by Michelle Cox
He closed his eyes to shut out these memories and buried his face in Henrietta’s hair, her smell intoxicating him. His fingers lightly traced the contour of her shoulder, but he had no wish to wake her. They had stayed up shamefully late, almost until dawn, but to be fair, it was already quite late by the time they mounted the stairs to their wing.
Clive watched her now as she slept. She was so achingly beautiful, and he still could not believe she was his. She had opened a set of emotions in him that he wasn’t sure how to govern. Most of the time he still felt like an excited schoolboy around her, wanting to be with her always and missing her when she was away from him, longing to be near her and wanting to touch her, to lose himself in her completely. At other times, he felt an almost desperate need for her, something different than mere desire, as if to fill a hole in him that had been blown open during the war and which had never quite healed properly. His need for her in those moments was fierce. At first he had been afraid that she would shy away from him, perhaps even be afraid, but to his amazement and relief, she did not. She always responded in a way he seemed to need and was equally learning to read his moods. He knew that he really shouldn’t succumb to these mood swings, or “bouts of humors,” as old Helen would have said, that it wasn’t manly, but he couldn’t help it some days. He was trying, but there was so much to test him. He still could not believe that it was Christmas and that his father wasn’t here. A deep sigh escaped him.
He took a moment to quiet his thoughts and to thank God that he had Henrietta. He felt a deep desire to be a better man if not for his father, then for her. He was relieved and delighted that he was able to bring her so much pleasure, both materialistically and otherwise—at least he hoped he did, especially at night in their bed. He had had only one lover besides Catherine, and that had been a dalliance with an older woman during one of his summers in England. He had been just eighteen, and she was a widow. He had thought himself in love at the time, but he realized later that it had been more lust than anything else. She had taught him things that he had never thought about before, how to please a woman, how to bring her pleasure. Skillfully she had guided him, and he had learned quickly. But he had eventually had to return home, and by the next year he found himself somehow married to Catherine and then off to war. He never told Catherine about Nora, and she never asked if he had had any lovers before her. He knew that Catherine was a virgin, and he had been accordingly gentle with her. He was attracted to her, of course, in a certain way, but after Nora, their lovemaking seemed almost formulaic and dutiful. Catherine had always insisted on having the lights off and preferred, if possible, to keep her nightdress on, merely raising it for him when he wished to fulfill his desires.
Henrietta, on the other hand, was completely different. She seemed to relish their lovemaking as much as he did, and her body responded almost instantly to his touch and his caresses. She was passionate and loving and exciting, and yet she could be tender and almost innocent at times too. Occasionally she still cried when they were finished, both of them naked and spent, the bed coverings lying in a heap on the floor, which Henrietta picked up in the morning, not wanting to scandalize Edna or the chambermaid, and which caused Clive no end of amusement. He could easily read the love in her eyes for him, and it made his heart beat faster every time. He felt fiercely protective and—he couldn’t help it—possessive of her, though he trusted her completely. It was other men he had to worry about. He sighed and shifted his weight, as he tried again to piece together the events of last evening. Perhaps it was time to pay Davis another visit. It was getting serious now.
Henrietta stirred beside him and sleepily opened her eyes. She looked out the window and saw the snow and then seemed to remember what day it was. She kissed Clive’s mangled shoulder and looked up at him, peace and contentment flooding her face.
“Merry Christmas, darling,” Clive said to her.
“It feels like we just said that,” she said sleepily.
“And is this the way you greet your husband on Christmas morning?” he laughed, giving her a squeeze.
“You’re quite right,” she said, raising herself up on her elbow so that her long, auburn hair fell about her shoulders, her nightgown open at the top and revealing the curve of her breasts underneath as she kissed him on the lips. “Merry Christmas, dearest.”
She looked up at him for a few moments, watching his eyes and said, “You’re thinking about last night, aren’t you? About whoever was following us?”
Clive sighed. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. I know you too well now,” she said, tapping his chest with her forefinger. “Have you given anymore thought to going to see Davis? It wouldn’t hurt, you know.”
“Have I told you that you remind me of my mother?” he asked, gazing down at her.
“Too many times, you cruel thing!”
“As a matter of fact, I was thinking along those lines.”
“That you’re a cruel thing?” Henrietta teased.
Clive let out a short, loud laugh. “No, about going to the police. But maybe it’s not yet necessary . . .”
“Oh, good idea!” Henrietta said excitedly. “Yes, let’s solve the case ourselves!”
“The case?” he asked, his brow furrowed, not sure if he wanted to think of his father’s death as a “case,” despite what he had said to the police.
“Yes, the case. It was ‘The Case of the Murdered Millionaire’—or ‘Billionaire,’ I’m not sure,” she said as an aside. “But now it’s become ‘The Case of the Missing Money.”
Clive stared at her, stunned by her flippant audacity in referring to his father’s death so lightly. How could she? He wasn’t sure how to even respond to such statements when she gave him the tiniest of winks. It completely undid him, and he let out a burst of laughter as the humor of what she had said became apparent.
“Minx! How dare you refer to my father’s death in such a way!” he said in a stern voice. He lunged for her then, but she blocked him with a pillow.
He ripped it from her, and she gave a little scream before he rolled on top of her and kissed her passionately, breathing heavily.
She ran her hands down his back. “Is it a sin to make love on Christmas?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Let’s find out,” he murmured, kissing her neck.
“I don’t want to have to confess to Father Michaels that I had sexual relations on Christmas.”
“So don’t. Or tell him your husband demanded it as his marital right.”
“Beast!” she said, laughing, as he caressed her breast.
They eventually descended, albeit separately, to have a light breakfast with Antonia. Clive was eager to wish his mother a Merry Christmas, and as Edna somewhat unexpectedly turned up to help Henrietta dress, she felt obliged to let her, though she was sure she had told Edna to take this morning off as well as last night. However, Edna seemed unusually determined to stay, so Henrietta had acquiesced and sent Clive down ahead of her. Besides, it would be a good chance to give her her Christmas present in private.
Edna seemed exceptionally cheerful this morning, despite having to work on Christmas Day, and as she helped Henrietta to arrange her hair, she began to eagerly relate all of the goings on at the servants’ Christmas party the night before. Apparently, Mr. McCreanney had gotten rather tipsy and had even asked Mrs. Caldwell to dance before he fell down drunk. Bert and Clem had attempted to rouse him to get him back to his room above the garage, but it had been no use. He wouldn’t budge; so in the end, they had propped him in Billings’s armchair by the fire and put a blanket on him for the night. Henrietta asked if Carter had been at the party at all, and after taking a moment to recollect, Edna said that she thought he was there for just a little bit, but had gone off on his own. But that wasn’t unusual, Edna said. Carter never mixed with the rest of them.
“But, miss, I mean, madam,” Edna said, “I’ve saved the best for last. I wanted to tell you first.” She paused and looked exci
tedly at Henrietta before she burst out, “I’m to be married!”
“Oh, Edna! I’m so happy for you!” Henrietta exclaimed and meant it, despite her personal dislike for her intended. “Virgil’s a very lucky man.”
Edna’s face blushed and her eye’s widened. “Oh, it’s not Virgil, madam,” she said hurriedly.
“It’s not?”
“No, miss! It’s James!”
“James? What’s become of Virgil? How did all of this happen?” Henrietta asked, delightedly curious.
Edna then went on to relate how she had broken it off with Virgil just around the time of Henrietta’s wedding, that he had gone on and on that much about losing out on Helen’s ring that she had begun to wonder just what he cared more about, the ring or her? She had told him that in fact she didn’t want that old ring—it was sure to be bad luck, but he wouldn’t listen. “And then when Mr. Billings gave us all the day off in honor of your wedding to Mr. Clive, it was James that asked me to have a soda with him in town after the ceremony,” she said, her eyes shining. “So I said yes, and that was the beginning of it all, really. I came to see just how nice James really is. I guess I never noticed with Virgil and Jack always in front of me. I was always thinking that James was a stuck-up snob,” Edna laughed. “But he ain’t. He just wants to do what’s right, he says. And he said it wasn’t him that snitched on you going to my birthday party, miss, which I accused him of straightaway,” Edna said hurriedly, eager to not only prove her lover’s innocence in the matter, but also to show her own loyalty as well. “He says it was Kitty.”
Who has conveniently left, Henrietta thought, amused. But what did it matter at this point?
“Anyway, miss, one thing led to another and, well, here we are. We began courtin’ you might say,” she continued abruptly. “And then last night, he asks me ’fore I went up, the party being pretty well over by then, if he might have a word. He leads me all the way back to the scullery, it being out of the way, as you know, and then he says that he ain’t yet got a ring but the festiveness of the night—and maybe some of the drink, if I’m being honest, miss—emboldened him to speak what had been in his heart these many long months—that he loves me and has for ages and ages and that he wants me to marry him.”
Henrietta could not help but smile. “And so you said yes?”
“I did, miss! I was quite overcome. He said he would get me a proper ring and that he wants me to meet his mother. But I said I didn’t need a silly ring, that a wedding band would be quite enough on the day. We went back out to the kitchen to tell anyone who might still be around, but wouldn’t you know it, it was only Mr. McCreanney, passed out in the chair, and Virgil, as my luck would have it, slumped next to him. I must admit, I was a little disappointed, miss, as I wanted to tell someone, and then who comes in but Mrs. Caldwell to make sure all the lights is off. So we told her and she was very pleased but said we would have to inform Mrs. Howard, or Mister Clive, miss—I mean, madam—and she says we should have said it earlier so we could all have had a toast, but then we said it had just happened this second. Well, she said, she couldn’t leave us go off without a toast, and it being Christmas Eve, at that, so she went to fetch Mr. Billings, whom she was sure was still up. Everything would have been perfect then, miss, if Virgil hadn’t chosen that moment to wake up, all bleary-eyed and puffy. Before I could say anything, James tells him that he’s missed out after all and that we two are to be married. Virgil called him ‘a low-crawlin’, back-stabbin’ carrot-top,’ which made James frightfully angry, so he called Virgil ‘a rat-faced coward.’ Virgil jumped up then and punched James in the eye and said that he had no right to take me, and I very much think James was ready to punch him back when Mrs. Caldwell and Billings comes in and says that will be enough of that. ‘Come now, Virgil, let bygones be bygones and toast the happy couple,’ says Mrs. Caldwell, but Virgil wouldn’t and slunk off. It did hurt me a bit, miss, that he wouldn’t wish me well, but I see now what he’s really all about, and I’m well rid of him.” Edna finished here and crossed her arms in front of her.
“Well!” Henrietta said, taking a deep breath and trying to hold in her laughter at the love scene just described. “I had no idea you fancied James! What a Christmas story!” She looked at Edna’s eager face and suddenly felt so much older than she, though it wasn’t too long ago when she had felt herself a girl on Edna’s same level. So much had changed. “Well,” Henrietta said again, “I think you’ve made a good choice, Edna. I hope you will be very happy.”
In truth, Henrietta didn’t really know much about James, but anyone, in her opinion, was better than Virgil. She had never understood why Edna portended to like Virgil in the first place. She stood up and gave Edna a hug and then gave her her Christmas present. Edna exclaimed over the new handbag, saying that it was much too fine a gift and that she loved it and wait till she showed James.
“There’s a little something else inside,” Henrietta added, “but you can look later. I should get downstairs now before I’m scolded,” she said, wanting an excuse to not be around when Edna discovered the cash.
“Yes, miss, I’ve kept you much too long! Sorry, miss . . . I mean, madam.”
Henrietta went down, then, and found Clive and Antonia. Antonia, despite the day, was dressed elegantly in black and seemed relatively cheerful, all things considered, and wished her a happy Christmas Day. To Henrietta’s bemusement, James was in attendance, though he seemed a bit worse for wear and had what looked like the beginnings of a black eye. Henrietta tried to catch his attention so that she could congratulate him, but he did not give her that satisfaction. Also, she wasn’t sure it was her place to announce the news and guessed that Antonia might take offense at not being the first to know.
As soon as James left the room, however, Antonia surprised her and made the announcement herself. “But I daresay you already know this, don’t you, my dear, as Edna is your maid.”
Deflated, Henrietta responded in the affirmative and noted, not for the first time, that Antonia, despite her apparent aloofness, was very well versed in what went on among the servants. It must be her maid, Andrews, she mused, who kept her informed.
The three of them bundled up then and were driven to Sacred Heart for Mass. The old stone church was done up beautifully with greenery and candles everywhere, and for a moment, Henrietta imagined herself back in England. They greeted Fr. Michaels afterward in the vestibule, who commented as he shook Antonia’s hand that it was indeed a difficult time of the year for some. Antonia invited him to join them for Christmas dinner back at Highbury, but he politely declined, saying that he was already engaged for the day.
When they returned to the house, they found preparations well underway for the Christmas feast, which Randolph and Julia would be arriving for later in the afternoon. Henrietta was full of excitement and festivity and wished she could help in the kitchen. She desperately wanted to do something, but helping the servants, she knew, was out of the question. Even cards seemed an impossibility without Alcott there to make up a fourth. Tentatively, Henrietta suggested perhaps rummy instead, but Antonia disdainfully shook her head and Clive said no as well, though he gave her a discreet wink. He held out his hand to her to join him on the settee, so she finally sat down next to him and took up a book. She would have preferred to be upstairs alone with him in their sitting room if all they were to do was sit around, as she could have then curled up her legs under her and nestled into Clive. She knew, however, they could not abandon Antonia, so she sat upright, albeit very close to Clive, and tried to concentrate on her new book of poems from Ma, while Clive read the paper and Antonia skimmed the Bible.
A peaceful silence descended upon them, and though Henrietta was happy and content, full of joy of the day, she could not help looking up at the mantel clock every ten minutes. Though she detested Randolph and, like Clive, dreaded having to spend Christmas Day in his company, she found herself eagerly anticipating the Cunninghams’ arrival. At least she might have some fun w
ith Julia or Randolph Jr. and Howard. It was more disconcerting than she had expected to not have noisy children about on Christmas.
—
At long last, the Cunninghams arrived, Billings taking their coats and wraps in the foyer, while Christmas greetings and hugs were excitedly exchanged, at least on Julia’s part. Randolph crisply kissed the air beside Antonia’s cheek and stiffly shook Clive’s hand, but when he came to Henrietta, his lips actually touched her cheek and remained there longer than she would have wished. She had the desperate urge to wipe any trace of it away, but she refrained and turned her attention instead to Howard and Randolph, Jr., who were dressed elegantly in navy blue velvet sailor suits and stood shyly behind Julia. It seemed odd to see them without their nanny hovering near.
“Merry Christmas, boys!” Henrietta said to them, bending near. “Did Santa come?” she asked. Both of them managed a nod, but only Howard gave a tiny smile. “What did he bring you?” she encouraged.
Neither of them seemed to know what to say, so Henrietta was about to suggest something when Randolph barked, “Answer!”
“Yes, Aunt Henrietta,” Randolph, Jr. said bravely.
“This is exactly what I was talking about, Julia,” Randolph growled.
Before his comment could escalate, Antonia interrupted. “Come along, let’s go into the drawing room before dinner. I believe Santa Claus left a stocking for each of you here as well.”
Henrietta expected them to race ahead, but instead they walked staidly beside the adults and sat stiffly in two chairs, farthest from the fire, only their dangling, twitching stockinged legs revealing any excitement they may have been feeling. Clive stood to pour out drinks from the sideboard while Henrietta and Julia sat next to each other on the settee. Henrietta happily clasped Julia’s hand, and Julia reciprocated, though she looked upset.