~~~Warning: there's some sad bits in this chapter~~~

Monday 24th December – Yule Eve
Evening: Mother's Night
Residents, visitors and staff are welcome to join this event. For those wishing to take part, we will gather in the Great Hall from half-past six onwards with a celebration to follow. A group will be leaving for the Wintertide Temple at seven o'clock. Those wishing to attend the service are advised to dress warmly.

"What's Mother's Night?" Eden asked, looking up from that day's list of activities.

"Oh ... it's a family thing," Lucy said. She looked slightly uncomfortable before hastily adding, "But of course you must be part of our family tonight."

"I've got Father," said Eden.

"He can be in our family too," Lucy said. "Look, I think I'd better tell you about it. You see ..."

There was a light rap on the door, and Nalini entered gracefully.

"Excuse me, Miss Lucy. Mister Otto requests your presence in the family drawing room," she said.

"Oh, bother Otto," Lucy said.

"My apologies Miss Lucy, but Mister Otto wishes for you and your brothers to meet in the drawing room before going down to the Great Hall together."

Lucy turned to Eden and said, "I'm so sorry about this. Do you mind coming down to the Great Hall by yourself, and we can meet up there?"

"No, that's alright," Eden said. "I couldn't come now anyway – I haven't even started getting dressed yet."

"I couldn't be more cross with Otto," Lucy said, hurriedly pulling on a light jacket and running a hand through her curls. 

"I'm only the messenger, Miss Lucy," Nalini said, drawing herself up a little taller.

"I'm not cross with you, Nalini," Lucy said. "You're doing as you were asked, and I didn't mean to sound ratty. See you soon, Eden."

Once Lucy had left, Nalini said, "Would you like me to help you dress, Miss Eden?"

"Oh ... thank you, Nalini," Eden said. "Actually, I'm not really sure what to wear."

"A white dress would be proper for someone in your circumstances," Nalini said.

Eden wasn't sure what she meant – a girl of her age, perhaps? But she did have a white dress, a soft cashmere with high collar and mother of pearl buttons. 

Nalini was deft in her ministrations, and it didn't seem long before Eden was having her hair brushed until it shone.

"Nalini, what's Mother's Night?" Eden asked.

"If you haven't been told, Miss Eden, then it's not for me to say, I'm sure," Nalini replied, turning her back to put the hairbrush on the dressing table.

"Well, do I look alright, then?" Eden asked.

"You look very correct, miss," Nalini said, with a note of pride in her handiwork. "You'll be attending the Wintertide Temple, so you'll need a coat. Would this grey one suit, Miss Eden?"

⋆⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ❆ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋆

Eden walked into the Great Hall, her coat over her arm. The room was decorated in pink, white, and green, and filled with vases of pretty hot house flowers. It was packed with people, mostly standing about in groups by the fire holding glasses of punch and chatting. The long trestle tables had been replaced with numerous small round ones.

For a moment Eden couldn't get her bearings, there were so many people. Then she saw Lucy and her brothers about halfway down the hall, sitting around Dorothea at a table. They looked as if they were laughing and joking together, so she began walking towards them, when she was suddenly accosted by a tall young woman with a mass of red-gold curls.

"Miss Eden! Oh, I'm so pleased to see you."

"Maeve, I nearly didn't recognise you out of uniform," said Eden in delight. "You're not still on nightwatch?"

"Not any more," Maeve said with a grin. "And I'm sure I've got you to thank, because after Hodge made his report, Captain Zidane took me off it, and said he now realised he'd given me a harder task than he first thought."

"How is Hodge?"

"On nightwatch," Maeve said, before adding, "but it's not your fault. Hodge made a wrong decision, and he knows he has to pay for it."

"Oh poor Hodge," Eden said, feeling guilty despite Maeve's words. "I hope it isn't for too long."

"He's a big boy, he can cope," said Maeve. "But I am glad not to be working tonight, because now I can spend the evening with Mum."

"I think you said your mother works at the palace?" Eden said.

"Yes, that's right," Maeve nodded. "She's a seamstress."

"I suppose she must like it, if she wanted you to get a job here too", said Eden.

"She does, very much," Maeve said. "The only trouble is that her eyes and hands aren't really good enough for that kind of close work any more. But she's still far too young to retire."

"What will she do?"

"Older seamstresses usually end up as washerwomen," Maeve said. "It's hard work, and doesn't pay as well. I want to earn enough money to buy a house for us, so Mum can work for herself. But I'm a long way off yet." She gave a little sigh.

"Which one is your mother?" Eden asked, looking around.

"That's Mum over there," Maeve said, nodding to where a group of women were by the fireplace. "She's in green, standing next to the fair-haired lady in pink."

"You look a lot like her," Eden said. 

Maeve's mother was a tall sturdy woman with the same red curls and freckles as her daughter. She suddenly threw back her head and gave a loud, hearty laugh. In doing so, she caught Maeve's eye and gave her a wave.

"Come and say hello," Maeve said. "Her name's Brigid. She'll love you."

Eden did not feel at all sure Maeve's mother would love her. In fact, she could easily imagine her being quite angry with Eden for getting her daughter put on nightwatch. Before she could say anything, she was rescued by Lucy, who stood up and waved, calling, "Come and join us!"

However, Eden barely had time to make a quick excuse and say goodbye to Maeve before a tall woman with long silver-grey hair wearing a white robe stood in the middle of the room, energetically ringing a bell. Once she had people's attention, she made an announcement in a clear voice.

"Listen up, please! My name is Sister Albina," she said. "There will be a feast in the Great Hall for all mothers and their families. For those attending the service at the Wintertide Temple, please come with me."

Eden tried to keep walking down the Great Hall towards Lucy, but it felt like a tide of people were coming at her, led by Sister Albina. She struggled through them, until someone took her arm and gently pulled her in.

"You're coming with us," her father said with a smile. "We're going to the Wintertide Temple."

Pip and Bernard were with him, and smiled at her as Bernard said, "Yes, come along now. This is our Mother's Night."

"You don't need to worry," Pip said in a gentle voice. "We'll all be together."

Eden took one hopeless look at Lucy before she was swept inexorably along with the crowd, most of them wearing white or pale grey clothing. As they reached the big front doors, Eden pulled her lamb's wool coat over her dress, and gave a little shiver.

"What's this all about?" she whispered to her father when they reached the bottom of the steps.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not really sure," Meriadoc confessed. "Bernard did start telling me, but somehow we never quite got to the nub of it before we had to leave. Something about it being the night before Yule, and it's a celebration for mothers."

Having surmised as much herself, there was little Eden could do but join the throng, her father taking her gloved hand in his own.

It was a strange procession, Sister Albina at the front with a lantern that gave out a wavering light which made the shadows dance. They made their way in almost complete silence, the earlier light snowfall muffling the sound of their footsteps. It was a crisp, still night, and the pale moon hung in the dark sky, casting a mysterious silver glow over the frosted landscape.

Only a few minutes walk brought them to the Wintertide Temple with its domed copper roof. It was a strange bulbous sort of building, but the moonlight gave it dignity, and the warm glow shining through its coloured windows welcomed them. Eden could hear a choir singing or chanting from inside, the last notes ending as Sister Albina opened the door.

The temple was lit by lamps hanging from its walls, and candles burned from between the red berries of holly leaves in decoration. They trooped in quietly and took their places on thick and heavy curved wooden benches, rubbed smooth and satiny by centuries of use. 

Eden sat between Pip and her father, her nostrils filled with the sweet, musty smell of frankincense incense. The red and black mosaic tiles of the floor were heated in the old Roman way, a great relief for frozen feet.

Sister Albina stood on a dais at the front, before the marble altar. She looked around the temple as if to examine all of them carefully before she began speaking.

"Brothers and sisters, tomorrow is the dawn of the Sun and the joy that comes with Yule morning. But tonight we remember the Great Mother, and wait in darkness as she prepares to give birth to the Light. Hail, Holy Lady!"

"Hail, Holy Mother," came the response from the congregation, which Eden joined in with, mumbling at the end.

"This is a day to celebrate the mothers," Sister Albina continued. "For many, that means a special feast to share with their mother, or the mother of their children. For those of us without mothers, who have not become mothers ourselves, this is a night to honour their memory."

Eden looked around curiously at the other people sitting in the temple. Many of them were elderly – there was Mr Percy, and the old lady who had seen the ghost on the stairs. But there were young people too. Eden recognised the fair haired boy called Algy, the one who hadn't believed in the Yule Father. He sat with a depressed looking man who was presumably his father.

Sister Albina walked to the front of the dais and looked out at them with her serious grey eyes. She adopted a more conversational tone.

"Brothers and sisters, I would ask you to begin by simply remembering your mother," she said. "Picture her face. Let a memory of her come to you, and allow your mother's voice to be heard."

Most people closed their eyes, some screwing their faces up in concentration. Seeing this, Eden closed her eyes as well, but felt quite sure that it was pointless. She didn't have any memories of her mother, she had been too young when she lost her.

Eden looked into the darkness behind her eyes, but it was the same whenever she tried to remember her mother. All she could see was the painting her father had hanging in his drawing room, which showed a slender, pretty young woman in a white lace dress, with dark hair down to her waist. The woman had a winsome expression, and deep down Eden didn't much like the painting.

The only thing she really had of her mother's was a music box made of polished wood, with a brass clock set into it. When you lifted the lid, a tiny ship appeared, and if the handle was turned, tinkling music played, like a set of fairy bells. The ship appeared to rise and sink in a circle, atop three blue enamel waves with a white curl painted on each one. The ship swirled in time with the music, a melody in a minor key which got into your head and wound itself around your heart. 

Eden banged her eyes open in frustration, and noticed several people were already weeping. Pip and Bernard wiped their eyes, and held each other's hands. A woman nearby had a handkerchief to her face.

All of a sudden, Eden's father began sobbing loudly. She knew he was remembering, not his own mother, but hers, and put her arm around him in an effort to give comfort. Eden was aware of a feeling of deep pity for her father, coupled with an uncomfortable embarrassment that he was making a spectacle of himself, although he received only sympathetic looks from others. Pip and Bernard both reached over to pat him on the shoulder.

Sister Albina came to Meriadoc, saying a few words and gently leading him to a quiet corner where he could sit and collect himself. She didn't touch his arm or clasp his hand, she only sat with him, speaking in a low, soothing voice. Eden couldn't hear what she was saying, but it must have made her father feel better, because he stopped crying.

Eden had always known how much her father had missed her mother. He hadn't sobbed brokenly before now for years, but there were sighs and wistful looks in private moments. She realised now that in some way his grief had pushed hers aside, that there had been no space for her to grieve for a mother she couldn't remember when her father's mourning for a dearly beloved wife was still so deep.

Eden closed her eyes again and tried to let her mind completely relax. A minute went by and another minute, until her skin itched from sitting still. She ignored it and kept her mind as blank as she could, letting stray thoughts flitter through without trying to hold onto them. The air of the temple seemed to be thick with prayer, long ago worshippers leaving behind an afterimage of their thoughts to help her.

She couldn't remember her mother, so she pictured the music box. Thought of the little ship turning on its enamel sea, the music tinkling. Up and down, around and around. A haunting  melody like a set of fairy bells heard in the far distance. How many times had her mother opened the lid, cranked the handle, watched the ship dip and crest in its circle? How many times had she heard the same tune that Eden did?

The Bell Tower of Camden Palace began pealing – eight chimes through the cold, still air to let people know it was eight o'clock. Eden's mind slipped from its concentration, the tintinnabulation merging with the music which tinkled in her memory. And as her mind let loose from its moorings, awash in a sea of bells, she saw her mother's face in a flash of recollection – not the insipid face in the painting, but the real one.

It was a thinner, browner face than in the painting, with sharp cheekbones and a full mouth that had something in the corner of it that might be humour. Eden had often been told that her mother was a sweet woman, a lovely woman, but now she saw that she'd had a strong face and a very determined chin. She was altogether a more interesting person than reports of her.

She could see her mother from the point of a view of a crawling baby, and she was snatched up and held to her mother's breast.

"She's utterly fearless, Merry!" her mother had cooed. "I believe she would crawl off the ends of the earth if she wanted to."

The picture had only lasted from the strike of the first bell until the last note of the eighth bell died away. Was it really a memory, or just her imagination? Eden didn't know, she only knew with every fibre of her being that her mother had loved her, with all the passionate, tender awe of a young mother with her first baby.

It was so sad to think of that young woman being dead a year and a half later, torn away from the husband and daughter that she loved. It wasn't fair, she thought angrily, and then the hot tears came to Eden's eyes. She brushed them away, and Pip passed her a handkerchief so she could dry them.

Sister Albina was back on the dais again.

"Brothers and sisters, let us give thanks and honour to our mothers, the bringers of light and life," she said. "Through our gratitude comes wisdom, and from our memories comes knowledge. Thank your mother for all that she was able to do, and ask for her help in any little task or worry you may have."

Mother, thank you for loving me, Eden thought, head bowed. Thank you for giving me life and choosing Father. We've tried to do the best we can without you. And Mother, please help me find Oscar, wherever he may be, because he's lost his mother too. Thank you, Mother. Love, Eden.

The tears were threatening again when Meriadoc came back, whispering, "Sorry about that," as he slid back in his seat next to her.

"That's alright," Eden whispered back, squeezing his hand.

"Brothers and sisters, I will now ask you to come to the altar," Sister Albina said. "Anyone who would like to may light a white candle in their mother's honour, so that the temple is alight with our memories. Single file, please."

As they began lining up, the choir began another carol, soft and sweet.

In the silence of the night,
This sacred night
We honour the mothers 
As we wait for the light

⋆⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ❆ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋆

During the simple supper that followed, Eden said, "Father, did ... did Mother ever say I was fearless when I was a baby?"

"All the time," Meriadoc replied. "She was so proud of you. She said you were her brave little cub, and that one day you would do great things in the world."

"I might not though," Eden suggested doubtfully.

"She would have thought everything you did was great," Meriadoc assured her.

"I was thinking about her music box," Eden said, playing with her fork.

"Were you? I was too, funnily enough," Meriadoc said. "After she ... after I lost her, I used to turn the handle and listen to the song to comfort myself. It's lovely, and rather melancholy."

"Do you know what the tune is?"

"Oh yes, it was rather popular when your mother and I were very young," Meriadoc told her. "It's a ballad about a sailor going to his final rest. I believe it's called Eight Bells."