Twelve Days
by Charles Lacey
Chapter 1
Friday 13th December
Friday 13th is often thought to be unlucky, but this particular one was not. Or not for us, at any rate. My slightly older cousin David and I were let out of school on the thirteenth of December and caught the train home. This involved a slow, chugging little train from Embleton, the small Worcestershire town where the school was located, to Birmingham, but stopping at so many little country stations that it actually took more than half of the journey time. The next part was the express from Birmingham to Euston, and that really did deserve it title. The locomotive was called Jubilee .
"I say! Christopher, will you look at that!" said David, "Four cylinders, two chimneys and a leading bogey!" David was keen on railways and I believe knew every detail of every locomotive in service on the London and North-Western line. I was just happy to be picked up in one place and delivered safely and in comfort to another. But I had to agree with David that Jubile e really was a flyer.
Once at Euston, the main line station in north London, we chartered a Hansom cab to take us home. David was, as usual, to stay with us for a couple of days, and then to travel on to his home in Kent, where I would spend a week or two in the countryside during the summer. His father, my Uncle Herbert, was my father's younger brother; he described himself as a 'gentleman farmer'. To give him his due, although he was not a 'gentleman' in the technical sense, in that he worked for his living, he was certainly one in the everyday sense, being kindly, courteous and generous to those in need. He was also a successful farmer, breeding Southdown sheep and growing wide and profitable acres of wheat and barley.
My home was in Kensington, at number thirty-six Enmore Gardens. It was one of those tall, deep, narrow houses designed for a large family with indefatigable servants. We were not that large a family – just myself and my sisters Emily and Charlotte, with Mamma and Papa. But our servants were not only indefatigable, they were dearly loved. Sissons, the Butler, headed the staff; Mrs Huntly was the Cook, Jane and Rose the house-parlourmaids, plus the boot-boy Thomas, as chirpy a Cockney sparrow as ever lived.
As soon as David and I had greeted Mamma and the girls – Papa was not yet home from the Government office in Whitehall where he worked – we shot downstairs to the kitchen.
"Hello, Mrs H.," I said, breathless from the speed with which I had descended one long and one short flight of stairs, "How are you?"
"Very well indeed, Master Christopher, thank you. And have you got a hug for me?"
Of course I had, and then Jane and Rose came in and had to have a hug and a kiss each.
"I've just put the kettle on," said Mrs Huntly, "Would you two like a cup of tea?"
"Oh, yes, please, Mrs H." said David and I in unison, knowing from the fragrant smell that Mrs Huntly had baked one of her special fruit cakes for us. Further enquiry elicited the information that we were to have a roasted fowl for dinner, with cabinet pudding to follow.
The dinner was as good as we had anticipated, if not better. Twelve and a half weeks of school food had sharpened our appetites for better fare. The food at school was ample in quantity, and nourishing, but bland in the extreme. But the fowl was filled with chestnut stuffing, the potatoes were crisp, the gravy piquant and the vegetables done to a turn. And the cabinet pudding was, as ever, delectable.
Papa, when he returned home, wanted full information as to the term's work.
"Well, Papa, I've come top of the form in English, near the top in History and Latin…"
"Yes, my son? And the rest?..."
I blushed. Papa was not an unreasonably demanding man, but he did like to see some return for the outlay upon school fees.
"I managed quite well in Greek…"
"And in Mathematics?"
I looked down at the table. My ability to make a column of figures add up to the same total twice was the despair of my schoolmasters.
"Ah. I understand. You have again failed to make progress. Well, no boy can be good at everything, and you have certainly done well across the board. I think I will try to find a tutor to give you some help with the mathematics."
My heart sank. A tutor to do mathematics with me in the holidays was not an attractive prospect.
Papa refrained from quizzing David about his progress, other than in the most general terms. David played both Association and Rugby Football, Cricket and Eton Fives with skill and enthusiasm, and for that reason was tolerated by the masters and idolized by the boys. Anything that involved pen, ink and paper was, to him, something to be got out of the way with as little effort as could conveniently be managed. But he was a thoroughly good natured chap and a staunch friend to me.
A full meal after a long journey does not make for liveliness. We retired early. David, as usual, slept with me as we did not have a spare room. My parents had the back first floor bedroom, my sisters the front one, and my own room was on the first half-landing. It was not nearly as large or elaborately furnished as some of the other boys in my dormitory reported theirs to be, but it was mine, and home, and I loved it.
"Oh, D.," I said, stifling a yawn, "It's so good to be at home."
"Yes, C., I'm looking forward to seeing my parents and being in my own bed too. I wonder why your father has asked me to stay on for an extra night. Not that I mind. I think your Mrs Huntly is an even better cook than our Mrs Bird. But I suppose he has a plan of some kind."
"He's certainly bottling something up. I don't know what, though. We'll find out soon enough. Well, g'night, D. Try not to snore too loudly."
"Nighty-byes, C. Sleep well. Don't keep me awake with your fidgeting."
We exchanged play-punches, as we always did. I blew out the candle and we turned over and dropped off to sleep in moments.
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