‘So much fer tryin’ to teach ’em good table manners,’ Cissie remarked as she helped herself to a succulent piece of roast pork and crackling, and popped it into her mouth.

Sunday didn’t comment. As well as Christmas, she had other things on her mind. Exciting, wonderful things that she daren’t even think about too deeply. Her monthly course was now two weeks late and she was praying that at last she might be carrying the longed-for baby. She hadn’t mentioned it to Tom as yet. The way she saw it, there was no sense in raising his hopes until she was sure – but she had confided in Cissie, who was almost as excited as she was. The roast pork dinner was followed by Mrs Rose’s delicious jam roly-poly and jugs of thick creamy custard, which again disappeared at an alarming rate.

‘May we stay up to finish decorating the tree before we have our baths?’ one little boy asked Sunday’s mother hopefully and after glancing at her daughter, Lavinia Huntley smiled.

‘I should think so, just so long as you promise to go up as soon as it’s finished,’ she agreed.

The children were then excused from the table and they raced off for the boxes of baubles in the hall again, leaving the adults to enjoy their coffee in peace.

‘Em’ly, make sure none of them tries to climb the stepladder!’ Sunday shouted after her, as the girl shepherded the smaller children into the corridor. Em’ly nodded and closed the door as Cissie leaned back in her seat.

‘Eeh, they’ve fair worn me out today,’ she yawned. ‘If they’re this excited now, goodness knows what they’ll be like come Christmas morning!’

‘I thought I’d carry on with wrapping some more of the presents this evening when they’ve all gone up to bed,’ Lavinia said as she poured herself more coffee. ‘Are there any volunteers to help?’

‘Well, much as I’d like to, I can’t. I have me own brood to get to bed,’ Cissie said. ‘George is lookin’ after ’em at the moment, but they won’t go to sleep without me bein’ there.’ Cissie, George and their brood lived happily in Primrose Cottage, which lay in the grounds of Treetops Manor.

Tom hastily made his excuses too but Sunday offered, ‘I’ll help. I quite like wrapping presents as it happens.’

‘Huh! It’s a complete waste o’ time if yer ask me,’ Cissie snorted. ‘The first thing they do is rip ’em open.’

‘Yes, but opening the present and not knowing what’s inside is half the pleasure,’ Sunday argued. Then, ‘Are we going to let them open them first thing Christmas morning or when we get back from church?’

‘Well, seeing as their stockings are going to be hanging on the end of their beds I think you’ll have a bit of a job on to try and make them wait,’ Lavinia chuckled. ‘Although I dare say you could put them all under the tree and hand them out when we get back from church. That way, they’d have no choice but to wait.’