A Christmas Guest Read online

“We are on a marsh,” Grandmama sniffed. “Probably everything is sinking. It is a miracle we are not up to our knees in mud, or worse!”

  And so it passed for most of the next two long-drawn-out days. Walking in the garden was miserable; almost everything had died back into the earth, the trees were leafless and black and seemed to drip incessantly. It was too late even for the last roses, and too early for the first snowdrops.

  There was nothing worth doing, no one to speak to or visit. Those who did call were excruciatingly boring. They had nothing to talk about except people Grandmama did not know, or wish to. They had never been to London and knew nothing of fashion, society, or even current events of any importance in the world.

  Then in the middle of the second afternoon a letter arrived for Joshua. He tore it open as they were having tea in the withdrawing room, the fire roaring halfway up the chimney, rain beating on the window in the dark as heavy clouds obscured even the shreds of winter light. There was hot tea on a silver tray and toasted crumpets with butter melted into them and golden syrup on top. Cook had made a particularly good Madeira cake and drop scones accompanied by butter, raspberry jam, and cream so thick one could have eaten it with a fork.

  “It’s a letter from Aunt Bedelia,” Joshua said, looking at Caroline, a frown on his face. “She says Aunt Maude has returned without any warning, from the Middle East, and expects them to put her up for Christmas. But it’s quite impossible. They have another guest of great importance whom they cannot turn out to make room for her.”

  “But it’s Christmas!” Caroline said with dismay. “Surely they can make room somehow? They can’t turn her away. She’s family. Have they a very small house? Perhaps a neighbor would accommodate her, at least overnight?”

  Joshua’s face tightened. He looked troubled and a little embarrassed. “No, their house is large, at least five or six bedrooms.”

  “If they have plenty of room, then what is this about?” Caroline asked, an edge to her voice, as if she feared the answer.

  Joshua lowered his eyes. “I don’t know. I called her Aunt Bedelia, but actually she is my mother’s cousin and I never knew her very well, or her sister Agnes. And Maude left England about the time I was born.”

  “Left England?” Caroline was astounded. “You mean permanently?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “Why?”

  Joshua colored unhappily. “I don’t know. No one will say.”

  “It sounds as if they simply don’t want her there,” Grandmama said candidly. “As an excuse it is tissue-thin. What on earth do they expect you to do?”

  Joshua looked straight at her and his eyes made her feel uncomfortable, although she had no idea why. He had fine eyes, a dark hazel-brown and very direct.

  “Mama-in-law,” he replied, using a title for her to which he had no right at all. “They are sending her here.”

  “That’s preposterous!” Grandmama said more loudly than she had intended. “What can you do about it?”

  “Make her welcome,” he replied. “It will not be difficult. We have two other bedrooms.”

  Caroline hesitated only a moment. “Of course,” she agreed, smiling. “There is plenty of everything. It will be no trouble at all.”

  Grandmama could hardly believe it! They were going to have this wretched woman here! As if being banished herself, like secondhand furniture, were not bad enough, now she would have to divide what little attention or courtesy she received with some miserable woman, whose own family could not endure her. They would have to cater to her needs and no doubt listen to endless, pointless stories of whatever benighted spot she had been in. It was all really far too much.

  “I have a headache,” she announced, and rose to her feet. “I shall go and lie down in my room.” She stumped over to the door, deliberately leaning heavily on her stick, which actually she did not require.

  “Good idea,” Caroline agreed tartly. “Dinner will be at eight.”

  Grandmama could not immediately make up her mind whether to be an hour early, or fifteen minutes late. Perhaps early would be better. If she were late they were just rude enough to start without her, and she would miss the soup.

  Maude Barrington arrived the following morning, alighting without assistance from the carriage that had brought her and walking with an easy step up to the front door where Joshua and Caroline were waiting for her. Grandmama had chosen to watch from the withdrawing room window, where she had an excellent view without either seeming inquisitive, which was so vulgar, or having to pretend to be pleased and welcoming, which would be farcical. She was furious.

  Maude was quite tall and unbecomingly square-shouldered. A gentle curve would have been better, more feminine. Her hair appeared to be of no particular color but at least there was plenty of it. At the moment far too much poked out from underneath a hat that might have been fashionable once, but was now a disaster. She wore a traveling costume that looked as if it had been traipsed around most of the world, especially the hot and dusty parts, and now had no distinguishable shape or color left.

  Maude herself could never have been pretty—her features were too strong. Her mouth in particular was anything but dainty. It was impossible to judge accurately how old she was, other than between fifty and sixty. Her stride was that of a young woman—or perhaps a young man would have been more accurate. Her skin was appalling! Either no one had ever told her not to sit in the sun, or she had totally ignored them. It was positively weather-beaten, burned, and a most unfortunate shade of ruddy brown. Heaven only knew where she had been! She looked like a native! No wonder her family did not want her there at Christmas. They might wish to entertain guests, and they could hardly lock her away.

  But it was monstrous that they should wish her on Joshua and Caroline, not to mention their guests!

  She heard voices in the hallway, and then footsteps up the stairs. No doubt at luncheon she would meet this miserable woman and have to be civil to her.

  And so it turned out. One would have expected in the circumstances that the wretched creature would have remained silent, and spoken only when invited to do so. On the contrary, she engaged in conversation in answer to the merest question, and where a word or two would have been quite sufficient.

  “I understand you have just returned from abroad,” Caroline said courteously. “I hope it was pleasant?” She left it open for an easy dismissal if it were not a subject Maude wished to discuss.

  But apparently it was. A broad smile lit Maude’s face, bringing life to her eyes, even passion. “It was marvelous!” she said, her voice vibrant. “The world is more terrible and beautiful than we can possibly imagine, or believe, even after one has seen great stretches of it. There are always new shocks and new miracles around each corner.”

  “Were you away long?” Caroline asked, apparently forgetting what Joshua had told her. Perhaps she did not wish to appear to Maude as if they had been discussing her.

  Maude smiled, showing excellent teeth, even though her mouth was much too big. “Forty years,” she replied. “I fell in love.”

  Caroline clearly did not know what to make of that. Maude’s hands were innocent of rings and she had introduced herself by her maiden name. The only decent thing to do would have been to avoid the subject, but she had made that impossible. No wonder they had found it intolerable to have her at home. Really, this imposition was too much!

  Maude glanced at Grandmama, and cannot have failed to see the disapproval in her face. “In love with the desert,” she explained lightly. “And cities like Marrakech. Have you ever been to a Muslim city in Africa, Mrs. Ellison?”

  Grandmama was outraged.

  “Certainly not!” she snapped. The question was ridiculous. What decent Englishwoman would do such a thing?

  Maude was not to be stopped. She leaned forward over the table, soup forgotten. “It is flat, an oasis facing the Atlas Mountains, and stretches out from the great red tower of the Koutoubya to the blue-palmed fringes and the sands
beyond. The Almoravid princes who founded it came with their hordes from the black desert of Senegal, and built palaces of beauty to rival anything on earth.”

  Caroline and Joshua forgot their soup also, though Grandmama did not.

  “They imported masters of chiseled plaster, gilded cedar, and ceramic mosaics,” Maude continued. “They created garden beyond garden, courts that led to the other courts and apartments, some high in the sunlight, others deep within walls and shadows and running water.” She smiled at some inner delight. “One can walk in the green gloom of a cypress garden. Or breathe in the cool sweetness of a tunnel of jasmine where the light is soft and ever whispering with the sound of water and the murmur of pigeons as they preen themselves. There are alabaster urns, light through jeweled glass, and vermilion doors painted with arabesques in gold.” She stopped for a moment to draw breath.

  Grandmama felt excluded from this magic that Maude had seen, and from the table where Joshua and Caroline hung on every word. She was totally unnecessary here. She wanted to dismiss it all as foreign, and completely vulgar, but deeply against her will she was fascinated. Naturally she would not dream of saying so.

  “And you were allowed to see all these things?” Caroline said in amazement.

  “I lived there, for a while,” Maude answered, her eyes bright with memory. “It was a superb time, something marvelous or terrible every week. I have never been more intensely alive! The world is so beautiful sometimes I felt as if I could hardly bear it. One gazes at things that hurt with the passion of their loveliness.” She smiled but her eyes were misted with tears. “Dusk in a Persian garden, the sun’s fire dying on the mountains in purple and umber and rose; the call of the little owls in the coolness of the night; dimpled water over old stones; the perfume of jasmine in the moonlight, rich as sweet oil and clear as the stars; firelight reflected on a copper drum.”

  She pushed her soup away, too filled with emotion to eat. “I could go on forever. I cannot imagine boredom. Surely it is worse than dying, like some terrible, corroding illness that leaves you neither the joy and the hunger of life nor the release of death. Even that exquisite squeezing of the heart because you cannot hold the light forever is better than not to have seen it or loved it at all.”

  Grandmama had no idea what on earth she was babbling about! Of course she hadn’t. At least not more than a needle-sharp suspicion, like a wound too deep to feel at first, narrow as a blade of envy, cutting almost without awareness.

  What would anyone reply to such a thing? There ought to be something, but what was there that met such a … a baring of emotion? It was unseemly, like taking off one’s clothes in public. No taste at all. That was what came of traveling to foreign parts, and not only foreign but heathen as well. It would be best to ignore the whole episode.

  But of course that was quite impossible. The afternoon was cold but quite clear and sunny, although the wind was sharp. Escape was the only solution.

  “I shall go for a walk,” she announced after luncheon was over. “Perhaps a breath of sea air would be pleasant.”

  “What an excellent idea,” Maude said with enthusiasm. “It is a perfect day. Do you mind if I come with you?”

  What could she say? She could hardly refuse. “I’m afraid there will be no jasmine flowers or owls, or sunset over the desert,” she replied coolly. “And I daresay you will find it very chilly … and … ordinary.”

  A shadow crossed Maude’s face, but whether it was the thought of the lonely marsh and sea wind, or the rejection implicit in Grandmama’s reply, it was impossible to say.

  Grandmama felt a jab of guilt. The woman had been refused the comfort or sanctuary of her own home. She deserved at least civility. “But of course you are welcome to come,” she added grudgingly. Blast the woman for putting her in a position where she had to say that.

  Maude smiled. “Thank you.”

  They set out together, well wrapped up with capes and shawls, and of course strong winter boots. Grandmama closed the gate and immediately turned to the lane toward the sea. In the summer it would be overhung with may blossom and the hedgerows deep with flowers. Now it was merely sparse and wet. If the wind were cold enough, after all her living in the desert and such places, the very damp of it alone should be sufficient to make Maude tire of the idea within half an hour at the most.

  But Maude was indecently healthy and used to walking. It took Grandmama all her breath and strength to keep up with her. It was roughly a mile to the seashore itself and Maude did not hesitate in her stride even once. She seemed to take it for granted that the old lady would have no difficulty in keeping up, which was extremely irritating and quite thoughtless of her. Grandmama was at least fifteen years older, if not more, and of course she was a lady, not some creature who gallivanted all over the world and went around on her feet as if she had no carriage to her name.

  The sky above them was wide and wild, an aching void of blue with just a few clouds like mares’ tails shredded across the east on the horizon above the sea. Gulls, dazzling white in the winter sun, wheeled and soared in the air, letting out their shrill cries like noisy children. The wind rippled the grass, flowerless, and everything smelled of salt.

  “This is wonderful!” Maude said happily. “I have never smelled anything so clean and so madly alive. It is as if the whole world were full of laughter. It is so good to be back in England. I forgot how the spirit of the land is still so untamed, in spite of all we’ve done. I was in Snave so short a time I had no chance to get out of the house!”

  She is not sane, Grandmama thought to herself grimly. No wonder her family wants to get rid of her!

  They breasted the rise and the whole panorama of the English Channel opened up before them, the long stretch of sand, wind, and water bleached till it gleamed bone pale in the light. The surf broke in ranks of white waves, hissing up the shore, foaming like lace, consuming themselves, and rushing back again. Then a moment later they roared in inches higher, never tired of the game. The surface was cold, unshadowed blue, and it stretched out endlessly till it met the sky. They both knew that France was not much more than twenty miles away, but today the horizon was smudged and softened with mist that blurred the line.

  Maude stood with her head high, wind unraveling the last of her hair from its pins and all but taking her shawl as well.

  “Isn’t it glorious?” she asked. “Until this moment I had forgotten just how much I love the sea, its width, its shining, endless possibilities. It’s never the same two moments together.”

  “It always looks the same to me,” Grandmama said ungraciously. How could anyone be so pointlessly joyous? It was half-witted! “Cold, wet, and only too happy to drown you if you are foolish enough to give it the chance,” she finished.

  Maude burst into laughter. She stood on the shore with her eyes closed, her face lifted upward, smiling, and the wind billowing her shawl and her skirts.

  Grandmama swiveled around and stamped back onto the tussock grass, or whatever it was that tangled her feet, and started back along the lane. The woman was as mad as a hatter. It was unendurable that anyone should be expected to put up with her.

  The following day was no better. Maude usurped every moment by regaling them with tales of boating on the Nile, buffalo standing in the water, unnameable insects, and tombs of kings who worshipped animals! All very fashionable, perhaps, but disgusting. Both Caroline and Joshua took hospitality too far, and pretended to be absorbed in it, even encouraging her by asking questions.

  Of course the wretched woman obliged, particularly at the dinner table. And all through the roast beef, the Yorkshire pudding and the vegetables, followed by apple charlotte and cream, her captive audience were made to listen to descriptions of ruined gardens in Persia.

  “I stood there in the sand of the stream splashing its way over the blue tiles, most of them broken,” Maude said, smiling as her eyes misted with memory. “We were quite high up and I looked through the old trees toward the flat, brown pla
in, and saw those roads: to the east toward Samarkand, to the west to Baghdad, and to the south to Isfahan, and my imagination soared into flight. The very names are like an incantation. As dusk drew around me and the pale colors deepened to gold and fire and that strange richness of porphyry, in my mind I could hear the camel bells and see that odd, lurching gait of theirs as they moved silently like dreams through the coming night, bound on adventures of the soul.”

  “Isn’t it hard sometimes?” Caroline asked, not in criticism but perhaps even sympathy.

  “Oh yes! Often,” Maude agreed. “You are thirsty, your body aches, and of course you can become so tired you would sell everything you possess for a good night’s sleep. But you know it will be worth it. And it always is. The pain is only for a moment, the joy is forever.”

  And so it went on. Now and then she picked at the macadamia nuts she had brought to the table to share, saying that her family had given them to her, knowing her weakness for them.

  Only Joshua accepted.

  “Indigestible,” Grandmama said, growing more and more irritated by it all.

  “I know,” Maude agreed. “I daresay I shall be sorry tonight. But a little peppermint water will help.”

  “I prefer not to be so foolish in the first place,” Grandmama said icily.

  “Do you have peppermint water?” Caroline asked. “I can give you some, if you wish?”

  “I prefer to exercise a little self-control in the first place,” Grandmama answered, as if the offer had been addressed to her.

  Maude smiled. “Thank you, but I have one dose, and I’m sure that will be sufficient. There are not so many nuts, and I can’t resist them.”

  She offered the dish to Joshua again and he took two more, and asked her to continue with her tales of Persia.

  Grandmama tried to ignore it.

  It seemed as if morning, noon, and night they were obliged to talk about or listen to accounts of some alien place, and pretend to be interested. She had been right in the very beginning: This was going to be the worst Christmas of her life. She would never forgive Emily for banishing her here. It was a monstrous thing to have done.