The Mistletoe Seller Read online

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  ‘My aunt will see you when she is rested, but I’m sure she will agree to any suggestions you might care to make.’ Angel raised her voice, just a little, but even to her ears she sounded youthful and uncertain.

  Mr Chancellor turned to Lil. ‘I can’t take instructions from a mere child. Tell your mistress that I’ll be pleased to call on her when she is feeling better.’

  Angel could see that Lil was simmering with indignation and was flexing her hands as if at any moment she might seize Mr Chancellor by the collar and eject him from the house. Angel was well aware that Lil had once floored a would-be intruder with an upper cut that would not have disgraced Tom Cribb. It had been the talk of the servants’ hall for months after the event.

  ‘I can speak for my aunt, sir,’ Angel said firmly. ‘Please go ahead with the necessary arrangements, and if you would be kind enough to call tomorrow morning I am sure Mrs Wilding will be able to see you in person. You must understand that she is too upset to see anyone at the moment.’

  Jeremiah Chancellor screwed up his face, as if calculating the risks of taking instructions from a minor, but after a quick glance at his surroundings and the obvious trappings of wealth, he managed a sickly smile. ‘Of course, miss. I’m sorry if I caused offence, but you must realise that in my line of business I have to be careful.’

  ‘I understand, sir.’ Angel inclined her head graciously, although secretly she would have been pleased to let Lil loose on him. She had a satisfying vision of the pompous gentleman flying down the front steps aided by a shove from Lil, but she managed to control a sudden desire to giggle. ‘Please see Mr Chancellor out, Lil.’

  Angel waited until the door closed on him before making her way slowly up the stairs, but as she reached the first floor she could hear her aunt’s sobs through the closed bedroom door. If ever anyone was in need of loving care, it was Aunt Cordelia and, ignoring Lil’s advice, Angel entered the room. The curtains were closed and the four-poster bed loomed large in the shadows. Angel tiptoed over to stand at her aunt’s bedside.

  ‘Aunt Cordelia, it’s me, Angel.’ When there was no response, Angel lay down on the coverlet and cuddled up to her aunt. ‘Don’t cry. I’ll take care of you just as you took care of me when I was little.’ She rested her cheek against her aunt’s back, placing a protective arm around the slim body, racked with sobs. Angel’s tears, which had been so long in coming, fell unchecked.

  Angel was considered to be too young to attend the funeral, despite her protests that she wanted to be there if only to support her aunt, but Cordelia was adamant. She had recovered enough from the shock of her husband’s sudden death to agree to Mr Chancellor’s arrangements for the interment. The day after Mr Chancellor’s visit Angel had accompanied her aunt to Jay’s Mourning Warehouse in Regent Street, where Cordelia was fitted out with her widow’s weeds. Angel was in the awkward stage where she was neither child nor adult, but she wanted to show her respect for her adoptive uncle and she chose a plain grey tussore gown, which she wore with black armbands, similar to those purchased for the servants.

  At home the curtains were closed and black crepe ribbon tied to the door knocker indicated that the occupants were in deep mourning. The house in Spital Square had never been filled with music and laughter, but now it was a sad place and the only sounds that echoed throughout the building were the servants’ footsteps on the back stairs and the closing of a door or window.

  Two days after the interment, Angel was on her way to her uncle’s study in search of something to read from his small collection of books, when the door flew open and a man hurried out, almost colliding with her.

  ‘I’m so sorry, my dear. I didn’t know you were there.’

  Angel recognised the tall, thin gentleman whose balding head was compensated for by grey mutton-chop whiskers, a curly moustache and a goatee beard, which was a similar shade of ginger to his bushy eyebrows. Geoffrey Galloway was her aunt’s solicitor and when Angel was younger he used to bring her a poke of peppermint creams or a stick of barley sugar. He still treated her as if she were a charming five-year-old. Sometimes growing up was very hard, especially when people failed to see that she was on her way to adulthood.

  ‘I was going to borrow a book, sir.’ Angel kept her tone neutral and she met his amused gaze with a stony stare.

  ‘Admirable, young lady. Admirable.’ He smiled vaguely and crossed the hall to where Gilly waited, holding his hat and cane. ‘Good day.’

  A warm draught laced with the smell of horse dung and fumes from the gasworks wafted in from the street, and Gilly closed the door after him. She shot a sideways glance at Angel, her mean little face contorted with spite. ‘You won’t be looking down your nose at us servants for much longer, so Cook says.’

  Angel paused in the doorway. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Just you wait and see. Cook knows a thing or two.’ Gilly scurried off in the direction of the back stairs, leaving Angel staring after her.

  ‘Darling, is that you?’ Cordelia’s voice from the depths of the study brought Angel back to reality and she hurried into the room.

  ‘Are you all right, Aunt Cordelia? What did Mr Galloway want?’

  Slumped in her late husband’s leather chair, Cordelia made an effort to smile, but her heart-shaped face was deathly pale and her eyes red-rimmed. ‘We’re ruined, Angel. There’s no easy way to put this, but your uncle’s business venture failed miserably. The brewery has had to close and we’ve lost everything.’

  Angel sank down on the chair recently vacated by Mr Galloway – the seat was still warm. ‘I don’t understand. How could that happen?’

  ‘I don’t pretend to understand business matters, dear. All I know is what Geoffrey just told me. Apparently Joseph played the tables to try to recoup his losses when the business was failing and his last gamble didn’t pay off. Everything has gone, and he mortgaged the house without my knowledge. I’m virtually penniless.’ She buried her head in her hands and her shoulders heaved. ‘We’ll be living on the streets.’

  ‘No, that can’t be true,’ Angel said stoutly, but then Gilly’s spiteful words came back to her. How the servants could have found out was a puzzle, but then they always seemed to know things before she did. ‘There must be something we could sell to raise money. Perhaps we could find a smaller house to rent.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Angel. Everything has to go – the furniture, my jewellery, the silver – all the things I treasure. The household bills haven’t been paid for months and if I can’t raise the money the bailiffs will come in and take everything. I can’t bear the disgrace.’

  ‘Isn’t there anyone who could help us?’ Angela asked in desperation. ‘Do you know anyone who could lend you some money to keep us going for a while?’

  Cordelia raised her head, gazing at Angel with tears sparkling on the tips of her dark lashes. ‘There is one person who has offered to help, but I don’t think I can bring myself to accept his offer.’

  ‘Who is it, Aunt? What does he want in return for a loan?’

  ‘Geoffrey asked me to marry him,’ Cordelia said dully. ‘I’ve known him for years. He’s been Joseph’s solicitor for as long as I can remember, and he used to dine here quite often, but I can’t marry a man I don’t love, even for the sake of keeping a roof over our heads.’

  ‘He seems like a nice man,’ Angel said slowly. ‘But if you don’t like him …’

  ‘I do like him, darling. I’ve always liked him, but I loved Joseph.’ Cordelia mopped her eyes with her sodden hanky. ‘I know he was domineering and sometimes impatient, but ours was a love match and I miss him terribly. Anyway, I’m in mourning, and I will be for a year or maybe two.’

  ‘You mustn’t give it a second thought.’ Angel leaned over the desk to grasp her aunt’s hand. ‘We’ll manage without him, Aunt Cordelia. I’ll find work and we’ll look for somewhere else to live. You won’t have to marry a man you don’t love. I’ll look after you now.’


  ‘My darling, you’re just a child. I wouldn’t think of placing such responsibility on your young shoulders. But you’re right, we will survive somehow, and the first thing I will do is take my jewellery to the pawnbroker. I won’t allow the bailiffs to take it.’

  ‘There is my ring, too,’ Angel said slowly. The thought of parting with the one thing that might have belonged to her mother was agonising, but she could not allow her aunt to make all the sacrifices.

  ‘No, Angel. That is yours and you must keep it always.’ Cordelia frowned, staring down at the jewels on her left hand. ‘I will part with everything other than my wedding ring. Joseph placed that on my finger when I was just twenty, and it will remain there until the day I die.’

  Angel knew that at any moment her aunt would burst into tears and that would only make matters worse. She jumped to her feet. ‘There must be other things we can sell, Aunt Cordelia.’

  ‘The bailiffs will be here this afternoon. We must act quickly if we’re to salvage anything, and even then I dare say it’s against the law, but at this moment I don’t care.’

  ‘You must stay here,’ Angel said firmly. ‘I’ll go to the pawnshop with Lil. It would be a brave man who tried to get the better of her.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right, my darling. I’m afraid I would give in too easily.’ Cordelia rose from the chair, patting the leather arm rests as if saying farewell to an old friend. ‘I have the onerous duty of informing the servants that they will have to find employment elsewhere, but first I’ll fetch my jewellery box. I have a fine gold chain, which you must keep. Thread it through your mama’s ring and hang it around your neck.’

  Angel swallowed hard. ‘Thank you, Aunt Cordelia. I’ll treasure it always.’

  Angel and Lil returned from their trip to the pawnbroker’s in White’s Row to find the bailiffs already at work. The dining-room table was being hefted onto a cart, together with the chairs, and the sideboard stood on the pavement waiting to be treated with equal lack of care. Angel would have run forward to snatch the portrait of her aunt as a young bride from the hands of a burly carter, but Lil restrained her.

  ‘Just go indoors, love,’ she said in a low voice that sounded more like a growl. ‘You can’t stop ’em, and they might start asking questions.’

  Angel realised that her weighty reticule might cause comment and she tucked it under her arm as she marched up the steps to the front door. It was wide open and Gilly was ineffectually flapping her apron at a porter who was carrying a tea chest filled with Cordelia’s Crown Derby dinner service.

  ‘Robbers,’ Gilly cried hoarsely. ‘That belongs to the mistress.’

  ‘Not no more, my duck.’ The man winked at her and continued on his way. A second cart had drawn up outside and a second bailiff pushed past Angel as he entered the house.

  Gilly screamed, ‘They’ll have the clothes off our backs next, miss.’

  ‘No, they won’t. You’ll be quite safe below stairs. We have to leave them to do their work.’ Angel pointed the distraught maid in the direction of the baize door. ‘Stay in the kitchen with Cook.’

  ‘I can’t, miss. Cook done a bunk and Miss Nixon went last night. I dunno how to cook dinner, and that’s a fact.’

  Lil grabbed Gilly by the arm. ‘Do as Miss Angel says, you halfwit. There’s nothing to be done up here.’

  ‘What shall I do, Lil? I ain’t got no money, and me dad will skin me alive if I goes home.’

  ‘Just wait in the kitchen,’ Lil said with a surprising show of patience. ‘I’ll be down in a minute and we’ll decide what’s to be done.’ She gave Gilly a shove and the girl stumbled off in the direction of the back stairs.

  Angel sidestepped two porters. ‘You’d best go after her, Lil. Goodness knows what she’ll do left on her own in the kitchen. She’ll probably burn the house down.’

  ‘She’s daft enough,’ Lil said grimly. ‘Leave her to me.’ She strode off with a determined set to her jaw.

  Angel was about to go in search of her aunt when she heard someone call her name. Her heart sank as she recognised the voice and she turned slowly to see the Reverend John Hardisty and his wife standing in the doorway.

  ‘Angel, my dear child, what a sorry state of affairs, to be sure.’

  ‘Poor Cordelia, she must be distraught,’ Letitia said with a smile that did not reach her eyes.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Angel answered meekly, but she was not fooled by Mrs Hardisty’s words of sympathy. She suspected that Letitia harboured some kind of grudge against her aunt, although it was hard to imagine Aunt Cordelia merited such ill feeling. Whatever the cause – and Letitia Hardisty always managed to appear conciliatory and pleasant – Angel had often felt an undercurrent and on this particular day it was more obvious than ever.

  ‘Is there anything we can do?’ John Hardisty spoke with genuine concern.

  ‘I don’t think so, sir,’ Angel said hastily. ‘I think my aunt is resting. This has all come as a terrible shock.’

  ‘Is it true that you are losing everything?’ He looked round, shaking his head. ‘If so, where will you go?’

  ‘I dare say Cordelia has relatives who will take her in. Although I wouldn’t relish such a change after being mistress of my own house for so many years.’ Letitia pursed her lips and there was a malicious gleam in her dark eyes. ‘Poor thing,’ she added, clutching her husband’s arm. ‘We should leave, John. I fear we are intruding.’

  He cleared his throat noisily as if about to embark on a sermon. ‘If there is any way I can be of assistance, Angel, please ask your aunt to contact me.’

  Letitia dragged him towards the door, which was propped open to allow the bailiff’s men easy access. ‘A penniless widow is a pitiable object in the eyes of society. My condolences to your aunt, you poor child.’

  The words that tumbled from Letitia’s lips should have given Angel comfort, but the reverse was true. She had attended church every Sunday for as long as she could remember, and there had been interminable tea parties either at the vicarage or here at home, when the ladies of the parish gathered together to discuss their charitable actions and exchange gossip. Even as a child it had been obvious to Angel that women like Margaret Edwards, the deacon’s wife, and the good ladies who tried to alleviate the suffering of the poor, were all in awe of Letitia Hardisty, if not actually afraid of her and her sharp tongue.

  Resisting the temptation to rush after the vicar and his wife and slam the door, shutting them out of her life for ever, Angel took a deep breath. Whatever befell her and her aunt in the future, the one good thing to come out of this terrible state of affairs was that Aunt Cordelia would be free to start her life again, away from the tittle-tattle and covert glances of those who were supposed to be her friends. Even so, the future looked bleak and for the first time in her life Angel was scared.

  Chapter Three

  Two days later, Angel stood in the middle of the entrance hall, glancing round at the walls. Ghostly patches on the wallpaper marked the places where paintings and gilt-framed mirrors had hung until the bailiff’s men took them away. The slightest sound echoed through the empty rooms like thunder, and the home she had known all her life was being ripped apart. Strange men had robbed them of everything that was much loved and familiar, and the house itself was to be sold by auction. Where they would go and what they would do was something that Angel had hardly dared to imagine, but now she was facing reality. Childhood was over and she must grow up fast. It was a terrifying prospect.

  The bailiffs had left them with very little other than their personal belongings. Lil had stuffed those haphazardly into three large valises, and the pots and pans from the kitchen were piled into wicker baskets and a tea chest. Lil had packed these herself and had insisted that Gilly must guard them with her life, if necessary. Angel had heard the child sobbing and had gone down to the kitchen to investigate. She found her clutching the chest like a shipwrecked mariner clinging to a floating spar.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Angel d
emanded.

  ‘She told me not to let no one near this or she’d tan me hide. I know that Lumpy Lil would do it, too.’

  ‘You silly girl, she only meant for you to stop the bailiff’s men from taking everything. I doubt if they’d set much store by old saucepans and chipped china. Get up, for heaven’s sake.’

  Gilly staggered to her feet. ‘I got cramp in me legs thanks to her.’

  ‘You won’t let Miss Heavitree hear you talking like that if you’ve got any sense, and don’t call her Lumpy Lil or she’ll have your guts for garters.’

  ‘Where did you hear that vulgar expression, Angel?’ Cordelia’s shocked tones made Angel spin round to see her aunt standing at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘I’m sorry, Aunt Cordelia. I didn’t know you were there.’

  ‘We mustn’t allow our standards to drop simply because we’re in a difficult situation,’ Cordelia said primly. ‘I want you to come upstairs, Angel. Mr Galloway is here and he has something to tell you.’

  ‘What is it?’ Angel asked anxiously.

  ‘I’ll allow him to tell you, darling. Come along, don’t keep him waiting.’

  Dragging her feet, Angel followed her aunt up the steep staircase. Geoffrey Galloway was waiting for them in the study, which, denuded of its books and furniture, seemed like a different place. The only item left by the bailiff’s men was a chair with a threadbare seat and a castor missing off one leg. Cordelia perched on it, balancing with difficulty. ‘I haven’t told Angel anything, Geoffrey. I think it would be best coming from you.’

  He stood with his back to the fireplace, feet wide apart, hands clasped. ‘You must be aware of the seriousness of the situation in which your aunt finds herself, Angel.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking it over very carefully, you understand, and your aunt agrees with what I am about to say.’

  Angel knew instantly that his solution was not going to benefit her. She shot a wary glance in her aunt’s direction, but Cordelia was studying the bare floorboards as if they were something new and interesting.