The Willows at Christmas by William Horwood

heart and cheer her spirit. Then she said with considerable feeling, “I am glad indeed that Christmas so evidently lives in your heart, Mr Mole, as well as it does in mine, for I swear its expression has very nearly died in this house these past years! Yet not completely, no not absolutely, for I make sure it does not.”
    “I am glad if you can find some time to celebrate Christmas yourself,” said the Mole quietly, “for I rather feared that the responsibilities of having the Hall to organise would prevent you from doing so.”
    “Well, I should not quite say ‘celebrate’ in the sense you mean, for Mrs Ffleshe is a demanding guest, if I may put it that way”
    Mole murmured that she might if she wished.
    “But I always make sure I have the afternoon of Christmas Eve to myself, at least till seven o’clock, and upon this point I have had my way with Mrs Ffleshe. I shall do most of the work I need to this evening so that I can have that time to myself tomorrow afternoon. How very much I look forward to it!”
    “I am glad of it, Miss Bugle,” returned the Mole, “glad indeed, for I dare say you have no other liberty between now and the sixth of January.”
    The Mole was about to tackle the subject uppermost in his mind when Miss Bugle stood up in an animated way and interrupted his search for suitable words.
    “Twelfth Night!” she cried, eyes brighter still. “How Mr Toad Senior used to make us all enjoy that special ritual. ‘Miss Bugle,’ he would say, ‘kindly make sure that not all the decorations are taken down for I like to see the glitter to the end!’
    “I would take him at his word, and see to it that those decorations we used to place over the dining room fire, in whose grate the Yule log was first lit, were left till last. Then as the embers died he would summon all the staff from butler down to bootboy, from housekeeper down to under-scullery maid, and he would propose our health, guests and servants alike. O he was a jolly gentleman, Mr Mole!”
    “I dare say you miss him still?” said Mole with a smile. “I do. O I do — but I do not forget him. Why, on Christmas Eve I —”
    She paused and looked suddenly a little coy as if she was about to make a revelation she should not. The Mole had the very good sense to remain silent, for he saw that the infectious spirit of Christmas might do his plotting for him.
    “Mr Mole’ she began impulsively looking again with pleasure at his gift, “would it be too bold of me to ask if this compote, which I believe you said was of chestnut and prune, might be taken with afternoon tea with clotted cream?”
    The Mole said it would go very well with that. He certainly had enjoyed it at tea-time many times.
    “You do not quite understand me, Mr Mole. I am sure I should not be so bold, but…”
    The Mole smiled as encouragingly as he could.
    “Yes, Miss Bugle?” he said with a twinkle in his eye, his heart filled with joy to discover that the spirit of Christmas was not quite dead along the River Bank after all.
    “Might I ask if you would be so kind as to be my guest tomorrow afternoon, Mr Mole, because — well, because I would be so very much obliged if you would!”
    Mole was very well aware from what she had said earlier what a compliment and honour this was, and nothing, absolutely nothing, could have delighted him more. Why, his social calendar, so empty but two days before, was filling up very rapidly indeed.
    “Madam,” said he, rising rather formally, “I shall be as honoured as I shall be delighted. Would four o’clock be the correct time for me to arrive? By then dusk will be upon us and I will be less likely to be observed by Mrs Ffleshe or Mr Toad.”
    “Four o’clock, sir, let it be four o’clock!” cried Miss Bugle gaily.
    “I shall look forward to it inordinately, and I will save till then the matter I had come expressly here today to discuss with you. It will be all the better for being mooted over tea!”
    “Well then,