Her eyes wandered to the orange hue of sky as it unleashed the first of what would be many a snowstorm this Christmas. Chummy gently wrapped her arms around herself, shutting away the ever so slight draft that pervaded through the ill-fitting window. The street below her was slowly and surely being buried under a soft, white blanket and it was almost as though a different world was forming before her eyes.
Chummy breathed in and breathed out, letting the cool evening air infuse her with much needed and necessary life. The view before her was so peaceful, with that calmness that anticipated that Christmas Eve with all its bells and jingles was just tomorrow. The street below her was unmarked and as she almost disassociated from her surroundings, her vision becoming blurred and she blinked quickly. It was as though her mind was spinning, twisting, twirling and it was only the sound of a creak of a floorboard that stopped its unending path. She heard the floor give again behind her as she sighed, that feeling of calm again meandering from her middle which would shroud her much like the snowflakes down below.
All of a sudden, she felt a silent presence behind her, offering a cup of steaming hot tea out to her.
Chummy took the white mug - decorated with fading pink flowers - and wrapped her hands around it, not feeling the heat as it enveloped her skin in comfort. "Thank you" she whispered, still feeling the aura of the figure, now shoulder to shoulder standing to her side. As she turned the cup in her hands, still far too hot to drink, a few thicker flakes fell on the other side of the glass. "It is so beautiful" she said suddenly, wistfully still staring at the sky. "One never imagined one could feel so at peace with the world".
The moment the words dispelled into the air, she heard the feet shift again and a hand drift to her lower back, rubbing slightly through the material of the simple black dress she wore. The voice was gentle and so very familiar in the soothing way it pacified her heart. "Camilla?"
She heard her name again; that hand squeezing her hip to catch her attention. "Camilla...Don't stand by the window all night. I don't want you freezing to death..."
Gently closing her eyes, she breathed in the warmth the person brought. "Camilla?" She was about to turn to answer when the voice turned gruffer, louder, intrusive and even more recognisable. "Camilla?...Camilla! Do stop daydreaming you silly girl! Your guest has arrived!"
The tea she had been drinking was in reality ice cold in her hands as Chummy turned torwards her mother, her heart racing at his sudden interruption. Day dreaming? Yes, Mater was probably right. Day dreaming of that hand she could still feel resting on her hip; the imprint of warmth and safety and...Chummy blinked and cleared her throat, dismissing the sensation and the feelings it brought with it.
She had been anxiously ready for a hour or two now and why had her mother of all people come upstairs for her? Could she not have sent Shelagh? "The Jesmonds are here and please, Camilla, come downstairs to greet Delia! She is your guest!"
Chummy put the teacup down back on her dressing table where she imagined it had been before. As her mother retreated with a swish of her jet black dress and an almost-slam of the door, Chummy took a quick glance towards the window again. Her shoulders dropped. She knew perfectly well what had engaged her as she stood about and moreso who had been standing beside her in his comforting company. It was not her mother who was walking into the room behind her, certainly not. She missed him. Horribly so.
As she looked out of the window for the second time, the street was no longer encased in that comfortable layer; no longer that perfect smooth blanket. It was scarred with tracks from the cars, horses and the footsteps were clear on the path; many of them and all were headed to their front door.
That anticipatory tingle in the air was most certainly there yet, unhappily this year, it seem to be coloured with a sadness upon which she could not explain. Not a single soul might understand, and whilst she was now an old hand at plastering on a smile, moments like this caused such heartache. A young gel's life should not be like this, surely? Waiting for the might be's or could be's?
Chummy gently pressed down the front of her dress, took a deep breath and followed her mother before another word was said.
Almost two hours later, Delia stood facing her temporary bedroom door, feeling just as apprehensive as Chummy had tried all evening not to show. Her hand rested just on the deep oak, so very conscious that Chummy was barely three feet away, behind her most probably expecting her to speak.
"Would you like me to ask Shelagh to assist you to unpack?" Chummy asked, hovering behind her wondering who might break the ice first. She was sure they could both feel the trepidation, trying not to expose to the world that this was not their first meeting. Dinner had been a quiet affair, placed next to each other, pretending they knew nothing of each other and speaking in little more than brief words. It was Delia's hesitation that did it in the end.
"Miss Browne..." Delia started, her hand resting limply on the door knob as she stared despondently at her own fingers. "One doesn't...".
"Please call me Chummy or Camilla" her companion interrupted, a heavy sigh eminating from deep inside as something inside her released the sphere of pent up fear that had been brewing all evening. "One is not one for the formalities of it all...particularly...particularly as we, of course, have met before". She watched Delia's hand slide from the brass door knob. "One thinks, perhaps, you might like to talk in private? Whilst there are no interlopers?"
Delia turned, her eyes filling with tears. It was almost a relief that she had found out that she would be staying with the Brownes this Christmas; seeing this house she had visited just once before. After how these last few months had unfolded, it was almost perverse in its joy that she might see a friend of Patience's again at what ought to be a special time of year. Family. Friends. It was almost a step back towards her love. "Would you mind?" Delia asked, not caring that a tear slipped down her cheek. "You are the only other person who might care to understand this predicament we are all in".
Chummy quickly helped Delia with her suitcases into the other room and they sat at the window seat where not too many months ago, she sat with Patsy as they made their plans. Plans that had been dashed ten times over.
Delia dabbed her eyes, gently folding her handkerchief onto her lap, plucking up the courage as to how to start. Outside, the snow was still falling; fluffy and light, swirling as each flake was taken by the night breeze, spinning their way to rest but this time there were more pressing matters to hand and Chummy sat waiting.
"Tell me what happened?" Chummy asked. She thought it best to just let Delia say what she liked; just as Patsy did and be the friendly ear that she so clearly needed.
Delia took a deep breath, toying with the cream lace of the handkerchief again and too staring out of the window at the snowflakes. How free you are. She let out a shaky breath. "Father brought me to Kent as soon as we were returned to London. He met us with the Police, for shame. He felt I would be less open to distraction with him than in Wales. One lived with my cousin there, you see – she and I are of the same age – yet father felt as though one was without a guiding influence living there". She paused. "One is not missing a guiding hand. My cousin – she is a good, God-fearing soul and she would never lead me into illicit paths. My father and mother blamed the poor dear, but every decision I have made has been mine. They say she could not keep me from harm, but one knows my own soul, Camilla and one is capable of ones own decisions".
Chummy nodded. "Yet, once we do make our own decisions, they are never treated like the valuable commodity they are".
Tears began to fall again from Delia's eyes, Chummy gently guiding her to pat her face once more with the handkerchief. "One cannot breathe in that house in Kent. Every move that I make is watched. I have to have permission to even take a walk around the grounds and...one does miss Patience so much".
"So do I" Chummy replied. "But one knows that you must miss her so many times more than I must do".
"Do you know where she is?" Delia asked, desperate to know.
Chummy nodded. She would not keep the news from her. "One has written to her but one has not heard back".
"But where?" Delia implored, her face a picture of nothing but desperation. She wore a deep frown and Chummy knew she could not withhold such information from her.
"A convent in Yorkshire. Easington. St Johns" Chummy offered. "At least one presumes that is where she still is but it has been weeks since her letter...". She had presumed by now that her letter had been intercepted and if not, a response was likely lying in tatters somewhere. Knowing her parents it had probably been burnt. No trace, you see and they could deny all knowledge of it if she ever had the courage and wherewithall to ask.
Delia nodded carefully. "One only wishes to know she is safe; in a place of comfort. With people who care". At this particular juncture that was all she needed to know. It was, at best, all she may ever know unless she had her way.
"One thinks she is" Chummy responded, sighing again. "One wishes we would make our own choices in life, without consequence or judgement upon us..." All around her, all she could see were barriers to what she needed. It was funny how Mater assumed she knew what was best for her daughter when she barely knew her at all.
"Your mother, my father..." Delia responded, panicking slightly as she interrupted Chummy's thoughts. "They must not know we have met before".
"No they will never know. We have to be perfect acquaintences" Chummy replied with a smile. The prospect had already crossed her mind.
Delia responded with a nod of her head, feeling better to know at least where her love was, until a thought struck her. "Your mother said that your fiancee will be with us for Christmas too".
"Gregory is not my fiancee" Chummy responded frankly, wondering who else her mother might have told of this wedding that never will be. "We are not to be married". It was the first time she had said that to anyone, but it was the truth and she felt that Delia might keep her secret. "He is a friend and nothing more, but one will speak to him beforehand. Warn him. He and you will be utter strangers to each other. You can trust him".
Delia nodded again. It seems that she was not the only one keeping up a pretence. "Would you not marry him? If it came to it?" She had to admit that she was curious.
Chummy hesitated before she answered. In a different world, she might. He was good company, wealthy, amusing and in private, one of the least stuffy people she knew. "He is a welcome friend to me, Delia, but no. His heart is elsewhere; far from this particular door".
Delia accepted her explanation immediately and did not pry further. "Could you tell me things about Patience?" she asked. "One feels you may know more of her than one will ever do if this situation persists..."
"Of course one will", Chummy responded, mindful though that conversations in this house did not tend to stay private for very long. "Tomorrow, shall we take a drive to Hyde Park? We must wrap up warm, but Turner will take us and wait. We shall be able to talk in peace".
"Thank you" Delia replied, reaching across to squeeze Chummy's hands. That was Patsy's gesture. "We will do that. Please tell me all you know. One has to know!"
Chummy nodded. It might be almost time to retire but she might start now. It would be a comfort to them both.