The Ghost of Christmas Past

by Rhys Bowen

  “What if he buys a farm and we’re out in the countryside?”

  “There are still dances and socials even in the countryside,” I said. Then I remembered. “Don’t say anything about it to Mrs. Sullivan at the moment. Don’t spoil her Christmas. She’ll be so sad to lose you.”

  She nodded. “She does have Ivy now,” she said.

  “Ivy was supposed to be trained as a maid,” I pointed out.

  She had to smile at this. “Not for long,” she said. “I was supposed to be a maid too and look how she took to me and made me into a proper family member. I bet she’ll do the same for Ivy. And I’m glad. Ivy shouldn’t be a servant. She’s so nice and funny, she should have the chance to go to school like I have.”

  “That’s not up to us to decide,” I said. “At least she has been rescued from an orphanage and she has the prospect of a good life now. Captain Sullivan’s mother will do her best for her, I’m sure.”

  Bridie nodded. She went to retrieve Liam, who had taken advantage of the conversation by getting off his bed and rolling his new ball around the floor. Bridie picked him up. He squirmed until she said, “What story are we going to have today? The three bears?”

  “Free bears,” he agreed.

  I left them, Bridie’s sweet voice making Liam lie peacefully, his eyes closing. As I came out I saw Daniel coming from the opposite hallway. He had a grim look on his face.

  “You were right,” he said to me.

  I motioned him to one side, safely away from the staircase, where we couldn’t be overheard.

  “So what are we going to do?” I whispered.

  “At the moment nothing. It would hardly be right to open a murder investigation on a frail old woman when we have nothing to go on. Cedric has asked me to go into town tomorrow and send a telegraph to my colleagues. I’m not even sure what I can ask them if more details of Charlotte’s life do not emerge. They can try and identify Ada Smith, but I haven’t much hope the name will lead us anywhere.”

  “You can ask about Henry Wheaton,” I said.

  Now he did look surprised. “Henry Wheaton?”

  “The man for whom Aunt Clara mistook you. He was Cedric’s best friend in his college days.”

  “But what could he have to do with any of this?”

  “He used to visit often and then he stopped coming. Why? Was there a falling out? The cook didn’t know of one.”

  “There are plenty of reasons college friends drift apart,” Daniel said. “He could have taken a job in another part of the country.”

  “He could,” I agreed. “But I have a strange sense about this whole business. I almost get the feeling that they don’t want us to get to the truth. Or they know the truth and are keeping silent about it. Which could be a good motive for killing Great-Aunt Clara.”

  Daniel smiled at me. “All right, oh brilliant one. What is your deduction?”

  “Winnie’s sister,” I said. “We know that she was cut off from the family when she ran off with an unsuitable man, right? So what if Henry Wheaton was that unsuitable man?”

  “Hardly unsuitable if he went to college with Cedric,” Daniel remarked.

  “He could have been penniless, or liked his drink, or even come from a humble family. You can see what Winnie’s father is like. Very ambitious. And I heard that he wanted her to marry an older man and she refused. Mr. Carmichael does not like to be crossed, that is obvious.”

  “So Winnie’s sister ran off with Henry Wheaton. Now what?”

  “Winnie’s sister was angry when she saw Winnie happily married and rich, when she herself was struggling and poor. And perhaps she couldn’t have a child and Winnie had a lovely little girl. So she came and snatched the child.”

  “And then gave it to Ada Smith to look after? Why would that be?”

  I frowned. “Ada Smith was possibly Winnie’s sister?”

  Daniel shook his head. “She has been described as older and like any of the women you see on the street. And what about the man who came to visit and brought presents? He was a middle-aged man, therefore not Henry Wheaton.”

  I sighed. “I know it’s complicated, but I sense that he is somehow involved in this. So you can ask about him when you telegraph to the police, can’t you? And don’t tell the Van Aikens that you are doing so. Let them just think you are checking into Ada Smith.”

  He nodded. “All right. If it makes you happy.” He took my face into his hands. “It does my heart good to see that look of sadness gone from your eyes. I am glad you want to be involved again and solve this case. But I’d only remind you that sometimes you tend to be a little too keen. You take risks. You should remember—we should both remember—that someone in this house is capable of murder.”

  We looked up as Bridie came out of the bedroom.

  “Liam is asleep,” she said. She gave us a questioning look. “What are you doing? Did you come up to check that Liam was sleeping properly?”

  I shook my head. “No, we just happened to meet up here and had some things that needed to be said in private. Captain Sullivan is going to be telegraphing the police to see if we can find the people who held Charlotte captive all these years.”

  “Poor Charlotte,” she said. “I feel so sorry for her. All these years away from her family.” Then she grinned. “But I suppose I’ve been away from my family for a long time and I’ve loved every minute. But then I wasn’t shut away in a room.”

  “I suspect Mrs. Van Aiken will make it up to her.” I put my arm around Bridie’s shoulder, noticing how tall she was becoming.

  When we returned to the company we found that sherry and cheese straws were being served. Then the gong sounded for luncheon, or rather the Christmas feast. We went through to a beautifully decorated dining room. There were poinsettias and freesias the whole length of the table and their sweet smell hung in the air. Candles had been lit on this dark and gloomy day and their light sparkled onto china and silver. We sat at our appointed places and the first course was served. It was a clear consommé with tiny herbed croutons in it. Then the goose was carried out, its skin brown and crisp, surrounded by baked apples. And not only the goose. On another platter was a chicken, and on the third a large ham. Clearly we were not going to starve. Cedric stood up to carve the goose, then the chicken, and we were served by a footman and a maid. A sweet potato casserole, red cabbage, and onion sauce were the accompaniments, and a crisp white Riesling was poured into our glasses. Toasts were drunk. Silence reigned as we attacked mounds of food. Then the plates were cleared and the pies were brought in: apple and pumpkin and pecan. And the thick Jersey cream from the farm along with homemade ice cream.

  At last, stuffed and replete, we left the table. My mother-in-law and Aunt Florence declared they were going for a rest. I went up to check on Liam and found him awake and playing with his toys. Suddenly I felt a shiver of alarm at leaving him alone up here. What if he had managed to open the door, or, God forbid, the window? What if he had wandered out into the snow, just like Charlotte did, and had simply vanished from the face of the Earth? I resolved to ask Bridie to stay with him when he slept from now on, until we could go home—which could not be too soon for me.

  Twenty-three

  Everyone seemed to have revived by the time coffee and cake were served. Daniel produced his new camera and posed us for photographs outside the front door, where there was enough light. Darkness fell early and Cedric had the candles on the tree lit again, as well as candles in each of the windows. The flickering flames from the fire and the glowing candlelight created a festive scene. A steaming punch bowl was carried in, and there were dates and figs and nuts to eat. We were about to play some parlor games when Sid and Gus arrived.

  “I hope you were sincere in your invitation to join you, Mr. Van Aiken,” Sid said as he came forward to greet them. “But we simply had to come over to wish Molly and her family a merry Christmas and to see how Liam is enjoying his presents.”

  “Of course. Do come and join us.” It was h
ard to tell from Cedric’s tone whether he was pleased to see them or not.

  “You are indeed most welcome.” Winnie stood up and held out a hand. “I am Mrs. Van Aiken and we are delighted to have Captain and Mrs. Sullivan as our guests here. And also glad that you are able to celebrate with us, because a miracle has occurred and our daughter has come home.”

  Sid shot me an astonished look.

  “Your daughter?” Gus asked. “The one who…” She couldn’t finish it.

  Winnie finished it for her. “Yes, the one who vanished. She appeared on our doorstep last night and here she is, my darling Charlotte, now all grown-up and come home to me.”

  Charlotte smiled shyly as Winnie stroked her hair.

  “Isn’t she lovely?” Winnie said. “I couldn’t be more happy. Cedric, pour these ladies some punch.”

  We drank a toast.

  “Ah-Sid?” Liam tugged at her skirt, wanting attention.

  Sid knelt down beside him. “Did Santa Claus bring you some good things?” she asked.

  “Horsey.” He pointed to the horse and cart.

  “Oh, and a bear. What’s his name?”

  “He doesn’t have one yet,” I said. “He was a gift from Mrs. Van Aiken.”

  “He’s adorable. He has such a wise face. You should call him something wise, like Solomon,” Sid said.

  “Copernicus,” Gus suggested.

  “Gus, have a heart.” I laughed. “He can barely say ‘horsey.’”

  “Bear.” Liam held it up, giving us a disparaging look that it should be called anything different.

  “And what did he think of our gift?” Sid asked.

  “We didn’t open gifts from you yet,” I said. “We thought it would be more fun to let you watch Liam opening them when we were all back in New York. He has plenty to keep him occupied at the moment.”

  “Good idea,” Gus said. She drew me aside. “I’m dying to see his face, however, because we bought him a wind-up bear from Germany and it turns somersaults.”

  I laughed with her. “He’ll now wonder why this bear doesn’t do the same,” I replied. Then, realizing we were sufficiently apart from the others not to be overheard, I said, “There’s something I want you to do for me.”

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Van Aiken isn’t convinced that this girl is his daughter. She claims she was held in a room in Boston and only came here when the woman who was looking after her was dying and told her the truth about herself. You’re from Boston. Could you find a way to chat with her and see if what she says rings true?”

  Gus looked confused. “They think the girl might be an impostor?”

  “He does. She doesn’t. As you can see, she is ecstatic.”

  “So would it be wise to discover the truth, only to disappoint her again?”

  “My thought exactly.” I glanced around, but everyone seemed to be watching Liam while Sid did silly stunts with the bear and he laughed. “I have to think she is genuine. She does resemble Winnie.”

  “Yes. I think she does,” Gus said. “So why is the husband so keen not to believe she’s his long-lost child?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “There is a piece of this puzzle that I don’t understand. Something that doesn’t quite fit. I wish I knew what it was.”

  We rejoined the others and soon Sid and Gus were chatting with Aunt Florence and Daniel’s mother while the girls sat on the rug with Liam, continuing the game with the bear. I joined Daniel and Mr. Carmichael over by the punch bowl, trying to half listen to the conversation by the fire.

  “You lived in Boston, did you not, Miss Lind?” Gus asked. “What part of Boston?”

  “Actually across the river in Cambridge,” Aunt Florence replied. “Such a lively area with all the students. Do you know it well?”

  “I’m from Boston. Beacon Hill,” Gus said. “Boston Brahmin country, you know. I haven’t been back for a while.”

  “You’ll find it changed and not for the better,” Aunt Florence said. “Some of the grand old houses have seen better days, and immigrants are pouring in by the thousand, from Italy and Poland and Russia—just like New York. The city is now no longer safe in all neighborhoods, although Cambridge still remains a pleasant spot.”

  “That is indeed a pity,” Gus said. She looked down at the rug, where Charlotte had been listening in on the conversation. “And Charlotte, I’m told that you were in Boston too. What part of the city?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” Charlotte said quietly. “I was hardly allowed out.”

  “You didn’t go to school?”

  “No. The lady taught me at home. There were books. I read a lot.”

  “You poor little thing. A virtual prisoner. Where did you go when you were allowed out?”

  “Nowhere really. We walked down to the river a couple of times on hot days.”

  “The Charles River? Or Mystic River? Or Boston Harbor?”

  Charlotte’s face was red. “I’m afraid I don’t know. When I was out I was not allowed to loiter or speak to anyone.”

  “So did it have wharves or a park beside it?”

  “Oh, wharves, I think. Yes, there were ships tied up there.”

  “It was probably Boston Harbor then, my dear,” Aunt Florence said. “Did you see any big ships?”

  “Not really. In fact I don’t remember much about the ships.”

  “What about smells?” I chimed in. “Smells are usually evocative, aren’t they? I know in New York there was that coffee importer down by the docks and one could have located them blindfolded.”

  Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “The harbor smelled bad. That’s why we didn’t stay out long.”

  “So what was the street name where you lived?” Gus asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Now I’m really curious,” Gus said, squatting down beside her. “Let me see if I can figure it out. So what sort of street was it? Wide, narrow? What kind of houses?”

  “Just ordinary houses with fire escapes and basements. We were in the basement. It was damp and there were rats.”

  “How awful for you,” Gus said. “You must have been so glad to escape at last.”

  “Yes.” Charlotte nodded, but I thought she did not look glad. Perhaps she was finding this new life overwhelming. Perhaps she had really become attached to the woman she called Mother and was missing her.

  “And what kind of people lived around you?” Gus continued. “Americans? Immigrants?”

  “Irish, I think. I never met any of them, but I heard people laughing and drinking and shouting sometimes.”

  “Did you hear anything else? Church bells? Tugboats on the river?”

  “Oh, we were close to the water. There were seagulls and you could hear the boats,” Charlotte agreed readily.

  “Well, that’s something to go on. Near the center of the city or out in one of the suburbs, do you think?”

  “In the middle of the city, I’m sure.”

  “Could you see the gold dome of the State House?” Gus asked.

  Charlotte shook her head. “I never saw a golden dome.”

  “A church spire?”

  “We were in a basement. What I saw mostly was feet going past.”

  I moved away, not wanting the girl to feel she was being quizzed. Gus’s face was friendly and she was apparently telling Charlotte about outings she made as a girl; picnics at the beach, walks across Boston Common. I watched Charlotte’s face. It was wary, as if she was forcing herself to smile.

  “We should be getting back,” Sid said, interrupting Gus. “We must not overstay our welcome, and our friends will be missing us.”

  “You didn’t walk across the grounds, did you?” Winnie asked.

  “Oh, no. The Briarcliff Lodge has a sleigh at the disposal of the guests.” Sid chuckled. “We didn’t think wet feet would be appreciated, either by you or by us. It’s waiting outside for us. Thank you again for your hospitality and merry Christmas to all. I’m glad it comes with such go
od news for your family.”

  “I’ll see you to the front door,” I said. “And we look forward to exchanging gifts with you when we all return home in a few days.”

  As we entered the foyer Gus moved closer to me. “I’m not sure that she really was in Boston,” she said. “How did she not know the name of her street when she went out? Streets are well labeled in the city, and the wharves all have names and there are shops on every corner with their names on them. Anyway, I asked her about the railway station she left from, and then I threw in a couple of landmarks and asked if she spotted them and weren’t they lovely. She agreed readily that she did, but neither would have been visible from the New York depot.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “This gets more complicated by the second. Why say she was in Boston if she wasn’t? Why not truthfully say where she really had been? It would have been equally hard to trace her in New York City.”

  “There had to be a good reason,” Sid said. “Perhaps it was important to somebody that she had been in Boston. Something that would verify her credibility.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Daniel is supposed to telegraph police headquarters tomorrow. Perhaps we’ll learn more, although I doubt it.”

  “How old is she supposed to be?” Sid asked.

  “Thirteen.”

  “She looks older than that. Compare her to Bridie and the little companion. They are still children.”

  “Girls mature at different rates,” I said. “We can’t go on that. And she did seem to remember things about the house. And she thought her father used to be clean-shaven and now he has a mustache. How would she know those things?”

  Sid put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re the detective,” she said. “We leave it to you.”

  They put on their coats and scarves and went out to the waiting sleigh.

  Liam was fed and went to bed willingly. I think he was exhausted from all the attention. We were summoned to a simple supper, which was a good thing after the afternoon’s feast. Hot vegetable soup, cold chicken and ham, jellies and relishes, served with crusty bread. Nobody felt like eating much and I was glad when Cedric suggested that we should assemble around the Christmas tree and sing carols, since our session had been interrupted the night before. Chairs were brought into the foyer and the piano was wheeled into the doorway, where Cedric could see us. As we started singing all the good old favorites, I realized that we had not been to church; we had not really celebrated the true meaning of the feast at all. Maybe that was the Protestant way of doing things, but it was the first time in my life that I had not gone to mass on Christmas Day.