The Ghost of Christmas Past

by Rhys Bowen

  “We’ll wait for Papa before we open gifts,” Winnie said, perching herself on the arm of the sofa next to Aunt Florence. “Where can he have gotten to?”

  “He was with us in the breakfast room a few moments ago,” I said.

  “I think he went into his study.” Aunt Florence looked up at the doorway.

  “He spends too much time in that gloomy place,” Winnie said. “Perhaps he won’t be so willing to hide himself away now that his daughter has come home.”

  “Go and fetch him, Winnie,” Aunt Florence said. “I’d do it but he sees me as a meddlesome old woman and would likely not come.”

  Winnie stood up. I could see her hesitating. Then she said. “Yes. Why not? He should be with his family on Christmas Day. And we’re all dying to open our gifts.”

  “Why don’t you girls go and sit on that sofa and get to know each other?” Aunt Florence suggested. “I’m so glad you have some companions of your own age, Charlotte dear. You won’t remember me, but I am your mother’s aunt.”

  “I think I do remember you,” Charlotte said and she gave the older woman a warm smile.

  “Is Great-Aunt Clara not down yet?” Aunt Florence asked. “Was she not at breakfast?”

  “Perhaps she had a tray sent up,” Mr. Carmichael said. “You know it takes her longer and longer to get ready in the mornings these days and she likes to look well turned out.”

  “Of course,” Aunt Florence said. “But she’ll want to join in the festivities and watch the opening of gifts. I’ll go up and bring her down.”

  The three girls sat together, and I could hear them whispering shyly to each other.

  “Show Grandmamma your horse and cart, Liam,” Daniel’s mother said, and we smiled as he galloped it over to her. We looked up as Winnie returned alone. “Cedric will be with us in a moment,” she said. “He is putting the finishing touches to…”

  Before she could finish the sentence we heard a loud “Ho ho ho.” And in came Cedric, now wearing a white beard and red Santa Claus costume.

  “Who has been good this year?” he asked. Liam scuttled over to me, alarmed by this strange new figure. “Up,” he said.

  “It’s Santa Claus. The man who brings us presents,” I said, taking him onto my knee.

  “Let me see who I have gifts for in my sack outside the door,” Cedric said. He disappeared into the foyer, then returned with a stack of packages. “Who do we have here? This one says Mrs. Sullivan. And this one Aunt Florence.” He paused and looked around. “Where is Aunt Florence?”

  “She was here a moment ago,” Winnie said.

  “She went up to fetch your great-aunt,” Daniel’s mother said.

  “Well then, we’d better wait until they join us.” Cedric put the packages down on the nearest table.

  We looked up as we heard the brisk tap of Aunt Florence’s shoes coming toward the gallery. The moment she came in we knew something was wrong.

  “I’m sorry to tell you that Great-Aunt Clara passed away during the night,” she said in a low voice.

  Twenty

  “Oh, no. Poor Auntie.” Winnie stood up. “How very sad. Should I go up to her? Is there anything we can do?”

  “She’s dead, Winnie,” Cedric said. He threw back the red hood and pulled off the beard. “There’s nothing anyone can do.”

  “You should call a doctor,” Aunt Florence suggested. “A death certificate will need to be signed.”

  “We can’t call him out on Christmas Day, Aunt,” Cedric said. “That wouldn’t be fair. Leave it until tomorrow, then I’ll go into town and summon both doctor and undertaker. She’ll be buried in the family plot of course.”

  There was a silence. It seemed only fitting.

  “She led a long, happy life, didn’t she?” Winnie’s father said at last. “Almost ninety. In the bosom of her family. Surrounded by those she loved. You can’t ask for more than that.”

  “Quite,” Cedric said. He looked upset.

  “But it’s still sad that she had to depart this life on Christmas morning,” Winnie said. “Now it seems wrong to celebrate at all. We should be in mourning. Should I go and change into black, do you think?”

  “Absolutely not,” Cedric said. “She would not want us to be sad on her behalf. She is liberated from an old and tired body. And she was beginning to lose her grip on reality, wasn’t she?”

  “She was,” I agreed. “She thought I was Winnie’s sister and Daniel was a college friend of Cedric’s.”

  “I have to admit that I feel a trifle guilty,” Cedric said, pacing the room and walking over to the window. We looked up at him. “I gave her that brandy last night. It might have been too much for her poor old heart.”

  “She did like her tipple, didn’t she?” Mr. Carmichael agreed.

  That phrase sent a jolt through me. Those were the words used about Harris the gardener, who had wound up dead in a snowbank. Was it possible that Aunt Clara’s death was not an accident, but that someone in the house was worried that her seemingly harmless ramblings might stray to a forbidden topic? I looked around the room—pale and delicate Winnie, handsome Cedric, stout Aunt Florence, and the rather forbidding Mr. Carmichael. Did one of them have something that was better lying hidden? Or even the new arrival, whom Cedric was not willing to admit was his long-lost daughter? Perhaps I should take a look at the body, although I wasn’t sure what I could find out. If she had been poisoned, I’d never know. Then I shook my head. That was the problem with having been a detective for so long. One sees crimes, murder, and intrigue where there are none.

  But something else that had been said had struck a chord. The old lady had thought I was Winnie’s sister and Daniel was Henry Wheaton, Cedric’s college friend. Was there a connection between those two, a family scandal that she had reawoken? Could he have been the unsuitable young man with whom Winnie’s sister ran off? Was that why he had not been seen for years? Because he was now persona non grata with the family?

  I took this one step further: Could there also be a connection to Charlotte’s disappearance? Had they indeed kidnapped the child as a sort of revenge? It seemed outlandish, but could that have been why Winnie’s face had shown fear when it was suggested that Charlotte’s memory would return to her? She didn’t want her sister punished, however much she had made Winnie and Cedric suffer.

  Oh, dear, I thought. I do wish we had stayed home this Christmas and had never gotten ourselves mixed up in this mess.

  I forced myself to return to the present and to the conversation that was going on. “So who was the aunt who died?” Charlotte asked Winnie. “Was she your aunt, like Aunt Florence?”

  “No, she was Papa’s great-aunt,” Winnie said. “She had lived in this house all her life, first with Cedric’s grandfather, then his father, and then with us. Don’t you remember her at all? She was very fond of you.”

  “I don’t think so,” Charlotte said.

  “She was a frail-looking little old lady with wisps of white hair and a very sweet face. You used to sit at her feet on the bearskin rug and she would tell you stories—the goblins who lived in the forest, remember? You were scared of that one. And the princess who turned into a swan?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I wish I did remember, but I don’t. “

  “Don’t worry about it, my darling. You are back and that’s all that matters.” Winnie took her hand and brought it to her lips.

  “Presents!” Cedric exclaimed. “We were going to open presents when we were interrupted. Nothing is going to spoil our Christmas Day. So let’s get on with it.” He started handing around packages. I went to get ours.

  “Youngest to oldest,” Cedric said.

  “That’s you, Liam.” Daniel held out a package to him and we all watched, laughing, as Liam ripped open the paper. It was from Daniel’s mother, a knitted coat, hood, and leggings. Of course he didn’t think much of it, but we thanked her profusely.

  “Whose is next? Bridie, Ivy, or Charlotte?” I said, looking at the t
hree girls, who now sat, faces bright with anticipation.

  “I’m still twelve,” Bridie said.

  “I’m already thirteen,” Charlotte said.

  “So am I.” Ivy hardly dared to say the words, looking down shyly. “But I’m not expecting any presents.”

  “Bridie it is, then,” Cedric said and handed her a big package.

  “That’s also from me, my dear,” Daniel’s mother said.

  She opened it, delicately and trying not to rip the paper. It was a new winter cape, the hood trimmed with white fur, and a white fur muff. “Oh, my.” Bridie was at a loss for words. She looked up at Mrs. Sullivan. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I never had anything so lovely in my life.”

  “Put it on,” Winnie said.

  Blushing bright red with so many eyes on her, Bridie put on the cape. She put the muff chain around her neck, tucked her hands into the fur, then twirled around to show us how the cape swirled out.

  “Lovely. Just lovely,” Daniel’s mother said. “I want you to be the best-dressed young lady in New York.” I realized immediately that we had not told her the news about Bridie’s father and her return to Ireland. I was trying to think what to say to smooth over the moment when Bridie herself said, “Thank you very much. I shall treasure this forever.”

  I could have hugged her.

  Aunt Florence was pleased with her handkerchiefs; Winnie and Cedric also seemed to be pleased with the chocolates and jigsaw puzzle.

  “I didn’t know how many people would be present, or what ages,” I said, half apologizing, “so I wanted something we could all enjoy.”

  “And so we shall,” Cedric said. “The weather outside does not look kind today. We shall clear off one of these tables and start on the puzzle as soon as the present giving is over.”

  He handed out gifts from them. A book of poetry for Bridie, a stuffed bear for Liam, and a silver condiment dish and spoon for Daniel and me. I suspected they had all come from the house, as Winnie would not have found them in the little township and would not have had time to order them from farther away. The dish was very beautiful and far grander than anything I had ever owned. Liam approved of the bear, immediately seating it in the cart and giving it a ride. I wondered if it had once belonged to Charlotte and if she now recognized it. She showed no signs of doing so.

  The rest of the presents were a success. Daniel’s mother loved the soft shawl we had given her. All very satisfactory. Winnie and Cedric had obviously exchanged gifts in private and there was no mention of those.

  “And my darling, Little Lottie,” Winnie said. “If only I’d known, I’d have showered you with gifts.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Mama,” Charlotte said. “Being here is the greatest gift I could ever have.”

  “We will make it up to you, I promise, but in the meantime here is a gift from my heart. It is something my mother gave to me and that I have treasured since her death.” Charlotte took off the tissue paper and it was a tiny golden birdcage.

  “Wind it up,” Winnie said. Charlotte did and the bird inside began to sing and his head moved to and fro.

  “Oh, it’s lovely,” Charlotte said. “I shall treasure it.”

  I glanced at Ivy. She was staring at it with such longing in her eyes. Poor little thing, I thought. She has probably never seen such a lovely object. “Oh,” she said, and held out her hand as if she wanted to touch it. Charlotte picked it up rapidly.

  I jumped to my feet. “But I have something for you other lovely young ladies,” I said. I retrieved the snow globes and watched with satisfaction as the girls unwrapped them. They were both entranced. They looked down at the snow globes, then up at each other for confirmation that these were the best things in the universe.

  “So now everyone is content,” Cedric said. “That is how it should be.”

  I could not put aside the tension that gripped at my stomach, however much I wanted to enjoy the moment with my family. Bridie had taken off her cape and put it back in its box. She and Ivy were now kneeling together with their snow globes, telling each other stories about the girl in the red cape, lost in the woods.

  “And there are wolves and goblins in the woods,” Bridie said, warming to the topic. “And the goblins come and take her away.”

  Ivy pushed the snow globe away from her. “Don’t say that,” she said. “It’s too frightening.”

  “All right.” Bridie nodded amiably. “There was a woodcutter in a cottage and he came and rescued her and took her home with him.”

  “And his wife took her in as their own little girl, because they didn’t have one.” Ivy liked this ending. She looked across at Charlotte, who was sitting with her bird on her lap. “Would you like a turn with the snow globe, Charlotte?” I suspected this was because she was dying to have a turn with the bird in the cage.

  “No, thank you,” Charlotte said. “I’d rather just sit here and watch everything. It’s so new, being among a lot of people. And in a big house like this.”

  “Of course it is, my darling,” Winnie said. “You must be feeling quite overwhelmed.”

  “Charlotte, there are so many questions I’d like to ask you,” Cedric said. “Can we go somewhere quiet, like my study?”

  “Oh, not today, surely,” Winnie interrupted. “Let the child enjoy Christmas with her family, for heaven’s sake.”

  “I was not intending to interrogate her.” Cedric frowned. “But I would dearly like to know more so that we can track down this mysterious woman who looked after her all these years.”

  “But you can’t track her down,” Charlotte burst out with more emotion than we had seen from her. “She’s dead.”

  “What?” Cedric strode over to face the girl, then pulled up a chair opposite her. “She’s dead, you say?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Charlotte said patiently. “She’s already dead or she will be dead soon. She never told me who I was, you see. I don’t think she knew for a long time. But a short while ago she sat me down and told me she had a confession to make. She said that she had figured out who I must be but she couldn’t go to the authorities because then she might be put in prison or even hanged for kidnapping me. Then she said that the doctor had told her she didn’t have long to live and she wanted to do the right thing for once. So she gave me money, took me to the train station, and told me how to find you.”

  “Remarkable,” Cedric said. I couldn’t tell from his voice whether he believed her or not. “So did you wait until she died before you came here?”

  She shook her head. “She didn’t want me to be there when she died. She told me I should go back to my family at Christmas, because it was important.” She looked up suddenly and her eyes were full of tears. “You have to understand that I loved her. She was the only mother I ever knew. She was always kind to me. We had very little money but she made sure I was happy.”

  “What was her name, did you say?” Cedric was determined to press on.

  “I think her name was Ada. Ada Smith—at least that’s what she went by.”

  “Smith. How convenient,” Cedric said. “Look, I’m glad this woman was good to you but you have to realize that she was a criminal, or at least connected with the criminal classes.”

  “Not necessarily, Cedric,” Winnie said. “She might have just been a woman who needed a little extra money and who answered an advertisement to look after a child. She could have been told any kind of story—that the parents were sick, or she was an orphan.”

  “Highly unlikely.” Cedric snapped out the words. “Whoever took the child could not risk that a random woman would put two and two together and realize who the child was and go to the police, or even resort to blackmail. No, whoever did this had to have some kind of hold over the woman to force her into the arrangement. Ada Smith.”

  “What did she look like, this lady?” Winnie asked. “Was she young? Was she pretty?”

  Charlotte grinned. “No. She looked like any lady you’d see on the street. Not young. N
ot at all pretty like you. But nice. Kind.”

  “And what did she tell you your name was? What name did she call you?”

  “She called me Amy,” the girl said softly. “Amy Smith.”

  “How did she sound?” Cedric’s tone was still aggressive. “Like an educated woman?”

  Charlotte looked puzzled. “I don’t know what an educated woman sounds like. She spoke to me kindly, gently. She held me at night when I had one of my nightmares. That’s all I know.”

  “Why are you attacking the child like this?” Aunt Florence demanded. “One might think you weren’t glad that your own daughter had come home to you, against all odds.”

  “Of course I’m glad,” Cedric said. I could tell he was about to add “If she really is my daughter.” But instead he said, “I just want to be sure. It’s such a big surprise. A big shock. Overwhelming. It will take a while.”

  “I don’t need to take a while,” Winnie said. “I am thrilled and grateful she is here and I’m looking forward to our new life together. You should be too.”

  She gave Cedric a disparaging glance.

  “Charlotte,” Cedric addressed her directly. “You understand that I am not attacking you when I ask questions. Somebody stole you from our house when you were a little girl. Whoever did this was wrong. I don’t know why they did it—presumably for money. But your mother has lived in grief all these years and these people have to be caught and punished. You say this Ada Smith has died. She sounds like a decent enough person, but I’d still like to go after the one who brought you to her. You understand that, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “Yes, Papa,” she said quietly.

  “Wouldn’t you also like justice, Charlotte? Wouldn’t you like to see the man punished who took you away from this life, from your mother who loved you?”