Cushions were in abundance – the chair behind which she had hidden was possessed of three, made, as were the curtains, of red and green velvet. It couldn’t do any harm to take one of these, and sit down with it before the fire. This done, she found the urge almost overwhelming to lie down on the hearthrug which was soft, and so thick that she could detect no trace of the floor beneath. Not go to sleep, of course, but if anyone did come in, they would be less likely to notice her than if she were upright. As if through a haze, she felt her eyelids closing; once or twice she forced them to open, but the effort was too much for her, and she abandoned the attempt. After all, so long as she didn’t actually doze off, she might as well enjoy this unexpected respite – in retrospect it seem to be the first since her arrival……..
“Oh really, what nonsense. You shouldn’t let your imagination run away with you, Delphine.”
“But yes – magical zings ’appen on Christmas night – look Fernand, she’s as real as you or I. Wake up Blitzen, this is no time to be asleep. Come and see ze little girl, and if Monsieur Jeremiah refuses to believe us, we can do quite well wizout ’im.”
“Hmmm – there is a little girl here, though, don’t you know, Jeremiah? Fast asleep on the hearthrug – and I know that I’ve never seen her before.”
“Wiz all due deference to your superior intelligence and seniority, I ’ave to believe the evidence of my own eyes – ”
“Wasn’t my word enough then, imbécile?”
“A thousand pardons, ma mie – which of course were already predisposed to credit what they saw, due to the reliance which I place on the mistress of my ‘eart’s opinion; and repeat what both she an’ Monsieur Blitzen remarked, zat zere is a leetle girl, who is most assuredly neither Mademoiselle Phoebe nor Mademoiselle Alison.”
Amy stirred, then sat up, rubbing her eyes bemusedly. Despite her determination she must have fallen asleep; what was it that had awoken her?
“Mais regardez donc, Monsieur Jeremiah! She arises, an’ is looking around. You must ‘ave disturbed ‘er wiz all zat talking, Fernand. Why didn’t you whisper, like I was doing?”
“A thousand pardons, mon coeur - ”
“Why always a thousand? One would be quite enough, if you really meant it - which I don’t believe you ever do.”
The voices floated down from the mantelpiece above her. With increased curiosity she rose to her feet then, as the shelf was still too high, she climbed onto one of the embroidered footstools that stood beside the fireplace.
Before she had gone to sleep, she had noticed a large Prussian-blue plate hanging upon the wall. A picture of a shepherdess receiving the addresses of a young nobleman decorated its centre, surrounded by a riot of gilt foliage. Beneath was an old-fashioned pendulum clock and, at the other end of the mantelpiece, a china reindeer, with a piece of holly fastened between its antlers. At first sight, these ornaments looked very much the same as when she had last beheld them, but on closer inspection she realised that the reindeer had somehow moved to the edge of the shelf and the clock – why, the clock seemed to have donned a small pair of spectacles. There were also two figures, who had certainly not been there before; both no more than three inches high, who appeared to be made entirely of gold, for they glittered and sparkled in the firelight.
“Was it you talking?” she murmured aloud, leaning forward so as better to examine these alterations. Strangely enough, she found them not so much unusual as interesting.
The smaller of the two glistening figures, whom, she now observed, bore a striking resemblance to the flounced shepherdess formerly situated in decorous immobility in the middle of the china plate, rose up on tiptoes and raised a minute face to hers.
“An’ why not, pray? Zis is our room, an’ we can do as we please. The question is, what are you doing ’ere? Are you real, or are you a figment of my imagination as Monsieur Jeremiah was so polite as to declare?”
“My name’s Amy, and I’m six years old,” replied the little girl, wondering which of the ornaments had dared to voice such an audacious opinion.
“I came downstairs to get my teddy, but I heard a noise, and well – I was scared, so I hid in here. I think that I must have gone to sleep after that.”
The clock stepped forward, walking with perfect ease upon the four metal feet affixed to its base.
“Why, of course, you must be young Stewart’s daughter. My, how time flies; it seems only the other day that he was born. You were here before, I recollect, and screamed very loudly all Christmas night.”
“Well, yes, maybe I was, only I don’t remember that. Daddy’s a foreign correspondent and me and Mummy lived with him in Singapore until a few months ago.”
“That accounts for our not having met then, so to speak. Let me introduce myself. My name is Jeremiah; I was purchased by your great-grandmother’s father, so I am the oldest inhabitant of the house – save furniture, which doesn’t count – and have witnessed the growth of four generations of this family, which I am proud to consider my own.”
“And I am called Delphine,” broke in the shepherdess, who had been chafing visibly during this introduction.” And alzough I ’ave only been ’ere nine years, I come from an extremely ancient and aristocratic family. Limoges china is famous throughout ze world,” she told Amy, motioning towards the plate, which looked oddly vacant without its usual occupants.
“An’ je m’appelle Visconte Fernand de Limoges, said her companion, with a low bow “Your very ‘umble and devoted servant, mademoiselle.”
“Why, thank you very much,” said Amy, smiling at the little man’s manner. “And what is the reindeer called?”
The animal was dozing off, but at this enquiry it raised its head with a jerk.
“Blitzen,” he said, in an apologetic tone. “German for lightning, don’t you know? I’ve been in the family since your uncle was born, but I’m only taken out at Christmas, so I can’t really be called a bona fide member. I know the holly makes me look half-witted.”
Amy blushed and tried to pretend that she had not been scrutinising his festive headgear with a critical eye.
“But it’s a tradition, and your great grandmother likes it, so I shouldn’t complain.”
“Do you know,” said the clock suddenly, “I think that you look very like your great grandmother, my dear.”
Amy frowned, and the grievances which, in the interest of the moment had been forgotten, came home to her with renewed force.
“Yes, my uncle said that when I arrived, and Phoebe told Alison that if not for a few wrinkles and the white hair they wouldn’t know me apart. Grandma Margaret’s old and ugly – I don’t want to look like her. I was excited about meeting her after all Daddy’s said, but she’s frightening, and he told me off for not wanting to kiss her when we arrived. No one liked me after that. I heard Phoebe and Alison saying that they didn’t want to spend Christmas with a midget like me – and I am small for my age, but that doesn’t mean I’ll grow up to be as short as Grandma Margaret – and they said that they wished I hadn’t come. I woke up dreading tomorrow and when I came downstairs I dropped my torch, and someone heard me, and I don’t know if they’re still wandering about the hall, and I know Christmas day’s going to be horrid.”
“La pauvre,” exclaimed Delphine. “What a dreadful time you ‘ave been ‘aving. Those ‘eartless girls! An’ to be compared with Madame, as well, who is certainly très laide. Fernand, I demand that you do something!”
“Wiz all my heart, chérie,” replied her admirer, gallantly. “Your wish iz my command! Order an’ I cannot but obey.”
“Now, now don’t be ridiculous,” admonished the clock hastily. “I think that this should be approached in an as level-headed, circumspect a manner as possible. Let us take one thing at a time. Miss Amy, if you explain to us your principal grievances, starting with the least grave, and proceeding in such a manner that you finish with the point causing you the most distress, we will endeavour to do away with those fears that seem, in general, to have arisen from a series of most regrettable misunderstandings.”
“That’s right, better prevent the Viscount risking life and limb if we possibly can,” agreed the reindeer. “See here though, Miss Amy must be dashed uncomfortable standing on that footstool. I suggest that you lift us down to the hearthrug, where we can discuss this in a comfortable fashion.”
Amy placed first the clock and Blitzen upon the rug, and then lifted up the shepherdess, who screamed and wriggled very much. She then lent a helping hand to the Viscount, who had taken it into his head to clamour down the side of the fireplace
“Oh là là, my ‘ead is spinning an’ I ‘ave not felt so sick since we sailed away on the boat zat took us away from our beloved France.”
“I’m sorry,” said Amy, lying down beside the little group, and resting her elbows on the cushion. “I tried to carry you as slowly as I could. Do you feel better now, Viscount?”
“Oh yes, zank you mademoiselle,” replied Fernand, whose pale face rather belied his words, for he had slipped, and would have fallen, if not for the little girl’s timely assistance.
“Now, which of your anxieties would you like to share with us first?” said the clock. He was standing with his back to the fire in much the same attitude as that adopted by frock-coated gentleman a hundred years ago.
“Commencing with the least important, mind; if there’s anything I detest it’s a slapdash, haphazard way of tackling things; so disorderly, and gets one nowhere in the long run.”
“If there’s anyzing I abhor it iz pompous old windbags,” snapped the shepherdess, who took these remarks personally.
“I think I’d like to talk about Alison and Phoebe first,” said Amy. “Only, though you’re all very kind, I don’t see how you can help.”
“Well of course we can – we’ve known all four of your cousins ever since they were born,” said the clock. “Now, the first thing that you should understand is that they are none of them bad children; I’ve quite a soft spot for little Alison.”
“Colin’s not a bad sort either,” added the reindeer. “He said that he liked my holly the other day: there’s no accounting for tastes, and it was kindly meant.”
“Ze problem is zat Phoebe is apt to be a leetle – ‘ow should I put it? – quick-tempered and impulsive,” said Delphine. She had curled up beside the fender, where she glittered like a small golden star. “An’ she exerts such an influence over ze ozers. If you want to make friends wiz zem you would ‘ave to win her over first.”
“But she thinks I’m a baby, and too young to be noticed,” objected Amy.
“Pah – she iz only three years bigger than yourself; all you need to do is stand up to ‘er, an’ prove that she misjudged you.”
“Zat’s right!” cried the Viscount. “Vive le courage! Vive ze bravery !”
“Stop bellowing in my ear, Fernand! Listen, I ‘ave an idea! Remember when, two years ago on Christmas Eve, we were all assembled together an’ ‘eard a terrible noise above us!”
“Yes, it was poor Phoebe. She had had a bad dream and didn’t dare venture out into the passage, so she lay in bed and shouted for her father and mother,” replied the clock, “awakening the entire house in the process. What of it?”
“Well, if Mademoiselle Amy lets slip that she was wandering about ze passages an’ even came downstairs, she cannot ‘elp but be impressed. Croyez-moi, Phoebe iz ze sort of girl to respect zomeone who does zomezing that frightened ‘er.”
“I was frightened, though; I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw myself in the mirror, and then heard that page turning,” said Amy.
“Pooh, pooh – you don’t have to mention that to Phoebe,” said the clock. “It’s an excellent scheme, Delphine, and once you have overcome her hostility the other three are bound to be friendly. I know for a fact that Alison and Colin were excited about meeting you, and put a great deal of thought into your Christmas present. They seemed to think that because you have spent four years in Singapore you would have outlandish, oriental tastes.”
Amy felt greatly comforted by this piece of information.
“Alison didn’t seem as set against me as Phoebe, that’s true,” she assented. “I think it was the way I cried in the hall, and then got told off by Daddy that made them dislike me. It was all so embarrassing, and Uncle Dick said that I looked like Grandma and-.”
“One thing at a time please, one thing at a time,” interrupted the clock. “Your second anxiety is caused by your father’s disapproval, and a fear that, should you remain unable to be polite to your great grandmother, his anger will break out again. Correct?”
“Well yes, it’s horrid when he’s cross with me, and he likes Grandma Margaret so much, you see.”
“Of course he does, and so will you before long; I think that this fear of your grandmother is at the root of all these problems, and we had better pass on to it immediately, as the time is -” the clock paused, squinting wildly in an effort to see in which direction his hands were pointing.
“Three o’ clock,” said the reindeer, helpfully. “Yes, I remember Stuart quite well when he as a boy. He and Dick led your grandmother a merry song and dance, from morning till night – there’s a photo of them on that little table, taken when Stuart was eight years old, if I remember rightly.”
Amy arose and picked up the designated picture frame.
“How strange, Daddy looks so little,” she murmured, “and Grandma looks different too. She’s not bent at all, and her hair’s not white – at least, I don’t think it is; everything’s in greys and blacks in this photograph.”
“It’s red: when she was a young girl people used to tease her about her hair, as it was considered deeply unfashionable,” said the clock, exchanging surreptitious winks with the reindeer and the shepherdess. “But she was a spirited little soul, and would reply that she enjoyed being different, and wouldn’t exchange her ginger hair for anything – she said that it made her stand out in a crowd.”
Amy was interested despite herself.
“Did she really? Maybe I should say that. People are always calling me silly names like Carrots or Ginger.”
Once again her eyes were drawn to the picture in her hand.
“Daddy’s got his arm around her waist,” she observed, “he seems to like her very much.”
“Mais que voulez-vous ? She waz like a mother to ‘im,” said Delphine. “’Is, an’ your uncle’s parents died in a car accident – zey were orphans and Madame gave zem a ‘ome, an’ brought zem up.”
“I remember the night when they arrived here,” said the clock. “Your father was only a baby – about eleven months old, and Dick was two, or it might have been three. Your grandmother brought him in here – it’s 'er sitting room, you know -“ Amy started, and laid the photograph back down on the table. “She had been an example to the rest of the family until that point – it was her son that had been killed, but it was she to whom everyone turned to guide them through the disaster. Of course, I could see that she would have to break down eventually.”
“But az no one iz in the habit of consulting clocks your opinion wasn’t asked,” interrupted the shepherdess. “Don’t spoil ze story by rambling, Jerimiah.”
“I was not rambling: I was merely giving Miss Amy some background information,” replied the clock. “Anyhow, she came in here with the baby in her arms, and sitting down before the fire began to remove its travelling clothes. Poor little mite, it had no idea of what had happened and its cooings and wonder at its new surroundings broke your great grandmother’s self-restraint. She began to sob, and clasping him to her, vowed that she would fill the place of both father and mother to the pair, however ill-fitted she might be for the task.”
“They weren't her exact words,” he murmured in an undertone to the reindeer, “but they were along those lines, and I merely improved them a little: if that doesn’t bring her round then nothing will.”
Amy had resumed her former position on the hearthrug and she seemed, to the clock’s satisfaction, much moved by this mournful history.
“That’s so sad,” she said in a quavering voice. “Poor, poor Grandma. Daddy always said that it was worse for her, as he couldn’t remember his parents, but I never thought about how upset she must have been.”
“C’est – c’est vraiment très émouvant,” sniffed the Viscount, drawing an infinitesimal handkerchief from his pocket, and blowing his nose upon it.
“I wish I hadn’t been so rude to her,” continued Amy. “it’s just that I wasn’t expecting her to look like that. She didn’t seem to mind though – in fact... she’s the only one who didn’t disapprove and make me feel uncomfortable. Everyone else kept trying to explain everything to me, but she just smiled and said that – that we’d have plenty of time to get to know each other tomorrow. And it was only her that said what an unflattering comparison Uncle Dick made when he said we looked similar.”
The clock looked as if he were about to say something, but a dextrous nudge from the reindeer made him think better of it, and he only remarked –
“Well, well, so you shan’t be afraid to meet her tomorrow then, my dear? Nor to encounter your cousins?”
Amy yawned and shook her head.
“No, you’ve all been very kind – thank you ever so much. Will I be able to come and talk to you again while I’m here? Daddy never mentioned you to me.”
She did not see the Viscount nod towards the door behind her, nor the shepherdess press her finger to her lips.
“It’s not everyone that we choose to introduce ourselves to,” said the clock, whose eyes were also upon a point at the back of the room. “In fact you’re the first person to have received such a distinction for many years.”
“We’d rather you didn’t mention it to the rest of the family,” said the reindeer. “Some folk have a funny way of taking such things, don’t you know? - put it down to dreams, and all sorts of nonsense. Anytime you feel like popping in we’ll be glad to see you, and if you can get down here again on Christmas night we’ll be able to have another chat – we’re not always quite so communicative, you see.”
Amy tried to give her attention to this speech, but her eyes would close, in spite of her struggles to keep them open, and her former drowsiness had returned. Unable to prevent her eyes from closing, she succumbed with a murmur of apology, and laid her head back down upon the cushion......
“Amy – Amy, my dear, whatever in the world are you doing here?”
The little girl sat up with a startled glance about her. A torch was being held by someone a few feet away from where she lay. No trace of the ornaments with whom she had been speaking remained on the hearthrug. As her eyes grew accustomed to the light she realised that the “someone” was Grandma Margaret.
“I heard a clatter and came out into the hall to find out what it was,” she explained. “I’ve been searching through all the rooms and had given up when, on coming back to my original starting point, I found this little torch, lying in the passageway – I presume it’s yours, my dear?”
Amy took it from her outstretched hand, with a confused word of thanks. Had the clock, the reindeer, and the two gilt figures from the plate been a dream? Whatever the case, they had successfully dispelled the fears which had been tormenting her. The old lady no longer inspired her with terror, and she wondered how she had could ever have been afraid of such a diminutive person, or failed to notice the kindness of her eyes.
“I came down to get my teddy,” she said, scrambling to her feet. “But the sound of a page turning gave me such a shock that I dropped my torch, and hid in here – I suppose that I must have gone to sleep.”
Her grandmother smiled.
Possibly my dear. I’m very sorry if I startled you with my book. Old people need less sleep than young ones, and I often stay awake into the early hours of the morning. A few years ago I decided to sleep downstairs, to save myself the climb up all those steps.”
They passed out into the corridor, and then, at a suggestion of the old lady’s. made their way towards the drawing room.
Here he is!” exclaimed Amy, taking up a small brown-haired bear from the sofa. “Though I think I could get back to sleep without him now. The house doesn’t seem scary any more.”
“I'm glad to hear it,” said her grandmother. “I know that it can appear rather forbidding, and your reception wasn’t exactly calculated to put you at your ease. I’m sorry that you had such a distressing time when you arrived.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” said Amy, “it was all those other people crowding round, and trying not to get impatient.”
“I quite understand, my dear. Now, hadn’t you better think about getting back to bed? It’s ten past three, and no doubt Phoebe and Alison will be up betimes, tomorrow. We can’t have you drowsy on Christmas day, can we?”
Amy yawned.
“No, though if I am. I’ll sit beside you and we can watch all the others playing games and things – I don’t think I’ll much mind not joining in.”
She had come to a standstill beside the door, so she did not see the look of pleasure that entered the old lady’s face, at this proof of her granddaughter’s altered feelings.
“Why, Grandma, I didn’t know you’d a photo of me in black and white, “ she ejaculated, staring at a framed portrait of a little girl, dressed in a muslin frock. “I don’t even remember it being taken.”
“It’s the picture your uncle referred to,” said Grandma Margaret. “I’m standing in the little sitting room we just left – look, you can see the clock on the mantelpiece. Perhaps you can excuse Dick now for his thoughtlessness.”
“Mmm...you did look rather like me,” acknowledged Amy. “Isn’t it funny that the clock was there then? No wonder he got a surprise when he saw my face peering over the mantelpiece.”
The old lady smiled. She was rather hard of hearing, so it can only only be presumed that she did not catch this speech. At the foot of the stairs she bent and kissed the little girl on the cheek.
“Sweet dreams then, Amy – take care not to slip on your way up. Good night my dear, good night.
THE END