by Michelle Cox
With a strained smile, Antonia distributed the stockings to each of her grandsons, who politely thanked her and then carefully began to inspect them. They contained mostly sweets—chocolates and gumdrops and licorice pipes—as well as some little metal cars, a miniature top, a bag of marbles and a small India rubber ball. Henrietta expected them to pop some of the sweets into their mouths, or to sneak a few, anyway, and to play with their new toys, but instead they sat stiffly, watching their father.
“I’ve hidden a surprise for you somewhere in the room as well,” Henrietta ventured. “See if you can find it,” she said.
Both boys looked from her to their father, who gave them a brief nod, and they slid off the chairs and looked around the room from where they stood, unsure of what to do next.
“Go on, look about,” Henrietta encouraged.
Hesitantly, they looked at Julia, who gave them a nod, which prompted them to walk toward the piano at the back of the room for apparently a lack of any other ideas.
“This is what comes from that incompetent nanny,” Randolph scoffed as Clive handed him a cognac. “She hovers too much, and now they’re as timid as mice. And she’s not much better,” he said nodding at Julia. He seemed in a foul mood, and Henrietta was already beginning to regret wanting them to come.
“Randolph, they’re only little yet. Give them time,” Julia said.
“Indeed,” said Antonia. “Clive was a quiet thing as a toddler.”
“Which he soon made up for!” Julia laughed, a bit of her old self shining through her subdued demeanor, if only for a moment.
“It was running after you that did it,” Clive retorted.
Henrietta again looked at the children, who still seemed unable to actually search for the hidden gifts. She contemplated how her own brothers and sister would have torn through the house in a very ungenteel, excited frenzy.
“Do you want a clue?” Henrietta called to them, but Randolph intervened.
“Let them do it on their own!” Randolph commanded disgustedly. “If they can’t find a Christmas present on their own, they don’t deserve to have one.”
“Randolph! It’s Christmas Day!” Julia urged. “Let’s not have any unpleasantness.”
“I’m not being unpleasant. I’m merely observing that they are both trembling sissies.”
“Well, if you weren’t so hard on them, maybe they wouldn’t cower so much!” Julia blurted out, but instantly seemed to regret it.
Randolph glared at her with his small, black eyes and seemed about to say something when Billings interrupted by coming in to announce that dinner was served. The hunt was postponed then, as the children were called back, and everyone made their way into the dining room, Henrietta catching Clive’s eye as they went. Christmas at Highbury was not exactly what she had expected.
The dinner itself was an exquisite masterpiece—not only in taste but also in presentation—the footmen bringing out course after course of turkey, goose, pheasant, and fish with all of the accompanying side dishes followed by a rather marvelous-looking dessert. It was a concoction that was actually on fire and which Billings called a “pudding” of some sort. Henrietta had never seen anything like it. Antonia explained that it was the traditional dessert at Linley Castle and that she had decided to have it as usual in honor of Alcott. Indeed, the whole dinner was a copy of what was traditionally served at Linley for the Christmas feast, and one which the Howards had imitated these many long years.
Henrietta thought it a little cruel that the boys were not allowed to eat with them, even on Christmas, and she wondered what would happen should she and Clive ever have children. Surely, she would have some say in the matter, wouldn’t she? To not have them at the table at Christmas? She thought back to last night’s loud and lively evening at Palmer Square and wondered what Clive had thought of it if this is what he was used to?
“It’s lovely to have you here with us, Henrietta,” Julia put in, bringing her thoughts back to the present moment.
“Thank you, Julia,” Henrietta answered with a genuine smile.
“It must be hard not to spend Christmas with your family. I know it was for me the first time I spent it with Randolph’s family. But I hope you will think of us as your family very soon.”
“Oh, I already do,” Henrietta assured her, looking over at Clive. “And we spent Christmas Eve with them, of course, so that’s just as nice.”
“And did your mother cook?” Randolph asked, feigning innocence. Henrietta stared at him, sure that he was teasing her. “No, they have a full staff,” she answered coldly.
“Just as well. You’d need a staff to keep up with them all,” he said with a grin and looked to Antonia for encouragement. “How many of you are there, did I hear?” he asked Henrietta.
“Eight,” she answered curtly.
“Well, I’m sure it was . . . cozy,” he said distastefully. “Palmer Square, did you say, Clive? Charming, I’m sure,” he said with a grin.
Clive’s face looked very dark. He seemed about to say something, but Julia beat him to it.
“And your brother was home from Fishburne, was he not?” she asked genuinely. “I’m sure you were very glad of the visit.”
“Yes, it was nice to see him,” Henrietta said, happy to address someone other than Randolph. “He’s looking very grown up, isn’t he, Clive?”
Clive nodded, clearly still upset.
“And the rest of them leave for Phillips soon, eh?” Randolph asked, wresting the conversation back with a slight slur, making Henrietta wonder if he had already been drinking before they arrived. It would explain much. Randolph was a boor at the best of times, but at the moment he was being positively monstrous. “Capital idea. Exley knows what he’s about. I’m thinking of sending the boys either there or to Saint Andrews next year, myself. That will make them into men instead of the dribbling babies they currently are.”
Henrietta looked down the table to where Julia sat, her face ashen.
Antonia spoke now. “Well, I refused to send my children away. Alcott wanted to, of course, as he had been sent off to Eton. But I find it an outrageous concept. I let Alcott have his way in many things, but not this one.” She looked pointedly at Julia, who merely gave her a sad smile in return. “Look at Clive,” Antonia went on. “It didn’t seem to do him any harm. And he made captain in the war.”
“Quite so,” Randolph said, looking at Clive appreciatively. “But then again, those were desperate times, were they not? Certain standards forgiven and all of that,” he said, taking a last bite of his Christmas pudding. “And then there’s your fascination with being a police officer, or a detective . . . or whatever your title was exactly. But I put that down to the effects of the war. Does strange things to the mind, I’ve read.”
“Which you wouldn’t know about personally, would you?” Clive asked quietly.
“Some of us had to stay back and run the country, my man. Couldn’t all run off to join the squabble like errant school boys.”
Henrietta was very afraid that Clive would explode at that, but he remained strangely calm. “Yes, some of us felt differently about ‘the squabble,’ I suppose. Held to a different set of loyalties. I don’t think you’d understand that, Randolph, so I will excuse your ignorant comments.”
Randolph sniggered. “No need to get sentimental, Clive. All I’m saying is that I mean to send the boys to boarding school. That’s all.”
“Randolph, please!” Julia broke in. Henrietta wasn’t sure what exactly she was pleading for: the boys not to be sent away or for Randolph to cease his insulting remarks.
“Yes, Randolph,” Antonia said sternly, clearly assuming it was the latter, “let’s not be disagreeable at Christmas.”
“My apologies, of course,” he drawled then and gave a nod to Antonia, still flashing his irritating grin.
No one seemed to know what to say after that, however, so Antonia rose stiffly, Julia and Henrietta quietly following, and withdrew to the drawing room, where
Randolph Jr. and Howard were brought in to them. There, without the austere presence of their father, the little boys again took up the search for Henrietta’s hidden surprises with decidedly much more liveliness than before.
Clive and Randolph remained in the dining room, however, James dutifully distributing the port and cigars. In truth, Clive would have preferred to forgo tradition and follow the ladies into the drawing room to watch his nephews hunt for their gift from Henrietta, but he knew his father would turn in his grave if he abandoned tradition, especially on Christmas Day. He watched Randolph now as he took up his glass of port, hating him. He knew he shouldn’t hate anyone on Christmas, but surely God would understand. There was a limit to any man’s patience, and Randolph was sorely testing it.
“I hope you’re not going to be tedious and be offended, Clive,” Randolph said, examining the dark liquid in the large, bulbous glass.
Clive did not respond, but Randolph went on. “Actually, I’d have quite liked to be a detective, I think. But I don’t have the skill for it. Sneaking about and such.” He grinned at him and lit a cigar. He inhaled deeply until it was properly ignited and then blew out a large puff of smoke. “I’m not surprised you’ve given it up, though. Getting a bit old now to go dashing after villains and the like, aren’t you?”
Clive felt his anger rising with each absurd comment Randolph uttered, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could contain it. Why did Randolph seem to be baiting him? It was as if he purposefully wanted to argue with him.
“It’s odd, then,” Randolph continued, “about the missing painting.”
Clive started a trifle, and his thoughts went from mere annoyance to genuine concern, wondering how he could possibly know about the painting. Quickly he deduced that it must have been Antonia who had told him. Was there to be no end to his mother’s interference? he groaned internally.
“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to appear indifferent.
“No secrets here, old boy. Your mother mentioned to me that a rather valuable painting has disappeared from the house. Stolen, apparently. Lucky there’s an inspector in the house. Or a former one, anyway. Any suspects?” he asked, peering through squinted eyes as he puffed his cigar. “Was it insured?” he asked casually, flicking some ash into a nearby, waiting receptacle. “But doubtless you’ve gone over all of this already with the police.”
“I have it in hand,” Clive said, irritated. This was not to be borne any longer! He was going to have to speak to his mother. He would have to tell her the truth about the painting, that it hadn’t been stolen, or God knows who else she would tell. Meanwhile, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could be civil to Randolph. He desperately wanted to leave the room, but Randolph reached for the bottle of port.
“I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?” Clive said coolly. “I don’t want to keep the ladies waiting. I’m sure they want to open gifts.”
Randolph let out a short laugh. “Since when are you tied so tightly, Clive?” Randolph slurred. “She has you whipped, I see,” he said, taking a drink.
“That’s enough, Randolph.”
As if he didn’t hear him, Randolph continued, leaning toward Clive confidentially across the table. “How is married life? I do envy you there, my man. Doubtless you’ve kept her busy. No baby, though, yet, by the look of it.” He leaned back in his chair with a wide grin. “Better look to it, Clive. It would be a shame if the whole of the Howard fortune fell to me by default.” He chuckled. “Unless you’re too old for that too. Or is it a war wound?” he asked, taking a puff of cigar. “Wouldn’t have to ask me twice. Not with a girl like that. Or was she not quite still ‘a girl’ when you married?” he sniggered. “You can never tell with the lower classes, can you? They’re desperate, you see, which is partially what makes them so attractive.”
Fury flooding through him, something snapped inside of Clive. “Leave us, James,” he muttered.
“Yes, sir,” James responded nervously and picked up his silver tray on the sideboard and hurried from the room.
Randolph’s annoying smirk quickly melted then into what seemed to be surprised fear as Clive abruptly stood and swiftly strode toward him. Clive grabbed Randolph by the lapels, roughly pulling him into a standing position, and without further pause or warning, sunk a punch into Randolph’s gut, causing him to groan and double over.
“I’m not too old to put you in your place, Cunningham,” Clive said, fury racing through him. He pulled Randolph back up to a standing position and put his face very close to his. “I warned you the night before my wedding not to ever disparage my wife either to her face, as you’ve done tonight, or behind her back, as you’ve done just now.” He hit him again, causing Randolph to double over again in pain. “And that one’s for my sister. Don’t you dare touch her again. And be grateful that it wasn’t in a place where it shows,” he snarled. “Your specialty, as I understand. But next time—if there is a next time—I won’t be as forgiving,” he said, shoving him back into the chair. “You can send your boys away to boarding school or hit your wife or insult my mother at her own table, but it won’t give you what you don’t have,” Clive said, breathing heavily. “It just shows you for what you are—a weak, sniveling bastard. And this is the last time I’m going to say it: stay away from my wife.”
Randolph sat cradling his stomach as he scowled up at Clive. “You’re insane, Howard,” he hissed. “Do you know that? Everyone thinks you are, you know.”
His comment stung, but Clive ignored it for the moment. “Merry Christmas,” he muttered and walked from the room to join the ladies.
Chapter 14
Elsie felt nervously buoyant, sitting outside of Sr. Bernard’s office the day after Christmas, waiting to be called in to discuss her future at Mundelein College.
Almost immediately upon receiving Sr. Bernard’s kind letter in which she had informed Elsie that she had most certainly passed the entrance exam with all of the Sisters’ deepest congratulations, Elsie had written back her acceptance. In her letter, Sr. Bernard had encouraged Elsie to move her things, at her earliest convenience, to Philomena Hall, where she would in fact be sharing a room with Miss Melody Merriweather, as there was not much time before the new term began. Also, Sr. Bernard had written, Elsie was obliged to come to her office at that time to discuss what her new schedule should be.
Elsie had urgently wanted to go the very same day she had received the letter, but it was already Christmas Eve when she had actually read it, as the missive had sat, lonely, for several days on her desk in her room in Palmer Square while she had been away at the Exleys’. Aunt Agatha had not relented in her attempts to throw her into the company of the usual set of eligible men, Lloyd Aston and Garfield Burnham seeming to still be the front-runners. Elsie had nearly been sick in the bathroom the night she was obliged to attend Uncle Gerard and Aunt Dorothy’s annual Christmas ball, knowing that Lloyd Aston would be there. It was the first time she would be seeing him since the Shedd Aquarium incident, and she wasn’t sure what to expect. Wonderfully, however, he had been aloof most of the evening, though she had caught him staring at her more than once, each instance of which she tried her best to ignore. Elsie was pretty sure that Aunt Agatha had also noticed the chilliness between the two of them and was decidedly grumpy for the rest of the evening, despite the copious evergreen boughs draping all of the doorways of the Exley mansion, the dripping candles adorning every mantle and sideboard, and the plentiful eggnog spiked with rum, served in exquisite, cut, red crystal glasses by a core of footmen.
At the end of nearly a full week of merriment and holiday cheer, Aunt Agatha was finally obliged to release Elsie back to Palmer Square for actual Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to spend with her “other family,” as she was wont to call the Von Harmons now. Upon parting with her, Aunt Agatha was not the least shy in morosely commenting to Elsie that it seemed she was not to get her Christmas wish this year, which was, of course, for Elsie to have received a proposal of matrimony or,
if nothing else, then at least the hint of one. She was decidedly very downcast, especially as she had had it on very good authority—i.e. Victoria Braithwaite—that a proposal might have been forthcoming from one Mr. Aston, and therefore she could not help but speculate that its failure to have been uttered may be put down to something controversial that Elsie may have said or done.
To her credit, Elsie had felt more than a little guilty as she kissed her aunt good-bye and wished her a happy Christmas. Aunt Agatha had merely sighed and said not to lose heart—that they would try again at the New Year’s Eve ball at the Penningtons’, to which Elsie had decided to say nothing.
So it was with the utmost relief, not to say joy, that Elsie had found Sr. Bernard’s letter waiting for her and, surprisingly, another one besides. This second one was from none other than Melody Merriweather herself. Elsie wondered how Melody had gotten her address and assumed it must have been from Sr. Bernard. It proved to be a rather frivolous letter, truth be told, in which Melody went on and on about how her Christmas break was playing out back in her home town of Merriweather, Wisconsin, and, though Elsie obviously knew none of the people about whom Melody was writing, she enjoyed it just the same. She was grateful that if she did have to share a room, that it was to Melody she had been assigned. Melody struck her as the type of person who was easy to get to know; she was so wonderfully outgoing and bubbly and exuded a happy sort of lightness that was contagious. It was so very different from the depressive negativity that she was constantly confronted with at home with Ma.
It was for that very reason in fact that she did not immediately tell Ma about her letters and waited until after Christmas to announce what she knew would be the upsetting news. As expected, Ma reacted as if she were hearing Elsie’s plans for the first time and was bitingly critical all over again, which threatened to crush the flicker of joy and hope that had begun to beat in Elsie’s breast. Ma accused her of abandoning her, first to the Exleys, which had been bad enough, and now to a school on the other side of the city. What need did she have of going to school anyway? She thought she had raised her to have more sense, she had said, and called her “too big for her britches.”