The Mistletoe Seller. Dilly Court

square was bustling with life and the sun was shining. She longed to go outside but she was forbidden to leave the house unless accompanied by Lil Heavitree, her nursemaid, although at eleven years of age she thought it ridiculous for a big girl like herself to be waited upon hand and foot by an old woman. Lil must be forty, if she was a day, and her large ungainly figure seemed to broaden with every passing year. Clumsy and prone to using bad language when she forgot herself, Lil was looked down upon by the other servants and Angel was constantly flying to her defence, particularly when her guardian’s personal maid, Miss Nixon, used her wiles to get poor Lil into trouble. Quite often, when Lil’s innate clumsiness had caused her to smash a valuable figurine or one of Mrs Wilding’s best Crown Derby dinner plates, Angel had taken the blame. Aunt Cordelia might grumble, but she would forgive Angel, whereas Lil would probably lose her job. There were times when Angel heard the underservants calling Lil names, referring to her as Lumpy Lil and taunting her about her former life. Angel was not sure what Lil’s crimes had been, but they haunted the poor woman even after nearly twelve years of devoted service.

      Angel leaned forward, attracted by the cries of a young woman selling strawberries. Aunt Cordelia loved the sweet succulent fruit and the season when they were at their best was far too short. Angel leaped to her feet with a show of lace-trimmed pantalettes and a swirl of her silk taffeta tartan skirts, and she ran from the room, grabbing her reticule on the way out. The coins clanked together merrily as she raced down three flights of stairs, flying past the startled housemaid as she crossed the entrance hall and let herself out into the street, just in time to catch the strawberry seller before she moved on to Norton Folgate.

      With a punnet clutched in her hand Angel went to find Aunt Cordelia, but her way to the drawing room was barred by Miss Nixon.

      ‘Where do you think you’re going, miss?’

      Her enthusiasm dashed by Miss Nixon’s tight-lipped expression and sharp tone, Angel wafted the strawberries under the maid’s nose. ‘I bought these with my own money as a present for my aunt.’

      ‘Have you no sense, child?’ Miss Nixon’s voice was laced with acid. ‘The master is dead. Do you think that a few berries will mend a broken heart?’

      Angel stared at her blankly. She heard the words but they made no sense. ‘He can’t be,’ she whispered. ‘I saw him yesterday and he greeted me with such a kind smile.’

      ‘That may be so but he was taken suddenly. An apoplectic fit, so the doctor said. Anyway, it’s none of your business. Go to your room and don’t bother Mrs Wilding. She’s prostrate with grief.’

      Slowly, Angel ascended the stairs. The smell of the warm berries was suddenly nauseating, much as she loved the fruit, and she abandoned the punnet on one of the carved mahogany tables that were placed strategically on each landing. The old nursery on the third floor was now a schoolroom, but Angel’s governess had retired recently, leaving a gap in her life once filled with lessons on history, grammar and mathematics. Aunt Cordelia had insisted that Angel should receive an education fit for a young lady, although Uncle Joseph often stated within Angel’s hearing that filling girls’ heads with knowledge was a waste of time – and now he was dead. It was hard to believe that a large, ruddy-faced man, seemingly in the prime of life, should have been struck down so cruelly. Angel entered the schoolroom to find Lil waiting for her.

      ‘You’ve been told, have you?’

      ‘Miss Nixon said my uncle is dead. Is it true, Lil?’

      ‘Dead as a doornail, love. Felled like an ox, he was. Just got up from the breakfast table, so Florrie says, and collapsed at her feet, and her still holding the coffeepot. It’s a wonder she never spilled it all over him. Not that he’d have felt a thing. He were a goner for sure, and the missis screamed and fell down in a dead faint. Such a to-do.’

      ‘How awful,’ Angel said sadly. ‘It must have come as a terrible shock. I ought to comfort her. Do you think I should go to her now, Lil?’

      ‘Not at this minute, my lovely. The doctor’s been and given her a strong dose of laudanum, and the undertaker will be here any minute. Just stay up here until the missis sends for you.’

      ‘I bought her some strawberries.’ Angel walked over to the window and peered out. ‘It’s such a lovely day.’

      ‘It don’t matter whether it’s raining or sunny – when your time is up, that’s it. The master has gone to his Maker, and I don’t doubt that worry was partly to blame.’

      ‘Worry?’ Angel was quick to hear the change in Lil’s tone. ‘Why was he worried?’

      ‘Well, whatever it was he’s out of it now.’ Lil smoothed her starched white apron with her work-worn hands. ‘I can’t dawdle about here all day. There’s work to do. I just came to make sure you was all right.’ Lil gave her a searching look. ‘You ain’t going to pipe your eye, are you?’

      ‘No, I feel sad, but somehow I can’t cry for Uncle Joseph. I know he never wanted me to come and live here.’

      Lil twisted her lips into a crooked smile. ‘That was true at the outset, but he came round in the end. The missis can be very persuasive when she puts her mind to it. Now I really must get my carcass downstairs and offer to help or I’ll never hear the last of it.’ She waddled to the door, but she hesitated and turned to give Angel an encouraging smile before leaving.

      Left to her own devices there was little that Angel could do other than wait for her aunt to send for her, but the call did not come. Luncheon was normally brought to the schoolroom at midday, unless Angel was invited to take the meal with her aunt, but she waited until she heard the clock in the hall strike one, and then she took matters into her own hands and went downstairs to the basement kitchen.

      Cook and the young housemaid, Gilly, stared at her as if she were a ghost.

      ‘You should be upstairs in the nursery, miss,’ Cook said severely.

      ‘It’s not the nursery now,’ Angel countered. ‘It’s the schoolroom, and I’m hungry. Where’s Lil?’

      ‘She went to the pharmacy to purchase some laudanum for madam – doctor’s orders. She’s to be kept quiet in a darkened room, and she don’t want to be bothered with the likes of you.’

      Angel was taken aback by Cook’s response. She had never been a cheery soul, but now her tone was belligerent and downright disrespectful. Angel had known from an early age that she was not related to the Wildings by blood, and that she had been adopted by Aunt Cordelia when she was just a baby, but the servants had always treated her with due deference, until now.

      ‘I would like my food sent to the schoolroom, Cook. When Lil returns, please send her to me.’ Angel shot a withering look at Gilly, who was giggling helplessly. ‘I’m glad you think it’s funny. This is supposed to be a house of mourning.’

      Gilly’s jaw dropped and she backed into the scullery. ‘Sorry, miss.’

      ‘On second thoughts, I’ll help myself,’ Angel said, ignoring Cook’s tight-lipped expression as she cut several slices from a freshly baked loaf of bread. ‘Is there any ham or meat left from dinner last evening?’

      Reluctantly Cook opened the larder door and took out a plate of cold beef. She placed it on the table. ‘Is there anything else, miss?’

      ‘You wouldn’t treat me so rudely if my uncle were still alive.’ Angel added some meat to her plate and a pat of butter. ‘My aunt will hear of this.’

      ‘You’ve got a nasty surprise coming to you, miss. You won’t be so high and mighty when the bailiffs arrive.’

      Angel hesitated in the doorway. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

      ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ Cook turned her back on Angel and returned to the range where she had been stirring a bubbling pan of soup.

      Angel took the plate to her room, but as she nibbled a slice of bread and butter her appetite deserted her and she left the remainder of the