The Mistletoe Seller: A heartwarming, romantic novel for Christmas from the Sunday Times bestseller

Chapter Two

Spital Square, Spitalfields – 1871

Angel put down her sampler and stared out of the window. The 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 food untouched. She wanted to go to her aunt and comfort her, but Lil’s words of warning made her hesitate, and just when she had made up her mind to ignore them anyway, Lil burst into the room. She trailed her woollen shawl behind her and her straw bonnet was askew, allowing wisps of hair to cling damply to her forehead.

‘I’ve just run all the way from the pharmacy, Angel. The undertaker’s arrived, love. Mrs Wilding is prostrate with grief and there’s no one but you from above stairs to tell him what’s required.’

Angel leaped to her feet. Something to do at last. ‘I’ll speak to him.’

‘Are you sure?’ Lil followed Angel out of the room, clumping down the stairs in her wake. ‘I’ll come with you so that he doesn’t take advantage of your tender years.’

‘I’ll deal with it, Lil. Don’t worry about me.’ Angel hurried to the ground floor where she found the undertaker. He clutched his top hat in his hands, but as he turned to greet her his conciliatory smile faded.

‘I’m sorry, miss, but I really need to see your mother. Will you tell her that Jeremiah Chancellor is here to await her convenience?’

‘Mrs Wilding is my aunt and she is resting at the moment, sir. She must not be disturbed but she will let you have her instructions as soon as possible.’

‘If you would be kind enough to tell her that I called, I’ll come again tomorrow.’

‘Just you wait a minute,’ Lil said brusquely. ‘You ain’t going and leaving the dead body here, are you? The master is stretched out on the dining-room table. It took me and Cook to heave him off the floor and he’s no lightweight.’

‘I have a coffin in the hearse, which is at your disposal,’ Mr Chancellor said stiffly. ‘But it’s customary for the loved ones to rest at home until the funeral.’

‘There is the morning parlour,’ Angel said hastily. ‘I’m sure that would be suitable, but you aren’t going to leave him here for long, are you?’

He looked over the top of Angel’s head, addressing himself to Lil. ‘There’s the question of the necessary arrangements to be made, and there are certain financial matters to discuss. I can only do that with the lady of the house or someone in authority.’

‘My aunt will see you when she is rested, but I’m sure she will agree to any suggestions you might care to make.’ Angel raised her voice, just a little, but even to her ears she sounded youthful and uncertain.

Mr Chancellor turned to Lil. ‘I can’t take instructions from a mere child. Tell your mistress that I’ll be pleased to call on her when she is feeling better.’

Angel could see that Lil was simmering with indignation and was flexing her hands as if at any moment she might seize Mr Chancellor by the collar and eject him from the house. Angel was well aware that Lil had once floored a would-be intruder with an upper cut that would not have disgraced Tom Cribb. It had been the talk of the servants’ hall for months after the event.

‘I can speak for my aunt, sir,’ Angel said firmly. ‘Please go ahead with the necessary arrangements, and if you would be kind enough to call tomorrow morning I am sure Mrs Wilding will be able to see you in person. You must understand that she is too upset to see anyone at the moment.’

Jeremiah Chancellor screwed up his face, as if calculating the risks of taking instructions from a minor, but after a quick glance at his surroundings and the obvious trappings of wealth, he managed a sickly smile. ‘Of course, miss. I’m sorry if I caused offence, but you must realise that in my line of business I have to be careful.’

‘I understand, sir.’ Angel inclined her head graciously, although secretly she would have been pleased to let Lil loose on him. She had a satisfying vision of the pompous gentleman flying down the front steps aided by a shove from Lil, but she managed to control a sudden desire to giggle. ‘Please see Mr Chancellor out, Lil.’

Angel waited until the door closed on him before making her way slowly up the stairs, but as she reached the first floor she could hear her aunt’s sobs through the closed bedroom door. If ever anyone was in need of loving care, it was Aunt Cordelia and, ignoring Lil’s advice, Angel entered the room. The curtains were closed and the four-poster bed loomed large in the shadows. Angel tiptoed over to stand at her aunt’s bedside.

‘Aunt Cordelia, it’s me, Angel.’ When there was no response, Angel lay down on the coverlet and cuddled up to her aunt. ‘Don’t cry. I’ll take care of you just as you took care of me when I was little.’ She rested her cheek against her aunt’s back, placing a protective arm around the slim body, racked with sobs. Angel’s tears, which had been so long in coming, fell unchecked.

Angel was considered to be too young to attend the funeral, despite her protests that she wanted to be there if only to support her aunt, but Cordelia was adamant. She had recovered enough from the shock of her husband’s sudden death to agree to Mr Chancellor’s arrangements for the interment. The day after Mr Chancellor’s visit Angel had accompanied her aunt to Jay’s Mourning Warehouse in Regent Street, where Cordelia was fitted out with her widow’s weeds. Angel was in the awkward stage where she was neither child nor adult, but she wanted to show her respect for her adoptive uncle and she chose a plain grey tussore gown, which she wore with black armbands, similar to those purchased for the servants.

At home the curtains were closed and black crepe ribbon tied to the door knocker indicated that the occupants were in deep mourning. The house in Spital Square had never been filled with music and laughter, but now it was a sad place and the only sounds that echoed throughout the building were the servants’ footsteps on the back stairs and the closing of a door or window.

Two days after the interment, Angel was on her way to her uncle’s study in search of something to read from his small collection of books, when the door flew open and a man hurried out, almost colliding with her.

‘I’m so sorry, my dear. I didn’t know you were there.’

Angel recognised the tall, thin gentleman whose balding head was compensated for by grey mutton-chop whiskers, a curly moustache and a goatee beard, which was a similar shade of ginger to his bushy eyebrows. Geoffrey Galloway was her aunt’s solicitor and when Angel was younger he used to bring her a poke of peppermint creams or a stick of barley sugar. He still treated her as if she were a charming five-year-old. Sometimes growing up was very hard, especially when people failed to see that she was on her way to adulthood.

‘I was going to borrow a book, sir.’ Angel kept her tone neutral and she met his amused gaze with a stony stare.

‘Admirable, young lady. Admirable.’ He smiled vaguely and crossed the hall to where Gilly waited, holding his hat and cane. ‘Good day.’

A warm draught laced with the smell of horse dung and fumes from the gasworks wafted in from the street, and Gilly closed the door after him. She shot a sideways glance at Angel, her mean little face contorted with spite. ‘You won’t be looking down your nose at us servants for much longer, so Cook says.’

Angel paused in the doorway. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Just you wait and see. Cook knows a thing or two.’ Gilly scurried off in the direction of the back stairs, leaving Angel staring after her.

‘Darling, is that you?’ Cordelia’s voice from the depths of the study brought Angel back to reality and she hurried into the room.

‘Are you all right, Aunt Cordelia? What did Mr Galloway want?’

Slumped in her late husband’s leather chair, Cordelia made an effort to smile, but her heart-shaped face was deathly pale and her eyes red-rimmed. ‘We’re ruined, Angel. There’s no easy way to put this, but your uncle’s business venture failed miserably. The brewery has had to close and we’ve lost everything.’

Angel sank down on the chair recently vacated by Mr Galloway – the seat was still warm. ‘I don’t understand. How could that happen?’

‘I don’t pretend to understand business matters, dear. All I know is what Geoffrey just told me. Apparently Joseph played the tables to try to recoup his losses when the business was failing and his last gamble didn’t pay off. Everything has gone, and he mortgaged the house without my knowledge. I’m virtually penniless.’ She buried her head in her hands and her shoulders heaved. ‘We’ll be living on the streets.’

‘No, that can’t be true,’ Angel said stoutly, but then Gilly’s spiteful words came back to her. How the servants could have found out was a puzzle, but then they always seemed to know things before she did. ‘There must be something we could sell to raise money. Perhaps we could find a smaller house to rent.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Angel. Everything has to go – the furniture, my jewellery, the silver – all the things I treasure. The household bills haven’t been paid for months and if I can’t raise the money the bailiffs will come in and take everything. I can’t bear the disgrace.’

‘Isn’t there anyone who could help us?’ Angela asked in desperation. ‘Do you know anyone who could lend you some money to keep us going for a while?’

Cordelia raised her head, gazing at Angel with tears sparkling on the tips of her dark lashes. ‘There is one person who has offered to help, but I don’t think I can bring myself to accept his offer.’

‘Who is it, Aunt? What does he want in return for a loan?’

‘Geoffrey asked me to marry him,’ Cordelia said dully. ‘I’ve known him for years. He’s been Joseph’s solicitor for as long as I can remember, and he used to dine here quite often, but I can’t marry a man I don’t love, even for the sake of keeping a roof over our heads.’

‘He seems like a nice man,’ Angel said slowly. ‘But if you don’t like him …’

‘I do like him, darling. I’ve always liked him, but I loved Joseph.’ Cordelia mopped her eyes with her sodden hanky. ‘I know he was domineering and sometimes impatient, but ours was a love match and I miss him terribly. Anyway, I’m in mourning, and I will be for a year or maybe two.’

‘You mustn’t give it a second thought.’ Angel leaned over the desk to grasp her aunt’s hand. ‘We’ll manage without him, Aunt Cordelia. I’ll find work and we’ll look for somewhere else to live. You won’t have to marry a man you don’t love. I’ll look after you now.’

‘My darling, you’re just a child. I wouldn’t think of placing such responsibility on your young shoulders. But you’re right, we will survive somehow, and the first thing I will do is take my jewellery to the pawnbroker. I won’t allow the bailiffs to take it.’

‘There is my ring, too,’ Angel said slowly. The thought of parting with the one thing that might have belonged to her mother was agonising, but she could not allow her aunt to make all the sacrifices.

‘No, Angel. That is yours and you must keep it always.’ Cordelia frowned, staring down at the jewels on her left hand. ‘I will part with everything other than my wedding ring. Joseph placed that on my finger when I was just twenty, and it will remain there until the day I die.’

Angel knew that at any moment her aunt would burst into tears and that would only make matters worse. She jumped to her feet. ‘There must be other things we can sell, Aunt Cordelia.’

‘The bailiffs will be here this afternoon. We must act quickly if we’re to salvage anything, and even then I dare say it’s against the law, but at this moment I don’t care.’

‘You must stay here,’ Angel said firmly. ‘I’ll go to the pawnshop with Lil. It would be a brave man who tried to get the better of her.’

‘Perhaps you’re right, my darling. I’m afraid I would give in too easily.’ Cordelia rose from the chair, patting the leather arm rests as if saying farewell to an old friend. ‘I have the onerous duty of informing the servants that they will have to find employment elsewhere, but first I’ll fetch my jewellery box. I have a fine gold chain, which you must keep. Thread it through your mama’s ring and hang it around your neck.’

Angel swallowed hard. ‘Thank you, Aunt Cordelia. I’ll treasure it always.’

Angel and Lil returned from their trip to the pawnbroker’s in White’s Row to find the bailiffs already at work. The dining-room table was being hefted onto a cart, together with the chairs, and the sideboard stood on the pavement waiting to be treated with equal lack of care. Angel would have run forward to snatch the portrait of her aunt as a young bride from the hands of a burly carter, but Lil restrained her.

‘Just go indoors, love,’ she said in a low voice that sounded more like a growl. ‘You can’t stop ’em, and they might start asking questions.’

Angel realised that her weighty reticule might cause comment and she tucked it under her arm as she marched up the steps to the front door. It was wide open and Gilly was ineffectually flapping her apron at a porter who was carrying a tea chest filled with Cordelia’s Crown Derby dinner service.

‘Robbers,’ Gilly cried hoarsely. ‘That belongs to the mistress.’

‘Not no more, my duck.’ The man winked at her and continued on his way. A second cart had drawn up outside and a second bailiff pushed past Angel as he entered the house.