Haimsbury stood to reply, his wife’s hand in his. “If I may answer for my wife and family? Miss Sloane, it is your work with these children which should be praised. My wife and I came into this life through inheritance. You rose to your position through hard work and diligence. Christ, who stands higher than all, once lowered himself to become a human being, so that he might raise us up as his adopted children. Seeing all these young faces here today, makes me happier than any gift beneath a tree. Thank you for the songs, for your unabashed merriment, and for your prayers. Now, am I right that the Christmas story is next?” he asked Elizabeth. She nodded. He took a deep breath as she handed him an old family Bible. Charles turned to Luke, Chapter two. He opened his mouth to begin reading, but then paused.
“No, this doesn’t feel right. Baxter, I wonder if you’d do the honours this year?”
Cornelius had been speaking with Kay near the turn towards the east wing, when he heard his name. “My lord? Forgive me, did you ask for me?”
“Come here, please. Yes, I need you.”
Quickly, Baxter stepped through the dense collection of children on chairs, children on the floor, and children on their grandmothers’ laps. Nearly every one of the fifty-seven households on the estate had sent their young ones, as well as many of the families from the villages of Anjou, Hampton, and Branham. Beth had counted two hundred and seventeen children in the crowd, along with a dozen infants.
Lady Stuart sat next to Charles in her blue dress, a cream veil over her face to help the disguise. In the next, Duke James kept her company, followed by Victoria Stuart, Dolly and Dickie Patterson-Smythe, Lord and Lady Cartringham, Paul and Cordelia Stuart, Henry MacAlpin, and in a Bath chair, a rather sleepy Seth Holloway. Merrick, Riga, Blinkmire, Stanley, Anderson, and all the other guests, including Kepelheim and Reid (along with his wife Emily) sat along the edges of the foyer, sipping mulled wine and punch.
“Here now, Mr. Baxter,” said Charles as the former butler approached. “Or perhaps, I should introduce you by your new title. Everyone, if you don’t already know it, our very good Mr. Baxter no longer serves here at Branham as butler. Mr. Kay now holds that position. And as of this week, my home in London will have a new butler as well; for our former butler is now Detective Inspector Baxter of the Intelligence Branch.” Haimsbury applauded, and nearly everyone rose to his or her feet in admiration and appreciation. “My dear friend, you will help guide all our investigations. And, I imagine, will become Lord Aubrey’s boss ere long, and mine as well! To our Inspector!” he said, raising his glass.
All toasted, and then Charles set his drink aside to place a hand on Baxter’s shoulder. “Thank you, my friend. Thank you for helping to turn me from a humble detective into a successful duke. Happy Christmas, Inspector.”
Charles handed Baxter an envelope. “Open it later, if you wish; or now. But I’d hoped you would read the Christmas story for us. Beth says you’re the one who’s been reading it these past few years. I should like to keep that tradition intact.”
“Thank you, sir. I may open this now?”
“If you wish.”
Baxter unsealed the envelope, which contained a legal document for the Haimsbury Spring House, a four-bedroom cottage near the west end of the grounds. “Sir, are you...? I mean, is this true? No, sir, it’s too much!”
“We want you to have a place of your own, but we selfishly would keep you close. The spring house is entailed to the estate, therefore, I’ve no legal right to dispose of it permanently, but I can decide who lives there. Baxter, the home is yours for all the days of your life—and should you ever marry,” Charles continued with a wink, “for your wife as well.”
Baxter wiped tears from his plump cheeks. “This is a truly fine Christmas, sir, for I’ve just asked that future wife to marry me. Mrs. Alcorn has agreed to become Mrs. Baxter.”
Once again, the room burst into spontaneous applause, and toasts were made and wine consumed. The children laughed and ate cookies, cakes, and finger sandwiches; all washed down with lemonade. Esther joined her future husband near the tree.
“Congratulations to you both,” the duke told the former housekeeper as he kissed her cheek.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. “It’s this promotion that’s done it. I think Cornelius is getting ideas.”
“One of many more to come, I expect,” Charles answered happily. “Now, Inspector, if you’d tell us all why we celebrate Christmas?”
Everyone returned to their chairs, and Baxter began to read:
“‘And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria. And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; because he was of the house and lineage of David: To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.
“‘And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
“‘And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.’”
Inspector Baxter finished the verses, and a hush fell upon the room. Kay switched off the electric lights, leaving only the tree’s white candles to illuminate the foyer. The eyes of each child turned upwards to gaze in wonder at the glittering symphony of gold and green.
Riga commenced the plaintive strains of ‘O Come, O Come Emanuel’ on the cello with Stanley providing soft piano accompaniment. As the majestic hymn ended, the duchess stood, her face radiant as she broke into an unplanned solo.
“Minuit, chrétiens,” she sang, beginning the first verse of the beloved French carol, “c’est l’heure solennelle, où l’Homme Dieu descendit jusqu’à nous. Pour effacer la tache originelle et de Son Père arrêter le courroux. Le monde entier tressaille d’espérance, en cette nuit qui lui donne un Sauveur. Peuple à genoux, attends ta délivrance! Noël! Noël! Voici le Rédempteur! Noël! Noël! Voici le Rédempteur!”
She paused, and Riga took up the music, joined by Stanley who knew the song by heart. Beth then switched to English for the second verse, and one by one, the entire room joined in the meaningful song known to most as ‘O, Holy Night’:
“Truly, He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother
And in His name all oppression shall cease!
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy name!
Christ is the Lord! O, praise His name forever!
His pow’r and glory proclaim forever more!
His pow’r—His pow’r proclaim forever more!”
On the final lines, Elizabeth sang a high descant, an octave above, her sweet voice floating upwards along the grand foyer’s multiple storeys, reaching the pinnacles of the roofline and penetrating the snow and ice.
Sitting upon the slate peak, a white owl began to weep, its feathery head bowed in humble reverence. He prayed silently, listening to his Master’s voice. O
nce done, Anatole Romanov, known to his brethren as Samael, lifted his great wings and elongated into his elohim appearance: a magnificent being of light and power, and he soared towards the heavens, disappearing from the world of men; only to reappear in London, just outside a Greek Orthodox Church.
Chapter Fifty-Five
8:45 pm - Branham
“Another delightful Christmas goose!” exclaimed Duke James as he escorted the disguised queen into the music room. “It’s a shame the Cartringhams had to leave this afternoon. They surely missed a treat! Basil loves Stephens’s cooking. Did you enjoy it, Drina?”
The queen was careful never to wear black or mourning colours during her stay, as most of the public had never seen the sovereign without her widow’s weeds. Instead, she wore brown or grey, or even pale blues. This evening, she’d chosen a simple skirt of forest green velvet, topped by a matching jacket embellished with tiny pearls at the placket and throat. The sleeves widened into bell shapes at the wrist, revealing fingerless gloves of cream lace.
“Mrs. Stephens certainly raises the bar for future cooks,” she told her childhood friend. “Beth, you ate very little. Roast beef and goose are good for babies. They impart stamina. My dear, you’re not ill, I hope?”
The duchess sat, joined by Charles. “A bit nauseous,” she admitted. “The beef was perfectly done, but I think goose may not be a favourite of these children. Where’s Henry gotten to?”
“Upstairs,” Aubrey replied as he led his new wife to a soft chair. “Comfortable?” he asked her.
Cordelia nodded. “Yes, husband.” The simple word caused her to smile, for despite trepidation over the demands of marriage, these few hours spent as the earl’s wife had lifted her mood as nothing else might. “Who’s to play for us?”
“Riga and Stanley,” explained Kepelheim, who was laying out sheets of music on the piano. “Adele, of course, but I may offer a few arrangements of my own. Duchess, will you sing for us again? Your spontaneous carol this afternoon caused everyone to weep tears of joy! I soaked an entire handkerchief. And poor Blinkmire! Ah, our gentle giant may require an entirely new set of them.”
“You’re very kind,” she answered, holding her husband’s hand. “And we’ll make sure both you men receive handkerchiefs aplenty before you leave Branham. However, tonight, I wish only to listen. Wasn’t the children’s choir wonderful, Auntie Drina?”
“Oh, my, yes!” exulted the queen. “Are all of them in your school?”
“Every child five or older attends until their fourteenth year, and then each is apprenticed to a trade. However, anyone who wishes to continue study, does so with a tutor. Miss Sloane is an example of that program. We have two who are at university even now. One studies chemistry at King’s College in London, and the other is reading mathematics at Newnham in Cambridge—both on scholarship.”
“Cambridge?” asked Dolly. “Perhaps, Seth knows her.”
“I doubt it,” remarked Charles. “The women at Newnham rarely commune with the men from Trinity. Besides, he’s a don, not a student. Where is he this evening?”
“Exhausted,” Beth answered. “I fear this afternoon took all his strength.” She leaned in to whisper, “And I pray you’ll give him another day before you pepper him with questions, husband.”
“I’m letting others handle that, little one. Never fear. My detective hat is shelved, remember?”
She kissed his cheek. “So long as you remember it, Captain. I’m sure Henry prefers no one undermine his medical efforts.”
As though summoned, Henry entered at that very moment, worry shadowing his fine features. “Do forgive the interruption, everyone. I wonder if I might speak with you, Charles? It won’t take long.”
The duke kissed his wife’s cheek and stood. “Please, don’t delay starting the concert for me. I know Della is anxious to hear Riga and Stanley perform.”
Once away from the music room, Salperton explained. “I really am sorry to cause disruption, but Seth’s desperate to remember what happened beneath those tunnels. He’s a decent chap, and he’s asked me to help. So I’ve decided to try something new, but I need your permission.”
“Mine, why?”
“Because, we still haven’t heard from his father or sisters. I suppose it’s because of Christmas. They’ve probably all met up elsewhere—Germany or Austria, perhaps—but if so, I wish they’d told their butler! Really, people can be very disappointing at times.”
Charles smiled. “Do I detect frustration in that comment, Lord Salperton?”
“Perhaps, a little. It’s just this whole business with Miss Stuart! I received a telegram before supper. It’s from Leman Street. Apparently, someone in Whitechapel reported seeing a woman of Violet’s description near London Hospital, of all things, but now she’s vanished without a trace. Inspector France investigated the sightings, and followed the clues to a local hostelry. Violet had indeed stayed there, but her hotel bill was paid by a tall man with a Russian accent! Dash it all, Charles, it upsets me no end!”
“A Russian accent?”
“Yes, and he seemed rich, too. Honestly, after all we’ve done to help, and now she runs away with some foreign chap!”
“Did France discover the man’s name?”
“No, but Mrs. Porter thought him kind. I just pray it’s Romanov and not one of these others.”
“Was this Molly Porter?”
“Perhaps. I don’t know,” answered the viscount. “Look, I shouldn’t burden you with these troubles.”
“You’re not a burden, Henry. Do you want to return to London? I can offer my train, if you wish.”
“No, I can’t do that. And besides, it would make no difference. It’s happened before. Patients start to recover, and then they rush away without a word. Look, don’t mind me. I’m a little worried, that’s all, but not enough to leave you—or Beth. Or Cordelia, for that matter, though, she certainly looks better this evening, don’t you think?”
“Yes, she does,” replied Charles. “But it seems you’re not. Henry, you’re exhausted.”
Salperton ran a hand through his thick hair, his eyes casting about as though his mind turned like a top. “Yes, but there’s too much to be done. I’ll sleep tomorrow. For now, Holloway is my patient, and you need his information; as does he. I really don’t think him a murderer, Charles, but he may be a witness.”
“Possibly.”
“Then, may I do this? The method, I mean.”
“What method is that?” asked the duke.
“It’s called ‘catharsis’, and I’ve used it before with some success. But there is also the possibility that once he remembers, the shock might cause him to block it all out again—permanently.”
“Which means we lose his testimony, if there’s a trial.”
“Precisely. Shall I risk it?” Henry asked. He overheard footsteps and turned to find Kepelheim walking swiftly to catch up to the taller men.
“I asked Victoria and Dolly if I might abandon them for a short while. Is this about Dr. Holloway?”
“Yes,” answered Salperton. “He’s eager to regain his memory. Holloway’s a man of science and familiar with Joseph Breuer’s method. He asked me to try it.”
“Do you mean catharsis?” asked Martin. “I’ve read several monographs by Breuer. His method is similar to one I employ.”
“You?” asked Henry. “I’d no idea you worked with memory, Mr. Kepelheim.”
“Martin’s technique is simple but effective,” said Charles. “He’s helped me to remember a little of my childhood, simply by talking.”
“I might ask for your assistance, then,” Salperton told the tailor. “If you men have a moment, perhaps, we can speak to Seth about it.”
Charles hated to leave Beth, particularly for something connected to the murder case. “Give me a moment.”
He returned to the music room a
nd drew her aside. “Beth, I’ve been asked to give permission for an experiment. Henry has a treatment that may help Seth to remember, but I think it important that a policeman attend and write down all that’s said. I can ask Reid to go up, if you prefer. Or Paul.”
She smiled, the compassionate expression calming his heart. “Go be a policeman, Captain. But once done, hang up your hat once more. And you will owe me these lost minutes later, all right? I shall collect the debt in private.”
The duke bowed and kissed her hand. “Such a pleasant debt will be paid in full, my lady. I promise.”
Charles returned to the men, and the trio proceeded upwards to the apartment where Seth Holloway awaited. Exhausted after three hours in the bath chair, he lay upon his bed, half asleep. The large tester bed was hung with damask curtains in a striped blue and yellow silk. The matching duvet lay crumpled near his feet, and only a light blanket and sheet covered the patient, as if he’d grown overly warm.
“Forgive us for waking you,” began Haimsbury as they entered.
“Have you come as my host or as a detective?”
“Both,” answered the duke.
“Then, make yourself comfortable. From what I’ve read of this Breuer method, it could take some time. Before we begin, might I ask a question?”
“Certainly.”
“It’s just no one will tell me anything about the other men. I’ve asked Paul and Henry—even Beth. But everyone remains silent. Is it that bad? Are Patterson and Wentworth dead?”
Charles took a seat, switching his thought patterns to that of a detective; reading the man’s body language. Is he lying? Did Seth kill Patterson, perhaps Wentworth as well? But he couldn’t be responsible for Collinwood. No, someone else must be involved.
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