A Family For Christmas

For My Family –
I love each and every one of you

There had been no joy this day. It had in fact
been the most miserable Christmas she could remember, Eliza thought, shivering beneath her thin
cover.

The time had dragged with no cheer, no presents
or special meal. Her father had been in a foul mood, and her two younger brothers so fractious
it had taken all her energy keeping them out of his way. Even her mother had taken to her bed,
saying she felt poorly. If only her two elder sisters had come home for the holiday things might
have been better.

At nearly fifteen years old, Eliza was too grown
up to be sharing a room with her parents, even with the dividing curtain supposedly affording
her privacy, but their moorland cottage was so tiny she had little choice. Drawing up her knees
for warmth, she closed her eyes and dreamed of happier times.

Suddenly she was jolted awake by her
parents' violent arguing.

‘But how could it have happened,
woman?' her father roared.

Her mother gave a harsh laugh. ‘If you
don't know by now, Fred, then I'm not going to be the one to tell you. You've
only yourself to blame. Since being on short time at the mine, you've thought of nothing
else but your carn …'

‘It's not my fault the copper's running
out,' he cut in. ‘If rumours are true, I'll be out of a job come the New Year,
and let me tell you this, I'll not be sitting here listening to another blubbering brat
bawling its eyes out. Anyhow, we'll probably be out on the streets by then. No job, no
pay; no rent money, no home.'

As her mother's sobs filled the room,
Eliza's heart turned over but it was her father's next words that turned her already
chilled body to ice.

‘And as for that good-for-nothing feeble
filly through there, she's naught but a burden. Why, she can't even get a job. And
as for marriage prospects, let's face it, no decent man will want a wife who's
clumsy and looks like a …'

‘Hush, Fred, she'll hear you,'
her mother whispered. But her father was in his stride.

‘She puts a drain on our meagre budget and
what for? So she can spend her time picking flaming flowers to put in that blooming box of
hers.'

‘That's not fair, Fred. Eliza helps
me with the little uns. Besides, it wasn't her fault she was born frail and with that
twisted foot.'

‘Pah, cloven hoof, you mean,' he
snorted. ‘She's a devil child, the curse of our lives. If I had my way
…'

Hearing the crack of his belt, Eliza cowered
further down the straw-filled mattress, her heart beating faster than the pistons on the mine
steam train. She hardly dare breathe in case he heard and tore back the curtain, as he had
before. The creaking of the old bedstead as he slumped on his mattress signalled the end of
their discussion and she let out a sigh of relief. Safe for another night she might be, but she
couldn't carry on like this.

As her
father's guttural snores filled the room she planned her escape. She knew she
couldn't steal away before dawn, for it was true her movements were clumsy and would be
certain to wake the household.

With the first streaks of grey stealing through
the window, Eliza heard her parents rise. Still bickering, they clattered noisily down the
stairs. There was the slamming of the door as her father went out to the privy and the banging
of pots as her mother prepared breakfast. Having quickly dressed in her warmest clothes, Eliza
gathered together her few remaining garments and carefully wrapped them around the precious box
her grandfather had carved for her. She waited until she heard her father stamping his way down
the road towards the mine, then, knowing her mother would be busy feeding her brothers, she
stole out of the cottage.

The biting wind took her breath away and she
almost changed her mind. But with her father's words still ringing in her ears, she
snatched up a piece of sacking hanging by the door and threw it round her shoulders, securing it
with a knot. Then, with a stick to help her, she headed west, away from the Mole Valley Mine.
She hoped there'd be work that day, because all the families for miles around relied on
the mine for their survival. Of course, there'd been rumours that the copper seam was
running out, but it was still a shock to hear the mine could soon close for good. Now her poor
mother was pregnant again. No wonder she'd taken to her bed yesterday; she must have been
worried sick. There was no way Eliza could stay and add to her burden, but now she'd made
her escape, where should she go?

Drawing the sacking tighter round her, she doggedly picked her way
over the frosted grasses of Grampy Ridge. It wasn't really called that, of course but,
playing there as children, she and her sisters decided it looked like an old man and the name
had stuck. Of course, that was years ago, when her own beloved grandfather had been alive. Oh,
Grampy, she thought, if only you were here to guide me and tell me what to do. As the terrain
became steeper, she began to stumble and knew if she was to put any real distance between her
and the cottage, she needed to head for flatter ground.

Realizing the sounds of the mine had faded into
the distance, Eliza leaned on her stick and peered around to get her bearings. A watery sun was
bravely breaking the clouds, and far below she could make out a line of hedging, which surely
meant there was a lane beyond. With her foot dragging, progress was slow, but finally she
reached a stile and laboriously clambered over it. Once in the lane, she slumped against a mile
stone while she regained her breath. She idly traced the letters before they registered. It was
only four miles to Buckland. Her spirits lifted. Of course! Her sisters, Hester and Izzie,
worked at the manor there and would be sure to help her. She continued her journey with renewed
vigour and a definite purpose.

Although the ground was flatter now, the track
was deeply rutted and strewn with dislodged stones. Hefting her bundle higher onto her shoulder,
she picked her way carefully round them, trying to ignore her rumbling stomach. She should have
grabbed some breakfast before slipping away, but then her mother would have returned to bed,
expecting Eliza to
look after the little ones.
Recalling the scene from the previous night, she shivered. Of course, she'd known her
father had taken against her but when she'd asked her mother why she'd said it was
because, having two daughters already, he'd been hoping for a son. Yet, even when her
mother had given birth to two boys in later years, Father's feelings towards Eliza
hadn't changed. Her mother did her best to stand up for her but she was weak, always
backing down when his temper was roused.

Lost in thought, she didn't hear the horse
and cart until it pulled up alongside her.

‘Need a lift?' a cheery voice called
out. She looked up to see a young man grinning at her. Instinctively, she smiled back.

‘I'm heading for Buckland
Manor.'

‘Well, isn't that a coincidence,
that's where I'm taking this lot,' he said, nodding to the load piled up
behind him. ‘Jump up.'

Gratefully, she tossed her bundle onto the seat
and began clambering up after it. Seeing her awkward movements, he leaned over to help, but she
shot him such a defiant look he busied himself with the reins instead. Patiently he waited until
she was settled, then called to the horse to move on.

‘You visiting someone, then?' he
said, jerking his head towards her bundle.

‘My sisters, Hester and Izzie Watts, work
at the manor. I'm Eliza,' she added with a smile in case her rebuttal had offended
him.

He nodded and grinned back. ‘Pleased to
make your acquaintance, Eliza. Carrot Top at your service.'

‘That's never your real name,' she exclaimed.

Winking, he lifted his cap and tufts of ginger
hair sprang to attention. ‘'Fraid so, but you can call me Carrots,' he said.
Then his manner became serious.

‘You'll not be catching Hester at the
manor. Her ladyship's gone to Barnstaple for the festivities and Hester, being her
personal maid, has gone with her. Izzie will be there, though, helping in the kitchens.'
He turned to look at her. ‘She's a bonny maid and I can certainly see the
resemblance.'

‘Oh, Izzie always had the looks,'
Eliza answered, looking down at her feet as she recalled her father's words.

‘And she's not the only one, if you
don't mind my saying. Mind you, I've seen more meat on a sparrow.' Despite the
chill wind, Eliza felt her cheeks grow warm. He must be jesting for, with her hazel eyes and
straight brown hair, she was really quite plain. Izzie, on the other hand, had eyes the colour
of a summer sky and hair like sun-ripened corn. Sighing, she changed the subject.

‘Do you work at the manor?'

‘I help out in the grounds, for my sins,
although Bert, the head gardener, says I'm more hindrance than help. Of course, my
mistaking his prize leeks for weeds didn't help.'

‘You never did!' Eliza exclaimed,
then saw his lips twitch and knew he was teasing. A bitter gust of wind caught them full in the
face and she shivered.

‘'Tis a right lazy wind today and no
mistake,' Carrots said with a shake of his head.

‘Pardon?' she asked.

Laughing at her puzzled look, he explained,
‘Goes right through you instead of round you.' He reached behind
and grabbed a blanket. ‘Here, put this over you before you
catch your death.'

Gratefully, she draped the warm cover around her
shoulders, snuggling into the soft, fleecy material. As the warmth penetrated her chilled body,
she stared around at the passing landscape with interest. She'd never been this far west
before. Here, where the protective beech hedges neatly lined both sides of the track and the
chequered pattern of green fields rolled gently into the distance, was completely different from
the harsh, windswept uplands she'd just left.

‘Where does this lane lead?' she
asked.

‘Town of Barnstaple eventually. 'Tis
a fair hike but that's where you'd end up. Anyhow, this is where we leave it,'
Carrots said, as the horse automatically turned left and slowed by a gatehouse.

Carrots tipped his cap and was waved on through
the archway. The driveway beyond was flanked with tall trees which stood proud like sentinels,
in front of which wobbly hedges lined the gravelled sweep.

‘Why are all those hedges leaning over like
that?' Eliza asked. ‘They seem at odds with everything else being so
tidy.'

He laughed. ‘Something to do with his
lordship's ancestors, I think. Apparently it denotes a significant happening, though
don't ask me what. They just look to me like they've had one too many,' he
added with a grin.

Eliza shook her head, then gasped as she caught
her first sight of the manor. It was a magnificent pink stone building sporting a castellated
roof from which tall chimneys soared skywards. The formal lawns were dotted with
ornate little pavilions and she was just thinking how marvellous it
would be to work in such a grand place when the cart tilted as it veered left onto a narrower
path that led round to the back of the building and she had to hang on to the side of the
seat.

‘Do you want me to tell Izzie you're
here?' Carrots asked, jumping down and helping her from the cart.

Before she could reply a gruff voice shouted,
‘There you are, Topper. Get a move on with them supplies, will you?'

‘Coming, guv,' Carrots shouted, then
turned to Eliza. ‘Best do as I'm bid. The servants' entrance is over
there.' He pointed to an annexe on the side of the building.

‘Thanks for the lift,' she said,
taking her bundle and stick, then heading for the door he'd indicated.

‘Take care of yourself, Eliza. Tell Izzie
I'll see her in the usual place, usual time,' he called after her.

Although she rang the bell nobody answered. As
she dithered, wondering what to do, another gust caught her sideways, nearly blowing her off her
feet. Tentatively she turned the knob and to her surprise the door opened. Anxious to be out of
the gale, she stepped inside and stood looking around. Compared to the cottage, even here in the
servants' quarters the furnishings seemed quite grand and she was just admiring the
artistically arranged holly and ivy when a strident voice made her jump. Looking up, she saw a
stern-faced woman, dressed in black, glaring at her over the polished balustrade.

‘Be off with you. We don't want any
beggars here.' Eliza looked down at her mud-spattered skirts and worn boots, and grimaced.
She should have thought to tidy herself up.

‘I'm not a beggar,' she said, ignoring the
woman's terse manner. ‘I've come to see Izzie, she's …'

But the woman was having none of it. ‘Out I
said and out I meant,' she shouted, pointing to the door Eliza had entered by.