Christmas Morning
Elizabeth awoke alone. She could hear birds chirping outside the bedchamber windows and bells ringing from the nearby chapel, announcing Christ’s birth. She lay beneath three velvet quilts, for the snow had begun again in earnest overnight, lowering the temperature even further. The gas fire cheered the room but failed to warm it much. She missed her husband’s arms. Assuming he’d gone to his study to write, she rose and slipped on her dressing gown. Frost had formed along the bottom and sides of the window panes, and she traced a pair of conjoined hearts in the cold crystal veil.
“Charles?” she called into the next bedchamber as she crossed through the tiled bath. “Captain, where are you?”
His untouched bed had an abandoned, lonely look; for Sinclair always slept in the duchess’s chamber. He’d already set out trousers, shirt, waistcoat, and other items in preparation for the day. Beth found this room comforting and masculine, and she ran her hands along the carved bedposts, thinking of her father and all their many talks.
“I hadn’t realised you were awake,” her husband said, emerging from the doorway to the apartment’s upper floor. He kissed her sweetly. “I was just fetching your Christmas present.”
Still in a blue paisley dressing gown, Charles led her into the large drawing room, his arm round her shoulders. They sat on one of the sofas, close to the fire.
“Happy Christmas,” he said, placing a wrapped envelope into her hands. “I’ve spent weeks deciding what to give a woman who has everything she could possibly wish for. I hope I’ve gotten it right.”
The envelope was addressed: ‘To My Beloved Wife on Our First Christmas Together’. She untied the ribbon, somewhat nervous. “I can’t imagine what might fit into such a small package.”
He smiled. “This is not your only gift, of course. But the one that feels most appropriate to begin the day, considering all we’ve been through and discussed.”
Inside were a dozen pages of dense, legal language. Elizabeth laughed as she perused the first page. “I hope this isn’t some addendum to our marital laws, Captain. Let’s see now. It’s from the offices of Langham and Drover. I know those solicitors. They act on behalf of the Crown in matters of taxation.” She stopped, her dark eyes growing wide. “Oh, Charles, you bought it! The warehouse on Mansell! You bought it! Is this true? Is it really ours?”
“Not ours. Yours, darling. The property is in your name, and you’ll notice, if you read the other documents, that I’ve directed the same construction company that remodeled Haimsbury House to begin work on all three Mansell warehouses at their earliest opportunity. They’re currently remodeling Loudain House for the ICI agents, but Mr. Brenner thinks they’ll complete it by early February. He’s already drawing up plans with an architect.”
She set the gift aside and threw her arms round his neck. “Captain, this is the most wonderful gift you could have chosen! And it represents aspects of our first adventure, for that’s when we first discussed building the hospital. On the train to Branham. Oh, Charles, you really are the most thoughtful, remarkable man!”
He kissed her, the moment sparking an intimate fire, but rather than yield to it, Beth pulled back, gazing at him adoringly. “How I’d love to return to that warm bed with you now, husband, but there’s so much to do. We mustn’t stay up here too long. I’ve a gift for you as well, and like you, I struggled to decide. Now that you’re a wealthy duke, you have all you might ever wish for. I pray this pleases you, Charles.”
She knelt before the tree and selected a small rectangular box wrapped in a silk square of Sinclair tartan and tied with a golden bow. Handing it to him, the duchess offered it with a kiss. “Happy Christmas, Captain.”
“Knowing you, I’m sure it’s perfect,” he whispered as he untied the bow. The tartan scarf opened to reveal a hinged box made of a light wood. “A cravat? An ascot?” he asked as he unfastened the latch. A folded bit of paper lay inside. The duke set the box on the table and began to examine the document. “Beth, you can’t do this.”
“It’s already done,” she told him. “As you can see, these are official registration papers.”
“But he’s yours, darling.”
“No, Captain, he’s yours. Paladin already looks to you as his master. He has done, ever since that harrowing ride from the abbey to Reid’s magnificent balloon! Never in my life, have I seen a horse take to someone so quickly, and since then he’s grown to love you. Paladin had never allowed anyone but me to ride him, yet since that day, you control him as no one else does. He’s your horse, Charles.”
The duke’s eyes teared. “But he’s the most sought-after sire in England. Beth, he’s worth a small fortune in stud fees!”
“Then store up that fortune for our children, Captain. Or use it in your ICI projects. Anything you earn from his efforts are yours. I imagine he has another five years in him before retiring. But even then, he’ll be a magnificent hunter. I do love watching the pair of you take those jumps!”
“Paladin,” he whispered. “How my life has changed! Not yet three months since our fist kiss, yet I feel as though we’ve lived a lifetime together already. I love you, little one. With all my heart, I love you.”
Beth nestled into his arms, the two of them watching the pleasant fire. “What did you think of the upper storey?”
“I found it quite surprising, actually. When you first told me our apartment had an upper floor, I’d assumed it was an attic, but there are three large rooms and a storage area.”
“It’s because that floor was originally a nursery. A bedchamber, play area, parlour, and the smallest room was the nursemaid’s chamber. After I was born, Mother had the nursery moved to the north wing. She found it difficult to sleep whenever I cried.”
He started to make a harsh observation regarding Patricia Stuart’s selfish mothering technique, but decided to say nothing. “We could move it back,” he suggested instead. “I used to get up with Albert in the night. I always found those times with him quite nice, actually.” He grew quiet for a moment. “Beth, I’m late in saying this, but thank you for the roses and the ragstone bench. I don’t know if you had time to visit Albert’s grave after Lord Wychwright’s funeral, but it looks very cheerful there now. Thank you, darling. That was a lovely thing to do.”
“You needn’t thank me. I was happy to add a small touch. I suppose I wanted to show my affection and attachment. He is with our Lord now, but Albert’s still your son, which makes him my stepson. And I promise to do all in my power to be a good mother to our children. Robby was so like you in that other world, Charles. He has your eyes, the same expressions when he’s contemplating a puzzle, the same laugh, and his hair curls just like yours.” She reached behind his neck and teased at the raven locks that curled over the dressing gown’s satin collar. “Are you intentionally growing it longer, or is it to disguise that scar at the back of your head?”
He reached up to touch the healing wound. “This scar is a reminder of my mortality, but also of how precious life is. Shall I let it grow, little one? Georgie claimed I have long, grey hair in 1899.”
“Grey?” she laughed. “Well, if true, then I’m sure it’s very striking, Captain. How long?”
“What?”
“The hair. How long did she say it will be?”
“She wasn’t precise, but apparently, Paul will have short hair, whilst mine becomes dashingly poetic. Perhaps, he and I exchange personalities.”
“You mean Paul becomes a mathematician? Oh, really, I cannot imagine that at all!”
Laughing, Sinclair took to his feet. “No, neither can I. The earl’s solution to a complex calculation is to shoot it.” The duke stretched and yawned, his mind sifting through the day’s schedule. “If I understood Baxter correctly, the plan for this morning is a light breakfast, church services at eleven, followed by a buffet luncheon and a concert by the village and farm children here
at the hall. Is that right?”
“Yes, but after they sing, you read the Christmas story and we hand out gifts to each. By four, the children disperse back their own homes for a family celebration.”
“And they all return tomorrow for Boxing Day?”
“That’s right, but then, the parents come with the children. We’ll have a delightful time with games, and sleigh rides, and lots more singing. Today, is all about the serious contemplation of Christ’s birth and what it means to mankind.”
He drew her into his arms and kissed her mouth. “You’re showing more each day,” he whispered as he touched her abdomen. “How strange to think that our children rest beneath my fingers. I wonder if Joseph had such thoughts about Mary as they neared Bethlehem? Oh, my beautiful wife, these children are miracles! You are a miracle.”
She kissed his hands. “As are you, Captain. Perhaps, next year, we’ll be expecting another child. And then another after that. And then another...”
“Let’s see how this pregnancy goes first, shall we?” he answered cautiously. “Any nausea this morning?”
“Not much. It’s time we start our day, I suppose,” she sighed. “Charles, I’d like to sit with Seth for a few moments before we leave for church services. Do you mind?”
“Not at all, but be cautious, Beth.”
“Charles, do you really think him responsible for Mr. Patterson’s death?”
“I have to consider all possibilities, darling, but I’ll not let that overshadow Christmas. Come the twenty-seventh, I’ll wear my detective hat again, but now I want only to be your husband. Shall I ring for Esther?”
“Yes, I suppose so. I miss Alicia.”
“She’s not returning?”
“No, her sister’s in dire need of help. It’s likely Alicia will remain in Brighton. For now, Esther’s very good company and a valued friend.”
“She may soon be Mrs. Baxter.”
“What?” the duchess gasped. “Captain, are you keeping secrets?”
“Inspector Baxter’s been keeping them, but I’ll allow him to reveal all his plans in good time. He’s an ICI agent now, you know. He’s staying on as my ad hoc valet, but primarily, I want him with me as advisor and another set of eyes and ears. Cornelius is better at sizing up suspects than most at the Yard. I plan to triple his current salary, as he’s taking on additional duties. It should allow him to marry and settle into a nice home.”
“I hope he’ll find one close by,” she said. “I’m used to seeing him every day.”
He kissed her cheek. “I have a plan. Leave it to me. Now, I must dress.”
She touched his hand. “It isn’t up to me to serve as your valet, but you’ll want to dress somewhat formally this morning, Captain. It will be the locals’ first chance to see you at church as a duke.”
He smiled. “A duke? Most of the locals seem to think me as a prince, actually. Which reminds me, several merchants in the village gave me gifts for you. I have them in my study, but I’ll place them all in here later; beneath the tree.” He kissed her once more, suddenly remembering his cousin. “I pray Paul and Cordelia passed a good night.”
“We’ll find out soon,” she answered. He kissed her once more, the peaceful moment interrupted by persistent scratching at the door. “Our dogs all slept with Adele last night. I think they want in.”
“Or out,” he laughed. “Very well, time to begin the day!”
Chapter Fifty-Three
8:09 am - Whitechapel
Susanna Morgan heard mild snoring coming from the room next door. She lay in a simple bed, beneath several quilts. She could smell food cooking and the sound of children. Sitting up, she threw off the covers and placed her bare feet on the cold floor. The window shutters were closed, but light pierced the boards. Where am I? she wondered. The bedroom had simple furnishings: a nightstand with a kerosene lamp, a tall chest with five drawers, a mirrored vanity, and a painted chifforobe. She opened the wardrobe and found it filled with dresses. To her surprise, all seemed her size. Choosing a woolen skirt, cotton blouse, and waistcoat, she added laced-boots (which also fit) and brushed her newly coloured hair, braiding it, and then pinning it at the back of her head.
Opening the door, she found herself in a narrow hallway, which she followed to a staircase. One side was open to the floor below, and she could see six tables, dressed with checkered cloths. A plump woman, aided by two boys, was setting places at each.
“Good morning,” Morgan called to the woman.
Glancing up, the stranger grinned, causing her plump cheeks to round. “Mornin’, Miss. Come on down, now, an’ get a bite o’ breakfast. Me an’ the boys is settin’ up fer Christmas, but we got plenty bacon an’ eggs left over. Come on, now! It’s warmer down ‘ere by the fire.”
Susanna descended the steps and took a seat at a table nearest the cheerful blaze. “Do you know me?”
“Now that’s a right strange way ta start the day,” the woman replied. “Sure nuff, do. You’re Miss Stuart. That man what brung you ‘ere told me all ‘bout you. Right nice fella.”
“A man brought me here? Forgive me, but I don’t remember any of that. Who are you?”
“Name’s Porter. Molly Porter. You been ‘ere a few days, Miss. Sleepin’ like a lamb. I checked on you, though. Like yer friend made me promise. He said ‘e’d come back once you was awake. I reckon you’re ‘ungry, eh?”
“Starving. Did this man give a name?”
“Said it was Romanov. I like ‘im a lot better ‘n them other Russians what comes round ‘ere. Real pleasant fella, an’ ‘andsome as a lad in spring! Scrambled or fried?”
“Oh, scrambled, I suppose. He told you my name is Stuart?”
“Oh, yeah. Said you ‘ad other names, but we was ta call you Miss Violet. Bless me for livin’! Now ‘ow did ‘e know you was awake?”
The main door to Porter’s Rooming House had opened to reveal a tall man with shoulder-length hair and piercing blue eyes. Susanna had no recollection of meeting him before, but he walked directly to her table, bowing gallantly.
“A very good morning to you, Miss Violet. May I join you?”
“Do I know you, sir?”
Anatole drew out a chair and sat into it, setting his hat on the empty seat next to him. “We met briefly when I found you walking near the river. Do you remember it? You were lost.”
She shook her head. “Not really. The last few days are blank. But I’m not sure you have my name correct. It isn’t Violet Stuart, it’s...”
“Susanna,” he whispered, leaning in close. “Susanna Morgan, but not really. Cassandra Calabrese is your birth name, isn’t it?” She nodded. “I’ve repaired your memory, and now you begin the next phase of your life. Until now, names and duties have been forced upon you. Beginning today, my dear, you choose which name and which path you will take. Tonight, I shall take you to an old friend of mine, but first I hope you will deliver a message for me.”
“Who are you?”
“A friend and protector. You may call me Anatole.”
“And this message?” she asked warily.
He took her hand. “You might call it a final warning. A war is about to break out in England, between two major wings of a very dangerous bird. One side is red; the other black. Both are evil. Are you brave enough to deliver the message, even though the recipient once tried to kill you?”
She pulled away. “Who?”
“Sir Clive Urquhart. He took you from your hotel and knocked you unconscious. He’d planned to torture you and then kill you. I was sent to prevent that.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No, but you will. Eat your breakfast, and then after, you and I shall take a journey to the West End. Are you brave enough to face him again?”
Every memory of Clive Urquhart rushed through her mind. His pawing hands, his greasy moustache, his sof
t belly; the pagan parties with endless champagne, opium, and victims. Children, mostly. She hated him, but Susanna also feared the man’s power.
“Why would you rescue me? I’m just as bad as he is.”
“Even a liar is evil in the eyes of the Lord,” the angel told her. “Man’s righteousness is as filthy rags to the One. Yet, He loves you, Cassandra Calabrese. He heard your prayer the night Urquhart took you from the hotel, and He despatched me to rescue you. Now, He asks you to face this monster once more. Every man deserves one last chance. This is his.”
“God might forgive him? For all those monstrous acts?”
“He forgives all who call upon His name with a contrite heart. Are you willing to do this?”
Tears flowed down her cheeks, but she began to think of Paul Stuart—how he’d told her of Christ and helped her to see a brighter future. “Yes. I am.”
“Good,” answered Samael. “Today, your bright future begins.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Branham Hall – 2:45 pm
The foyer of the great hall looked like a festive railway station, filled with whispering children and a few anxious grandmothers and fathers. There were chairs aplenty, and at the centre, stood a majestic evergreen adorned with candy, cookies, candles, ribbon, golden ornaments, toys, and bells. The children were dressed in their best clothing, and knew the duchess well from her visits to their school. A few had served as chars, others as maids. One, a Miss Eva Sloane, had served in the kitchens and later the upper chambers, where she came under the duchess’s notice. The intelligent girl soon found a sponsor, eventually earning a teacher’s certificate from London College. Now, Miss Sloane taught at the school, and she proudly stood that afternoon to offer the first of many speeches.
“Your Graces,” she said, addressing both the duke and duchess, who sat together near the tree. “It is a very great honour to once again stand inside this historic mansion and celebrate our Saviour’s birth. In the many centuries since Branham’s creation, the Dukes and Duchesses of Branham have provided employment, education, and edification to the people of our village. But you, Duchess Elizabeth, have risen higher than all your ancestors in the way you treat us. We all feel as though we share in this magnificent home—and in the lives of your family. Today of all days, we want you to know that Branham is in our hearts, just as it is in your blood. May this be the happiest of Christmases for you and Duke Charles.”
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