Ivy was familiar with how one could get upset over changes, so she supposed it made sense to reassure people that everything was all right. Ivy often felt that nothing was all right anymore. “Mummy, will they be here long?”
“Just a few weeks, darling.”
A few weeks? That was such a long time. Ivy supposed she had no choice but to bear it. She sighed and finished her breakfast in silence.
Chapter Two
Ivy shifted from foot to foot. Alice’s hand on her arm kept her from running upstairs and hiding in her bedroom, but she could at least express her disapproval by wiggling. It was most definitely cold. The chill seeped through even her heavy coat, mittens, and hat, and she pressed closer to Alice to alleviate it.
Why did they all have to stand out here? Even the servants were lined up like soldiers stretching out to the left of the entry as the carriages pulled up, containing all the precious guests.
Ivy didn’t not like the guests, exactly—she really did wish them all the best. But she didn’t want to spend time with them, and she certainly didn’t want to stand out in the freezing drive watching them arrive.
Thankfully, one of the first people to step down from the carriages was her own uncle Charlie. He was a stoic man, and his greetings to Mummy, who was his sister, and the others were calm. But still, he smiled when he saw Alice and Ivy.
Alice stepped forward to embrace him, and Ivy let him pull her close and kiss her forehead when he reached her. She didn’t say anything, didn’t believe words were needed—simply squeezed his hand and beamed up at him.
“How are you, Ivy?” His voice wasn’t like Mr. Knight’s—there were a deepness and a firmness to it that Mummy’s husband could never possess. Yet the deepness and the firmness never overrode the gentleness. Ivy couldn’t be afraid of Uncle Charlie even if she tried.
“I’m well.” She snuggled into his side. “How are you?”
“Well enough.” His attention wasn’t on her; his eyes flickered far away from her, from person to person, until they landed on someone.
Ivy craned her neck to see. Oh dear. Miss Elton? Why did Uncle Charlie always have to get distracted by Miss Elton when she wanted him all to herself?
“Uncle Charlie?” She tugged at his sleeve. “Uncle Charlie, are you glad you’ve come here?”
“Er, yes.” His eyes went down, then back up again.
Ivy sighed. She would never be as important as a grown-up or a person like Alice. Perhaps, she thought with a little shudder, it was because her eyes were somewhat vacant. Or not. She really wasn’t sure who to believe on that account.
“Ivy, if you’ll excuse me …” And he was off to talk to Miss Elton. Ivy sighed and slipped back next to Alice. Her parents were distracted greeting the many guests, and no one else seemed available to pay attention to her.
She watched as her uncle Charlie skirted around the crowd, approached Miss Elton with an outstretched hand, and began speaking to her. He hadn’t looked at Ivy half as long as he’d looked at his new sweetheart.
“Ivy?”
This time it wasn’t someone Ivy wanted to talk to—it was just her grandmother, her mummy’s mother, who was also a newer addition to her life. In fact, Ivy wasn’t sure that this Mr. Knight fellow wasn’t at fault for the existence of a great many new things, including their grandmother and Pearlbelle Park and Alice’s going off to boarding school for months at a time.
Of course, he was doubtless to blame for the guests.
Yet she had to raise her eyes to her grandmother’s face, had to attempt a smile even if she didn’t feel like it. “Hello.”
“Merry Christmas, Ivy! Oh, and there’s Alice, too!” Grandmother held out her arms as if she expected one or both of the girls to give her a hug, but neither moved. Her arms dropped to her sides. “How are you young ladies doing?”
Alice shrugged. “All right, I suppose. We’re having a Boxing Day hunt.”
“Oh.” Grandmother tried to look interested, but Ivy could easily tell that she wasn’t. “Will you ride with them, dear?”
“I hope so.” Then Alice walked forward to her mother’s side. Unlike Ivy, she wanted to be introduced to the guests.
Ivy wished she had an easy escape from this trembling woman who never seemed to quite know how to behave around little girls.
“Ivy, what are you looking forward to this Christmas?” Grandmother placed a hand on Ivy’s shoulder and prodded her toward the door.
Ivy was used to that—she was often pushed from one place to another with no regard for whether or not she wanted to go. She supposed this time it was because everyone else, chatting merrily, was going in now.
“I don’t know.” She answered that question as honestly as could be managed. After all, what kind of Christmas would it be with everyone here? So many people from so many places doing so many things?
Her mother would be distracted. Alice would be wrapped up in the adoration of so many adults. It would seem Uncle Charlie had a new friend. And Nettie wasn’t even going to be here—perhaps she would visit, as she always did, but she was so busy with her home at the gatehouse, baby boy, and husband.
Much as Ivy liked Tom Jameson as a person, she didn’t like him as Nettie’s husband. She didn’t think she’d like anyone who took Nettie away from them. In fact, she was still annoyed at him.
How could he? How could Nettie? How could anyone in Ivy’s life, in fact, act as they had been acting these last few years?
Even Alice had been strange, chasing fantasies and dreams that would never be. They didn’t need a father. They already had a family, a beautiful family. There wasn’t room for Mr. Knight, Pearlbelle Park, nasty Mr. Parker, blushing Miss Elton, and stable boys who were apparently much better best friends than sisters.
A tear trickled down Ivy’s cheek, and she quickly raised her hand to wipe it away.
Her grandmother was watching so closely that she must have seen. “Why, Ivy, are you crying?”
Of course she was crying, and she’d always been taught to be honest when she was. So she didn’t shake her head. She just did exactly what Alice would do—she shrugged. That wasn’t a lie—well, perhaps it was, for she was sure she was crying. But at least she hadn’t spoken the lie out loud. That, to Ivy, would be the height of sin.
Besides, Grandmother’s watching her had made the tears stop immediately, so she supposed it wasn’t so much of a lie after all.
Grandmother was saying something more, something meant to be kind—but the people pressing in the foyer and the servants bustling about to bring the guests to their right rooms and all the fuss in between had Ivy’s mind spinning.
Lights started flashing. Voices melded together into an excited, messy bubble, and Ivy couldn’t make out one from the other. Her heart pounded erratically, and her breaths came fast and sharp. For a moment she stood still as a statue, eyes tightly shut, then she broke free from her grandmother’s grasp and ran as fast as she could around the back. She’d find a way back to her bedroom—somehow.
There, by herself, she could cry out all the frustrations of the day and every day before it for the last year.