Christmas in Paris by Jackie French

Author:Jackie French
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-11-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Do you know the greatest privilege of all? It is being able to change your mind. Most poor creatures in this world must accept the life they are given. You need both money and the sense of privilege money gives to find that you can say, ‘No, I think I’ll go this way instead.’

Miss Lily, 1913

Miss Lily liked her.

Sophie followed Jones up the stairs, though somehow he was behind her and leading at the same time. Was only an earl’s butler, she pondered, capable of that?

Miss Lily liked her.

Of all the emotions she was feeling, the joy and triumph were the strongest, but there were others too: excitement; exultation that this time Sophie herself had proved to be more important than the fortune from corned beef.

Miss Lily liked her.

She wished she could tell Malcolm, Miss Thwaites or even some of the Suitable Friends.

She also wished she hadn’t left so much of the cherry cake behind. She was suddenly starving. She hoped it wasn’t long till dinner. She glanced at her watch. Five-thirty. Another hour, then.

The hall upstairs was lined with dark wood, with a faint scent of mouse and rose. The hall runner was what the mother of one of the Suitable Friends called Persian carpet, but this looked more Chinese, with faint dragons winding their way along the hall.

‘Your room is here, Miss Higgs. The other young ladies will have the rooms further along. The apartments through the end door are Miss Lily’s. She prefers that her young guests stay on this side of the hall.’

‘Thank you, Jones. Er . . . where is the bathroom?’

‘Doris will bring you hot water, miss, and everything else you require.’ No bathroom, she thought. No water closet on this floor either, by the sound of it. She hated using chamber pots. Poor Doris, having to empty it.

Jones opened the door to the bedroom, then stood back. ‘I will ask Doris to attend you, Miss Higgs. Will there be anything more?’ He gave a polite cough. ‘A little more tea, perhaps?’

‘Please,’ she said gratefully, hoping there would be food with it.

The door closed behind him. She looked around the room.

It was large, the same size as her room at home, but there the resemblance ended. The walls were covered in what looked like striped silk — she reached out and touched it. It was. There was a giant fireplace, with coals as well as flames. The fire had been warming the room since early morning, then. She was certain the sheets would be aired and warmed too.

Two armchairs and a window seat upholstered in patterned silk looked gently faded. She looked more closely and grinned. Tiny monkeys played among the greenery. It was a touch of whimsy and ridiculousness, something that Miss Thwaites would never have thought of, that Mrs Overhill might be shocked by. Just simply fun.

The bed was narrow. She felt vague disappointment it wasn’t a four-poster. And, yes, there was a chamber pot under the bed, with a hinged top —

The door opened.

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