She allowed herself another ten minutes to enjoy it, then dressed quickly in the perfectly pressed woollen suit that somehow looked better than on the day she had bought it. There was no reason to think that the church would be miraculously warmer than the rest of the castle, so she took her coat from the wardrobe and checked her bag for the envelope wrapped in tissue paper that was Marta’s Christmas present; as far as she could gather, the day’s itinerary was packed with communal activities and they were unlikely to find any private time together until the evening, but she wanted it with her in case the right moment came. It looked a poor thing next to the collection of presents that Marta had brought with her, but Josephine knew how much the gift would mean, and she couldn’t wait to hand it over.
The gathering on the terrace outside the church was in high spirits, and the small crowd took her by surprise. There were lots of people she didn’t know, as well as one or two familiar faces from the household staff, and she guessed that most of them were islanders who had come up from the village for the service. The terrace had been efficiently cleared of the night’s snow, which now rested in large, manmade drifts against the outer walls, proving an irresistible temptation to the Mount’s children, who lobbed great handfuls at each other, laughing and shouting when they scored a direct hit, and ignoring their parents’ half-hearted instructions to behave. The sheer joy of the game brought the whole scene to life, and Josephine was suddenly conscious that the festivities so far had been strangely muted without the childlike excitement of Christmas; the adults were going through the motions and making the best of it, but there was something missing from the party – some vital element of innocence and sparkle and wonder – that even a Hollywood star couldn’t conjure into being.
Two footmen passed among the congregation with trays of hot coffee, rum butter tarts and spicy pepper cakes, and Josephine accepted a cup gratefully, glad of both the warmth and the stimulant. The coffee was laced with brandy, and she took it over to the far side of the terrace to enjoy the views out to Penzance and Newlyn, and then to Land’s End. There was no sign of Marta or Archie yet, but Hilaria – a picture of restrained elegance in a tailored burgundy suit that stood out against the snow – was talking to a couple with two young children. She waved when she saw Josephine, and broke away from the group to join her. ‘I’m so pleased to see you,’ she said, after the flurry of Christmas greetings. ‘Everyone must be sleeping late this morning. I was just beginning to wonder if all my guests had defied the tides and fled in the night.’
‘I think it’s more a case of sleeping off the festive spirit. You looked after us far too well at dinner.’ She glanced round the terrace again. ‘Am I really the first to arrive?’
‘All but Mr Fielding. He’s around somewhere, taking more photographs.’
‘Of course he is.’ They shared a smile, which reaffirmed Josephine’s liking for Archie’s childhood friend. ‘There’s plenty to keep him busy here,’ she said. ‘This is really lovely – a proper traditional Christmas. We could be anywhere over the last two hundred years.’ It was true: the scene in front of her, framed by the church, had a timeless simplicity about it. There was a balcony outside the door, accessed by a set of steps on each side, and it had been beautifully decorated with garlands of greenery. Holly berries glinted in the morning sun, picking out shards of colour from the stained glass wherever the church was lit from within, and the peal of bells cut through the air with a gentle civility; although she was no churchgoer herself, Josephine wondered why they all worked so hard each year to smother the heart of Christmas with more elaborate preparations. ‘Does everyone on the island come to the service?’ she asked.
‘Yes, except for one or two of the older residents who find the climb too much these days, and we make sure we have a concert down in the village for them so they don’t feel left out. I know we all sigh when Mr Fielding enters the room, but this is the main reason I was happy to let the newspapers in – not for the glamour of Hollywood and not even for the money they’re donating to the fund, but for the chance to show off what we do here. I wanted the islanders and the family to have something to be proud of. It feels like the end of something, this Christmas, so it will be nice to have it on record.’
‘Were you hit badly by the last war?’
‘We lost our fair share of men.’
‘And grief resonates in a small community, over and above the personal sense of loss.’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s true, but we’re a resilient lot. Most of the families on the island have lived here for generations, and there are a couple with connections that go back hundreds of years. They’re sea-faring people and their ancestors sailed all over the world, so they’re no strangers to danger and tragedy. And they’re fiercely loyal to the Mount. We’re lucky to have them.’
‘And they you, I suspect,’ Josephine said, admiring the unsentimental respect in Hilaria’s words. ‘How long have you been here?’
She misunderstood the question and answered on behalf of the family. ‘The St Aubyns bought the Mount in 1659, but they were stewards here even before that.’
‘And you personally?’
‘Oh, I see – sorry. I came in 1908, when I was fourteen. I’ll miss it, when the inevitable happens. Two griefs for the price of one.’
And a heavy price, Josephine thought – for Hilaria and for the island. It seemed deeply unfair that St Michael’s Mount would be deprived of someone who obviously ran it well and cared so deeply about the people who depended on her, but it wasn’t the time to discuss the injustices of inheritance and Hilaria didn’t seem the type to wallow in self-pity or the sentence of her departure. Even so, the two of them were roughly contemporaries, both at an age when the pleasures of Christmas were also its sadness, and Josephine knew that Hilaria’s everyday concerns must have been magnified a hundredfold by the intense melancholy of the season.
They were saved from venturing any further down that route by Marta’s arrival, followed shortly by Archie. ‘On your own this morning?’ she asked mischievously as Archie bent to kiss her, but her hopes for any whiff of scandal were instantly dashed by a disappointing response.
‘Yes,’ he said, without any hint of coyness. ‘Marlene’s decided to have a late breakfast in her room, so I can enjoy a brief suspension of duties.’
‘What an arduous task you’ve set yourself,’ Marta said teasingly. ‘I really don’t know how you’re putting up with it.’
Archie grinned. ‘It’s a sacrifice, I know, but all in the course of a day’s work.’
‘What a shame that Miss Dietrich won’t be joining us,’ Hilaria said, a little crestfallen from his news. ‘As you can imagine, the carols and prayers aren’t the only things that have brought people out this morning – and talking of prayers, I must just go and check where Richard’s got to.’
She was saved the trouble by Angela Hartley, who came out of the vestibule to the drawing room with a length of black silk cloth in her hand. ‘Richard’s forgotten this,’ she said, looking at Hilaria with a wry smile. ‘It’s not often I get to remind him of something these days. Can I take it in to him?’