Thursday's Child. Tracey Friday

chop down the Christmas tree that she had personally selected from one of her many afternoon walks around the estate’s woodland and to safely deliver it to the Manor. To ensure the correct spruce was delivered she had attached an old tartan scarf of hers around one of the lower branches.

      There were a few good contenders to choose from this year, but the one Mrs Sutton had selected was just under ten feet tall and satisfyingly broad and full at the base. The spruce was in excellent condition and the deep forestry aroma would fill the Great Hall with no difficulty at all.

      “Hey Pete,” as Billy nudged his brother, “Look at that over there,” he said indicating the spruce with the scarf attached as they cut through the woodland. In fact, they frequently used the Manor’s grounds as their personal thoroughfare, being mindful of Mr Sutton’s whereabouts.

      “Looks like the chosen tree for this year’s party,” said Pete as they ran towards it. “This must be Mrs Sutton’s scarf,” as he held it up and draped one end over his shoulder.

      “Very fetching, lad,” laughed his brother, “let’s tie it to another tree as a joke.”

      “Yes, let’s.” As Pete started to untie the knot he felt that it was frozen stiff in the middle from being out all night.

      “No, hold on,” exclaimed Billy as he suddenly covered his brother’s hand with his own. “I’m wrong, we’ll leave it. It’s funny now, but…”

      “But we want to see the best tree decorated, just like everyone else,” finished Billy.

      “Yes, we do. Come on, race you.”

      The twins sprinted for home.

      For Mrs Sutton, the only worry about the Christmas holidays was that Master Adam was home from boarding school. The atmosphere instantly changed for the worst when he arrived. He hardly ventured out of his room, sleeping day and night, and when he was awake his mood was so dark, that she was quite frightened to be around him. She remembered Adam as a polite but very reserved little boy and was genuinely saddened to see what he had become.

      “Pardon me, Squire,” said Mrs Sutton, after she had knocked and entered the study.

      “Come in, Mrs Sutton.” The Squire instantly put down his fountain pen and swivelled his leather desk chair around to face his housekeeper. “What can I do for you?” He ushered her over to the fireside chairs. “Mrs Sutton, is everything alright?” he asked, with a little concern as he could see that she looked quite worried and pale.

      “This is rather delicate, Squire. I feel duty bound, so I’ll just come straight out with it,” she said. She sat with her back bolt upright and looked the Squire in the eye. He knew that she wouldn’t come to him without good reason and let her proceed without interruption.

      “It’s to do with Master Adam.”

      The Squire flinched slightly, knowing already that his son was causing a problem.

      “Yesterday when I took up his lunch tray, I found him in a drunken stupor lying in a vomit covered bed. Made me feel very queasy as I opened all the windows to get some fresh air in. He stirred a little and was quite abusive. Don’t ask me to repeat what was said because I won’t. I tried to get him out of bed so I could at least change his sheets.

      “He’s only fifteen Squire, he shouldn’t be behaving like this. It isn’t right and I am sorry but I refuse to take up any more food trays. If he is hungry, he can come to the dining room like everyone else.

      “There. I’ve said my bit, won’t say any more about it. Just wanted you to know how I feel.”

      “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mrs Sutton. I had no idea it had gotten this bad and for that I apologise profusely for my son’s unacceptable behaviour towards you. Rest assured, I will have strong words to say to him.” The Squire stood and placed a gentle hand on Mrs Sutton’s shoulder for reassurance as she left the room.

      The Squire was furious as his loud footsteps could be heard on the polished floor as he marched down the hallway going from room to room collecting whisky bottles as he went. When his arms were full he suddenly felt extremely foolish and naïve, realising how much alcohol he had in the house. The bottles clinked against one another as he carefully made his way to the kitchen and tipped the contents down the sink.

      The liquid sloshed and gurgled and the fumes made him momentarily intoxicated as he emptied each bottle. He then walked outside to clear his head and was pleased that a positive decision had finally been made, albeit a little late, but a decision none the less. He would tackle Adam when he had sobered up and the house was less busy.

      Much later that evening, Adam sauntered down to the dining room to see if any food was on offer. When he found it all in darkness he went in search of Mrs Sutton.

      Where is that little busy body? She should be in the kitchen to prepare me my dinner, I’m famished, he thought.

      “Kitchen’s closed,” said the Squire who was sitting at the far end of the kitchen table cloaked in darkness.

      Adam ignored him and made his way to the pantry. If I have to, I’ll make my own food, he thought.

      “Nothing to eat until we come to an understanding on how you conduct yourself while you are under this roof,” said the Squire in an authoritative manner. “Sit down and explain yourself, son.”

      Adam was still drunk, but not too drunk to pick up the irony of what his father had just said.

      “Son?” he questioned. “All of a sudden, I am your son?”

      The Squire decided to let that one go and admitted to himself that it was a poor choice of words. “Sit down I say,” he bellowed, as he watched Adam pull out a chair. “You owe Mrs Sutton an apology,” he began. When he saw the boy smirk he felt like leaning over and grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. “You will do as I say and will sincerely apologise first thing tomorrow. Is that clear?” he said as he locked eyes with Adam who initially returned his stare but then looked away, defeated.

      “Good,” said the Squire. “Secondly, the house is clear of whisky, and so there is no room for misinterpretation, if you are caught drunk again or in possession of alcohol, I will cease your boarding school fees and you will be forced to come back here to live and attend the village school.”

      The instant look of horror on Adam’s face confirmed to the Squire that he had played an ace card. Leaving the boarding school was the last thing in the world that Adam wanted to do. He had no choice but to abide by his father’s rules. After a moment, Adam realised it wouldn’t be too bad. He had had the hindsight to stockpile a secret stash of alcohol that no one could ever find. He just had to be a little more careful and condense his daily intake.