Louis de Bernières - The Dust That Falls From Dreams

‘Of course you’re quite right,’ said Fairhead, ‘but one can still feel sorry for a fool. Every paradise has a serpent hiding in it, doesn’t it? And he turned out to be his own serpent. A very great fool indeed, I’d say.’

‘I find your compassion quite inexplicable and inexcusable,’ said Mrs McCosh. ‘One simply doesn’t declare war on one’s relatives, especially in the royal family.’

‘Edward IV murdered his own brother,’ said Ottilie, ‘and I understand that the sultans murdered their brothers as a matter of course. It was fully expected of them.’

‘I hardly think one can call a sultan royalty,’ declared Mrs McCosh. ‘Why, they’re not even Christian!’

Rosie said, ‘Did he really want an empire? I thought he was just worried about being a sandwich between France and Russia, so he decided to knock out one and then go on and knock out the other.’

‘Ah, the Schlieffen Plan,’ said Fairhead. ‘Yes, you’re right about that.’

‘He was still an absolute fool,’ insisted Gaskell, her green eyes sparking with contempt.

‘May I change the subject?’ asked Daniel, his eyes aglow with mischief. ‘I have a surprise for you. An entertainment. I want everybody here at teatime. Without fail, including Cookie and Millicent, if that’s convenient.’

‘It’s hardly convenient,’ said Mrs McCosh, who had been making a vocation of irritating Daniel for some time now.

‘Of course it is,’ remonstrated her husband. ‘Where else would we be at teatime?’

‘How exciting,’ said Gaskell drily. ‘What a shame I shall not be here to see it.’

‘Christabel will send you a report,’ said Daniel. ‘In fact I will ask her to take photographs.’

At that very moment Christabel came in, even hotter and more flustered than before. ‘Talking about me?’ she said. ‘I hope it was nothing uncomplimentary. Dinner is served. Or, to be more precise, charred.’

‘Cookie, you will take my arm as always,’ said Mr McCosh.

‘And Millicent will take mine,’ said Daniel. He leapt to his feet and offered it to her.

Millicent blushed and placed her arm softly in his. She felt something like a spark pass between them at the contact, and she knew that he had felt it too. She suddenly wished that she had better clothes to wear, even though she was most grateful for Miss Rosie’s cast-offs. After dinner Ottilie would play the piano and she would probably have to take a waltz with Mr Daniel while Cookie took one with Mr McCosh.

Mrs McCosh remembered that it had not, after all, been so unpleasant to take a waltz with the footman, back when they still had one. A scintilla of Christmas spirit sparkled in her eyes, and then quickly faded. It was difficult to enjoy anything these days. She had got halfway through writing a Christmas card to Myrtle, before remembering.

DANIEL AND FAIRHEAD moved all the furniture to the edges of the room, rolled up the carpet and deposited it in the conservatory. Mrs McCosh was displeased, as it was not a man’s duty or vocation to decide upon the placing of furniture, particularly hers. She was further put out by Daniel’s informing her that there might be two extra people for dinner, and possibly to stay the night, but they would be bringing their own tent, as they were reluctant to cause inconvenience, and he was not going to tell anyone who they were, because that was part of the surprise.

‘A tent?’ she cried. ‘A tent? In this weather? In December? At Christmas?’

‘They are both exceedingly tough,’ said Daniel. ‘They have endured far worse than a night in a tent in Court Road, Eltham, and will think it very luxurious. Really, you shouldn’t worry at all. They’ll enjoy it.’

‘And if we are to feed them, where will they eat? If they are people of quality they should eat with us, but the dining table is already a most frightful squeeze. Of course, if they are of the common sort, they may eat in the kitchen.’

‘I have moved a card table into the dining room,’ said Daniel. ‘All it needs is a nice lacy tablecloth.’

‘Christmas is such a trial,’ said Mrs McCosh. ‘I do most sincerely wish the Lord had been born at some other time.’

Rosie, who had been listening to this conversation as she arranged some sprigs of red-berried holly in a vase at the corner table, said, ‘Mama, if He had been born at another time, then that would have been Christmas.’

‘We should have called it something else,’ replied Mrs McCosh loftily.

Ottilie came in and said, ‘When are we opening the presents?’

‘At the usual time,’ said Mrs McCosh. ‘We have “post office” at teatime on Christmas Day.’

‘Can’t we open them at breakfast? Then we’ll have all day to play with them. What about Esther? She’ll be desperate.’

‘No, my dear, anticipation is half the pleasure. Perhaps we shouldn’t tell her it’s Christmas until the evening.’

‘Mama, that’s hardly fair on the poor little thing,’ said Ottilie, and went out again.

‘Why do we give presents at Christmas?’ asked Daniel. ‘I’ve often wondered.’

‘Because that is what they do in the royal family,’ said Mrs McCosh. ‘One tends to emulate one’s betters, if one has any sense.’

‘It’s because God gave us His Son, and the Three Wise Men brought Him gifts,’ said Rosie impatiently. ‘We celebrate the gifts by giving them ourselves.’

‘Oh,’ said Mrs McCosh, disillusioned.

An hour before dark, a hammering was heard in the garden, and Daniel could be seen from the windows, erecting a neat military tent. He came back in, the knees of his trousers muddy and wet. ‘It would start raining the moment I went out,’ he complained. ‘It’s perishing too. If the clouds clear, I think we’ll be in for a frost. By the way, when the bell goes, no one is to answer the door except me, and no one is to go in the morning room. It will become the gentlemen’s dressing room.’

‘Oh, but it’s where the Christmas tree is,’ said Ottilie.

‘We’ll make sure we don’t knock it over,’ said Daniel, ‘and we’ll put out the candles and we won’t interfere with the presents.’

‘You’d better not,’ said Ottilie, ‘or there will be dire consequences.’

‘No presents for peekers!’ said Rosie. ‘It was our family motto when we were little. Do you remember?’

‘Rosie opened all her presents one Christmas,’ said Ottilie. ‘She came down at dawn. And Mama made her sit in the attic practically all day in the dark.’

‘I’ve never been so cold in my life,’ said Rosie. ‘I’ve never been so miserable. Or frightened. Or lonely.’

‘Or contrite,’ said Mrs McCosh, defensively. ‘I’m sure it did you good. I let you out when you started screaming.’

‘I was only six! And you gave all my presents to Dr Barnardo’s.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t do it now,’ said Mrs McCosh.

‘My mother says that the most important thing one can learn from one’s parents is how not to be a parent,’ said Daniel.

‘Quite so,’ replied Mrs McCosh, without irony. ‘Mine were far too indulgent.’

It darkened outside, and the doorbell rang. Daniel ensured that there were no illicit observers, and ushered his muffled guests into the morning room.

This room was divided from the hallway not by a wall but by a large curtain. It served not simply as a morning room, but also as chapel, reception room and waiting room. Mrs McCosh considered it one of the great assets of the house. From the bench against the window one could observe passers-by, and peep surreptitiously in order to discern the identity of whoever was at the porch.

The house grew heavy with conspiracy, and light with anticipation. ‘I wonder what Daniel’s going to do,’ they repeated to each other, as they sat around the edge of the drawing room and sipped on the tea that Millicent served from the trolley. Sophie ate almost all the langues de chat without anyone noticing until it was too late. ‘Who’s having the last one?’ she cried, taking it herself, and exclaiming, ‘A handsome husband and ten thousand a year!’