Page 30 of It Always Snows on Mistletoe Square
Timothy claps his hands in excitement. ‘Ooh no, we mustn’t do that. Come on, Belle. Let’s go! You’re going to love this.’
‘Shush,’ Nanny Avery says, holding her finger to her lips. ‘Your mother is resting before her dinner party tonight. We mustn’t wake her.’
Timothy silently puts his gloved finger to his own lips. ‘Let’s tip-toe,’ he whispers as the two children and their nanny creep out of the house together.
I turn back towards the others.
Estelle looks calm and composed as always in her chair, which has now changed into a high-backed carved walnut chair with green silk upholstery. Angela is examining the Victorian Christmas tree decorations, and Ben is sitting in his chair next to me looking shell-shocked.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask him gently.
He turns slowly towards my voice. ‘What … is … going … on?’ he asks, staring at me with wide eyes. ‘Where are we?’
‘We are still in Christmas House,’ Estelle explains. ‘We are just seeing it as it was in the past, that is all.’
‘How … ’ Ben begins, but he is interrupted by Estelle.
‘No time for questions! Do you want to see what’s going on in the rest of the house right now?’
‘Ooh, yes!’ Angela says. ‘Kitchen?’
‘You read my mind,’ Estelle replies, climbing with ease once more from her chair. ‘This way.’
We all follow Estelle out into the hall where just a few moments ago the two children and their nanny stood.
‘Did she see us?’ I hear Angela quietly ask Estelle as we head along the hall. ‘Through the mirror, I mean?’
‘She may have done briefly.’
‘But I thought it was just children and animals.’
‘Not now, Angela,’ Estelle whispers, glancing back at us. But Ben is still in a daze, and I pretend to be busy looking at the decor in the hall, which is almost as busy as the newly transformed parlour. The floor tiles are still the same pattern, but the walls are dark like the parlour, half wallpaper and half thick green tiles. The top half of the walls are decorated with watercolour paintings, complicated embroideries and a few framed black-and-white portraits of the family’s faces in silhouette.
Estelle leads us down a set of stairs that usually would lead to her basement, but instead we find ourselves in a large Victorian kitchen.
‘The kitchen is down here now,’ I whisper, looking around me. For some reason I assumed the kitchen would have always been at the end of the hall like it is now, but of course it would have been downstairs in Victorian times. This Victorian kitchen consists of a huge black range cooker, a basic square sink with a hand pump over it to provide water, a set of brass servants’ bells on the wall, with plaques underneath them that correspond to various rooms in the house, and in the middle of the room a wooden table where two women – who remind me a lot of Edith and Beth – stand wearing plain grey dresses, white aprons and white mop caps. They are busily chopping and mixing, while pots boil and bubble on the stove. There’s an unpleasant smell in the kitchen and it’s also roasting hot.
‘Now, Iris,’ the older woman instructs. ‘You chop up that ox tongue really well now, won’t you, while I prepare the fruit and spices.’
‘Yes, Mrs Bow,’ Iris says, using a fork to prong some grey-looking meat and wielding a sharp knife to slice it with.
‘Is that really a cow’s tongue?’ I ask, wrinkling up my nose as we watch Iris cut into the meat. ‘It stinks.’
‘They’re making mince pies,’ Angela says, going over to the table to peer over Mrs Bow’s shoulder. ‘The traditional way too.’
‘With meat?’ I pull even more of a disgusted face.
Angela grins. ‘Yep, they made them with fruit and spices – just like we have them today, but with the addition of meat, usually ox’s tongue.’
I hear Ben make a retching sound next to me.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask.
‘Are you?’ Ben holds a white handkerchief over his nose and mouth. ‘This was crazy enough before we came down here, but that smell is enough to finish me off.’
‘We won’t be here long,’ Estelle says. ‘I just wanted you to see some of the preparations for tonight’s dinner party.’
Mrs Bow finishes mixing the fruit and spices, and begins rolling out some pastry while instructing Iris. ‘That’s it – now mix the meat into the bowl with the other ingredients.’ Iris does as she’s told and then Mrs Bow takes a spoon and scoops up some of the mixture. ‘Now for a little taste,’ she says, popping the spoon in her mouth. ‘Mmm, now that is good.’
