Wishing on a Star Page 9

  Richenda was looking daggers at me through a slit in her sheet so, sighing internally, I gave the box of dry rice I had brought with me a few shakes. The slithering noise of the rice was meant to gently awaken him. Bertram grunted and turned over. I tried a few more times to no effect. I moved on to the cheese grater I had brought and scraped a butter knife over the grill, praying Stone never found out it was I who had damaged his beloved cutlery. ‘Thrrup. Thrrup’ went the grater. In the quiet and amid the swirling colours I thought it quite effective. I took another peek. Bertram stuck his head under his pillow. Merry looked at me in despair. In desperation I picked up the kitchen pot and rattled around inside it with a metal spoon. The noise seemed incredibly loud. There was a muffled, ‘Wot! Wot!’ inside the room and the sound of moving bedsheets. I changed back to the rice, not wanting to terrify him. Richenda, taking the sounds as a sign he was now awake, did her best to glide into the room. At least I assume she was aiming for a ghost-like glide. In reality, with her legs pinned by the sheet, she sort of half limped, half hobbled. ‘Good Gad!’ came Bertram’s startled exclamation from the room.

  ‘Yoooooooouuuuu are dreaming-ing-ing,’ said Richenda in what she obviously thought was a spectral voice. ‘I am the ghost of Christmas …’

  Her voice was cut off abruptly, but the sounds of a scuffle. ‘What the Dickens!’ came Bertram’s voice. Merry and I looked at each other. This was it. Time to run.

  ‘Euphemia! Merry!’ summoned Bertram’s voice.

  Too late.

  As sheepishly as boot boys summoned before the butler for a misdemeanour, we popped our heads round the side of the door.

  ‘Can’t come in,’ said Merry. ‘Wouldn’t be seemly.’

  ‘Put out that wretched lantern,’ snapped Bertram. ‘It’s giving me a headache.’ Obediently, Merry opened the hatch and blew out the candle.

  ‘It were Richenda’s idea,’ she said, happily throwing her mistress to the wolves – or wolf on this occasion.

  ‘I had thought better of you, Euphemia,’ said Bertram. He stood in the middle of the room in his paisley pyjamas, clutching Richenda’s sheet. Richenda stood there in a violently coloured orange nightdress that was distinctly honeymoon-like in its style. Bertram seemed finally to take in her attire as he threw the sheet back over her. He shook his head and blinked rapidly as if trying to erase the image. ‘Euphemia,’ he then continued, ‘why didn’t you stop them?’

  I took a deep breath and said, ‘Because I was as fed up as both of them with you ruining our Christmas celebrations.’

  ‘What?’ said Bertram staggering back to sit on the bed. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Oh you know damn well, Bertram Stapleford, you’ve been nothing but a bad-tempered grouse since you got here,’ said Richenda.

  ‘You ’ave been a bit of a black cloud, sir,’ said Merry. ‘And we are trying to make it the best Christmas ever for little Amelia. Notwithstanding it’s also Mr and Mrs Muller’s first Christmas together.’

  ‘But I haven’t said a thing,’ protested Bertram.

  The scales dropped from my eyes. ‘Bertram, are you fondly imagining because you haven’t broached the topic of whatever is making so disagreeable with any of us that we won’t have noticed your black mood?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve been hiding my feelings,’ said Bertram nobly.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Merry, borrowing from Rory’s vocabulary. ‘You’ve been a positive little ray of sunshine.’

  ‘Merry!’ I said shocked. ‘That’s no way to speak to Mr Stapleford.’

  ‘She’s absolutely right,’ said Richenda. ‘You’ve been a pig, Bertram. A pig to all of us.’

  Bertram appealed directly to me. ‘Have I?’ he asked.

  ‘I am afraid so,’ I said.

  Bertram stood up. ‘Please accept my apologies,’ he said. ‘Please also accept my assurances that I will alter my behaviour to better fit the season.’

  ‘Just like that?’ asked Merry.

  ‘Hadn’t you better get back to your charge?’ said Bertram. A look passed between Richenda and Bertram.

  ‘Yes,’ said Richenda, ‘you had better get back to Amelia.’

  Merry assumed an expression of disgust, but she knew when she was beaten. She gathered up the magic lantern and stalked off.

  ‘So what is this all about, Bertram?’ asked Richenda.

  ‘I would rather not go into details,’ said Bertram, ‘but I have been jilted.’

  ‘What!’ said Richenda.

  ‘The Beard Lady,’ I said, understanding dawning.

  ‘You were engaged to a woman with a beard?’ Richenda’s voice climbed higher.

  ‘No. Shhh, Richenda. You’ll have the whole house on us,’ I said. ‘Bertram has been growing his beard because he was told it would give him gravitas.’

  ‘Gravy-what?’ said the ever food-conscious Richenda.

  ‘A serious disposition,’ said Bertram. ‘She wanted me to run for Parliament.’

  ‘But you’re about the most apolitical creature I have ever known,’ I cried.

  ‘Well, I think you’re well shot of her. She can’t have any taste if she liked your beard,’ said Richenda.

  Bertram drew himself up to his full height and attempted an air of great dignity. Something very hard to do in paisley pyjamas. ‘My beard was the cause of our parting. She felt it was not sufficient.’

  I could not help myself; I giggled. Bertram gave me a hurt look. ‘I am sorry, Bertram, but ghastly though your beard is, if a woman truly loved you, I cannot see how that would matter. It is ridiculous.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Richenda. ‘No amount of facial foliage would ever make you a good public speaker.’

  ‘Felicity thought I would do rather well,’ said Bertram, trying to make a comeback.

  ‘Felicity,’ said his taunting half-sister, ‘is this Felicity deficient in wisdom, years, or both?’

  Bertram flushed slightly.

  ‘Oh, Bertram,’ said Richenda, ‘just how old was this girl?’

  ‘Seventeen,’ said Bertram muttering into his beard.

  ‘Good heavens,’ I said.

  ‘I take it she was very beautiful,’ said Richenda.

  Bertram sighed and a faraway look came into his eyes, ‘She is …’ he began, when he was rudely interrupted by Merry, who ran full pelt into the room.

  ‘Amelia,’ she panted, ‘Amelia’s gone!’

  As one all the adults in the room transferred their attention to her. Merry began to weep. ‘When I left her she was fast asleep. I never shut the nursery door, knowing how Mr Muller fears fire. When I went in to check she was sleeping sound her bed was empty.’

  ‘How long has she been gone?’ asked Bertram.

  ‘Dear God!’ shrieked Richenda.

  ‘Tell me the window was shut,’ I said.

  Merry turned to me. ‘No, it wasn’t. It was only open an inch to stop the room getting stuffy, but it’s wider now. You don’t think …’

  ‘Is her room on the ground floor?’ asked Bertram.

  ‘Of course not,’ snapped Richenda. ‘But no two-year-old is going to climb out over the roof.’

  ‘She’s almost three,’ I said. ‘And it is not as if the roof seems steep. Well, not at first.’

  Bertram snatched up his dressing gown and ran from the room as he struggled to put it on. ‘Wake people,’ he yelled. Richenda fled. Instinct told me she had gone to find Hans. We needed more practical help. ‘Ladders. Gardeners,’ I said to Merry. She nodded. She’d been here long enough to know where the head gardener’s cottage was. Merry didn’t argue; she ran. I headed up to the male corridor, as I knew where the guest valets were housed. I went to wake Rory.

  I banged hard on his door. I doubted he was asleep as he opened the door almost at once. By the light of my candle I could see the confusion on his face. ‘It’s Amelia,’ I said at once. ‘We fear she has got out onto the roof.’

  Rory, who I knew had younger siblings, believed me at once. He stoppe
d only to pick up his coat. He was already wearing slippers. ‘Take me to her room,’ he said as I had hoped he would. As we hurried along he asked, ‘What fool left the window open?’

  ‘Merry,’ I said. ‘She was sleeping in the room with the child, so I suppose she thought she’d hear if Amelia got up. Only when she came to meet Richenda she did not remember to shut it.’

  Rory gave me a look to signify that he knew there was more to the story. ‘Honestly,’ I protested, ‘I had no idea she would leave a window open.’

  ‘She shouldnae have been away from the wean at all.’

  ‘It was only for a few minutes,’ I said. I met a look from those luminous green eyes. I dropped my gaze. ‘You’re right. She should never have been left alone.’

  We had reached the nursery door. Rory went in. I followed, hoping against hope that Amelia might simply be hiding under her bed. I bent down to check. Rory cast no more than a cursory eye around the room before he opened the window wider and climbed out. A cold blast of frosty air hit me full in the face. ‘Be careful,’ I warned. ‘Don’t slip.’

  ‘I dinnae intend to,’ said Rory. ‘Could you find a sheet or something, Euphemia? It’s guy icy.’

  Not entirely sure what he was meaning I took the counterpane off the bed and threw it to him. ‘Verra pretty,’ said Rory catching it. ‘But I was meaning for use as a rope. It’s not going to do anyone any guid if I slip and fall on her.’

  I stripped the bed in a moment and tied five of the sheets together. I tied one end round the bedpost, knowing I was not strong enough to hold Rory should he slip, and threw the other end to him. He tied it around his waist and moved out.

  Rory was now edging out along the flat, almost balcony-like stretch of the roof in front of the window. I peered out. I could see the roof tiles were thick with ice. From somewhere below I heard voices and the noise of a ladder being lifted.

  ‘Bugger,’ I heard Rory say. He turned his head back to me. ‘I can see her. Wee mite’s clinging on half way down the gable.’

  Without thinking of the danger I climbed out through the window. ‘No,’ cried Rory, but it was too late. I crept carefully up beside him. He put a strong arm around my waist. ‘She’s going to be terrified,’ I said. ‘You might need me.’

  I lay flat along the edge and looked over. Amelia had wedged herself between the gable edge and the wall about half way down. She was shivering with cold. Her little hands were clutched around the side of the gable and her feet pushed hard into the roof tiles to keep her where she was. Her eyes were screwed up shut tight. It was immediately clear that she could not hold herself in that position for much longer and also that she was far too terrified to move.

  Bertram’s head appeared below us. The ladder did not reach Amelia. It was several feet too short. Bertram continued to climb.

  ‘Stop,’ yelled Rory. ‘That ladder won’t stay balanced if you come any higher. I will get the wean.’

  He moved forward slowly. ‘Amelia, sweetheart, I am coming to get you.’

  The little girl opened her eyes and looked up. ‘Santa?’ she said.

  ‘Aye, that’s me. The Scottish Santa,’ said Rory, but even as he reached forward there was the sound of material ripping.

  ‘The rope won’t hold,’ yelled Bertram and scrambled further up the ladder. Then Rory’s words came true. The ladder swayed wildly. Bertram lost his footing. The ladder fell away, but at the last moment Bertram managed to grab the bottom edge of the gable. He hung there. His sleeves fell down and I saw his muscles straining as he tried to hold his weight.

  Rory gave his rope a quick tug. Satisfied, he said, ‘Hold on, man. I’m coming for you.’

  ‘Get the girl,’ commanded Bertram. ‘I’m fine.’

  Below we could hear sounds of people trying to raise the ladder again. Where was it? I had a sudden fear it had broken in the ice and the cold.

  ‘Santa?’ said Amelia. ‘I’m so cold.’ She reached out a hand towards Rory. Doing this stopped her being wedged in position. Amelia gave a scream as she slid several tiles down the roof. She managed to stop herself from going over the edge by putting her feet against Bertram’s face and bracing herself against him.

  I saw Bertram’s fingers whiten against the edge of the roof. ‘I’ll get her,’ I told Rory. ‘You get Bertram.’

  ‘We need another rope,’ said Rory.

  ‘There’s no time,’ I said. ‘They’ll both be gone any second. Hold onto my feet.’

  Rory scowled but nodded. We made our way forward carefully and quickly as far as his makeshift rope would allow. Then I edged forward on my stomach. Rory held onto my ankles. I reached out my arms and found Amelia’s waist. She was like a block of ice. I wrapped my arms tightly around her and using all my strength I pulled her towards me. Rory’s grip on my ankles tightened. His fingers felt like they were biting into my flesh. I saw the relief on Bertram’s face as I started to inch the girl away. His eyes met mine. I realised he could not hold on. I could not reach him without letting go of Amelia. He shook his head very slightly. ‘Well done, Euphemia,’ he said, and let go.

  I did not watch him fall. Inside I concentrated on inching my way back up to Rory and keeping Amelia safe in my arms. Tears coursed down my face.

  Rory’s arms found me. He pulled us up and back into the nursery. The room was full of people cheering. Amelia was taken from me and wrapped in a blanket. Everything was chaos. I collapsed, sobbing into Rory’s arms, and he held me for a long time.

  Cold, saddened beyond belief, and overwhelmed by my ordeal I have no clear memory of how I ended up in the dining room downstairs. The large fire was blazing and a mug of something hot had been put into my hands. Stone came and told me quietly that the doctor had been summoned and that Amelia appeared to have taken no hurt from her adventure, though it was possible she might have a chill tomorrow. He patted my hand, something I could never have imagined him doing, and said, ‘Well done, Miss St John.’ He made no mention of Bertram. Rory had disappeared into the general throng of people milling about. I recognised gardeners and footmen standing side by side drinking soup. This must be the party who had held up the ladder. I wondered who was dealing with Bertram’s body when I saw him coming across the room. His eyes sought me out and he hurried over.

  ‘But I saw you fall,’ I cried.

  Bertram gave a faint smile. ‘Thought it was all over for me,’ he said. ‘But the men over there had gone and got a blanket they held out for me to fall into. Seems no one thought I’d have the strength to hold on for as long as I did. What with that and the snow piled up beneath I’m going to have a lot of bruises …’

  I didn’t let him finish. I was out of my chair, my soup flung on the ground as I wrapped my arms around his neck. ‘I thought I had lost you,’ I sobbed.

  ‘Ow, careful,’ said Bertram awkwardly patting my back. ‘It’s all right, old thing. Bit of an adventure, but we all survived.’

  ‘You were so brave,’ I said, my voice muffled against his shoulder.

  ‘You were magnificent,’ he said and dropped a kiss on my head before taking my arms from around his body.

  There was almost a party atmosphere in the house now the incident was over. It felt like Christmas had come early. We were all giddy with relief. Then Hans walked into the room. I have never seen a man look so angry. We all fell silent. ‘Miss St John, Mr Stapleford, I would be grateful if you could join me in my study.’

  Bertram made a ‘uh-oh’ noise under his breath. He took my arm and we followed Hans from the room. Behind us the sounds of merriment ceased and the clearing up began.

  Hans’ study was a deeply masculine room with a large hearth and wing-backed leather chairs. This evening the fire was cold and no one was sitting. Instead, Richenda was standing awkwardly at the side of the desk, her arm around a weeping Merry, and Rory stood a little apart, his face closed and displaying no emotion. Hans, wearing his glorious green dressing gown, shut the door behind us. ‘I am to understand that my wife, Euphemia,
and Merry tried to play a practical joke on you tonight, Bertram, and as a consequence my daughter was left alone in her nursery with the window open.’ Merry gave a huge sob. Hans appeared unmoved. His voice was cold and dispassionate. ‘My wife assures me she was the leader in this escapade and because of that I can hardly berate the other persons involved. Although I would have thought you, Euphemia, would have had more sense.’

  Rory frowned at this. Bertram burst out ‘Hang on a minute, Hans …’

  Hans put his hand up. ‘I am fully aware that Euphemia risked her own life to save my daughter and for that she has my undying gratitude. I have told her before, but I will restate it now in front of witnesses, Euphemia has a place in my household for life.’

  Rory’s frown vanished.

  ‘I am also aware I owe a deep debt of gratitude to both McLeod and Bertram. That you were obviously willing to give up your life to save my daughter, Bertram, I will never forget. As for your actions, McLeod, I doubt I can ever repay you, but should you ever need anything I can offer - employment, money, reference, even a cottage on my estate, you need only ask. I will be in your debt for the rest of my days.’

  Rory ummed and ahhed and looked both embarrassed and pleased. Hans went over and shook him by the hand. It was clear he was thanking him as an equal and not as a servant. I felt tears prick the back of my eyes. Then, finally, he turned to Merry.

  He spoke carefully and slowly. I realised he was doing his best to rein in his temper. Merry, must also have sensed his ire, for she was cowering with fright. ‘Under the circumstances I must not only dismiss you from my service, but recommend that Sir Richard does the same. I acquit you of deliberate menace, but your negligence cannot go unpunished.’

  Richenda began to protest. ‘My decision is final,’ roared Hans. Everyone in the room started in shock. Hans never raised his voice. Then the master of house turned on his heel and left. Merry collapsed weeping on the floor.