Trisha Ashley - Twelve Days of Christmas

‘And then me,’ said Becca.

‘I recognised you instantly, you haven’t changed much,’ I told her, and she looked pleased.

‘Keep pretty fit, considering,’ she said. ‘Of course, I’m the youngest.’

I looked again at the photograph. ‘So. . what happened to Edward? You said he was injured?’

‘He had a bad leg injury, but they tried penicillin on it and he made a speedy recovery. It seemed he was going to settle down after that, but it wasn’t to be. . and he never played Red Hoss in the Revels again.’

Noël seemed about to drift away into old, and perhaps unhappy, memories so I said, ‘Red Hoss? I think you mentioned that character before.’

Noël thumbed forward until he found a photograph of a man wearing a rather scary and fierce horse mask. ‘That one — I forget you know little about it,’ he said apologetically, ‘as I said earlier, I feel we have known you for ever — and you look so like one of the Martlands that you would fit into the family album quite easily. It’s a strange coincidence, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it certainly is,’ I said absently, staring at another photograph of Ned Martland, without the mask, next to it. It was neither large nor clear, but something about his expression reminded me of a framed photograph of my mother that had always had pride of place on top of Gran’s harmonium. . and still did, though it was now in my cottage. But then, when I leaned forward for a better look, I realised it was just a trick of the light.

‘And I don’t suppose you had ever heard of the Twelfth Night Revels in Little Mumming before, had you?’

‘Or about the red horse hill figure,’ I agreed.

‘We try not to publicise either of them — and actually, these days the Revels are more of a Twelfth Afternoon ceremony. Since the war, you know. But traditionally, a fire was lit on the beacon, as well, and then there was a procession back down from it.’

‘I don’t suppose you could light fires at night during the war, it’d be way too dangerous.’

‘No, it was the blackout, you see. And with most of the young men off at war, some of the older ones who took their places were not really up to climbing the hill. But my father kept the Revels going as well as he could.’

‘Wouldn’t publicising the Revels bring lots of tourists here?’

‘That’s the whole point, m’dear. We have plenty of walkers, cyclists and stray drivers from spring to autumn: the pub, the shop and the Merry Kettle do well, the farm shop at Weasel’s Pot thrives, and George gives trailer rides behind his tractor up to the beacon: that is enough for us. We don’t want the Revels to be taken over by a lot of arty crafty folk who will want the whole thing preserved like a fly in amber, instead of letting it gently evolve as it has done over the centuries.’

‘I see what you mean,’ I agreed.

‘Richard Sampson wrote a short pamphlet about the Revels and the red horse, for private circulation only, and I can look you out the library copy if you are interested?’

‘Yes, I’d love to read it. Won’t the Revels be snowed off this year if the weather carries on like this? Unless a thaw sets in soon, of course.’

‘Oh, we’ve had heavy snow in January before and it has gone ahead. We all live locally, you see, and it’s only half a mile down to the village from here. If the snow hasn’t gone by then, Jess can pull me there on the sledge!’

‘I might, Grandpa, but I’m not pulling you back up the hill again!’ she protested.

‘I wasn’t serious, m’dear. Your Uncle Jude will be back by then and he will manage something.’

I had been drawn back to studying the prewar photograph of the young Martlands. ‘So, Ned recovered from his leg wound? What happened to him after that?’

‘It was ironic, really — he was killed in a motorbike accident only a couple of months after the war ended.’

‘That’s. . quite tragic,’ I said slowly and, since Noël was looking troubled, I didn’t press him for more details.

But maybe that’s why nothing ever came of Granny’s big romance? And if so, it was terribly sad! Noël had implied that his brother Ned was a bit of a black sheep and he had sounded like a flirt at first, only now he really appeared to have fallen for Gran, just as she’d fallen head over heels in love with him.

Poor Gran — now I knew that her happiness would be cut short by Ned’s accident, it made reading about it that night even more poignant!

He must have had a lot of charm to persuade a girl with her strict upbringing to meet him clandestinely! It seems very odd at this remove in time that they should have felt the need to keep their romance secret, but class differences and the social divide were more important then, I suppose.

Then my eye fell on the next, short entry and I had a total ‘Oh, my God!’ moment: I think I seriously underestimated Ned Martland’s charm!

I woke up later than usual, heavy-eyed after a night full of strange, uneasy dreams, and lay there thinking about Gran. I still couldn’t see any other interpretation for what I’d read but the one I’d originally thought of, and all sorts of possibilities and implications kept going through my head.

Eventually I resolved to try to put it to the back of my mind until I could talk it over with Laura, though that was easier said than done. In the end I decided I’d take the current volume down with me to dip into if I got a quiet moment alone. I could put it on the cookery book shelf in the kitchen, because no-one else ever looked there.

When I drew the curtains it was still almost dark but I could see that there had been a further fall of snow. Becca was obviously an early bird too, because I could see her below me, turning Nutkin into the paddock to join Billy and a well-rugged-up Lady. Her presence here is obviously going to be a huge asset while I am so busy with everything else, though I suppose if Jude knew she’d taken over most of my horse-minding duties, he would want to dock my house-sitting fee!

I still had the care of Merlin, though, and carefully stirred his medicine into his food every morning, though actually he was such a soft, biddable creature he would probably have eaten it straight from my hand. I was getting very attached to him — he was such a lovely, affectionate dog, always pleased to see me.

Becca and I had breakfast together and then she sat on with a mug of tea, listening to the radio and watching me as I soaked trifle sponges I’d found in the cupboard (which were indeed more than a trifle out of date, but well sealed up) in a little sherry purloined from the drinks cabinet in the dining room and then made a pheasant terrine, having defrosted the birds overnight.

‘You’re very organised!’ she commented.

‘It’s just my job — thinking ahead and knowing what to prepare for the dishes I intend making is second nature. Forward planning.’

‘Well, I wish you could stay here and cook permanently.’

I smiled. ‘I don’t think your nephew would be too pleased about that — we don’t seem to get on very well when he rings,’ I told her, though oddly enough I had sort of missed our slightly acerbic exchanges ever since the phone had gone dead. .

When Noël and Jess appeared, Becca had a second breakfast with them but Tilda had hers in bed again, though that seems to be a habit rather than a sign that she’s still feeling under the weather.

While they were eating they discussed their plans for the day. Jess and Noël proposed to finish putting up the decorations and then do the Christmas tree, but before they could put that plan into action, Becca dragged Jess out to help with mucking out, buckets and haynets.

Noël fetched Tilda’s tray down while I cleared up and checked on the terrine, which was both looking and smelling good. I’ve always found it a popular dish.

Becca and Jess were not outside long and returned with pink noses and chilly hands just as Noël was making a fresh pot of tea, which seems to be about the extent of his culinary skills.

‘George has been up and he says he’s left you some more holly and stuff in the porch. I’ll help you put it up, once I’ve thawed out,’ Becca promised, ‘but one of my favourite old films is on later and I thought I might watch that — Winter Holiday. If Tilda is down, she might want to see it, too.’

‘She has come down. I just came to get her a cup of tea.’

‘Then you can pour me one too, it’s bloody nithering out there.’

‘I’ve never heard of Winter Holiday,’ Jess said, ‘and the reception is so bad here you can hardly see anything anyway. I don’t know why Uncle Jude hasn’t got Sky like Granny and Grandpa. At least at the lodge I could watch something good!’

‘There’s a video and DVD player,’ Noël pointed out. ‘You brought some DVDs up with you, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but I’ve seen them all a million times. And I can’t play computer games because Jude keeps it locked away in the study — and anyway, it’s really, really ancient so it’s too slow for any of the games I’ve got. If he wasn’t so mean he would have got a new one by now.’