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Authors: Jean Plaidy
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if they had more money and didn’t have to wonder whether they could afford things – although they were richer now that Papa was Crown Prince. Then she thought of the grandeur of Buckingham Palace and launched into a description of that imposing building, the grand staircase and the drawing-room where she had seen the Queen.
‘But the Yellow Palace is really nicer,’ she added, ‘and our mama and papa are really much more …’ she paused for a word … ‘cosy than theirs. Poor Alice! Poor Lenchen! They had to be very careful, because their papa is very easily shocked and the Queen their mama says everything he does is right.’
‘Everything our papa does is not right,’ pointed out Dagmar. ‘Mama is always telling him …’
Alix smiled. ‘I’d hate to have a father who is always right. No papa is as nice as ours even if he is wrong sometimes.’
Dagmar was prepared to agree with Alix as always.
So they talked as they stitched at their presents, with that wonderful sense of excitement because at any moment they might have to be slipped into a drawer if the intended recipient came into the room.
Christmas Eve came at last, with all the Christmas trees – one for each member of the family. The children tiptoed in with awe and wonder to examine them. Their names were on each table – Fredy, Alix, Willy, Dagmar, Thyra. They squealed with pleasure for each had their candles which would look beautiful when it grew dark – and in the centre of the room was the big tree laden with gifts in brightly coloured packages for everybody.
It was so exciting. Alix dressing for dinner – a very special occasion – tried on a red sash with her white muslin dress. Oh no, she thought, the blue would be best; and there was the blue sash with the little white flowers on it embroidered by Dagmar for her birthday. She must wear the blue sash – Dagmar would be so pleased. She put it on and studied the effect. How gracefully the skirt fell. The dress was as good as anything she had seen in the expensive shops. It was as good as anything she had seen worn at Cambridge Lodge and Buckingham Palace.
The red sash was more suitable for Christmas, because red was a Christmas colour. She changed the sash. Yes, definitely the red. But Dagmar would like the blue.
The blue … the red … She changed half a dozen times and then decided that it was better to please Dagmar than wear the Christmas colour.
The bell had gone. Oh dear, she should be down now and it was difficult to tie the sash exactly right, which she must of course do.
The family were at the table when she arrived. Papa gave her a reproachful look, but as it was Christmas Eve she would not be punished by standing up to drink her coffee and not be given second helpings, or perhaps go without her sweet. But she was contrite because dear Papa cared so much that people were where they should be at precisely the appointed minute.
The children were chattering about the trees. They were bigger than last year, there were more candles and hadn’t the big tree looked wonderful? Little Thyra speculated on what the odd-shaped parcel in blue paper contained and wondered whether it was for her.
Louise and Christian exchanged glances. They were very happy with their little family. Christian hoped that they could go on enjoying these simple pleasures for a long time to come; Louise, more ambitious, was a little sad thinking that soon the children would be grown up and it would be necessary for them to marry and go away, for what could there be for any of them in Denmark – except Fredy, of course, who would follow his father to the throne.
After the meal it was present-giving time – the highlight of Christmas when the family assembled round the big tree and there were squeals of delight as paper crunched and gifts emerged and arms were flung round necks and the giver assured that it was just what the receiver had always wanted.
And when the excitement had died down they
‘But the Yellow Palace is really nicer,’ she added, ‘and our mama and papa are really much more …’ she paused for a word … ‘cosy than theirs. Poor Alice! Poor Lenchen! They had to be very careful, because their papa is very easily shocked and the Queen their mama says everything he does is right.’
‘Everything our papa does is not right,’ pointed out Dagmar. ‘Mama is always telling him …’
Alix smiled. ‘I’d hate to have a father who is always right. No papa is as nice as ours even if he is wrong sometimes.’
Dagmar was prepared to agree with Alix as always.
So they talked as they stitched at their presents, with that wonderful sense of excitement because at any moment they might have to be slipped into a drawer if the intended recipient came into the room.
Christmas Eve came at last, with all the Christmas trees – one for each member of the family. The children tiptoed in with awe and wonder to examine them. Their names were on each table – Fredy, Alix, Willy, Dagmar, Thyra. They squealed with pleasure for each had their candles which would look beautiful when it grew dark – and in the centre of the room was the big tree laden with gifts in brightly coloured packages for everybody.
It was so exciting. Alix dressing for dinner – a very special occasion – tried on a red sash with her white muslin dress. Oh no, she thought, the blue would be best; and there was the blue sash with the little white flowers on it embroidered by Dagmar for her birthday. She must wear the blue sash – Dagmar would be so pleased. She put it on and studied the effect. How gracefully the skirt fell. The dress was as good as anything she had seen in the expensive shops. It was as good as anything she had seen worn at Cambridge Lodge and Buckingham Palace.
The red sash was more suitable for Christmas, because red was a Christmas colour. She changed the sash. Yes, definitely the red. But Dagmar would like the blue.
The blue … the red … She changed half a dozen times and then decided that it was better to please Dagmar than wear the Christmas colour.
The bell had gone. Oh dear, she should be down now and it was difficult to tie the sash exactly right, which she must of course do.
The family were at the table when she arrived. Papa gave her a reproachful look, but as it was Christmas Eve she would not be punished by standing up to drink her coffee and not be given second helpings, or perhaps go without her sweet. But she was contrite because dear Papa cared so much that people were where they should be at precisely the appointed minute.
The children were chattering about the trees. They were bigger than last year, there were more candles and hadn’t the big tree looked wonderful? Little Thyra speculated on what the odd-shaped parcel in blue paper contained and wondered whether it was for her.
Louise and Christian exchanged glances. They were very happy with their little family. Christian hoped that they could go on enjoying these simple pleasures for a long time to come; Louise, more ambitious, was a little sad thinking that soon the children would be grown up and it would be necessary for them to marry and go away, for what could there be for any of them in Denmark – except Fredy, of course, who would follow his father to the throne.
After the meal it was present-giving time – the highlight of Christmas when the family assembled round the big tree and there were squeals of delight as paper crunched and gifts emerged and arms were flung round necks and the giver assured that it was just what the receiver had always wanted.
And when the excitement had died down they
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