The Christmas Conundrum

by Karen Hall

  “So what did you do today Papa, that kept you so busy?” Kathleen asked, passing the plate heaped with sandwiches and biscuits.

  “I met with Nigel Davenport this morning and then I gave an interview to Mrs. Goforth at The Clarion,” Daniel told them as he poured cream into his tea.

  His daughters’ gasps and raised eyebrows were not the reaction he’d expected. “Have I said something wrong?”

  “You gave an interview to ‘that woman’?” Victoria frowned. “After your announcement, is that wise, Papa? You do know she has very liberal views? You don’t want people to think you agree with her, do you?”

  “She and one of her daughters were arrested,” Kathleen added, her expression one of dismay. “She spent two months in jail!”

  “It was two weeks, Kathleen,” Daniel corrected, “Not two months.”

  “Still,” Kathleen argued. “Getting arrested is not very ladylike, don’t you agree, Louisa?”

  Louisa? When did my daughters start calling you Louisa?

  “Perhaps not, but you’ll have to admit the Goforth women aren’t afraid to take a stand for what they believe,” Louisa said. “Did Tabitha Goforth grill you over hot coals, Daniel?”

  “No,” he said, reaching for a chocolate peppermint cake. “It was rather simple. She asked what issues I thought would be addressed in the future and if I had any specific ideas. I told her that if I was elected, I would give any issue enough study to be sure my constituents’ wishes were respected. It didn’t take long.”

  “I think you best check with Nigel before you give any more interviews,” Louisa suggested. “When Hugh was alive, Nigel scheduled everything for him, including interviews.”

  “You don’t want to hurt your chances by spending too much time with people who hold such outrageous notions like the Goforths,” Victoria said firmly. “Arthur says one can’t be too careful these days, especially when you’re running for office again.”

  “Tell your husband I’ll take that under advisement.” Daniel swallowed his laugh. Arthur Hancock sat on the board of Davis, Barkley and Smithfield with Daniel, the youngest man ever to do so. He privately thought Hancock’s opinions to be too old-fashioned for such a young man, and their differences made for some lively discussions. Kathleen’s husband, Archibald Bradshaw, was a stockbroker and nearly as conservative. Daniel wondered what Letty would think of some of their ideas. Sometimes his late wife had surprised even him with her thoughts.

  But he’d actually enjoyed the interview with Tabitha Goforth. She was direct and had a good grasp on many of the issues Parliament would be considering next year. If women were ever elected to the Commons, it would make for some lively debates.

  He’d also noticed again how very pretty Tabitha Goforth was. Her clothing, while practical, was becoming and he’d wondered why she’d never remarried. Perhaps the memory of a beloved spouse lingered too strongly to consider doing so. Had he not done the same himself?

  But Louisa, with her background as an MP’s wife and a political hostess, might prove an asset to his life in more ways than one.

  And she was very beautiful.

  Time enough for that later. He set his cup on the table and said, “Well, my dears, we’ll have a great more to think about this holiday than Mrs. Goforth and her daughters. I have a surprise for you. Your brother Charlie is coming home from India and should be here by Christmas.”

  This time their response of happiness was what he expected. Kathleen burst into tears and Victoria’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Papa, are you sure?” she demanded.

  “I had a telegram from him this morning,” he said. “He’d just docked at Fort Said after going through the Suez Canal. Claimed the trip from Bombay was terrible and he’d wanted to be sure he actually made it through the canal in one piece before he sent word. He’ll be home in a week or so.”

  “How lovely he’ll be home for the holidays,” Louisa said. “He’s only been home twice since he went out to India, hasn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Daniel said. “He left a month after Letty’s funeral. “Rather hard to come home for a visit whenever he wants.”

  “Oh, this will be the best Christmas since he left!” Victoria declared, handing Kathleen a napkin. “Dry your eyes, sister. Don’t go on so.”

  “I just want us all to be happy at Christmas,” Kathleen gulped, wiping her cheeks. “Now we will, because we’ll all be together.”

  “We’ll have to tell all of Charlie’s lady friends that he’s coming home,” Victoria said, the mischief Daniel knew so well brightening her eyes. “Let’s go home and start planning a welcome home party for him, Kathleen. There will be a hundred things to do.”

  “Papa.” Kathleen’s voice still held traces of tears. “Can we—may we put up a tree at your house to celebrate Charlie coming home? It would make the house so pretty and festive.”

  “Don’t you think it would be better if we waited for Charlie to help us?” Daniel asked. The thought of his only son returning after all this time sent a burst of joy and anticipation surging through him. “Being the oldest, he’ll be more than a little annoyed if we don’t wait for him. But yes, I think it’s high time we have a tree again.”

  They rose and after kissing Daniel on the cheek, left in a whirl of skirts and bright conversation, leaving him and Louisa alone.

  “How nice Charles is coming home for the holidays,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”

  Her gaze sent a pleasing warmth through him, and Nigel’s suggestion that Daniel consider marrying again whispered in his head.

  “It has,” he agreed. “I’ll have to take him grouse hunting when he’s up for it. He couldn’t have done much of that in India.”

  “He’ll enjoy that,” Louisa said. “My one regret in my marriage to Hugh is that we never had children.”

  Her reminder that they’d both buried their spouses was further evidence that perhaps an alliance—if you wanted to call it that—might prove valuable.

  And something in her smile suggested so much more. Putting her cup aside, she leaned forward and covered his hand with her own.

  “I meant what I said the other night, Daniel.” There was no mistaking the invitation in her eyes. “If I can be of any help to you in your campaign for the Commons, please allow me to do so. I—”

  The rattle at the door gave her just enough time to remove her hand and pick up her cup again before Edgeworth shoved it open. His mouth was turned down into what Daniel was beginning to think would become a permanent frown. “What is it, Mr. Edgeworth?”

  “This has just come for you, sir.” Edgeworth handed over an envelope addressed to him with the word Urgent written in the upper right-hand corner. A tingle pushed its way up his spine as he ripped open the envelope and yanked out the single sheet of paper to scan its brief message.

  Please come at once to the Gower Street Police Station re. a matter of life and death.

  T. Goforth

  Chapter Six

  GOWER STREET POLICE Station

  “Do you think he’ll come?” Clara’s gaze searched Tabitha’s face.

  “I hope so,” Tabitha said, hoping she had not made a colossal blunder sending Daniel Hollingsworth the note. Patting her daughter’s shoulder, she added, “Mr. Hollingsworth is known for having a strong sense of justice. We will appeal to that in this matter, especially when he hears all the facts of the case. And unless I am mistaken, here he is now.”

  The cab fairly screeched to a stop at the curb, its lone horse snorting and shaking its great head. From inside the cab a lone occupant shoved open the door to show the long, lean figure of Daniel Hollingsworth stepping out. After receiving his payment, the cab took off with a speed that suggested both driver and horse were glad to be rid of its passenger. Mr. Hollingsworth advanced with a near equal speed as he ran up the steps, but upon seeing Clara, slowed his pace to stare at them both. “Mrs. Goforth? Miss Goforth? What has happened?”

  “Thank you for coming so promptly,” Tabitha
said, trying to still the hammering of her heart. “We do appreciate it.”

  His eyes flickered between them and Tabitha watched something like suspicion enter them. “Your note said something about a ‘matter of life and death’?”

  “Yes,” Clara said. “One of my young students has been arrested for assault.”

  “That’s why you summoned me?” Astonishment raised the volume of his usually well-modulated voice as well as dark eyebrows. “Because of one your students?”

  “Yes,” Clara said. “You see—”

  “No, no, don’t tell me. I’m keen to guess.” His tone turned sarcastic and Tabitha frowned. He should at least let Clara explain before he became so condescending. “Has one of your students robbed the Bank of London or tried to steal the Crown Jewels from the Tower?”

  “This is important!” Clara snapped.

  “Assault usually is.”

  “Will you be quiet and listen to me?” Anger tightened Clara’s jaw. “Do you remember Hank Eustace, my student who did the Latin translation while you were there?” When Mr. Hollingsworth only continued to stare at her, she added, “He assaulted another boy late yesterday afternoon and was arrested shortly after that.”

  “As well he should have been,” the barrister said. “Assault is a dangerous and serious offense.”

  “Will you please try to listen to me?” Clara shouted. “There’s a great deal you need to know before you take the case.”

  “Take the case?” Mr. Hollingsworth demanded. “Miss Goforth—”

  “Clara dear, perhaps you should let me explain things to Mr. Hollingsworth,” Tabitha said patiently. Where her students were concerned, Clara could be as protective as a mother tiger defending her young and completely biased in their favor. Not the most helpful attitude when talking to a barrister, especially about an assault charge. Logic and a clear head, not strong emotions were what was needed now. “May I lay out the facts, Mr. Hollingsworth?”

  He nodded and she watched his features settle into a mask of resignation. “Hank Eustace lives with and takes care of his uncle Bartley, a veteran of the first Sudanese war,” she said. “Mr. Eustace lost the lower part of his left leg during the war. He has a small pension, but adds to it by sitting outside a soldier’s pub, in Cheapside, playing tunes on his fiddle for tips. He’s quite good actually and can play an Irish reel that will make you want to get up and—”

  “Mrs. Goforth, please.” Hollingsworth’s eyebrows drew together. “About the assault?”

  “Sorry,” Tabitha amended. “Mr. Eustace has a companion dog who goes everywhere with him. Yesterday afternoon, a boy came along, picked up Mr. Eustace’s crutch and started playing with it. When Mr. Eustace asked him to stop, the boy began taunting him, and then poked at the dog with it. When the dog growled at him, the boy started hitting the dog with the crutch. Hank was coming to get his uncle after finishing his work at a nearby bakery and witnessed the whole thing. He tackled the boy and planted him a facer.”

  “He did what?”

  “‘Planted him a facer,’” Tabitha repeated. “You know, he hit him in the face. His nose to be exact.”

  “I know what it means,” Mr. Hollingsworth sighed. “I’m just surprised you know what it means.”

  “It’s a pity he didn’t break it,” Clara inserted, holding up a tightly curled fist. “I would have.”

  “Clara, dear, please let me finish without commentary,” Tabitha said. “Mr. Hollingsworth needs to get started on this as quickly as possible. At any rate, Hank was arrested while the other boy was not, in spite of Mr. Eustace telling the constable what had happened. There were seven other witnesses, but I suppose it’s because of who the other boy’s father is, the constable was afraid to arrest him as well.”

  Mr. Hollingsworth closed his eyes. “I’m almost afraid to ask. But of course you would have found out who the boy’s father is.”

  “Of course we have,” Tabitha agreed. “His father is Harold Abernathy.”

  Her answer popped open Mr. Hollingsworth’s eyes. “The president of the London Stock Exchange?”

  “Yes, but that shouldn’t matter. His son is clearly at fault here,” Tabitha said with a rising impatience. “His son, Tobias, not Hank, should be in jail for treating a wounded veteran with such disrespect and for assaulting his dog.”

  A resigned expression settled over his face, as though he was trying to explain a complicated issue to a child. “Mrs. Goforth, this may come as a surprise to you and your daughter, but there are no laws regarding behaving in a disrespectful manner to a veteran—though there should be—or assaulting a dog. I don’t think—”

  “You see, Mother,” Clara interrupted. “I told you he wouldn’t help. A poor boy and his handicapped uncle, a veteran, mind you, going up against a rich man’s spoiled brat of a son have no hope of getting justice for either one of them. It’s hopeless.”

  She stormed inside the police station, nearly colliding with a stoutly built constable on his way out the doors. He glared at her and then at them, but seeming to recognize Daniel, nodded and quickly touched two fingers to his helmet. Tabitha waited until he was far down the sidewalk and out of earshot before speaking again. “So you won’t consider defending Hank?”

  Mr. Hollingsworth rubbed his forehead. “I am still at a loss as to why you think that I should get involved in all of this. What is it exactly that you thought I might be able to do?”

  “I suppose I thought you might want to help because of your late wife.”

  That got his attention. Mr. Hollingsworth pushed back his hat and peered down at her. “What does Letty have to do with any of this?”

  “Because of her expertise in judging Yorkshire Terriers,” Tabitha said. “Mr. Eustace’s dog, Bouncer, is a Yorkie who, by the way, suffered two cracked ribs because of Tobias’ attack on him. If anyone in London could help in this matter, it’s you. Or I thought you might be.”

  “Because the dog is a Yorkshire terrier?” Curiosity colored his voice.

  “Yes, of course,” Tabitha said. “My late husband Clive and I loved going to dog shows and always made sure we did when we knew your wife would be judging. Everyone in London’s dog-loving community knew that Leticia Hollingsworth had the best eye for terriers in the country, especially Yorkshire terriers. She was always so precise, so exacting when it came to the breed type. Exacting but fair and you could tell she loved dogs, Yorkies in particular. Clive adored Yorkies, but sometimes I move so fast, I was always afraid I might fall over one and hurt it, which is why we had Labradors. ‘Tabs, old thing,’ he’d say to me. ‘A Yorkie wouldn’t last a minute when you’re in a hurry.’ And he was right.”

  “Your late husband called you ‘Tabs’?”

  She couldn’t miss the surprise in his voice and her hope surged. “A nickname,” she said. “Didn’t your wife have one for you?”

  To her delight, a faint color appeared on his cheekbones. “Yes,” he admitted with a sigh. “When she was annoyed with me, she called me ‘Danny-boy.’”

  “And when you’d especially pleased her?”

  His lips twitched as if in pleasant memory before adding, “And other times she just called me Danny. But Mrs. Goforth—”

  “You love dogs, yourself, don’t you?” Tabitha persisted. “But you don’t have one at the moment, do you?”

  “No,” he admitted. “I don’t, but—”

  “That’s too bad. Having a companion animal is so helpful, especially when one lives alone. I have Wellington, a black lab and Hannibal, a Pembroke Welsh Corgi. Horribly spoiled, both of them but that was Clive’s fault. I never need fear loneliness when I have them with me, or fear for my safety. Wellington’s bark would frighten the devil himself and Hannibal would go straight for an intruder’s ankles, stopping any hope of escape. They’re as much a part of the family as my daughters are.”

  She was wearing him down. She could see it in his eyes and the set of his mouth. Time to go in for the kill.

  “Not many peo
ple know how fiercely loyal terriers are, especially Yorkies.” Tabitha hoped her expression reflected the sadness in her voice. “Poor little Bouncer! He was just enjoying being with his beloved master until that brute Tobias came along to make sport of him! What is the world coming to when a wounded veteran who lives on his pension, can’t try to earn a little more money to support himself by playing music in the streets for others to enjoy and have his canine companion with him? To be taunted by a boy with the manners of a street thug! Bouncer must have thought Tobias was attacking Mr. Eustace and tried to defend him, only to be hit with his master’s own crutch! And Tobias has the arrogance to believe that because his father is wealthy, he will have no consequences for his actions. No wonder Hank acted as he did. Who will speak for him, for his uncle and poor little Bouncer?”

  “Enough, Mrs. Goforth,” Mr. Hollingsworth sighed as Tabitha paused for breath. “Enough. I haven’t heard that Mrs. Ellen Terry has retired from the stage, or that women are now permitted to preach from the pulpit. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Excitement tingled along Tabitha’s skin. “Does that mean you’ll take the case?”

  “I said I’ll see,” Mr. Hollingsworth corrected. “Harold Abernathy holds a certain amount of influence and his son Tobias is an only child. A very spoiled one, I might add.”

  “I knew it!” Tabitha could not keep the triumph from her voice. “I knew we could find common ground in this matter. Only a spoiled, only child would do such a thing.”

  “Is Hank at this police station?” Mr. Hollingsworth looked over her head at the doors.

  Nodding, Tabitha said, “There’s a bond for him that of course his uncle can’t pay.”

  “Then I’ll go talk to the arresting constable first.” Mr. Hollingsworth adjusted his hat and muffler. “But you, Mrs. Goforth, will not go with me. I won’t have anyone say the boy was coached.”

  “I understand,” Tabitha said. “I promise I’ll stay right here.