Page 75 of Mirrors of the Past

He turned his back on the girls and strode purposefully into the drawing room. He checked the clock. They had a few hours before they needed to head to the church. Plenty of time to enjoy supper (his brothers), tell ghost stories (his sisters — Medora already had her Lady Byron dress on) and, of course, light the Yule log.

Laurie privately wondered whether his parents had considered the future traits of their children when they’d named them after such literary characters. Apart from Elsie, of course. She had, apparently, just “looked like” an Elsie.

* * *

Viola didn’t think she had ever enjoyed a Christmas Eve so much. They’d all sat down to a noisy, happy supper, and plenty of mulled wine for the adults. The younger people had had ginger beer, with sticks of cinnamon and orange slices floating in it.

Their supper had consisted of a Yule cake each (Arthur had eyed Elsie’s up hungrily and she had passed it on to him), mince pies, plum pudding and something very odd and porridge-like, but curiously tasty and filled with almonds and currants, called “furmity”. And afterwards, they had retired to the drawing room where she’d witnessed the tradition of the Yule log. Ruan Teague had lit the log, and, she’d been told, the idea was that it would burn until twelfth night.

‘Traditionally,’ Laurie told her now as they settled down before the fireplace and Enyon ran to switch off the lamps, ‘we’d light this before supper, but none of us are particularly traditional at Pencradoc.’ She was aware of just how close he was to her, how he’d kept looking at her throughout supper with that funny little scowl on his face — which now she knew did not dictate his temperament — and how he’d made sure he’d been right next to her as they’d walked into the drawing room. And then, of course, he’d sat next to her on the long sofa.

Once the lights were off and all the cheery, festive candles in the room had been blown out, Arthur, the youngest person present (and, apparently, still allowed to do this, even though Marigold had trumped him in the placing of the star on the Christmas tree this year), solemnly lit two long candles from the log.

‘Just so Sam and Viola know,’ he said, just before igniting the first one. ‘You have to be quiet when I do this. You can make a wish, but you have to keep it secret. Then you can talk again when they’re on the table over there.’ He nodded across the room. ‘Then we have to keep the lights off for the rest of the night. But it’s all right. Medora is useless and her ghost stories aren’t scary at all, so you’ll not be scared. And we’re not using one of Laurie’s about the old duchess and her garden, so you don’t have to listen to that either. Not that anyone knows much about Rose. She was Elsie’s father’s first wife and she is dead, so . . .’

‘Arthur . . .’ Laurie raised his eyebrows at the boy at the same time as Medora began to shriek a protest, but some harsh shushing from her siblings had quietened her.

Then Arthur did his job and lit the candles: one, two.

He carried them over to the table and put them in the candlesticks, and then stood back sombrely. After a moment of watching the flickering lights, he spoke once more. ‘The candles are now lit. Your wishes must remain secret. Thank you.’ Then he bowed to the candles and Viola was desperate to clap. So, actually, she did. Which, everyone agreed, certainly lightened the mood and made it more appropriate to a magical, snowy Christmas Eve.

‘What did you wish for?’ asked Pearl innocently.

‘Oh, it’s a secret,’ she said with a smile. But she hoped that, after her wish in the snow and now this one, that her wish would indeed come true.

But there wasn’t much time to ponder. After Medora’s ghost stories, it would be time to leave for church.