Christmas with the Knights

1

When I stepped off the train, a wave of Christmas cheer washed over me despite feeling worried about the way I’d decided to spend the next few weeks. It was much colder here in Dorset than it had been in London, and in the weak afternoon sunlight frost sparkled on the bushes and my breath puffed out in smoky clouds. I piled my suitcases into the waiting taxi and pressed my nose against the cold glass as we drove through pretty villages, their decorations up and festooned trees standing in every window. As we paused at traffic lights outside a church, I saw a group of carol singers, muffled up against the cold in scarves and hats, and quickly wound my window down so that I could hear a snatch of their music before we drove on. It was one of my favourites, and I joined in softly as they sang:

‘ O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie.

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep, the silent stars go by …’

‘Looking forward to Christmas, are you?’ enquired my driver.

‘Oh yes, I love it. Do you think we’ll get snow down here?’

She shrugged.

‘We often do, so you might be in luck. Staying with the Lords, are you? Up at the house?’

‘I’m working for Bunny – helping to look after her twins.’

‘Ah, of course, they’ll be up for Christmas as usual. Well, you’ll certainly be busy.’

I didn’t want to gossip about my new employers, but I couldn’t help asking: ‘Are they…nice?’

She laughed.

‘You’ll have a memorable time with them, that’s all I’ll say.’

I didn’t have time to ask her what she meant, because we were pulling up on a sweeping gravel driveway outside an enormous house, disturbing three or four large crows who cawed loudly as they flew to perch in the branches of a grand oak tree, stripped now of its leaves. Frost iced the holly trees that grew to one side of the drive, their red berries glowing through the sprinkling of wintry glitter. Opposite them a rather overgrown yew hedge, also dusted with white, ran alongside a small stream, still bravely flowing despite the cold day. A pair of mallards snuggled together beside it on a mossy stone ledge, their feathers fluffed up, and – alighting from the taxi – I rummaged in my bag for some leftover oat biscuits to share with them. A rustling drew my attention away from the ducks, and I turned slowly to see the russet face and bright, black eyes of a fox watching me from a gap in the hedge.

‘Hello, Fox,’ I said softly. It retreated a step or two but didn’t run away. ‘Are you hungry too? Let me see what else I’ve got.’ I looked again and found half a cheese sandwich, which I threw in its direction. The fox sniffed it suspiciously, then picked it up delicately, glanced at me and turned, disappearing into the dense woodland behind. I wondered what other animals I would see if I waited long enough – a hare, maybe – but turned my attention back to the house.

I stared up at its imposing stone chimneys and asymmetric gabled roofs, silhouetted against the pale sky and jewelled with icicles, and wondered how many bedrooms it had. Eight at least, surely? Lights shone warmly in two of the windows and someone had strung fairy lights in another. They twinkled gently into the chilly day, invitingly festive. An extravagant wreath hung from the front door, made from the evergreens growing around the house and finished off with an enormous red velvet bow and – I peered a little closer – yes, a couple of plastic Bluey figurines placed incongruously amongst the foliage, surely the work of the twins I was going to look after. It couldn’t be any more different from my neat, two-bedroomed newbuild with its astroturfed postage stamp of a front lawn and white uPVC porch. The elegance of the house was only slightly marred by a giant inflatable chimney next to the door, out of which a wheezing, blow-up Father Christmas emerged arthritically every minute or so. He wobbled, lopsided, for a few moments before descending again with what looked to me distinctly like relief. I could relate to that. All I wanted to do was crawl under my duvet away from all society with some high-sugar, high-carb snacks and try to numb the pain not only of Timothy’s desertion, but of a wasted decade, waiting for something that would never happen. But here I was, so I had better get on with it.

Until now, I had led a sensible life and I never made rash decisions. But when Timothy ended things, I found myself with three of them under my belt in as many days. Hard-working and well-behaved, I had made my way through school and a teaching degree without causing many ripples in my own life or anyone else’s. I wore sensible clothes, ate sensible food and read sensible books. Now and again, I explored sensible hobbies such as quilting and fell-walking. I had been in my sensible teaching job for fifteen years and lived in a sensible house in a sensible town at a sensible distance from London. I had a sensible relationship with Timothy, who was a sensible man. Or so I had thought. Timothy and I had been together for ten long, sensible years. We had, very sensibly, delayed marriage and children until everything was just so. I kept an eye on my age with increasing panic but, even at nearly thirty-eight, didn’t pressurise Timothy. Everyone knows that is not a sensible thing to do. Then one day, nevertheless, Timothy sat me down and told me he was leaving me. He was, he said, very sensibly doing this before December st, as everyone knows that December is proposal month, and he didn’t want me to get my hopes up…again. When Timothy left, taking the only items of his own he had ever left at my house – his second-best toothbrush and a cheap coffee machine – I contemplated the empty spaces in the bathroom, on the kitchen worktop, on the fourth finger of my left hand and in my womb. Then I realised that the empty space in my heart was no bigger for Timothy’s desertion. I reflected that this was, on balance, a good thing. I knew, now, that he had led me on – not for a month or two but for ten years. And I had let him. And that is when I decided to stop being sensible.

Decision Number One: I will never get involved with a man, ever again.

This was not a sensible decision for a woman who longed for love and for babies, particularly a woman careering towards forty at breakneck speed. But how could I? How could I trust myself, let alone a man? My ability to judge them was clearly woefully inadequate. I had wasted ten years of my precious life waiting for a man, and I wasn’t going to waste a second more. The ache for love would wane. Given time. Wouldn’t it?

Decision Number Two: I will hand in my notice after Christmas and move to India.

I loved my job. Correction: I loved the children I taught, but the job itself? Meh. The only reason I had stayed so long was because I thought – believed – that Timothy would propose at any moment and soon I would be knee-deep in white tulle, swiftly followed by nappies. Now that wasn’t happening, I didn’t want to stay a moment longer. I certainly didn’t want my colleagues’ prurient sympathy, and the best way to avoid that was to give them something else to talk about. So, I decided that I would move to India and get a teaching job there, starting at the beginning of the school year there: May. This was not as reckless as it sounds. My parents had moved there six months previously, and I missed them. At their leaving party, my mother, prescient as ever, had looked askew at Timothy, who she thought was boring, and suggested I look at the ‘International Jobs’ section of the Times Educational Supplement.

Decision Number Three: I will spend Christmas living with and working for people I have never met in a place I have never visited.

This opportunity came about by luck, when a friend posted about a family she knew in dire need of a ‘mother’s help’ over the Christmas break – all of the three weeks holiday I got. I would, naturally, normally have scrolled past, but that day I leapt on it with a haste fuelled by panic that someone else had got there first. This was what I needed to keep me busy and my mind off Timothy. Well, off the subject of my own craven stupidity in staying with him, which I beat myself up about throughout each day. I could be useful, earn some money and spend my spare time composing my resignation letter, to be handed in on the first day of the spring term.

As soon as I had seen the Facebook post, I messaged my friend and said I was interested in the job. Not usually that bothered by social media, I refreshed the app obsessively for the next twenty minutes, until a message pinged back with the phone number for the Lords. I rang immediately.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, may I speak to Mrs Lord please?’ There was a loud crash. ‘Um…hello? Hello?’

All I could hear now was someone shrieking ‘put it down, put it down!’ and some muffled swearing. And then a breathless voice:

‘Hello, sorry about that. Don’t ever have twins. Yes, I’m Mrs Lord, although that makes me sound like a particularly devoted Sunday school teacher. Call me Bunny, everyone does.’

‘Er, all right, hello Bunny. Joanne said that you were looking for some help over Christmas?’

‘And you have been sent from Heaven to save us! Oops, touch of the Sunday school teacher there again. Yes, I am desperately in need of help. Lovely Joanne said that you would call, she said you were the perfect solution – wonderful with children and so calm . You used to work together?’

‘Yes, that’s right, we were teachers at the same school until a year or so ago. I can send you references and my DBS. I can cook a bit as well?—’

Bunny interrupted me with a shriek of joy.

‘Splendid! Yes, send all that and then can you come on Monday 3th December? Everyone breaks up on the Friday, so we’ll travel down over the weekend sometime.’

‘Sorry, travel down?’

‘Yes, didn’t Joanne mention it? I suppose she didn’t know, come to think of it. Anyway, we spend Christmas with my husband’s brother down in Dorset, that’s why we need the help. He’s a frightful bore, won’t leave his bloody studio to come to London, so he invites everyone down, then gets cross when we make a noise.’

I felt slightly faint.

‘Everyone? Joanne just said about the twins. They’re four years old, aren’t they?’

‘That’s right, although it feels like they’ve been around forever. In a good way, of course. And half the family rolls up usually. I’m not sure who it is this year, but there’ll be simply piles of us and of course William – Ben and Lando’s father – lives there too. Don’t worry, you’ll have your own room and bathroom, and you won’t have to deal with any of them. Oh, do say you’ll come, please!’

We spent a few minutes discussing exactly what the job would entail – mainly childcare, as I had expected, with ad hoc ‘helping me with other bits and pieces when I’m absolutely frantic ’ as Bunny put it – and the pay, which seemed generous, especially considering I would also get full bed and board. Despite these rather good terms, between the hundreds of relatives, the wild-sounding twins, and the tyrannical brother-in-law, it didn’t sound like a remotely sensible situation to walk into over Christmas.

‘Yes, of course I’ll come. Let me know the address, and if you’re happy with my references and so on, I’ll come down on the 3th.’

‘Oh, thank you, thank you. Oh! What’s your name?’

I hesitated. The children at school call me Miss Windlesham, but that clearly wasn’t going to be the scene in Bunny’s family.

‘Well, my name is Penelope, but everyone calls me Penny.’

‘Lovely! See you on the 3th then, Penny.’

With a touch of Maria von Trapp about me, I hummed ‘I Have Confidence’ as I stepped up to the door and lifted the heavy knocker. The resulting bang could be heard reverberating through the hall beyond, but there was no answering patter of feet, and the door remained firmly shut. I knocked again, but still no one appeared. Then a scrabbling sound on the gravel made me turn; running towards me grinning and with lolling tongues, their breath puffing clouds into the cold air, were two dogs. One, a small smooth-haired dachshund with an absurdly friendly face and the other a larger dog of indeterminate breed, which skidded to a halt next to me and immediately shoved its cold, wet nose into my hand. I crouched down and stroked the dogs, who responded as ecstatically as if they had won the doggy lottery. I was encouraged by this display of approval.

‘Hello lovely dogs, what are your names then?’ No answer was forthcoming. ‘Ah, tags, let me have a look.’ I checked the dachshund first. ‘Garbo, that’s a great name! And how about you?’ I ruffled the bigger dog’s fur as I read its name: Hepburn. ‘And is your master or mistress around anywhere?’ Again, the dogs offered no response other than to roll over and nudge my hands insistently, oblivious to anything other than their own pleasure. Quite right, but I really felt I should find someone and announce myself, so I fussed over them for a few more minutes, then stood up.

‘Come on, you two, maybe you can help me?’

They bounded off around the side of the house and out of sight, so I decided I might as well follow. Leaving my bags at the side of the door, I crunched off over the gravel, resisting the urge to peep in through the stone-mullioned windows with their tiny diamond-shaped panes of glass. When I turned the corner, I was met with a glorious view, even in the fading daylight: huge lawned gardens dotted with gnarled trees, currently without any leaves, spread in front of me. To my left, there was a walled garden with its gate open. Telling myself I might find someone there, but really just consumed with curiosity, I went over and peered through. Within the walls were more lawns, paths and artfully arranged box trees, all leading to an oval swimming pool, covered now of course but nonetheless impressive. Sadly, this place, too, was deserted, so I turned and noticed, across the lawn, a red brick outbuilding with steam pouring from the boiler outlet. This was more promising, and I hoped I would find Bunny there, although I did feel some trepidation. After all, I had come all the way to Dorset, to the house of complete strangers, and now the place appeared deserted with no one even to open the door, let alone welcome me. I hoped I hadn’t made a huge mistake: what had felt like a daring adventure could easily turn out to be a foolhardy flop. I pulled out my phone to comfort myself with a timetable of trains back to London, just so that I knew I could turn tail if I needed to, but there was no reception. I put it back in my pocket with a sigh. There was nothing for it but to square my shoulders and keep going, although my earlier feelings of confidence were rapidly ebbing away.

I trotted across the cold grass, my shoes leaving prints in its pristine frosting, and pushed open the door of the little building. It opened into a single, large room, lined with shelves which groaned under their burden of lumps of wood, books and a cornucopia of tools. There was more wood everywhere you looked: stumps, planks and what appeared to be half a tree, which stood next to an unmade double bed and had a mug balanced on top of it. The floor was liberally sprinkled with shavings, and I could see the motes of dust floating around in the pale sunlight that streamed in through the enormous windows which had all but replaced the wall at the far end of the building. A wide workbench stood in front of the windows, and I could see carved figures in various stages of completion. There was a comforting smell of freshly cut timber, and the room was warm and cosy. I was beginning to entertain thoughts of a gentle, Geppetto-like fellow living and working here, at one with his craft, when a door I hadn’t noticed at the far end of the room flung open and a man appeared. Geppetto he wasn’t. Tall and extremely good-looking, with ruffled dark hair, he stopped dead when he saw me, and glared.

‘Who are you?’

‘Hi, I’m Penny. I’m Bunny’s mother’s help?’

I stumbled forward, trying not to skid on the wood shavings, and offered my hand. He took it briefly in his, which felt dusty and was covered in scars and marks old and new; from the wood carving tools, I supposed.

‘Oh yes, she said she was expecting you. Well, where on earth is she?’

I wasn’t sure if he was expecting an answer, but just then the door was pushed open and in bounded the dogs.

‘Garbo! Hepburn! Good to see you again.’ I crouched down, thankful for this distraction, and scratched and patted their delighted, wriggling bodies.

‘How do you know my dogs’ names?’

I looked up, up the long, jeaned legs and slim torso in its worn work shirt until my eyes reached that gorgeous face, which seemed fractionally less annoyed than before.

‘Oh, they have tags, and, well…they’re the only ones who have greeted me so far. They’re lovely dogs. But I did want to ask – Audrey or Katharine?’

A flicker of confusion touched his face before being replaced by a microscopic upturn of the lips.

‘Katharine. No contest.’

I returned to the dogs. The dachshund, Garbo, had now clambered up onto my shoulders and seemed to be attempting to fashion herself as a living stole. I tried to steady her, worried she would topple off, when a pair of strong hands scooped her up.

‘Sorry, she can be rather overfamiliar.’ The man draped her over his shoulders where she settled contentedly, giving his ear the odd lick, and went to sit at his workbench. Hepburn followed and curled up in a basket near his feet.

‘Look, I need to get back to work. There should be someone at the house; why don’t you try again, and if you really have no luck, then I suppose I can come and let you in?’

What a rude man , I thought, and mentally patted myself on the back for my decision not to get romantically involved with anyone again. Handsome he may be, but that was obviously the beginning and the end of his charms.

‘Right. Well, thanks. I’ll do that.’

I turned to go when the door flew open and in blew a woman. She was tall and very slim with wavy, honey-coloured hair that must have cost a fortune to maintain. She was dressed in neutral tones – tailored caramel trousers, conker-shiny pointed boots, and a chunky yet close-fitting ivory sweater. A waft of Chanel reached my nose as she flung her arms out towards me.

‘Oh! Are you Penny?’

I nodded and she hugged me warmly.

‘Oh, how marvellous to see you, thank you so much for coming, what utter bliss. I’m Bunny. It’s all completely hopeless; I’m trying to work, Ben is still up in London, Pilar had to go shopping, William is spending far more time than I would have thought was necessary down at the grotto and now my dreadful children have vanished.’

I had no idea who any of the people were that she was talking about, but it was the final comment that caught my attention.

‘Children? Vanished?’

‘Yes, my twins. Seraphina and Caspian. I can’t find them anywhere – I did hope they might be in here. You haven’t seen them, have you, Lando darling?’

The man at the workbench shook his head.

‘No, I’m sorry, Bunny, they’ve not been in here. They won’t have gone far. Didn’t you find them raiding Dad’s Christmas sherry last time?’

‘I did! It was hilarious, Penny. Two tiddly twins!’

Lando raised an eyebrow. ‘Let’s at least hope they’re sober this time, with nothing missing.’

Bunny waved an airy hand. ‘Yes, well, the fingertip has nearly grown back. Isn’t nature wonderful?’

‘Well, I’m sure that Penny will help you look. Now, I have to get on with my work.’

He picked up a chisel and turned his back on us. I stood there awkwardly, feeling both piqued at this summary dismissal but also a gnawing anxiety. Did I really want to spend Christmas like this? I was, after all, essentially their servant for the season, and maybe they were the type of family that would expect me to ‘know my place’. I was used to being in charge of my own classroom; I suddenly wasn’t so sure that this had been a wise idea. Bunny’s voice broke through my thoughts.

‘Come on, darling Penny, we won’t get anything else out of Lando for a while, we’ll just have to forge on alone.’

I was still reeling from my worries and from the image of drunken children with severed body parts when she tucked her arm through mine and swept me out of the studio and back into the cold garden.

‘It’s so lovely to meet you,’ continued Bunny. ‘You arrived at the perfect moment. I do hope that you’ll feel at home here.’ I was starting to nod my slightly shaky acquiescence when she let out a cry, making me jump. ‘Oh! I’ve thought of the ideal way to make you feel like one of the family straight away. A nickname!’ She clapped her hands with joy at this idea and carried on before I had a chance to speak. ‘But what could it be ? I suppose Penny is short for Penelope already, and it’s very nice, but what about something more fun ? I’ve always liked ‘Bunny’, much better than the sensible name I was given when I was born.’

‘What was it?’ I asked.

‘Belinda. All right, I suppose, but my parents started the whole Bunny thing and it stuck. We called my brother Xander Newt for years, but that eventually wore off.’

I giggled, despite myself. ‘Maybe you should pick it up again?’

She let out a peal of laughter.

‘Maybe I should. Oh, I know!’ I looked at her apprehensively. ‘How about Pixie? Oh yes, it’s adorable, the children will love it and it does rather suit you. Oh, may I call you Pixie?’

I was stunned by this excited outpouring but also undeniably flattered. It did make me feel included and, what’s more, it wouldn’t be remotely sensible to go around being called Pixie, which fit in beautifully with the Grand Plan. Timothy would have a heart attack if he were here.

‘Pixie,’ I said, trying it out. ‘Pixie…I love it!’

‘I’m so glad! Now, we must find those children. Of course, the problem is that this house and the grounds are so massive, it’s easy for them to lose themselves. Where to start?’

Time to prove my sensible credentials, however shaky they currently felt.

‘Okay, well, where did you last see them?’

I was doubtful any four-year-old would have remained in the same place for this long, but it was a start.

‘I was trying to get some work done in the little office downstairs – I design greetings cards and personalised wall art so you can imagine how frightfully busy I am at the moment putting the finishing touches to Christmas commissions – and they were playing in the passage outside. I suddenly realised it had gone quiet, but I don’t know how long that had been. I do get very absorbed, you see.’

‘Let’s start there.’

We strode back to the house, calling the twins’ names, and Bunny led me in through a back door to a tiled boot room. It was about the size of my living room, lined with shelves and cabinets which were only sparsely populated with a few coats and items of footwear.

‘Lando hardly uses this, such a shame, but he’s always holed up in that studio, whittling away.’

‘This is his house?’

‘Yes, oh dear, didn’t he introduce himself? I don’t know why I’m surprised, he can be tricky, especially when he’s working. Yes, that’s my brother-in-law. It’s his house, but you’d hardly know it. He only really sleeps and eats here, such a waste. Oh well, I suppose it won’t be for much longer.’

With no further explanation, she led the way out of the room into a thickly carpeted passageway with a couple of closed doors, which we passed by. Turning a corner, the corridor ended with a narrow, twisting staircase to the left and an open door in front, which I supposed led into Bunny’s workspace, as the floor outside was strewn with Lego.

‘This was their last sighting,’ she announced. ‘Oh, I do hope they’re all right.’

We stood helplessly by the colourful bricks, and I gazed up and down the corridor, hopeful that they might have left some sort of breadcrumb trail of bright plastic. No such luck. I was just about to suggest we tried their bedroom when I thought I heard something. Probably just the central heating, but there was a chance my luck was in.

‘Bunny, did you hear that?’

We listened again and were rewarded by the sound of a little giggle, coming from the staircase.