A New York Christmas (Christmas Novellas 12)

by Anne Perry

  Copyright © 2014 Anne Perry

  The right of Anne Perry to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2014

  All characters in this publication – apart from the obvious historical figures – are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN: 978 1 4722 1938 1

  Jacket images © Getty Images (painting) and Shutterstock

  Jacket: www.headdesign.co.uk

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK company

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  London NW1 3BH

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About Anne Perry

  Also By Anne Perry

  About the Book

  Praise

  Dedication

  A New York Christmas

  More mysteries from Anne Perry

  About Anne Perry

  Author Photograph © Diane Hinds

  Anne Perry is a New York Times bestselling author noted for her memorable characters, historical accuracy and exploration of social and ethical issues. Her two series, one featuring Thomas Pitt and one featuring William Monk, have been published in multiple languages. Anne Perry has also published a successful series based around World War One and the Reavley family, and the standalone novel The Sheen on the Silk. Anne Perry was selected by The Times as one of the twentieth century’s ‘100 Masters of Crime’.

  By Anne Perry and available from Headline

  The Inspector Pitt series

  Highgate Rise

  Belgrave Square

  Farriers’ Lane

  The Hyde Park Headsman

  Traitors Gate

  Pentecost Alley

  Ashworth Hall

  Brunswick Gardens

  Bedford Square

  Half Moon Street

  The Whitechapel Conspiracy

  Southampton Row

  Seven Dials

  Long Spoon Lane

  Buckingham Palace Gardens

  Betrayal at Lisson Grove

  Dorchester Terrace

  Midnight at Marble Arch

  Death on Blackheath

  The Angel Court Affair

  The William Monk series

  The Face of a Stranger

  A Dangerous Mourning

  Defend and Betray

  A Sudden, Fearful Death

  The Sins of the Wolf

  Cain His Brother

  Weighed in the Balance

  The Silent Cry

  Whited Sepulchres

  The Twisted Root

  Slaves and Obsession

  A Funeral in Blue

  Death of a Stranger

  The Shifting Tide

  Dark Assassin

  Execution Dock

  Acceptable Loss

  A Sunless Sea

  Blind Justice

  Blood on the Water

  World War I series

  No Graves as Yet

  Shoulder the Sky

  Angels in the Gloom

  At Some Disputed Barricade

  We Shall Not Sleep

  Christmas Novellas

  A Christmas Journey

  A Christmas Visitor

  A Christmas Guest

  A Christmas Secret

  A Christmas Beginning

  A Christmas Grace

  A Christmas Promise

  A Christmas Odyssey

  A Christmas Homecoming

  A Christmas Garland

  A Christmas Hope

  A New York Christmas

  Tathea

  Come Armageddon

  The One Thing More

  The Sheen on the Silk

  About the Book

  New York, 1904. Jemima Pitt arrives in a city where new American money and old English aristocracy collide. She’s here to chaperone her friend, Delphinia, who has crossed the ocean to marry one of New York’s richest men, but Jemima discovers a secret that could destroy Phinnie’s future.

  Drawn into the crisis, Jemima desperately wants to protect her friend. And she must use all her courage and wits to decide whom to trust, and how to thread her way through the snowy streets of this brash new city.

  A New York Christmas is the enthralling new festive tale from the master of Victorian mysteries.

  Praise for Anne Perry’s Christmas novellas

  ‘A bite-sized mystery that could be fitted in after your Christmas lunch’ Daily Telegraph

  ‘A novel approach to an oft-explored subject, this tale will delight Perry’s fans and bring her new ones’ Kirkus Reviews

  ‘The tale is redolent with Victorian atmosphere, from the hypocritical snobbishness to the rigid social conventions of the time’ Tangled Web

  ‘Delightful . . . The perfect gift for a whodunit addict’ Oxford Times

  ‘Christmas is traditionally a time of hope and heart and there is plenty of both on offer . . . A Christmas cracker full of rich storytelling, classic conundrums, timeless life lessons and the gift of forgiveness’ Lancashire Evening Post

  ‘If Christmas puts you in the mood for a good Agatha Christie, try Perry’ Glasgow Evening Times

  ‘[An] engaging historical mystery . . . a winner’ Booklist

  ‘This brief work has an almost Jamesian subtlety . . . it conveys a moral force in keeping with the season’ Wall Street Journal

  To all the adventurers of heart

  Jemima stood at the railing on the upper deck of the great ocean liner and gazed across the limitless sea. She had just turned twenty-three and was beginning what promised to be the first real adventure of her life.

  She had grown up in London where her father was head of Special Branch. He had begun his career as an ordinary policeman, solving crimes that often included murder. Charlotte, Jemima’s mother, had sometimes helped him in that. Jemima could remember the excitement of it, and the heartbreak. Crime involved both adventure and tragedy. Later, when her father’s work became more concerned with official secrets, he had not been free to involve anyone else. That had not prevented Charlotte from participating, but certainly Jemima and her younger brother, Daniel, knew less about it.

  Jemima was on her own adventure now. It was December 1904, and she was crossing the Atlantic to New York where she would stay for at least a month. Mr Edward Cardew had invited her to travel as a companion to his daughter, Delphinia, who was to marry Brent Albright, the son of Rothwell Albright, Mr Cardew’s international business partner. It would be the society wedding of the year.

  Phinnie was nineteen and it was not at all suitable that she travel alone. She needed someone older and wiser who could be both friend and chaperone. Mr Cardew was an invalid and so unable to make the journey himself.

  No one had even mentioned Phinnie’s mother. One allusion to her a few months ago had made Jemima think she had died when Phinnie was very young, not more than two or three years old. Nothing specific had been said but the reference had been hurried past in such a manner that she felt it would be clumsy to speak of it again.

&nb
sp; Phinnie must have missed her most of her life, but especially now. Jemima was here to look after her, not only for the sake of propriety, but also to be the friend her mother would have been. It was a trust she vowed to fulfil to the best of her ability.

  So Jemima had a passage to New York, and an invitation to stay with the Albrights. She would return to London early in January while Phinnie and Brent Albright went on honeymoon.

  Jemima had grown up in London, the biggest city in the world and the heart of an empire that stretched across the globe. But she had heard that New York was big too, both raw and sophisticated at the same time, a city bursting with life and promise of all kinds of new experiences.

  If she allowed herself to, Jemima might envy Phinnie her coming marriage, with its promise of happiness shared. Phinnie had met Brent Albright when he’d visited England the previous year. Within a month she was wildly in love. ‘He is handsome,’ she said, as she and Jemima sat together at afternoon tea. ‘And so much more than that. He makes me laugh. He knows so much about everything, and yet he is kind. I feel wonderful just thinking of him.’ She was too discreet to mention that he was also very rich, so would not have courted Phinnie for her prospects.

  For Jemima prospects were different, although she had to admit that that was largely her own fault – or at least her choice. Like her mother, she wanted adventure, interesting things to do, and above all, love. She had no wish for a position in society. Perhaps, through tales here and there of her father’s experiences and opinions, she had learned too much of its frailties, and she saw even the most powerful of men and the most elegant of women as no less vulnerable to the weaknesses of human nature than the footman or the parlour maid.

  She smiled to herself, and turned away from the railing, and the wind. She pulled up the collar of her coat and walked back towards the gangway down to the huge vestibule and many formal rooms of the liner.

  I’m getting cynical, she thought. Twenty-three, and I’m thinking like a policeman! You would be proud of me, Papa . . . and horrified!

  She was passed by an elderly woman in a magnificent winter dress. The woman looked her up and down briefly, then nodded an acknowledgement. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Pitt,’ she said coolly.

  Jemima was surprised that the woman knew her name, and not certain if that was a compliment or not. Then she realised it was actually Phinnie she knew. Jemima was ‘the companion’. That was not entirely a pleasant thought.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Weatherby,’ she replied, lifting her chin a trifle higher, and walking on without waiting to see if there would have been a conversation.

  She found Phinnie in their cabin, one of the more luxurious with not only a bedroom but a quite comfortable-sized sitting room as well. Phinnie was curled up in one of the chairs. She was smaller than Jemima and just a trifle plumper. She had large, dark eyes – her best features – and thick hair, almost black, with a natural curl that Jemima envied. Her own was a shining mahogany colour with gleams of amber she did not like. And it had to be vigorously encouraged to have any curl at all.

  Phinnie looked up as Jemima came in. She had just finished writing in her diary, and now she carefully closed it and snapped shut the tiny lock.

  ‘I shall want to remember this,’ she said with a smile. ‘I shall not be a single woman much longer. I may forget what it feels like.’

  ‘I shall remind you,’ Jemima replied, closing the door behind her and taking off her coat. She was glad to be in the warmth again. The wind off the ocean had a very sharp edge to it.

  Phinnie gave a tiny shrug of one shoulder. ‘Oh, you may not always be single,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You really should turn your attention more fully to the subject. You do not need to be as fortunate as I am in order to be well suited.’

  A blistering retort rose to Jemima’s lips along the lines of what suits different people, and she bit it back with difficulty. Phinnie’s father was paying her fare, as she had been reminded twice already.

  ‘Indeed, you are quite right,’ she said, walking across to the cupboard where she would hang up her coat. She kept her back to Phinnie so she would not see the expression on her face. ‘I would be content with far less,’ she added.

  ‘That is very wise,’ Phinnie observed approvingly. ‘To know your own limits is half way to happiness.’

  ‘What is the other half?’ Jemima asked, hanging up her coat and turning round. ‘Knowing your husband’s?’

  Phinnie was momentarily taken aback.

  ‘Perhaps it is being careful not to tell him,’ Jemima said lightly. ‘Tact is a priceless virtue. It can cover a multitude of misfortunes, don’t you think?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Phinnie said instantly. ‘I don’t have a multitude of misfortunes.’

  Jemima smiled. ‘Give it time. You are still very young.’

  Phinnie’s smile vanished. Then with an effort she brought it back a trifle uncertainly. ‘You say that as if you think something awful is going to happen?’ There was a tiny whisper of fear in her voice.

  Jemima felt guilty. She was having a wonderful trip at Mr Cardew’s expense, no luxury withheld.

  ‘Of course not,’ she answered the question. ‘Nothing awful is going to happen.’ She could not let it go entirely. ‘But you would still be better to learn a little tact. You are not the only one with feelings.’

  Phinnie bit her lip. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m being selfish. I love Brent so much. I am incredibly fortunate that he loves me too.’

  ‘You will never please everybody, no one does, but you should aim for a majority,’ Jemima said more gently. ‘You need friends, Phinnie. We all do.’

  ‘Not everyone likes you,’ Phinnie pointed out. ‘You are very outspoken. Some people say you are opinionated.’

  ‘Indeed? And do they mean it as a compliment?’ Jemima enquired with a slight edge to her voice.

  ‘No, of course they don’t.’

  ‘Then I am surprised that you wish to copy me,’ Jemima rejoined.

  Phinnie drew in her breath sharply and could think of nothing with which to reply.

  Jemima felt victorious, and yet she had no pleasure in it. She went out of her way to be kinder to Phinnie that evening and listen to her without interrupting. She managed to sound impressed by the very considerable fortunes made by Albright and Cardew in their investments. It had been followed by a climb from mere respectability up to the pinnacle of power and influence in New York society.

  ‘Everyone respects them,’ Phinnie said with admiration. ‘Brent says we shall carry on the family tradition in all kinds of ways. It will be marvellous, don’t you think?’

  Suddenly Phinnie was aware that she was speaking of opportunities Jemima did not have. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said humbly. ‘I’m being thoughtless again, aren’t I?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Jemima replied generously. ‘I would love to hear about the charities they have endowed. I imagine you will one day guide some of these charities yourself.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Phinnie said eagerly, the warmth back in her eyes.

  Jemima smiled. ‘I have no doubt.’

  Phinnie looked down, a slight flush in her cheeks. ‘As long as I please Brent, that’s all I really care about.’

  That Jemima definitely envied her. She had met a considerable number of young men, and liked many of them well enough, but she had never been really in love. She had felt a warmth, an excitement, but it had been brief, and she knew it was not accompanied by the deep liking that she had seen between her parents, the kind of friendship that strengthens with time and shared experience. She believed it was the foundation of all the love that mattered.

  Perhaps that was why she found it so difficult to meet someone she wished to marry. She could not settle for something that seemed far less than the love she had seen in her own family all her life.

  ‘You’ll find someone,’ Phinnie said with sudden gentleness. ‘I know it’s taking rather long, but don’t let that discourage you.’

 
‘I won’t,’ Jemima promised, not with truth but with a more generous desire not to spoil Phinnie’s happiness with a selfish indulgence in her own feelings. What she meant, and intended to keep, was a promise to herself to look after Phinnie and make this adventure of hers as happy as it could possibly be. It was the only good thing to do. She would be truly ashamed were she to do less.

  Two days later the ship arrived in New York. From the deck of the liner, the city did not look so very different from London. But as soon as Jemima was ashore she heard the different medley of languages and saw Oriental faces and a good number of black ones, and others that were fair, as if they were Scandinavian. Everyone was busy. There was an excitement, a tingle in the air and she fully realised that she had come to a new place, even a new world, and, at least for the moment, alone.

  It was overwhelming.

  Phinnie clung to Jemima’s arm as people eddied around them. Everyone else seemed to know where they were going.

  Jemima felt a moment’s panic. Then a slender brown-haired man was standing in front of them.

  ‘Miss Cardew, Miss Pitt? My name is Farrell. I have come to take you to your home while you are in New York.’

  He gave orders that their luggage should be brought and conveyed to the carriage that was waiting for them. Discreetly he passed coins to the porters, and their obedience was immediate.

  ‘If you will accompany me,’ he invited, ‘we shall go and take our places in the carriage so we may return home where Mr Brent is eager to see you.’

  Phinnie’s eyes were bright with anticipation, and her cheeks flushed.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she agreed. ‘That would be very nice. It . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘It seems like ages since we last met.’