Quick feet would take her down the long flight of stairs from her cosy top floor bedroom.
Silent feet, wrapped up snugly only in socks – those ones with the lace frilly edge that she loved – tumbled down past the vast Christmas tree that adorned the hallway, into the narrow passageway that led to the kitchen; a place where she knew Mater never ventured for fear of what she didn't know. Chummy was sure her mother was sound asleep, creeping past her bedroom, knowing the one floor board that squeaked as she stepped carefully over it, toes pointed and cautious for the slightest sign.
No, Mater was asleep. The Ayah was asleep too – Chummy had conducted a perfectly executed escape from her captor - and Pa? Well, he was in the bedroom around the corner and her journey would take her nowhere near so as long as his door was shut that was all that would trouble her. He'd take no notice if Mater scolded her anyway for being out of bed so early in the morning, even though it was Christmas Day and surely even he could excuse some excitement? She had already cast an eye over the present that had been left by her bedside, ripping away a small corner of paper to reveal the words of Lewis Carroll. Chummy did, however, have more important issues to be considered as she crept along the corridor.
Her current cargo, saved and smuggled, sat heavy in the pocket of her dressing gown and Chummy, placing her hand inside – just to make entirely sure in her apprehension that it was still there - could hear a gentle vibration of conversation from the kitchen. Hopefully, she'd find her there. It was the right time in the morning after all and the staff were always precisely on time. Mater would not have it any other way and woe betide anyone who arrived even seconds later.
"Aanisah?" she whispered in no more than a breath, just standing inside the kitchen door, her voice barely audible above the tap as it tumbled water into the sink. "Aanisah?"
The girl, with sandal shod feet and dressed in an immaculately pressed mud brown frock spun around, hands soaking and accidentally spraying water all over the stone floor in her shock.
"I'm sorry Miss" the servant girl replied, bobbing her head slightly, panic coursing through her seeing the drips on the floor and the sight of the Lady's daughter in her dressing gown, dreading her noticing the mess she had created. "I didn't hear you come down the staircase Miss".
Her English was perfect; but heavy with accent. Mater had insisted that all the staff learn English. It didn't strike Chummy to insist particularly as she enjoyed learning the odd word of Hindi and her stilted conversations in her eagerness. Well she knew more than an odd word if it came to it and she knew Mater didn't understand a word, so it was all the better. She also had started to learn that Mater simply didn't feel or see the need to communicate in any other way that suited her and it would take her so many years to comprehend.
Chummy didn't know how old the girl was who worked in their kitchen. They were just about the same height but that really didn't mean a thing. Perhaps one of these days she might ask and wonder if they might become friends. She had so much around her and this girl, surely they were just about the same age, but here she was working away from dawn until dusk.
"Breakfast will not be ready for at least another hour Miss" the thin girl replied, nervously pulling a cloth from the kitchen table in front of her, laden heavily already with the the preparations for the families' celebrations.
"One.." Chummy began, hesitating with some speed. "I didn't come down for that. I came down to give you this….." She produced the fruit from her pocket, laying the orange flat on the palm of her hand and stretched it across the chasm of the kitchen, seeing immediately the hesitance on the girl's face not knowing quite what to make of this development. "Please, take it".
"Miss, I…" Aanisah began, looking quickly to her side as another woman; much older as she approached the larder on the opposite side of the vast room.
"Please" Chummy whispered. "I heard you talking the other day….when they were delivered….That you couldn't remember what oranges tasted like…" she continued, now too noticing the other woman pottering around singing quietly to herself. "I'd like you to have it. Really. I insist you must".
"Thank you Miss" the servant replied, going to step toward her but stopping before she took it from Chummy's hand. "Fruit isn't something that my mother can afford. Would you mind if I shared it with her Miss?" The mother was the Browne's cook – indeed the woman who had been going about her business just feet away - and Chummy could see her leaning into the vastly packed pantry to prepare breakfast for the household.
"Of course" Chummy smiled. "You can share it with who you like". A smile extended across the serving girl's face, both hearing feet come down the stairs above their heads and separating with some speed as the fruit was pushed hastily into the other girl's apron pocket and Chummy ducked into the dining room to hide until she could be sure her path upstairs was no longer unencumbered.
"The girl is called Aanisah Ma" George replied, putting the newspaper down across his knee. He may only have been twenty but with aspirations of how George Browne intended his life to be, it was essential that he kept up to date with news from London and quite frankly Mother was now becoming an annoyance in her fury. His only sister was sitting in the window seat buried in the brand new shining copy of Alice in Wonderland - her bedside present - not wanting to take a walk with her father and other brothers whilst they waited for dinner.
"It is not any of my business what the girl is called George" Lady Browne replied, spinning on her heels to face her third son. "What I do know is she must have stolen it. There is no other explanation".
George shifted in his seat. Why an orange was so important he would never know and quite frankly why it aggravated his mother so much was another to add to the ever expanding pile of misdemeanours she believed her children and staff got up to whilst her back was turned.
"Ma", he began. "She could have picked it up at the market. We do pay them wages…."
His mother huffed. "No, no" she replied, twisting her watch around her wrist. "Not this time of year. You know very well your father had them imported just last week". Chummy looked up from behind her book carefully having been listening intently whilst she pretended to read, sinking lower behind the pages as her mother's voice raised itself an octave further. "No, if one has to repeat oneself once more, the wretched girl stole it from your father's study! At the very worst from the cellar!"
"She might not have Mater" Chummy responded carefully and quietly, having listened for some time to her mother raving about the 'kitchen girl' who she has found eating what she considered was contraband. Before she could think, Chummy's voice had run away with her and jumped to the defence of this perhaps one day friend.
As she watched carefully she could see her mother almost roll her eyes. "And I do not see what business it is of yours Camilla" Lady Browne replied, wondering why on earth her youngest daughter was suddenly piping up about this blessed event. "It is certainly not your place to be questioning me young lady!"
"She might not have stolen it Mater" she repeated, on the receiving end of yet another withering look at her insolence as her mother stood in the middle of the room, arms folded tight across her middle, annoyance seeping from every pore it seemed and not only due to this apparent theft.
"Then where, Camilla" her mother asked carefully, taking a step towards her daughter, "might a servant have obtained such a prize?"
Chummy looked up as her mother turned to her fully, eyes wide under her tortoise glasses, wondering whether she should say something. "I don't know Mater" she squeaked, trying not to look at her brother who had a rather curious look on his face as he sat on the other side of the room.
"Tell me this" her mother began, stalking further over to her youngest child as Chummy shrunk back into her chair. "If she did not steal it, and as you would certainly not find an orange within thirty miles of his house, apart from in your father's study, how can you explain it? Perhaps you would care to explain it to your father? See what he thinks of your answers?"
"Yes, they were in Pa's office" Chummy thought to herself. "He gave one to me! That's how to explain it and I wanted to give it to her!"
"One shall have to ask Sir Rex" her mother announced, turning quickly away again; not seeing her daughter's eyes follow her, book abandoned. Chummy had not realised her brother was watching her nervously fiddling with the hem of her dress.
What has my little sister been up to? It was you, wasn't it?
"Mother, I gave it to her" George declared, straightening his shoulders seeing Chummy's head shoot up towards him. He had been on the receiving end of his mother's temper from time to time as a youngster and he had the odd scar to match his sister's.
"You George?" The surprise in their mother's voice was clear and she stopped pacing up and down the carpet to turn to her son.
"Yes Mother" he replied, bravado wining out and standing up to make his point. "What are we to miss about an orange Mother? Really? Isn't it such an unnecessary drama to create, particularly on Christmas Day?"Chummy saw her brother hand touch her mother's lower arm. She'd seen her oldest brother Bob do that and it seemed to have some magical effect on their mother and the other boys seemed to be learning it too. Chummy, however, could not bring herself to do it. Just the very thought of touching her arm...
"You can be such a caring boy when you try George". Neither sibling was quite sure whether that was double edged compliment but George decided to take the chink of light in a positive way and that it might hopefully detract from his sister's apparent charity and disapproval of their mother. If it was his sister, he understood why in a way but why she had to insist on doing it under their own roof when she knew full well how their mother would react to such an act of well, kindness to someone who did not have as much as they did.
"I am sure Mother there is no need to talk to Pa about such trivial matters, is there?" George was standing tall and he could see his sister sitting wide-eyed, still rooted to her chair. "No more talk of theft? You know the girl and her mother are good servants to have after all and we are hardly talking the crown jewels are we?"
Lady Browne pursed her lips together and her outer armour melted for a moment at the sight of her handsome son, taller than her by several inches and jet black hair perfectly coiffured. "You are quite right George. Quite right. It is so hard to find staff and this is meant to be a day of celebration".
Chummy watched as her brother and mother walked away, the former throwing a conspiratorial wink over his shoulder at his youngest sibling. She listened carefully to the door closing and breathed a sigh of relief.
All she'd wanted to do was bring a little cheer to someone less fortunate. Well, materially less fortunate perhaps, but still, just to bring a smile to her face or let the girl know she was valued. Surely that was not such a difficult thing to understand even by her mother's standards? Just to do something nice to help or comfort and it was something, even in her thirteen years, Chummy could not ignore. She was aware of herself enough to realise that it was almost ingrained in her personality and it brought her so much peace to think she might, one day sometime in the not too distant future, not have to hide behind her brother's own charity to do as her heart desired.
One day.