The Brigadier's Daughter. Catherine March
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was beautifully set, with a white tablecloth, silver candelabra, sparkling cut-crystal wine glasses, and a splendid centrepiece of winter fruit, berries and flowers. Olga had deliberated long and carefully over the seating, and she had placed herself and the Brigadier at either end, with Sasha sat next to Felix, Georgia next to Captain Bowen, Philippa beside the son of a Scottish friend, and Victoria, still very young, between Percy and another friend she knew well. They were eighteen sitting down, and Olga looked down the table as she sat at one end, her gaze pausing on each of her daughters, a proud glow adding to her satisfaction.
Sasha was disgruntled about the dinner partner she had been placed with, but she enjoyed herself far more than expected. Felix was in a good mood and she could not help but laugh at his jokes and silly conversation; really, he was such a featherbrain that it was no wonder he and Georgia were so drawn to each other. Like two peas in a pod, they were. She glanced down the table at Georgia as she sat next to Captain Bowen. She thought her sister seemed a little pensive, and she wondered what her father had said to Georgia in the library yesterday. Glancing down the table as she finished her salmon pâté, she noticed that Georgia was listening attentively to Captain Bowen, but was not her usual bright and bubbly self. Sasha felt a pang, and made up her mind to bury the hatchet and make amends with Georgia as soon as possible. Why, there was no man on earth worthy of coming between sisters!
After dinner they returned to the drawing room, where Sasha sat down at the piano and played Christmas carols, the guests gathering around and singing in good voice, liberally loosened by the fine wines enjoyed over dinner. They played charades, enjoyed coffee and mince pies, and then those who were willing to accompany the family to midnight mass donned their coats. They were a mere few, the Westfalings, except for the son, and most others, declining and departing for their warms beds at home. So it was only Felix, Uncle Percy, Captain Bowen and two fellow officers who accompanied the Brigadier and his two eldest daughters to church, while the officers’ wives and the two younger girls stayed behind to keep Olga company.
The Church of St Ann was not far, and they walked in muffled silence, well wrapped up in coats, scarves, hats and gloves. The church bells of St Ann’s clanged with dull resonance amidst a fine flurry of snow drifting through the darkness, blanketing the night. The double doors stood open, welcoming the faithful, a golden light spilling out on the street. The vicar’s wife was handing out hymn books as they entered, and then they followed the Brigadier to the front of the church, and Sasha found herself standing between her father and Captain Bowen, the former frowning and twisting about to see where Georgia had got to. She was in a pew several rows to the rear, near the door, standing with Felix with as angelic a look upon her face as the alabaster figurine of Mary in the Nativity scene to one side of the altar. Sasha sensed her father’s wrath rise rapidly, and she put a soothing hand on his sleeve. But with Captain Bowen standing so close, they neither of them could utter a censorious word.
The organ creaked and groaned into the first hymn, and Sasha fumbled to find the page. She was a little short-sighted and peered at the board hanging on one pillar, the numbers slightly blurred.
‘Number fifty-two,’ Captain Bowen whispered in her ear, leaning down.
She flashed a smile of thanks and then found the page and began to sing. Beside her she noticed that the Captain had a very pleasant baritone voice, and not too loud, unlike her father, who consistently embarrassed his daughters as he bellowed out hymns, tone deaf and oblivious to that fact. She noticed, too, that her father was not the only one glancing over his shoulder at Georgia, and it irked her that Captain Bowen should be so easily smitten by her sister’s shallow charms. She began to rapidly revise her intentions about making up with Georgia, but relented as the vicar’s sermon rattled on about Christmas being a time for forgiveness and new beginnings.
After the service, the congregation exchanged greetings and well wishes.
‘Happy Christmas.’ Captain Bowen leaned down and kissed Sasha on the cheek.
She thought how nice he smelled, how warm his face felt against her own as his lips quickly brushed her cheek, the hint of bronze stubble on his jaw a rough and yet not unpleasant sensation. Then she turned to her father and hugged him, wishing him happy Christmas too, and she followed him as they filed out of the church. Georgia was waiting on the steps for them, but Felix had melted away into the night. The Brigadier said nothing, merely accepted Georgia’s wishes, her voice and her eyes apprehensive, and then the party trudged through the thick snow back to the house.
Though the hour was late, they gathered in the drawing room for welcome cups of hot chocolate, the men lacing theirs with brandy. With fewer guests, and those being close friends and family, there was a more relaxed air. Victoria sat in her slippers in front of the hearth, at the foot of her mother’s sofa, and Uncle Percy loosened his bow tie as he sat back in an armchair. Feigning a snooze, he watched his nephew, and the delightful Georgia, and the equally charming, though entirely different, Sasha. At last the party came to an end, the Brigadier hinting that his wife was very tired and wishing them all a very happy Christmas Day as he waved the guests goodbye from the front door.
Reid and his uncle settled in their seats as their carriage took off, the light and warmth of Roseberry Street a loss they both felt as they plunged into the dark streets.
‘Do stay the night, Reid, no sense in continuing across London to your mess rooms. Besides, you would only need to come back again in a few hours for lunch.’
Reid laughed, and nodded his agreement. ‘Very well, Uncle, as you wish.’
After a few moments’ silence Uncle Percy said, ‘Charming people, the Packards. Did you enjoy yourself?’
‘They are, indeed, and, yes, I enjoyed a very pleasant evening.’
‘Superb meal.’
Reid nodded, and glanced sideways. ‘Is there something on your mind, Uncle?’
‘Indeed.’ He hesitated for a brief moment. ‘Charming girls, Georgia and Sasha.’
‘They are.’
‘Made up your mind yet which one of ‘em you want?’
Laughing, Reid shook his head. ‘I don’t believe I have.’
Uncle Percy made a grunting noise. ‘I noticed young Felix Westfaling sniffing around Georgia. I’d pop the question to her fairly soon, before the rascal snaps her up.’
‘He’d have to get past the Brigadier first, and somehow I don’t think Westfaling is up to the job.’
His uncle made another throaty rumble of disapproval. ‘Well, time is marching on, dear boy, time is marching on.’
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