Page 19 of It Always Snows on Mistletoe Square
‘You must be Mr Jenkins,’ she says as she reaches the bottom of the stairs.
The man gives a small bow. ‘I am indeed, madam.’
‘I understand my husband has made all the necessary arrangements,’ Celeste continues in a formal voice.
‘He has.’ The gentleman nods. ‘We are most grateful to him. Your husband was very generous in his donation.’
‘I’m sure. You’ll take care of him, won’t you?’ Celeste asks, clearly prolonging the awful moment a little longer.
‘Madam, I can assure you we take care of all our children extremely well.’
Celeste nods, but as she gazes down at the baby in her arms she looks heartbroken.
The gentleman holds out his arms. But Celeste isn’t ready to let go.
‘I understand this is difficult,’ the man says gently. ‘But it is for the best.’
‘Is it?’ Celeste asks, her pale cheeks flushing. ‘For who? Not for myself or my daughter upstairs sobbing her heart out. Not for this little one, so new to the world, so innocent, so very, very loved.’
Celeste begins to shake, and inside the bundle of blankets the baby wakes, and a tiny hand emerges.
‘Madam, please.’ The man holds his arms out again.
‘The token, m’lady?’ Edith suggests, buying Celeste a few more precious moments with her grandson. ‘Why don’t you give him the token?’
‘Yes, the token,’ Celeste says gratefully. With one hand she reaches into a small pocket at the front of her dress. ‘Please take this as a token of our love for the boy.’ She gazes down at a tiny piece of red velvet in her hand. ‘Just in case one day … ’ But it’s suddenly all too much for her. As the tears begin to roll down her cheeks she buries her face in the baby’s blankets.
Edith quickly takes the token from her. ‘The young mistress upstairs embroidered it herself,’ she says to the man, holding out a tiny red velvet heart, no bigger than the silver locket Celeste wears around her neck. ‘So we stitched it into this token to carry with him.’
The man takes the heart from Edith. He pulls out an eyeglass from his waistcoat pocket so he can examine it more closely. ‘It is indeed a work of art. Mistletoe, holly and ivy, and is that the wordsSt Nicholasstitched in gold?’ he asks, squinting so he can pick out the tiny details.
‘It is,’ Celeste says, recovering a little. She still holds the baby so close to her, I can’t imagine she will ever be able to let him go. ‘The winter greenery is to remind him when he was born,’ she continues, her voice beginning to crack again. ‘And St Nicholas, because he’s the patron saint of children. Which is why my first husband had it painted over our door.’ She points up to the fanlight, and I can just make out the words etched in gold over the glass. ‘When he was alive he felt very passionately that children must be protected and looked after. So we have included it on the token in the hope this little one will be protected too, and if such a time ever came, and he was able to return to us … ’ Her voice falters again.
‘Please do not fret, madam,’ the man assures her. ‘It will be kept safe. As all our children’s tokens are.’ He tucks the token away safely inside his jacket with his eyeglass, then he holds out his arms again. ‘Please?’
This time Celeste nods. She gently kisses the baby, and allows the man to take him. As the baby is removed from her arms, we see her visibly wilt as her legs buckle underneath her, and Edith immediately rushes over to support her.
‘I will keep him safe, I promise you,’ the man says, looking quite moved. The baby now safely in his arms, he moves towards the door. ‘And I will make sure the heart stays with him always.’
Celeste has now collapsed on the stairs sobbing, while Edith crouches next to her, trying to provide some comfort.
The man opens the door ready to let himself out; some flakes of snow blow in through the open door as he does. He turns back to the women, bows quickly, then puts his top hat back on before beginning to back slowly outside.
‘Good evening to you both.’ He pauses on the steps and I feel a chill wind whistle through the entrance to the house. ‘I wish you a merry … my apologies … apeacefulChristmas may be more appropriate in the circumstances.’
‘Let us return,’ Estelle says, her head bowed as she turns towards the sitting room.
Six
Bloomsbury,London
19 December 2018
I follow the other two back into the sitting room and I’m amazed to find that the room has transformed back to its original decor.
‘How is this even possible?’ I ask, looking around me. ‘It can’t go from one thing to another and back again so fast?’
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Estelle gestures to the armchair opposite her as she eases herself into her own chair.
