The Nutcracker Reimagined: A Collection of Christmas Tales

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “Thank you, Mr. Howe.” With shaky fingers, Hogart lifted his glass. “Three years ago, I solicited the services of Mr. Ratking, to manage and invest the vast holdings of my estate, for a nominal fee, based on the glowing endorsement of a close acquaintance who shall remain nameless, as he finds himself in similar circumstances. Do you know of Ratking?”

  “A little, because I make it my business to know those in finance, but he conceals his methods, so there is not much to recommend him.” For some reason Percy could not quantify, he did not trust Ratking, and when a friend expressed approval of the taciturn investor and offered to arrange an appointment, he politely declined the invitation. “But I would never put all my eggs in one basket, as any downturn in the market could be disastrous, and I would be suspicious of anyone encouraging such risky behavior.”

  “How I wish I had spoken to you before I did just that.” In that moment, Hogart winced. “Instead, I made the mistake of entrusting the whole of my estate into Ratking’s care, and I lived to regret it.”

  “I take it his efforts produced naught, and you seek another advisor?” Percy reflected in the various intricacies the responsibility entailed. “To be honest, despite what you may have heard, that is not really my game, as I manage a portion of wealth for various relations and friends, but not for personal gain and most definitely not for business.”

  “Would that it were so simple, Mr. Howe.” With a heavy sigh, Hogart pulled a sheaf of papers from a leather satchel and passed the documents to Percy. “Recently, I engaged an auditor, under the supervision of my solicitor, to conduct a thorough review of my accounts. You will find his report and startling conclusions, on the last page.”

  “All right.” At first glance, Percy admired the estimable fortune, indicative of generations of prudent ventures and acquisitions. The subsequent projections struck him as reasonable, even during the war. But the image turned bleak, the further he delved into the information, in direct association with Ratking’s influence. When he perused the final assessment, he read and reread the numbers. “How is this possible? You linger on the brink of—”

  “Insolvency.” Compressing his lips, Hogart shook his head. “Mr. Howe, I am at your mercy, as the situation is grim, and I could be facing bankruptcy as early as next April, if I do nothing.”

  “But, I do not understand.” Again, Percy flipped through the papers. “What happened to all your money? While I can decipher the reduction in your balances, nothing explains the loss of your sizeable fortune, in such a short span of time. Even if Ratking were the most incompetent of financiers, he should have had some successes through sheer luck and simple odds, yet your capital steadily dwindled each month.”

  “You would think.” Hogart leaned against the armrest and cradled his chin in his palm. “But it appears there is a method to his incredibly consistent ineptitude, which defies credence, and a forensic examiner believes the pattern of uniform losses suggests a far more nefarious supposition.”

  “Forgive my impertinence, sir, but why did you leave the sum of your future in the charge of a bungling manager, when the statement of transactions painted such a bleak portrait?” Percy scanned the ledger and shuddered. “After two months’ worth of losses, three at the most, I would have terminated the arrangement, posthaste. Why did you remain his client?”

  “Therein lies the core of my stupidity.” Hogart averted his stare. “During Ratking’s tenure, I received verbal assurances as to the health of my accounts, and I am ashamed to admit I accepted them, without question.”

  “Do you mean to say he provided naught but his claims as to his returns?” When Hogart nodded, Percy swallowed hard, as he could scarcely digest the predicament. “He extended no physical proof of his abilities and expertise?”

  “None.” To Percy’s shock, Hogart bent forward and wept. “What am I going to do? While Miranda is just married to Sir Kleinfeld, I have her sister to support, as well as my wife, not to mention the generations of Hogarts past, and I would not have them bear the burden of my miscalculation.”

  “Sir, it is to your credit that your first thought is of their safety and reputation, when you are equally encumbered and imperiled.” Resting elbows to knees, Percy gazed into the blaze, as the flames flickered in the hearth. “What is it you ask of me?”

  “Your cousin, the marquess of Ravenwood, declared you a miracle worker, and it is at his insistence that I am here, prostrate, and begging for your assistance.” Wiping his eyes, Hogart sniffed. “Please, Mr. Howe. You are our only hope.”

  “Inasmuch as I appreciate Barrington’s glowing testament to my character, I cannot claim such talents, as I am but human.” After another quick scan of the tally, Percy reflected on his aptitude and the opportunity Hogart posed. Perhaps, if Percy could save the Hogarts, he just might salvage something of his own destiny, because, heaven help him, he was lonely. “If I do this, I shall enlist the aid of my solicitor, a man of great prudence and tact, because if I make inquiries, I could impact the efficacy of the investigation, to your detriment, given my skills are quite known in society. And I must have your promise that, should we discover anything nefarious in Ratking’s dealings with you, we will take your case to the authorities, as I suspect you are not alone.”

  “I understand and support your efforts, wholeheartedly.” After pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket, Hogart blew his nose, with a resounding blare. “And I received an invitation to celebrate the holidays with your family, at Whitstone, given Lord Ernest’s wife is creating my daughter’s new wardrobe, which I am inclined to accept, if you will be in attendance, that we might further our discussion, as I must economize and retrench, and I would avail myself of your direction.”

  “Of course, I will gather with my relations, especially in light of the felicitous news of Henrietta’s pregnancy.” Percy chuckled. “Given her delicate condition, Ernest is beside himself, and he dotes on her without shame. In fact, the reason we assemble at Whitstone, as opposed to Garring Manor, is because Ernest will not permit Henrietta to make the short journey to the Ravenwood ancestral pile.” And how he envied his cousin, because he yearned for a wife and children. “Yet, I do not blame him, as I would do the same, were I in his position.”

  “How well I remember those days, when Beryl and I celebrated our joyous news.” Hogart smiled. “She had a devil of a time, given she carried twins, and while I wanted a son, I prayed for a healthy babe, and we were doubly blessed. However, owing to complications, my wife was never able to conceive another child.”

  “That is all that matters, is it not, and I am sorry for your difficulties?” Before Percy met the grand dame’s other half, he knew not what to expect in John Hogart, but he comprehended why their marriage worked, in that moment. “And I am more than happy to compose a budget, based on your reduced holdings, as well as a margin for investment, that we might dig you out of the mess Ratking created.”

  “Excellent.” Hogart slapped his thighs. “Then we need only discuss your fee.”

  “Wait a minute.” Percy chortled. “Sir, given the sad state of your affairs, I cannot, in good conscience, accept payment. As I am aware of your precarious position, to take remuneration would be not only unethical but also the height of negligence.”

  “But you will, on principle, as I would not incur another debt.” Hogart lifted his chin. “And although I cannot afford to pay you for your services, I can offer something far more valuable than money, of which, after our conversation, I am convinced you are most deserving.”

  Curious, Percy asked, “And that would be—what?”

  “My daughter Margaret.”

  The shadows posed a threat to those afraid of the dark, because danger often lurked in those unlit spaces. Or did it? To the timid soul, for which the glare of the spotlight presented an even greater menace, the murky places offered refuge from unwanted attention.

  It was in what some characterized as gloom that Margaret Clare Hortence Hogart found peace and the strength to be
herself. To stretch her wings and fly. Forever condemned to a life as the lesser twin to her more demonstrative sister, Miranda, Margaret actually enjoyed the quieter existence. But Miranda’s wedding to Sir Archibald Kleinfeld left a glaring absence in the Hogart home, which mama expected Margaret to fill, thus the balance shifted in a none too pleasing direction, as she preferred it when people ignored her.

  “My dear, have Eleanor pack your blue gown, for Christmastide, as it compliments your eyes.” Mama rested fists on hips. “And bring your green riding habit, in the event some handsome swain invites you to tour the countryside.”

  “Mama, I expect that neither Lord Ravenwood nor Lord Ernest posit potential husband material, given both are happily married. Do you reference another eligible Howe?”

  “What about Mr. Percival Howe, Lord Ravenwood’s cousin?” Something in mama’s demeanor struck Margaret as odd. Of course, for mama, odd was not uncommon. “You know, he is a man of wealth and privilege, despite the nasty affair involving his mother, but we must never be quick to judge him, given Henrietta designs your new wardrobe.”

  “Yes, Mama.” So mama wanted Margaret to marry Percival Howe. Well, she expected his interest would wane once he got a look at her. “Shall I bring my kidskin gloves and boots?”

  “Indeed, as I anticipate we will forage for evergreens, and you must look your best.” Mama waged a finger. “And bring a scarf, as I would not have you catch a cold. There is nothing so unattractive as a runny nose.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Just as Margaret walked to the armoire, papa strolled in from the sitting room. “Father.” With two skips, she faced him, and he welcomed her with open arms. “How did your meeting go?”

  “I am pleased to announce it was a smashing success.” Papa kissed her forehead. “Now, come and sit, as I have news that affects you, and I hope you are as happy about it as I am.”

  “How intriguing, Papa.” As he perched in a chair, she plopped on her bed. “What revelations have you to share?”

  “Oh, do tell, John.” Mama clapped twice. “Do not keep us in suspense. What did Mr. Howe say? Is he amenable to your proposition?”

  Caught in the middle, Margaret glanced at her mother and then her father.

  “All right, Beryl.” Papa huffed a breath. “Well, we enjoyed a rather lengthy, vast deal more than convivial discussion about life and what he wants for his future—”

  “And?” Mama bounced. “What did he say?”

  “Will you let me speak?” Papa gave mama his signature look, which could silence the most stalwart of men. Mama merely giggled. “Mr. Howe graciously consented to a match with Margaret.”

  The room seemed to pitch violently.

  Squealing with unmasked delight, mama leaped at papa, framed his face, and kissed his cheek, as Margaret spiraled to the depths of despair.

  While she knew it would happen, sooner or later, she had hoped for later, because she had yet to form an opinion on marriage and a potential spouse. Yet, her concerns never factored into the decision, because she mattered not in the grand scheme.

  For a woman of means and society, her course was set the moment she entered the world as an innocent babe burdened with the least desirable sex. Unlike male children, she did not constitute a person, according to English law. Indeed, she was but property, chattel to be owned and traded, for the delectation of men. Henceforth, her fate was determined for her, with everything leading toward a particular goal: production of an heir.

  “Well, Margaret, what say you?” Papa set aside mama and pinned Margaret with his inquisitive stare. “Is this not reason to celebrate? Daresay you have outdone your sister, as Howe has four thousand a year and a sizeable estate.”

  “Why does he wish to marry me?” she blurted. “I mean, he does not know me, Papa. And while I know of him, I cannot claim an acquaintance.”

  “My dear, it makes no difference, as Mr. Howe is obviously interested in you.” Mama shook her fists and danced a jig. “And I thought we would never secure you a husband, as you lack Miranda’s beauty and personality.”

  “Now, now, Mrs. Hogart.” Papa tsked. “We were not all blessed with such benefits, but Margaret is learned and well-spoken, and I wager Mr. Howe values such traits, thus he will make an excellent master.”

  Master.

  The word inspired naught but severe nausea.

  “Of course, Father.” While calm on the outside, inside Margaret screamed, but it was not the criticism that bothered her, because they were only being honest. She had no allusions about herself, and no one was knocking down her door to propose, so she supposed she should be grateful, yet she wanted to cry. “Will Mr. Howe partake of the celebrations at Whitstone?”

  “Yes.” Papa nodded and then flinched, when mama emitted a shrill screech of unmasked joy. “Mrs. Hogart, control yourself.”

  “But I am too excited.” Humming a tune, Mama waltzed with an invisible partner. “Oh, what fortune smiles upon us, Mr. Hogart, as we shall have both daughters wed, and now we can take that trip to the Continent, which you promised just after our nuptials.”

  “Mrs. Hogart, we have a ceremony to plan, and you must ensure Margaret is prepared for the duties she will assume as Mr. Howe’s wife.” With that, papa snapped his fingers. “By the by, how goes the new wardrobe you commissioned?”

  “Mrs. Howe labors, as we speak, on unique designs, which should set Margaret apart, during The Season, not that she needs such advantages, now.” Mama gazed at her reflection in the long mirror and preened. “And I ordered something for myself, yet it seems pointless, in light of Margaret’s forthcoming engagement. Did Mr. Howe fix a date?”

  As her parents discussed the details of her future with the casual regard one might give the weather, Margaret studied the canopy of her bed, as the walls seemed close in from all sides.

  Ensconced in the relative safety of her own home, she had never felt more alone, and she longed for the simpler times, when she had nothing more to worry about than the color of dress she would wear. But those days were gone.

  From her pocket, she retrieved a cherished keepsake, the embroidered and lace-edged handkerchief given to her by her mysterious hero, at the Netherton’s masque. In the years since that fateful meeting, she imagined her enigmatic savior would ride, atop a requisite white stallion, to her rescue. Yes, it was a child’s fantasy, yet she clung to the hope that he would deliver her from an uncertain union.

  “Well, I should confer with my valet, as we prepare for our journey to Derbyshire, and then I shall partake of a brandy, at White’s, to celebrate this auspicious development.” Papa stood. “Mrs. Hogart, I suggest you commence the education of our daughter on the duties she must perform, as she must behave in a manner that reflects her estimable breeding, else she will bring shame upon her family, and we cannot have that, after all my hard work to secure the match.”

  “Yes, indeed, Mr. Hogart.” Mama giggled. “Fret not, as I guarantee she will do as she is told, else she will break her mother’s heart.” She waved. “Now, run along to your club, and leave us to our delicate business.”

  Poor mama remained rooted in the roll to which society confined her, and while she often uttered biting remarks, she possessed nary a spiteful bone in her body. She merely lacked common sense.

  “Come, Mama.” Resolved to humor her mother, Margaret patted the spot beside her. “Instruct me in the wifely ways, as Miranda refused to divulge the particulars of your discussion with her, on the eve of her wedding to Sir Kleinfeld, and I am infinitely curious.”

  “Oh, that?” Shifting her weight, mama tittered. “Well, there is naught to it, really, and I submit it is much ado about nothing. As I cautioned Miranda, the best course of action, when it comes to the connubial bed, and what goes on between the sheets, is to close your eyes, recline, and think of something cheery. Indeed, I often sang Thomas Moore’s ‘The Meeting of the Waters’ in my head, as your father did his business, and it helped ease the shock, the first few times.”

  �
�You wish me to sing, as I perform my conjugal duty? Will that not distract me in an important moment?” Margaret blinked, as it sounded so absurd. “And what of my part to play? How am I to please my future husband? What will he expect of me?”

  “Daresay he will advise you, as your father counseled me, once we formed an attachment, and everything worked as it should, as I anticipate it will for you.” Mama tapped a finger to her cheek. “And whatever you do, do not scream, and do not fight, as you will only embarrass yourself. No doubt, the first glimpse of his defining anatomy will startle you, but that marks you as an innocent, and I recommend a gasp of surprise to embolden his manliness.”

  “So, I should sing and gasp.” Margaret nodded and committed the advice to memory. “But what of the physical act? What goes where, Mama?”

  “Ah, that is where it gets tricky, and it is somewhat difficult to describe, as I wager every man is different, in that respect, yet it all goes in the same place.” Mama narrowed her gaze and compressed her lips. Then she leaned near and whispered, “In the customary arrangement, he will rest atop you, his male protrusion goes in that space between your legs, and it will hurt, initially. Later, if he is an attentive lover, you will grow to enjoy what he does, and you may take pleasure in the deed, but it is his satisfaction that is paramount, and you must never forget that.”

  “I will remember, Mama.” Of course, that was easier said than done, because Margaret still knew little of her marital responsibilities, aside from the usual functions of a chatelaine, which paled in comparison to the wedding night task. “And I shall endeavor to make you proud.”