The spruce that graced the marble hall was not as tall as the giant firs of Lord and Lady Foxden’s time, before the war, but it was every bit as beautiful.
Trying to find decorations similar to those that had adorned the Foxden family’s Christmas tree, Bess had scoured the shops in Rugby without success. She had almost given up when she spotted a bay window down a side street called Barrow Lane, off Market Street. Approaching the shop, Bess peered through its dusty window and almost cheered. Lined up in front of her, as if they were on parade, were rows of brightly painted Grenadier Guards in red uniforms with black bearskins on their heads and tiny black boots on their wooden feet. They stood in front of two shallow oblong boxes. One was called ‘The Changing of The Guard,’ the other simply ‘Victorian Characters.’
She had never noticed the shop before. A sign hung on rusty hinges above the door. ‘The Old Curiosity Shop.’ Bess laughed, went in, and was stopped in her tracks. The interior of the shop was packed to the rafters with every curio imaginable. Tarnished silver candle sticks, bone-handled sets of silver cutlery and dozens of cruet sets. One wall had been given over to fire guards, brass coal scuttles and copper oil lamps. Further along, tall plant stands, squat china flower pots and crockery of all colours, shapes and sizes was stacked precariously.
Looking behind her, Bess wrinkled her nose. Stuffed animals and birds eyed her. Among them a tiger baring long dagger-like yellow teeth and a brown bear with huge leathery paws and black claws. Bess turned quickly back to the window and asked for the box of soldiers and the Victorian Characters.
The elderly shop assistant leaned into the window and cautiously lifted the soldiers off the lid of the box, returning them carefully to their original homes in the raffia base, before replacing the lid. He did the same with the Victorian characters. ‘These are not new,’ he said, ‘but they’re as good as. They are all perfect, none are chipped.’
‘They are exactly what I want,’ Bess assured him and turning, caught her breath. ‘I would also like the gold angel in the corner of the window.’
The shop assistant put Bess’s items in a delivery box and tied string around it, so it was easy for her to carry. Delighted with her purchases, Bess paid considerably less than she had expected for such a beautiful collection and left the shop.
From Market Street she walked to Church Street, where she had left the car, put her treasures safely on the back seat and drove home.
Bess got back to the hotel to find the Christmas tree, stable in a large bucket of soil, tied to the banister of the stairs. Seeing the decorations, Nancy squealed with joy. Frank blew out his cheeks and made a funny face. ‘It’ll be worth it when it’s finished,’ Bess assured him, taking the other bits and bobs she’d bought through to the office: stocking fillers, wrapping paper and ribbons.
Decorating the tree brought back wonderful memories of the Christmases Bess had spent with the Land Girls on Foxden Acres during the war. She giggled remembering how Polly and Laura had felled one of Lord Foxden’s biggest fir trees. Bringing it back in a trailer on the back of the tractor, they had almost collided with Annabel Hadleigh - a family friend of the Foxdens, and an honorary Land Girl at every opportunity.
Annabel had come up from Kent with food and gifts for the growing number of evacuees staying at Foxden Hall. She helped to decorate the tree, and put prettily wrapped gifts under it, not once asking where the tree had come from.
That was a few days before Annabel and Bess’s brother Tom were secretly married. Bess looked up at the clock. Her brother, sister-in-law, and niece Charlotte would be at her mother’s cottage now. She couldn’t wait to see them.
Ena and Henry were driving up from London on Christmas Eve and staying until New Year. Margot, Bill, and baby Natalie, who was thriving after her premature birth, had to divide their time between the Dudley family and the Burrells, so were coming from Coventry on Christmas Day morning and going back on Boxing Day. And Claire… Claire, Mitch and Aimee would be in Canada this Christmas.
Deep in thought, Bess heard Jack calling her name. ‘Mrs Donnelly? Mrs Donnelly?’
‘Sorry, Jack, I--’
‘Mrs Mitchell,’ he said, shoving the telephone across the desk at Bess, and then letting go of it as if it was on fire, ‘from Canada.’
‘Claire? I was just thinking about you.’
‘Hello, Bess. We’re on our way home. Can’t stop, we’re about to board the aeroplane. I’ll telephone again when we land.’
‘I’m so pleased. How’s Aimee? Is Mitch--?’ The telephone started to crackle and Bess only heard the words see and Christmas. ‘Claire? Claire?’ The phone went dead. Bess handed the receiver back to Jack. ‘Claire’s coming home,’ she said, laughing. And, hugging the receptionist she said, again, ‘Claire is coming home.’
Bess ran across the marble hall to Frank and Nancy. ‘Guess what?’ She said, ‘Claire has just telephoned. They’re about to board a plane for England.’ She crouched down in front of Nancy. ‘Your friend Aimee will be here for Christmas.’
Nancy’s face lit up. ‘Then we had better get this fairy on top of the tree,’ Frank said. Taking it out of the box, he followed Nancy to where, three-quarters of the way up, on the bend of the sweeping staircase, he had tied the tree to the banister.
Frank gave Nancy the gold fairy and, picking her up, leant over the banister. Bess held her breath. In Frank’s strong arms Nancy reached out and placed the fairy on the topmost branch of the spruce.
