Copyright

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Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016

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Copyright © Dilly Court 2016

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016

Cover photographs © Gordon Crabb (girl); Shutterstock.com (background).

Dilly Court asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008137380

Ebook Edition © November 2016 ISBN: 9780008137397

Version 2017-05-09

Dedication

For Georgina Hawtrey-Woore.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

My First Christmas Book

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Dilly Court

About the Publisher

Chapter One
Doughty Street, London, December 1862

The grandfather clock wobbled dangerously, its pendulum swinging to and fro in a carillon of chimes as it toppled off the carter’s wagon and hit the frosty cobblestones with a resounding crash. With her arm around her sobbing mother nineteen-year-old Alice stood on the pavement outside their home, watching helplessly as the bailiff’s men picked up the splintered wood and hurled it on top of her late father’s favourite armchair. For a moment it was as if Clement Radcliffe was still sitting there, his spectacles balanced on the tip of his nose as he studied the morning newspaper. With his nightcap slightly askew on his balding head and his moth-eaten red velvet robe wrapped tightly around his thin frame, he had always seemed oblivious to the world about him. An academic by profession and inclination, Clement had rarely come down to earth, and when he did it was usually to ask for another lump of coal to be placed on the fire, or another candle to make reading easier. And now he was dead.

‘Gracious heavens, that clock should have come to me.’ Jane Radcliffe clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘Your father, God rest his soul, knew how much my dear husband wanted it, but Clement was his favourite, even though Robert was the elder son.’ Her thin lips disappeared into a pencil-line of discontent below the tip of her nose, which was glowing red in the cold air. ‘And now the disgrace of having the bailiffs come in and take every last stick of furniture is too much to bear.’ She turned her head, focusing her attention on her sister-in-law. ‘You married an extremely selfish man, Beth. Your husband spent most of his time with his head in a book instead of working to support his wife and child. My dear Robert always said his brother was a fool with money.’

Beth Radcliffe buried her face in her already sodden handkerchief, mumbling something unintelligible.

Alice contained her anger with difficulty. In their precarious situation it was not a good idea to antagonise Aunt Jane, who, despite her strong religious convictions, was notoriously judgemental and quick-tempered. Dressed in unrelieved black Jane seemed to tower over them like a dark cloud. Although it was six years since her husband had died from congestion of the lungs, Jane had clung stubbornly to the role of grieving widow. Her mourning clothes were old-fashioned and now tinged with green, but she wore them like a badge of honour. She shunned all forms of entertainment and spent more time in the church of St George the Martyr than she did in her own home. Jane Radcliffe was well known for her good works, but Alice suspected that her aunt’s charity was handed out with as little warmth as the frozen River Thames during the famous frost fair.

‘As usual it’s left to me to pick up the pieces. My brother-in-law was a wastrel and it’s my Christian duty to take you both into my home.’ Jane folded her hands in front of her, raising her eyes to heaven as if she expected a divine being to acknowledge her good deed. ‘I would have treasured that clock.’

‘I’m sorry,’ was all Alice could think of to say. It was just days until Christmas and her whole life was disintegrating before her eyes, although it was a shame to see the old clock smashed to bits it was the least of her worries. With a feeling close to despair she glanced up at the terraced house in Doughty Street where she had been born and raised. It was not a mansion, but there were two reasonable sized rooms on each of its three floors, plus the basement kitchen and scullery. It was a desirable residence with a pleasant view of Mecklenburgh Square at the front, and a small back garden with a scrap of lawn and an ancient apple tree. In springtime it had showered pink and white petals onto the grass, and in summer she had sat beneath its shady branches reading or sketching. In autumn she had picked and eaten the juicy fruit but she had always been on her own. A shy girl and an only child, she had longed for the company of brothers and sisters, but her mother was delicate and suffered bouts of illness that laid her low for weeks if not months. With only the servants for company it had been a lonely life, but Alice had discovered early on that she had a talent for drawing and painting, and that had been her greatest pleasure.

She gave her mother a comforting hug. ‘We’ll be all right, Mama. I’ll find work so that I can look after you.’

‘Pull yourself together, Beth,’ Aunt Jane said impatiently. ‘Stop snivelling and pick up your valise. There’s no point in loitering about here.’ She started off along Doughty Street, heading for the gated entrance despite the bitter east wind that tugged at her widow’s weeds. ‘We’ll walk to Queen Square. There’s no need to waste money on a cab.’

Alice picked up the valise and portmanteau, which contained all that was left of their worldly possessions. Her mittened fingers were numbed with cold, but her concern was for her mother, whose pale cheeks were tinged with blue.

‘Are you all right, Mama? It really isn’t too far to Queen Square.’

‘I can walk.’ Beth mopped her eyes on a white cotton hanky that Alice had given her last Christmas, having spent hours embroidering it with tiny rosebuds and her mother’s initials. ‘I won’t allow that woman to get the better of me.’

‘I should say not.’ Alice walked on, measuring her pace so that her mother could keep up with her, although Jane was striding on ahead brandishing her furled black umbrella, whacking any unwary pedestrian who got in her way.

Beth tried valiantly to keep up, but Alice was too burdened with the heavy luggage to help her mother and their progress was slow.

By the time they reached the house Jane was divesting herself of her cape and bonnet in the large, echoing entrance hall. She handed the garments to a young maidservant who could not have been more than ten or eleven years of age. The child’s knees bowed beneath the weight of the merino cape and she seemed to disappear beneath the folds of the material.

‘Hang them up, you stupid girl,’ Jane said impatiently. ‘Do I have to tell you how to do every single thing?’ Ignoring the child’s quivering lips and the tears that had sprung to her eyes, Jane turned on her sister-in-law. ‘You managed to walk this far then? It just proves that you can do it if you try. Sloth is one of the seven deadly sins, Beth. You will not be allowed to idle away your time under my roof.’

‘Mama is unwell,’ Alice protested angrily. ‘She has a delicate constitution.’

‘Bah! Rubbish. There’s nothing wrong with her that cannot be cured by long walks, a plain diet and prayer.’ Jane fixed Beth with a stern gaze. ‘You will accompany me to church on Sunday, and we will read the Bible together every evening. You may reside here, but only if you adhere to my rules. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, Jane,’ Beth said meekly. ‘It’s very good of you to take us in.’

The sight of her mother being browbeaten by Aunt Jane was almost too much to bear, but Alice managed to bite back the sharp words that tingled on the tip of her tongue. Her mother had suffered enough recently and did not deserve such treatment. As for herself, she was young and strong and she would survive, but one look at her mother’s ashen face was enough to convince her that this situation could only be temporary. There had to be another way, although she was at a loss to know where it lay.

‘And you, girl,’ Jane spun round to face her. ‘I can see that you’re going to be trouble, so you can take that look off your face. The devil finds work for idle hands, and I’ll see that you are fully occupied from the time you rise in the morning until you retire to bed at night.’

Beth clutched her daughter’s arm. ‘Alice is a good girl. She took care of both of us during Clement’s illness. She has been such a help and a comfort to me.’

‘Enough of that trite sentimentality,’ Jane said severely. ‘Snippet will show you to your rooms, and luncheon will be served in the dining room at noon.’ She reached for a bell pull and tugged at it. ‘Snippet. Where are you, girl?’

The sound of clattering footsteps preceded the child, who came running and skidded to a halt on the slippery floor. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Show Mrs Radcliffe and Miss Alice to their rooms.’ Jane stalked off, disappearing into a room on the far side of the hall.

Alice was curious. ‘Is your name really Snippet?’

The girl hung her head. ‘It’s Clara, miss. Clara Snipe, but the missis chose to call me Snippet because I ain’t very big.’

Beth reached out to lay her hand on Clara’s arm. ‘We will call you Clara.’

‘She won’t like it, ma’am. I’ll get it in the neck if she thinks I’ve been blabbing to you.’

‘Then we’ll only call you Clara in private,’ Alice said, smiling for the first time that morning. ‘Now, if you’d care to show us to our rooms, Clara, we can unpack and be ready in time for luncheon.’

Clara pulled a face. ‘Don’t get too excited, miss. What her majesty calls luncheon wouldn’t feed a sparrow. I knows that only too well.’ She picked up the valise despite Beth’s protests, and with a great deal of heaving and pulling she managed to get it to the foot of the stairs.

‘Let me help.’ Alice could not bear to see such a small girl struggling valiantly with a heavy case.

Clara held up her hand. ‘I can do it, miss. Her majesty says it is lack of willpower if you can’t do things for yourself. I got to practise me willpower.’ She began to bump the case up the stairs and Alice picked up the valise, proffering her free arm to her mother. She shivered as an icy draught whistled past her head. Outside there was the promise of snow, but inside the Radcliffe domain the chill of previous cold winters lingered like a bad memory. The polished floorboards were bare of rugs and carpets, and the pristine expanse of whitewashed walls was unrelieved by the addition of pictures or mirrors. The sound of their footsteps echoed off the high ceilings as they made their way upstairs, and when they came to a halt the house reverberated with silence.

‘I’m so sorry, Alice,’ Beth whispered as Clara opened the door to a room on the second floor. ‘To have brought you to this breaks my poor heart.’

Alice glanced at the Spartan interior, comparing it mentally to her cosy bedroom in Doughty Street with its floral curtains, matching coverlet and brightly coloured rag rugs. ‘It’s not so bad, Mama,’ she said, forcing a smile.

‘Yours is next door, and it ain’t no better,’ Clara said gloomily.

‘I’m sure this will suit me very well.’ Beth slumped down onto the bed. ‘A few pictures on the walls will brighten is up.’

‘The missis don’t approve of anything what ain’t of a religious nature.’ Clara folded her skinny arms around her body, shivering. ‘There ain’t much she does approve of, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

‘We don’t, but you’d better not let her hear you talking like that,’ Beth said gently. ‘Anyway, this is better than being cast out on the streets. Misfortune brought us to this sorry pass, and we should be grateful to Jane for taking us in.’

Alice could not agree, but she was not going to make things worse by speaking her mind. ‘I’ll leave you to unpack, Mama. Where am I to sleep, Clara?’

Her room, she discovered, was identical, and as cheerless as a prison cell. She thanked Clara and sent her off with a smile, but when the door closed she sank down on the bed, which, as she had expected, was hard and lumpy. The four white walls seemed to close in on her, adding to the winter chill, and the only patch of colour in the room was the faded crimson and blue tapestry of her valise as it rested on the snowy Marseilles coverlet. An oak chest of drawers and a washstand with a white enamel bowl and jug were the other items of furniture, and a piece of drugget matting was the sole concession to comfort.

As she opened her case and started to unpack Alice could not help wondering whether this was her aunt’s idea of a punishment. She had never bothered to hide her contempt for her sister-in-law, and Alice had not forgotten a conversation she had overheard when Jane scolded Pa, insisting that he had made a mistake by marrying for love instead of choosing a woman of property. Alice knew that her uncle had done well in the City, but it was common knowledge that the house had been part of Jane Hubble’s dowry and she was inordinately proud of her family history. There had been a Hubble fighting the French at Agincourt, and somewhere along the line a Hubble ancestor had been elected to Parliament, and another had been a royal physician. Alice would not have been surprised if Aunt Jane had claimed that a Hubble had discovered the Americas. A wry smile curved her lips. Aunt Jane had been an only child, and her one surviving relative was a bachelor cousin, so it seemed that the name of Hubble was already consigned to history. That was a cross that Aunt Jane would have to bear.

Luncheon, as Clara had prophesied, was a simple meal. The dining room was huge, and might have been the refectory in a monastery for all the warmth and comfort it offered. Aunt Jane said grace, which went on for so long that Alice’s stomach began to rumble, which earned her a warning glance from her aunt. The meal for which they had to be truly thankful was bread and cheese with water to drink, and an apple for dessert. Jane ate her piece of fruit until all that remained was a single stalk. She frowned at Beth when she left the core on her plate.

‘We don’t waste food in this house. There are people starving on the streets who would be grateful for an apple core, let alone an apple.’

Alice and her mother exchanged meaningful glances, saying nothing.

Jane finished her water and replaced the glass on the table. She cleared her throat. ‘I’ve made arrangements for you to start work tomorrow morning, Alice.’

‘Work?’ Beth stared at her open-mouthed. ‘What sort of work? Alice isn’t trained for anything.’

‘My point exactly. You and Clement brought her up to be neither use nor ornament, but I have contacts through the Church, and as a favour to me a wife of a respectable and prosperous owner of a printing works has agreed to take Alice on to teach her daughter to draw and paint. There will, of course, be other duties for her to perform, but she will find that out when she starts tomorrow morning at seven thirty.’

After spending less than a day in Aunt Jane’s house, where the list of rules seemed endless and meals had to be earned by doing menial work, Alice decided that almost anything would be an improvement. Jane employed the minimum of servants needed to run the household. Cook and Clara lived in and there were a couple of daily women who came in to clean. Alice spent the afternoon polishing the silver cutlery and the brass cross and candlesticks from the small altar in Jane’s boudoir. Beth was given the task of cutting up a sheet that had already been turned sides to middle, but was now too worn to use on a bed. The resulting squares then had to be hemmed and the cloths used for cleaning and dusting. Jane was nothing if not frugal, although Alice knew that her aunt was a wealthy woman.

Supper that night was again taken in the cheerless dining room where a few lumps of coal smouldered feebly in the grate. ‘You should dress according to the weather, sister-in-law,’ Jane said sternly when she saw that Beth was shivering. ‘A woollen shawl is all you need.’ She glared at Alice who was about to pick up her spoon. ‘We will say grace.’

The soup was cooling rapidly by the time Jane came to the end of what turned out to be a sermon on gratitude aimed, no doubt, at her reluctant guests. Alice was too hungry to care and she spooned the vegetable broth into her mouth, wiping the bowl with a chunk of dry bread. She waited eagerly for the next course, but it did not materialise. Jane folded her hands, murmuring a prayer before rising from the table. ‘I spend my evenings studying the Good Book. You may do as you please, but bear in mind that candles cost money, and I don’t approve of fires in the bedchambers. We rise early in this house; therefore you should retire at a reasonable hour. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, Jane,’ Beth said meekly.

‘Yes, Aunt Jane.’ Alice sighed inwardly. She waited until her aunt had left the room. ‘I don’t think I can stand much more of this, Mama,’ she whispered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that Jane was not within earshot.

Beth rose wearily from the chair. ‘We haven’t much choice, my love. It’s this or the workhouse, and I know which I prefer.’ She leaned her hands on the table, taking deep breaths. ‘It’s all right, I’m quite well, just a bit stiff from sitting on a hard wooden seat. I think I might go to bed and rest. It’s been a long and trying day.’ She held her hand out to her daughter, a smile sketched on her thin features. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Of course not, Mama. You must take care of yourself, and I’ll try to be patient and deserving, but it isn’t easy.’

‘It’s all strange and new,’ Beth said softly. ‘Jane is a worthy woman, and we must be grateful to her for putting a roof over our heads. It was good of her to think of finding you a suitable position. Teaching drawing is a ladylike occupation.’

‘Yes, Mama.’ Alice could see that her mother was having difficulty walking and she held out her hand. ‘Let me help you upstairs.’

‘Thank you, dear. It’s these silly legs of mine. They’re aching miserably this evening, but once I get going I’m quite all right.’

After seeing her mother settled for the night, although it was only seven o’clock, Alice did not fancy an evening of Bible study with Aunt Jane and she went to her room. She lit the single candle provided and went to draw the curtains, pausing for a moment to watch the large feathery snowflakes whirling and dancing as they fluttered slowly to the pavement and lay there like a white fleecy blanket. A man wearing a greatcoat with his collar pulled up to his ears trudged past the house, leaving a trail of stark black footprints in his wake. Alice sighed. The pristine beauty of the fallen snow was despoiled and ruined forever. She pulled the curtains together, shutting out the harsh reality of the world before going to sit on the bed. In her reticule was her most prized possession and she took it out carefully. The paper was yellowed with age and slightly dog-eared, but the picture on the Christmas card was of a family gathering at yuletide, and it had always seemed to her to be imbued with the true spirit of the season. It was the first such card to have been produced commercially, and her father had bought it in the year she had been born. He had kept it for her until she was old enough to appreciate the message of peace and goodwill that it contained. Sadly, so Pa had told her, the first cards had not been a huge success. In fact he had invested money in their production, losing heavily, as so often happened on the rare occasions when he had ventured into the business world.

Alice held the hand-coloured lithograph to her bosom with a whisper of a sigh. ‘Poor Papa,’ she said softly. ‘I’m glad you’re not here to see us in such a pickle, but I promise you I’ll do everything I can to make things better for Mama. I won’t let you down.’ She rose to her feet and stowed the precious card out of sight of prying eyes in the chest of drawers.

At first when she opened her eyes to darkness she thought it was the middle of the night, but Aunt Jane was shaking her by the shoulder and she was fully dressed.

‘Get up, you idle child. It’s nearly six o’clock and you have to be at the Dearborns’ establishment in Russell Square at half-past seven sharp.’ She tugged the coverlet off the bed, leaving Alice curled up in a ball, shivering. ‘I expect you to be washed, dressed and in the dining room in ten minutes.’ Jane marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her as if to ensure that Alice remained wide awake.

Stiff and cold, with no inclination to remain in the uncomfortable bed any longer than necessary, Alice did not hesitate. She padded barefoot to the washstand only to find that the water in the jug had frozen. After some difficulty she managed to crack the ice and had a cat’s lick of a wash before throwing on her clothes. Her numbed fingers made it difficult to do up the buttons on her bodice and even harder to tidy her mouse-brown hair into a chignon. Without the aid of a mirror it was impossible to see the end result and she tucked a stray strand behind her ear, hoping that Aunt Jane would not notice.

When she reached the dining room she found that Jane had already eaten and was sitting at the head of the table, sipping a cup of tea. The sight of steam rising was encouraging, but Alice experienced a feeling of acute disappointment when she realised that there was neither milk nor sugar to make the strong brew more palatable. Breakfast consisted of a slice of bread, thinly spread with butter, and that was all. There was an eerie silence as she ate her frugal meal, broken only by the sound of Jane’s cup being replaced on its saucer.

Without bothering to see if Alice had finished, Jane rose to her feet. ‘Come along. I’ll take you to Russell Square as it’s your first morning, but in future you will get yourself up and out in good time. I’m not going to pamper you as your mother has done since you were born. You’re a child no longer, Alice. You are plain and penniless and you will have to get used to earning your keep.’ She reached for her bonnet and rammed it on top of her lace cap. ‘Hurry up, girl. We’ll stop at the church on the way to ask God’s blessing in the hope that he will save you from your profligate ways.’

There appeared to be no answer to this. Alice stuffed the last crust into her mouth, washing it down with a mouthful of tea. She followed her aunt from the room, stopping only to snatch her bonnet and cape from the hallstand as they left the house.

It was getting light as they made their way carefully along snow-covered pavements to the church on the west side of the square. Candles blazed on the altar and the smell of hot wax and musty hymnals filled the still air. Following Jane’s example Alice dutifully went down on her knees beside her. Jane’s lips moved in silent prayer, but Alice’s mind was elsewhere. Her fingers were itching to draw the scene outside. The bare branches of the plane trees were dusted with snow, and the pools of yellow light created by the gas lamps sparkled with frost crystals. The piles of straw and horse dung on the cobblestones were concealed beneath several inches of virgin snow, but as the day progressed and traffic began to move it would all vanish into a mess of slush. The outside world had a fleeting fairy-tale appearance too beautiful to ignore, but she would have to commit it to memory until, at some time in the future, she could replicate the scene in pen and ink or delicate watercolour.

She rose to her feet automatically when Jane finished her prayer, and followed her aunt as they set off once again with Jane in the lead, using her black umbrella as if she were a lancer at the head of a cavalry charge. Luckily it was not far to Russell Square and they arrived without any unwary passer-by sustaining a serious injury.

Jane marched up the steps to the front door and hammered on the knocker. Moments later a stern-faced butler answered the summons. He glared at Jane, eyebrows raised. ‘Might I be of assistance, madam?’

Jane tapped the ground with the ferule of her umbrella. ‘I wish to see Mrs Dearborn. Tell her that Mrs Jane Radcliffe is here with her niece, Alice Radcliffe. Mrs Dearborn is expecting me.’

‘I doubt if the mistress will be receiving this early in the morning, but if you’ll wait a moment, I’ll return.’ He shut the door without giving Jane the chance to step over the threshold.

She bridled visibly. ‘Such bad form. I’ll report him to Mrs Dearborn, you see if I don’t.’ She kept prodding the step with her umbrella, tapping her foot to the same beat until the door opened once again. ‘I should think so too.’ She stepped inside without waiting to be invited. ‘Come along, girl,’ she snapped, beckoning to Alice.

‘Mrs Dearborn is not ready to receive visitors.’ The butler took a step backwards, eyeing Jane’s umbrella nervously. ‘But the housekeeper, Mrs Upton, will see you in the morning room. This way, please.’

He stalked off across the highly polished floor, which was as slippery as a frozen pond. Jane trod carefully and Alice had to curb a sudden childish desire to run and slide. Boughs of holly intertwined with fronds of ivy were strung from the banisters on the galleried landing, and bowls of hothouse flowers provided splashes of bright colour against the wainscoted walls. The air was warm and redolent with their scent.

‘Mrs Upton will be with you shortly,’ the butler said as he ushered them into the morning room.

Jane walked over to the fireplace, holding her hands out to the blaze. ‘Such extravagance. No wonder the world is in a parlous state.’

Alice did not offer an opinion. She moved as close as she dared to the fire, revelling in the luxury of warmth, and her spirits rose as she looked round the comfortably furnished room. The walls were lined with framed watercolours of flowers, birds and country scenes, and the mantelshelf was cluttered with ornaments, spill vases and a large gilt clock with a garniture of candelabra supported by smiling cherubs. Her feet sank into the thick pile of the carpet and she was tempted to take a seat in one of the velvet-upholstered, button-back armchairs, but did not dare take liberties. Jane, as expected, was unimpressed. She sniffed. ‘Vulgar display. Ostentatious and decadent.’ She spun round as the door opened to admit a small woman, dressed in black bombazine with a chatelaine hanging round her waist from which dangled a large bunch of keys.

‘I was expecting to see Mrs Dearborn in person,’ Jane said haughtily.

‘At this hour of the day?’ Mrs Upton looked Jane up and down with barely concealed disdain. ‘I don’t know what sort of establishment you run, madam, but ladies don’t usually rise before ten o’clock at the earliest.’

Jane’s mouth opened and shut, reminding Alice of a goldfish she had once owned, but her aunt made a quick recovery, drawing herself up to her full height so that she towered over the housekeeper. ‘I was asked to bring my niece here at half-past seven.’

‘And she will be set to work immediately.’ Mrs Upton met Jane’s hard stare with narrowed eyes. ‘Mrs Dearborn will see her later in the day.’ She beckoned to Alice. ‘Come with me, girl. I’ll find you something more suitable to wear.’

Summarily dismissed, Jane clutched her umbrella to her flat bosom. ‘Well!’ The word exploded from her lips. ‘I’ll have words to say to your mistress when I see her next in church.’

Mrs Upton opened the door. ‘Good day to you, madam. Hoskins will see you out.’ She marched off, leaving Alice little alternative but to follow in her wake.

Glancing over her shoulder Alice caught a glimpse of the butler ushering Jane out of the house, and she could tell by the affronted twitch of her aunt’s shoulders that she was not very happy. Even so, Alice was puzzled. If she was supposed to be instructing a little girl in drawing and painting why was she here so early? And why did the housekeeper think it necessary to provide her with a change of clothes?

She caught up with Mrs Upton at the foot of the back stairs. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but I don’t know exactly what is expected of me.’

Mrs Upton stopped to pick up an oil lamp and turned to faced her. ‘Are you simple or something, girl?’

Alice recoiled at the sharp tone of Mrs Upton’s voice and the scornful look on her plump face. ‘No, certainly not. I thought I was here to teach art to Mrs Dearborn’s daughter.’

‘That amongst other things.’ Mrs Upton marched down a long, dark passage. She opened a door at the far end and held the lamp high as she examined shelves piled with gowns, caps and aprons. ‘You’re not very big,’ she said, looking Alice up and down. ‘Try this on for size.’ She selected a black cotton garment.

‘I don’t understand.’ Alice stared at the uniform, shaking her head. ‘Surely what I have on is quite appropriate for a teacher or even a governess?’

‘This will suit you much better, believe me, it will.’ Mrs Upton thrust the gown into her hands. ‘Try it on for size.’

‘You want me to undress here?’ Alice looked round nervously.

‘Change your clothes in the cupboard if you’re shy. I haven’t got all day, girl.’

Alice hesitated, trying to decide whether to make a run for it and face Aunt Jane’s wrath, or to do as the housekeeper said and put on the uniform. She stepped into the cupboard and took off her grey merino gown, replacing it with the black cotton frock and a starched white apron.

‘Let me look at you.’ Mrs Upton held the candle higher in order to get a better view.

‘I want to know why I’m dressed like a servant.’

‘Because that’s what you are. Didn’t Mrs High-and-Mighty tell you?’

‘No, ma’am. She said I was to be a teacher.’

‘Personally speaking I wouldn’t take on someone without any previous experience or training, but because you come from a respectable home the mistress has decided to give you a chance.’

‘For what exactly?’ Alice demanded. ‘I’m dressed as a servant and I want to know why.’

Mrs Upton raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ll find out soon enough. Follow me.’

Chapter Two

Alice was too shocked to argue. If Aunt Jane had told her that she was going into service it might have given her time to prepare, but this sudden turn of events had caught her unawares. She hurried after Mrs Upton, who took the stairs with the ease of a mountaineer. Clearly she was used to such exercise, but by the time they reached the third floor Alice was out of breath and her legs were aching. The somewhat gaudy décor had ended on the second floor, and the third floor seemed to have been reserved for the nursery suite. Mrs Upton selected a key from the bunch hanging at her waist and unlocked the door.

‘Stand back and don’t let her slip past you. Miss Flora is as slippery as an eel.’ She opened it and ushered Alice inside, quickly closing the door behind them as a small child hurtled towards her and tried to grab the handle. ‘Now, Miss Flora, that’s not the way to behave, is it?’

Flora Dearborn skidded to a halt, glaring at her through a mop of tousled blonde hair. She was barefoot and wearing a cambric nightgown. ‘I want to see Mama. You shouldn’t lock me in, you horrible person.’

‘That’s no way to speak to anyone, Miss Flora,’ Mrs Upton said, bristling but obviously making a huge effort to control her temper. ‘What will Miss Radcliffe think?’

Flora tossed her hair back from her face, staring at Alice with a hostile look in her china-blue eyes. ‘Who the devil are you?’

‘Language, Miss Flora.’

‘Shut up, Upton. You’re just a servant.’ Flora stood, feet wide apart, arms akimbo. ‘Cat got your tongue, Miss Radcliffe?’

Alice met Flora’s unfriendly gaze with a steady look. She saw a disturbed and angry child and felt a sudden burst of fellow-feeling for the little girl, who could not have been more than nine or ten. The mere fact that Flora had been locked in her room all night, and possibly longer, was enough to make Alice feel outraged and arouse her sympathy. It brought back unhappy memories of her childhood when, during one of the long bouts of illness suffered by her mother, the woman who had been hired to look after Alice had proved to be a drunk and a bully. If it had not been for the sharp eyes of their maidservant the situation might have escalated, but she had discovered the tell-tale empty gin bottles and had reported the woman to Clement, who had sacked her on the spot. Alice had been six at the time, but she had never forgotten the feeling of isolation, and the frustration of being unable to communicate her fears with the adults who should have been there to protect her.

She held her hand out to Flora. ‘How do you do, Miss Flora? My name is Alice.’

Flora clasped her hands behind her back, ignoring the friendly overture. ‘What’s she doing here, Upton? You know what I do to governesses, and I’m too old for a nanny.’

Mrs Upton slid her fingers around the door handle, her knuckles whitening. ‘Miss Radcliffe is going to look after you. She is an artist,’ she added, wrenching the door open. ‘I leave her in your capable hands, Miss Radcliffe.’ She shot out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Alice waited for the rasp of the key in the lock and was relieved when nothing happened. The sound of Mrs Upton’s retreating footsteps faded into the distance, and Alice stood facing Flora, whose sullen expression was not encouraging.

‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘you obviously don’t want me here, Flora. Would you like to tell me why?’

A fleeting look of astonishment was replaced by a frown. ‘What do you care? Who are you, anyway?’ Flora threw herself down on her bed and pulled the counterpane over her head, peering at Alice from beneath its folds. ‘You’re just like the rest of them.’

Alice was quick to hear the note of desperation in Flora’s childish voice. She stood perfectly still, as if facing a wild animal, clasping her hands in front of her. ‘I don’t even know why I’m here, Flora. Tell me about yourself.’

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence while Flora seemed to weigh this up in her mind. Then to Alice’s surprise she leaped off the bed, flinging the counterpane onto the floor. ‘I’m a bad child. They’re always telling me so.’ She glared up at Alice, teeth bared. ‘I bite and I scratch.’

Alice stood her ground. ‘If you bite or scratch me I’ll do the same to you, Flora.’

‘Lay a finger on me and I’ll tell Papa. And it’s Miss Flora to you, Radcliffe.’

‘Miss Flora is a young lady. You are a spoiled brat.’

‘I am not spoiled.’ Flora lunged at Alice, grabbing her by the sleeve and tugging with all her might.

Alice felt the stitching give way at the shoulder seam and a searing pain where Flora’s sharp fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her forearm. Flora opened her mouth as if to bite but Alice was too quick for her. She raised her free hand and caught Alice a mighty clout round the side of her head, but at that moment the door opened and a maid entered carrying a breakfast tray. Flora uttered a loud wail, clutching her hand to her ear. ‘You hit me. I’ll tell Mama what you did.’ She turned to the maid, who was standing in the doorway open-mouthed. ‘You saw what she did, Nettie. She struck me.’

The maid recovered quickly. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Flora. I never saw nothing.’

Alice rubbed her sore wrist where crescent-shaped nail marks had begun to bleed. She had always disapproved of corporal punishment, but Flora had been out of control. ‘You will sit at the table and eat your breakfast, young lady,’ she said firmly.

Nettie bustled over to the table and put the tray down, keeping a wary eye on Flora, who advanced on her with clenched fists. ‘You’re a liar,’ she hissed. ‘You saw what she did.’

‘I’m sorry, Miss Flora. I dunno what you’re talking about.’ Nettie backed away. ‘The porridge is just how you like it, miss. Nice and sweet with a dollop of honey.’

Moving swiftly, Flora snatched up the plate and hurled it, but Nettie was too quick for her and was out of the room in a flash of starched white petticoats. The bowl hit the door as it closed, spreading the thick, sticky oatmeal in a starburst on the floor. Alice watched it drip down the wall and her stomach rumbled. The waste of good food was appalling and she was hungry. She faced Flora, folding her arms across her chest. ‘You will clear that up before you start your meal.’

Flora poked her tongue out as she took her seat at the table. ‘It’s your job, Radcliffe. You’re the servant.’

Moving swiftly, Alice crossed the floor and lifted Flora bodily from the chair. ‘You will do as I say, or we will not get on at all well. I’ve never seen such disgraceful behaviour and it’s quite unacceptable.’

‘I knew you were like the others,’ Flora said sulkily. ‘They all hate me.’

Alice stood her ground. ‘If this is how you behave it’s hardly surprising no one likes you.’

A look of uncertainly crossed Flora’s small features and she tossed back her unruly curls. ‘They’re paid to like me. I’m Flora Dearborn. My pa is a rich man.’

‘I don’t care if your pa is an Indian nabob, you’ll clear up the mess you made.’

‘What’s a nabob?’

‘Someone who is much wealthier than your pa, and I don’t suppose they boast about their riches. It’s not considered good manners.’

Flora’s curious expression was replaced by a pout. ‘I don’t care about manners.’

Alice knew she was losing the battle of wills, but was saved by the timely appearance of Nettie, who entered the room with a bucket slung over her arm and a scrubbing brush in her hand. ‘I’ve come to clear up the mess, Miss Radcliffe.’

‘Thank you, Nettie, but Miss Flora has something to say to you.’ Alice sent a meaningful look in Flora’s direction. ‘She wishes to apologise for her behaviour.’

Flora stared down at her bare feet. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘I’ll just do my work,’ Nettie said hastily.

‘No.’ Alice moved to her side and took the bucket from her grasp. ‘Miss Flora created this mess and she is going to clear it up.’

Nettie’s lips worked silently as she stared wide-eyed at Flora.

Alice nodded her head. ‘You may go, Nettie. This will be done, I assure you.’ She waited until they were alone again. ‘You and I have been thrust together, Flora. I didn’t choose to work here and you didn’t ask to have me, so we’ll have to make the best of it.’

‘I’ll get rid of you like I got rid of all the others,’ Flora muttered half to herself, but just loud enough for Alice to hear.

‘We may have more in common than you think,’ Alice said casually. ‘I’ll tell you my story and I’ll be happy to listen to what you have to say. Maybe we can come to a truce, but first you will clear up the mess you made.’

‘My boiled egg and soldiers are getting cold. I’m hungry.’

‘Then you’d better hurry up or they’ll be stone cold and I’ll ring for Nettie to take the tray away.’ Alice could smell the hot buttered toast and she was so hungry she could have gone down on her knees and lapped up the porridge like a cat, but she had her own feelings under control. She met Flora’s rebellious gaze with a steady look. This was a battle she had to win.

‘All right, but I’ll make you suffer for this, Radcliffe.’ Flora went down on her hands and knees and picked up the scrubbing brush.

Alice smothered a sigh of relief. Life was difficult enough without a child dictating the odds. She stood in silence while Flora dabbed ineffectively at the glutinous mass, which was seeping into the cracks between the floorboards. In the end Alice went down on her knees beside her, taking the cloth from the bucket of rapidly cooling water and wringing it out. ‘We’ll do it quicker together.’

Flora said nothing and turned her head away, but not before Alice had seen tears glistening on the ends of her long eyelashes. She’s just a child, Alice thought wearily; a lonely child in desperate need of companionship as well as a firm hand. She sat back on her haunches. ‘I think we’ve done all we can, Flora. Eat your breakfast before it gets too cold.’

Flora scrambled to her feet, flinging the scrubbing brush into the bucket. ‘I’ll tell Mama of you, Radcliffe.’

‘Do as you please, but I can play that game too. I don’t suppose she would be too pleased to learn that you threw a plate at Nettie.’

Flora resumed her seat and ate in silence, while Alice tidied the room. It was simply furnished with a child’s desk and chair at the far end and a larger desk, which presumably must have been used by Flora’s governess, but was now littered with books and drawing materials. Sorting through them, Alice was encouraged to find that Flora had a talent for drawing, although most of the sketches had a dark, nightmarish quality that was disturbing. Another factor that seemed unnatural was the lack of playthings. There was not a doll in sight nor anything that might keep a nine-year-old amused during the long hours that Flora seemed to spend on her own. There was a bookcase but most of the shelves were empty, and there was not much reading material to occupy the mind of a lively child. There were a few framed prints on the walls, but these were mostly sombre lithographs of winter scenes, which were hardly cheering on a cold and snowy day. Alice sighed. This was not how she had foreseen her future, if she had ever thought about it at all, but at least she was attempting to put her time to good use. She put a shovelful of coal on the fire and sat down to wait for Flora to finish her meal.

Alice soon discovered that everything was a battle with young Flora Dearborn, from the frock she was to wear that day to the boots that went with it, and when Alice tried to run a comb through her young charge’s tangled mop there were shrieks and tears.

‘You’re hurting me.’ Flora cried petulantly. ‘Leave me alone, you bitch.’

Alice held the tress of hair firmly in her hand so that Flora could not pull away. ‘Mrs Upton said that we were to go down to the drawing room at half-past eleven to see your mama. I’m sure she wouldn’t want to see you looking as though you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.’

Flora stopped struggling. ‘Have you ever seen any- one who’s been dragged through a hedge backwards?’

‘It’s just a manner of speaking, but you know very well what I mean.’

‘You’re tugging too hard. You’re doing it to hurt me like Smithson used to.’

‘Who is Smithson?’

‘She was my nanny. She used to pull my hair and pinch me if I was naughty. She told me that Spring-heeled Jack would get me if I was bad. He’d jump up to my window and come in while I was asleep.’

‘That’s nonsense, Flora. Spring-heeled Jack is merely a tale told to frighten little girls. Now let’s try and get the comb through the worst of the tangles so that your mama will be proud of you.’

‘She’s not my mama,’ Flora said sulkily. ‘I have to call her mama but she just wanted a little girl to show off to her friends.’

Alice paused with the comb poised over Flora’s curly head. ‘Is this a tale you’re making up?’

‘No.’ Flora twisted round to look her in the face. ‘That’s why they lock me up at night. I keep trying to go home to my real mama, but they won’t let me.’

Shocked and upset, Alice could hardly believe her ears. ‘Where is your home then, Flora?’

‘It’s far away from here where the sun always shines. There are flowers all year round and tall trees with birds nesting in the branches. They took me from my real mama, but no one loves me here. I’m too horrible, like you said.’

‘If what you say is true then it’s quite appalling.’

‘I’m not a liar.’ Flora snatched the comb out of Alice’s hand and started dragging it through her hair, tugging at the stubborn tangles with tears spurting from her eyes. Alice covered the small hand with hers, gently prising Flora’s fingers apart and taking the comb from her.

‘I believe you.’

‘You do? No one else does. Mrs Upton says it’s a wicked lie and the others laugh at me. I know they do.’

‘How long have you been here, Flora?’

‘I don’t know. A long time.’

‘Who told you that Mrs Dearborn is not your real mama?’

‘Smithson did. She told me when she’d been drinking from the bottle she hid at the back of the cupboard. She said she’d been the midwife attending my real mama, and Mrs Dearborn gave her ten pounds to buy a baby girl.’

Alice stared at her, frowning. It was almost impossible to believe that a woman could sell her newborn baby, but Flora seemed certain that it was true. ‘Perhaps she was lying. Sometimes people say stupid things when they’ve been drinking.’

‘Rory says it’s true.’

‘Who is Rory?’

Flora smiled and her eyes lit up for a brief moment, but then the sullen look returned like a tragic mask. ‘Rory is my uncle, or that’s what I have to call him. He’s Papa’s younger brother.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Alice said, frowning. ‘Why would he say such a thing?’

‘He came to visit and found me crying.’ Flora’s eyes filled with tears, making her look vulnerable and completely different from the wild child who had greeted Alice earlier that morning. ‘It was after Smithson told me about my real mama. Rory said he’d find out if it was true, and if it was he promised that one day he’d take me to see my real mother.’

Alice ran the comb through Flora’s tangle-free hair. ‘There you are. Now you’re presentable.’ She glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘We should go downstairs to see your mama.’

‘Do you believe me?’ Flora turned to face her. ‘You think I’m lying, don’t you? They all think I’m a liar.’

‘No, I don’t think you’re making it up,’ Alice said slowly. ‘But I’d like to speak to your uncle. Does he come here often?’

‘Not often enough. I love Uncle Rory. He makes me laugh.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘You won’t tell Mama what I said, will you? She won’t like it.’

‘Of course not. It will be our secret.’ Alice held out her hand. ‘You’ll have to show me where we will find Mrs Dearborn. I don’t know where to go.’

The drawing room was a complete contrast to the nursery. It was furnished in the latest style and it did not take an expert to see that no expense had been spared. Alice would not have been surprised to see price tickets hanging from the opulent velvet upholstery of the chairs and sofa. The smell of the showroom still lingered, despite the bowls of potpourri placed on highly polished mahogany side tables, and the vases of hothouse chrysanthemums affordable only by the wealthiest in society. Alice felt her feet sinking into the thick pile of the Aubusson carpet, and each movement she made was reflected in one or more of the gilt-framed mirrors that adorned the walls.

Mrs Dearborn was handsome in an austere way, and elegantly dressed in the height of fashion. Pearl drops dangled from her ears and strands of pearls were hung around her slender neck. She was seated in a wingback chair by the fire with an embroidery hoop in her hand, although she did not seem to have progressed very far with the complicated pattern. She shot a wary glance at Flora. ‘Sit down, child. Don’t just stand there.’ She turned her attention to Alice, looking her up and down with a critical gaze. ‘So you are Mrs Radcliffe’s niece?’

Alice inclined her head. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘They might have found you a better garment to wear.’ Mrs Dearborn raised a lorgnette, peering at the ripped shoulder seam. ‘You cannot go round looking like a ragbag, Radcliffe.’

‘I’ll see to it, Mrs Dearborn.’ Inwardly seething, Alice made an effort to sound submissive.

‘Stop fidgeting, Flora.’ Mrs Dearborn put her embroidery aside, glaring at her daughter. ‘Have you been behaving properly this morning? Radcliffe will tell me if you’ve been a naughty girl.’

‘Miss Flora has been a model child,’ Alice said quickly. ‘I think we will do very well together.’ The words tumbled from her lips before she had time to think, but she had taken an instant dislike to Mrs Dearborn, who might have been a beauty had it not been for her dissatisfied expression. Her thin lips hinted at a discontented nature, and this was borne out by the twin furrows on her forehead, which created a permanent frown.

Flora shot Alice a puzzled glance, as if amazed to think that an adult would stand up for her, and for once she seemed to have nothing to say.

‘You surprise me,’ Mrs Dearborn said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Flora needs a firm hand. My husband spoils her and she thinks that she can do as she pleases, but the sooner she learns to behave properly the better.’

‘May I ask you a question, Mrs Dearborn?’ Alice moved closer, lowering her voice. ‘Why was it thought necessary to lock Miss Flora in her room? Surely it’s frightening for a young child to be treated so harshly?’

Mrs Dearborn leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed. ‘If you are to work for me you will not question my authority. Is that clear?’

The temptation to tell Mrs Dearborn that she would not be accepting the position in her household was almost too great, but one glance in Flora’s direction was enough to convince her otherwise. Whether or not she was the daughter of the house was immaterial. Whether it was true or just a story made up by a lonely little girl, Alice could not simply walk away. She nodded. ‘Perfectly clear, ma’am.’ Even as she spoke she felt small fingers curling around her hand. She gave them an encouraging squeeze.

‘You said we could have a Christmas tree, Mama,’ Flora said slyly. ‘I promise to be very good.’

‘I’m not sure that you deserve anything at all for Christmas,’ Mrs Dearborn said stiffly. ‘Mrs Upton tells me that you attempted to leave the house again yesterday. Hoskins had to chase you round the square twice before he caught you.’

‘I was going home.’ Flora squared her small shoulders, meeting her mother’s angry gaze with a toss of her head. ‘You don’t really want me. You only bring me down here to show me off when your friends are visiting.’

For a moment it seemed that Flora had gone too far. The look on Mrs Dearborn’s face was a mixture of chagrin and rage. ‘Take the child back to the nursery, Radcliffe. You have my permission to chastise her as you see fit.’ She rose to her feet. ‘And you, Flora Dearborn, will apologise or you will not have Christmas at all. There will be no tree and definitely no presents. I’ll tell your father and he will agree with me, so don’t think you can get round him.’ She slumped down on her seat, mopping her brow with a lace handkerchief. ‘Ring the bell on your way out, Radcliffe. I feel quite faint and in need of my smelling salts.’

Alice seized Flora by the hand and left the room, pausing to tug at the bell pull on the way out.

‘Why did you say that, Flora? You can see that you’ve upset your mama.’

‘She isn’t my mama. I told you that, Radcliffe.’ Flora stamped her foot and marched off towards the staircase.

Alice hurried after her. ‘You and I need a serious talk if I’m to stay on here, Flora.’

‘See if I care.’ Flora took the stairs two at a time, reaching the third floor well ahead of Alice. She slammed the nursery door.

In no mood for childish tantrums, Alice followed her inside. ‘Sit down, miss,’ she said firmly. ‘Stop behaving like that or you’ll hurt yourself.’

‘So what if I do?’ Flora cried angrily. ‘Nobody cares except Papa, and he’s not here most of the time, and he doesn’t always listen to me. He just pats me on the head and gives me whatever I ask for. The only one who does hear what I have to say is Uncle Rory.’

‘I’d like to meet your uncle,’ Alice said, choosing her words carefully. ‘He sounds nice.’

Flora came to a halt, looking up at her with a sudden sparkle in her blue eyes. ‘He is nice, and he’s funny.’ She threw herself down on the bed, beating the pillow with her small fists. ‘Now I won’t get any presents or a tree. Papa promised me a tree with candles on it and tinsel, like last year.’ She began to sob, her whole body racked by intense emotion.

Alice sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Flora’s wildly curling hair back from her damp forehead. ‘I’m sure it was said in the heat of the moment. If you apologise to your mama it will all be forgotten.’

Flora raised a tear-stained face to look up at her. ‘She won’t forget. She’s mean.’

‘Wipe your eyes and I’ll help you write a note to your mama. You could do a little drawing for her. I know you’re good at that because I’ve seen some of your sketches.’

‘I draw what I see in my nightmares.’ Flora sat up, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. ‘I’ll draw her as a witch.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Alice said hastily. She rose to her feet and went to the washstand to dip a flannel in cold water. Having wrung it out she used it to wipe Flora’s hot cheeks. ‘It would be better to draw something to remind her that it’s the season of peace and goodwill,’ she said slowly. ‘Perhaps some holly and ivy or mistletoe would be nice, and a little note from you saying you’re very sorry.’

‘But I’m not sorry,’ Flora said crossly.

‘It’s your choice. You apologise and try to make amends or else you’ll have a very miserable Christmas.’

Flora stared at her, head on one side. ‘What sort of Christmas will you have, Radcliffe?’

‘I think we should start by being on first-name terms. I want you to call me Alice and I’ll drop the title Miss and simply call you Flora, at least when we’re on our own.’

‘All right,’ Flora said, nodding. ‘So will you be here with me on Christmas Day, Alice? Or will you go away like everyone else and have a jolly time with your family?’

‘If you want me to be here, then I will. I told you how it is with me and my mama. There’s little enough cheer in my aunt’s house.’

Flora threw her arms around Alice, giving her a hearty hug. ‘Then it’s the same for you. I want you here, with me. You can bring your mama, if you like, and I’ll tell Mrs Upton to give us a special luncheon.’

‘Don’t you ever take your meals with your parents, Flora?’

‘Sometimes, but they have friends to dinner on Christmas Day. I just go downstairs when the ladies sit in the drawing room afterwards and they give me crystallised fruit. And sugared almonds – I like that.’

Alice rose to her feet, turning away so that Flora could not see the tears of sympathy that welled in her eyes. She went to the desk and searched for pen and paper. ‘Come over here, Flora. You can write the words but I’ll help you with the picture.’

After several false starts with ink blots flying in all directions, Flora finally managed to write a short note of apology, and she drew some spiky holly leaves with berries that varied in size and shape. It was a good effort, but she was not satisfied.

‘Please draw some mistletoe, Alice. I remember Papa kissing Mama under the mistletoe last Christmas. She went red and giggled, but I think she liked it really.’ She pushed the piece of paper towards Alice. ‘Please. A lovely big bunch of mistletoe.’

Alice smiled. This was a different child from the brat who had greeted her first thing that morning. ‘All right, I will, just this once.’ She took the pen and began to draw. Flora leaned over her shoulder, making encouraging remarks and breathing heavily down Alice’s neck.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Flora said delightedly when Alice put the pen down. ‘Let’s go and give it to Mama now.’

‘We’ll wait until the ink dries or it will smudge, and then we’ll go downstairs and you can give it to her.’

They were prevented from going straight away by the arrival of Nettie with a tray of food for their midday meal. Flora picked at hers but Alice was starving and she ate with relish. One thing in Mrs Dearborn’s favour was her choice of cook. The chicken soup was rich and delicious, and the bread, hot from the oven, was liberally spread with butter. Followed by treacle tart and custard, it was the best meal that Alice had eaten in days and she finished off what Flora left for good measure.

‘You’ll get fat if you eat that much.’ Flora shook her head, staring pointedly at the empty plates.

‘There’s little chance of that,’ Alice said, wiping her lips on the starched white napkin. ‘My aunt doesn’t believe in overfeeding us. I just wish my mama could have had some of the chicken soup.’

‘I’ll tell Mrs Upton to prepare a basket for you,’ Flora said grandly. ‘Now, let’s go downstairs and give the note to Mama. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow and it’s getting very late to get a tree, or to buy presents.’

Flora ran ahead of Alice and burst into the drawing room without bothering to knock. Mrs Dearborn looked up from her embroidery, frowning ominously. ‘What now, Flora? Where are your manners?’

‘I’m sorry, Mama.’ Flora ran to her side, thrusting the note into her hands. ‘I made this for you.’

Mrs Dearborn scanned the paper. ‘You did this unaided, Flora?’

‘I had a bit of help from Radcliffe,’ Flora said airily. ‘I did most of it, but she did the mistletoe.’

‘Mistletoe?’ A male voice from the doorway made Alice turn with a start, but all she could see was a tangle of pine branches as a tall figure hefted a huge tree into the room.

‘Uncle Rory.’ Flora rushed to greet him. ‘I hoped you’d come. There’s someone I want you to meet.’

Chapter Three

‘I said that there was to be no tree this year.’ Mrs Dearborn rose to her feet allowing Flora’s note to drift to the floor. ‘You spoil her, Rory. She doesn’t deserve such attention.’

Alice stood aside, mindful of her lowly position in the household, but she was curious to see the uncle whom Flora seemed to worship. The tree reached almost to the ceiling and the scent of pine filled the room as Rory manoeuvred it with some difficulty towards the window. He leaned it against the wall and stood back, brushing spiky green needles off his well-cut pin-stripe jacket. He turned to his sister-in-law with a disarming smile.

‘I’m sure you don’t mean that, Lydia.’ He bent down to lift Flora in his arms, placing a smacking kiss on her cheek before setting her back on her feet. ‘Have you been a bad girl again, Floss?’

‘No, of course not, Uncle Rory.’ Flora gazed up at him adoringly.

He was, Alice thought, undeniably handsome, and he had smiling brown eyes. She could see why he must appear like a Greek god to a lonely little girl.

‘Don’t pander to her,’ Lydia Dearborn said sharply. ‘Anyway, you started this particular bout of bad behaviour by listening to the ranting of that drunken woman my husband was forced to dismiss. Now the child thinks she has another family living in Spitalfields, of all places.’

Flora grasped Rory’s hand, holding it to her cheek. ‘Tell her, Uncle Rory. You believe me, don’t you?’

‘It’s time Miss Radcliffe took you back to the nursery, Flora.’ Lydia sank down on her chair as if exhausted by the conversation. ‘Run along now.’

‘Miss Radcliffe?’ Rory turned to Alice with an appraising look. ‘You’re new here.’

Alice inclined her head. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘She’s my friend, Uncle Rory,’ Alice said stoutly. ‘I like her.’

‘Do you indeed?’ Rory met Alice’s steady gaze with a smile. ‘How do you do, Miss Radcliffe? It’s a pleasure to meet any friend of Flora’s.’

‘How do you do, sir?’ Alice felt her cheeks redden. The teasing look in his dark eyes made her feel ill at ease and she was not sure how she was supposed to respond. In the close confines of her home and subject to her father’s strict upbringing she had had little contact with the outside world, let alone the opposite sex. But she was no longer Miss Radcliffe of Doughty Street, she was now a servant, and she was not sure what was expected of her. One look at her employer confirmed her suspicion that Flora’s uncle had overstepped the boundary set by his sister-in-law. Mrs Dearborn was visibly bristling.

‘Take Miss Flora back to the nursery, Radcliffe.’ Lydia’s voice was harsh and uncompromising.

‘You’ll come up and see me later, won’t you, Uncle Rory?’ Flora pleaded. ‘Promise.’

He ruffled her hair. ‘Of course I will, Floss.’ He turned to Alice, holding out his hand. ‘As I said, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Radcliffe.’

For a moment Alice was tempted to shake hands, but she could feel Lydia’s eyes boring into her back and she bobbed a curtsey. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said meekly.

‘Her name is Alice,’ Flora said impatiently. ‘She doesn’t like being called Miss Radcliffe.’

‘That’s enough, Flora. Little girls should be seen and not heard.’ Lydia’s frown deepened. ‘Remember what I said would happen if you continued to misbehave.’

Flora shot a sideways glance at her mother. ‘I will be good, Mama. Please let us keep the tree.’

Rory bent down to pick up Flora’s note. ‘This must be yours, Floss. I can tell by the blots.’ He examined it closer. ‘This is very good, but I don’t think it’s all your own work.’ He held it out of reach as Flora tried to snatch it from his hand. ‘Tell the truth now.’

‘Miss Radcliffe did the mistletoe, but I did all the rest.’

‘You’re quite an artist, Miss Radcliffe,’ he said, studying the drawing more closely. ‘This shows talent.’

‘Alice did most of it, sir. I only did the last little bit.’

‘Well, we all need a little mistletoe in our lives, especially at Christmas.’ He dropped a kiss on Flora’s curls and handed her the note. ‘I believe this belongs to your mama, Floss. Perhaps if you give it to her again she will relent.’ He turned to his sister-in-law with a persuasive grin. ‘It is the season of goodwill to all men, and that includes naughty children, don’t you think, Lydia?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘You are just like your brother. You give in too easily, Rory.’ She reached out to take the piece of paper from Flora. ‘All right, you may have the tree, but you will have to be very good if you want to receive a present.’

‘Yes, Mama.’ Flora ran to the door and opened it. ‘Come along, Miss Radcliffe. I’m waiting.’

Rory kept his word and spent half an hour in the nursery before taking his leave, and Alice decided to leave them to enjoy each other’s company. She went to find Mrs Upton, who directed her to the sewing room where she was able to take off her torn gown and repair the ripped seam. Rory had departed by the time Alice returned, but Flora was in high spirits and the rest of the day passed without any further incidents.

There did not seem to be any set hour when Alice was supposed to finish, but she waited until after supper when Flora was tucked up in her bed. She read her a story from a book that was so well used it was falling apart, and kissed her good night.

‘Won’t you stay, please?’ Flora whispered. ‘Smithson used to sleep in the next room, although it was no use calling out to her in the night because she wouldn’t wake up.’

‘I have to go home to see that my mother is all right,’ Alice said softly. ‘But I’ll be here first thing in the morning. Perhaps we’ll go outside and play snowballs, and roast chestnuts in the fire.’

Flora raised herself to lean on her elbow. ‘Will we really?’

‘I don’t see why not. I’ll make sure I have a stout pair of boots and warm clothes. It will be fun.’ She could tell by Flora’s baffled expression that the child had little idea of what constituted fun, but she would learn. ‘And it will be Christmas Eve, so perhaps your mother will allow us to decorate the tree?’

Flora grabbed her hand and kissed it. ‘You are my best present ever, Alice. I love you.’

Alice gave her a hug. ‘You and I will do very well together, Flora Dearborn. Now I have to leave, but if you close your eyes and go to sleep it will soon be morning and I’ll return. Good night, my dear.’

Snippet opened the door and Alice could tell by her expression that all was not well. She stamped her booted feet on the top step, shaking off the frozen lumps of snow before entering the house. ‘What’s the matter, Clara?’

‘She likes her dinner on time, miss.’ Clara glanced at the mahogany drop dial wall clock. ‘She don’t like to be kept waiting.’

Alice removed her bonnet and mantle, handing the snow-caked garments to Clara. The chill in the house struck her like a blow; it was, she thought, warmer outside than it was indoors. ‘I didn’t think they’d wait for me,’ she said in a low voice.

Clara nodded sagely. ‘She wouldn’t have, miss. Not under normal circumstances, like, but he come to see her today, and Cook thinks there’s more to it than meets the eye.’ Clara winked and tapped the side of her nose. ‘If you get my meaning, miss.’

‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. Who else is here?’

‘Snippet. Get back to the kitchen and tell Mrs Jugg to serve dinner immediately.’ Jane’s strident tones reverberated around the entrance hall. Clara turned and ran, her small feet pitter-pattering on the bare boards as she headed for the green baize door.

‘You’re late, Alice. Punctuality is the politeness of princes.’ Jane hovered in the dining-room doorway, putting Alice in mind of a bird of ill omen in her black dress with her shawl flapping in the draught like the wings of a carrion crow. ‘Come and take your seat at table.’

To Alice’s surprise the dining room looked almost festive, or at least it was a little less austere than the previous day. The table was laid with a white damask cloth and the best crystal glasses glistened in the candlelight. A bowl of holly added a festive touch and the fire had been banked up with extra coal, although it barely raised the temperature enough to prevent Alice’s teeth from chattering. She experienced a feeling of relief when she saw her mother seated by the fire, but before she had a chance to speak to her she was accosted by her aunt. Jane grabbed her by the arm, twisting her round to face the fourth person in the room as he emerged from the shadows.

‘Alice, I want you to meet my cousin, Horace Hubble.’

The resemblance between Jane and the gentleman who stepped forward was striking. He was taller than his cousin, and his dark hair was greying, as were his mutton chop whiskers and drooping walrus moustache. He held out his hand but the smile on his lips did not reach his eyes. ‘I’m delighted to meet you at last, Miss Radcliffe. I’ve heard so much about you.’

‘Really? I’m afraid I don’t know anything about you, sir.’ His handshake was limp and his palm moist. Alice withdrew hers quickly, hoping that he did not notice the shudder that ran through her at his touch.

‘Cousin Jane,’ he said, stretching his wide lips into a rictus grin, ‘I thought better of you. You leave me at a disadvantage.’

‘Stuff and nonsense.’ Jane strode to the head of the table. ‘Take your seats, everyone. We are very late dining.’ She shot a reproachful glance in Alice’s direction.

Horace moved swiftly to pull out Jane’s chair. ‘You really ought to employ more servants, Cousin.’

Jane sat down and rang the bell. ‘Snippet does well enough. I don’t approve of wasting money on underlings to eat my food and cost me money.’

Alice helped her mother to take her seat at the table. ‘How are you feeling this evening, Mama?’

‘Quite well, thank you, my darling. Jane has kept me fully employed today, which took my mind off my ailments, and the sorry position in which we find ourselves.’

‘Self-pity is a waste of time,’ Jane said severely. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you, Beth. It’s all in your silly head.’

‘Really, Aunt,’ Alice protested. ‘That’s not fair. Mama has always been delicate.’

‘Sit down, Alice. You too, Horace. I can’t do with people hovering.’ Jane rang the bell again. ‘Where is that idle child?’

‘Perhaps I ought to go and help?’ Alice suggested tentatively. ‘She’s quite small to carry heavy dishes up from the kitchen.’

‘People from her walk of life are born with the strength of oxen,’ Jane said dismissively. ‘That’s why they dig roads and plough the soil. We were put on earth to guide them and to help them control their base instincts. The child has to learn.’

The crash of breaking china was followed by a loud howl. Alice hurried to the door and opened it to find Clara on her knees amidst shards of broken crockery. She raised her to her feet. ‘There, there, don’t cry, Clara. It was an accident.’

‘I’ve broke the best plates. I’ll get a beating when Mrs Jugg finds out what I done.’

‘No one will harm you; I’ll see to that.’ Alice patted her on the shoulder. ‘Go and fetch a shovel and a brush and clear up the mess.’

‘But the dinner, miss. I’m supposed to fetch it.’

‘Leave that to me.’ Alice stepped back into the dining room. ‘Mr Hubble, would you care to assist me?’

His look of surprise was quickly replaced by a smug smile and he rose swiftly to his feet. ‘Of course, Miss Radcliffe. Anything you say.’ He was at her side in seconds, smiling down at her and exposing long, yellow teeth that put her in mind of a pony she had ridden as a child. It had not been a gentle animal and had taken every opportunity to give her a savage nip; it was not a pleasant memory.

‘There has been a mishap,’ she said, closing the door so that her aunt could not hear. ‘I’m going below stairs to fetch the food and it would help to have someone like you to assist me.’ She could see that he was shocked by such a suggestion. ‘You did say that Aunt Jane ought to employ more staff. Perhaps this will convince her.’

He fingered his cravat, clearing his throat nervously. ‘This is highly irregular, Miss Radcliffe. Below stairs is the servants’ domain.’

‘And at present there is only the cook, and a young girl who is terrified that she will be beaten for her clumsiness. I think dinner will be delayed a lot longer if we simply sit and wait for it to arrive.’ She walked off without waiting for his answer, and had just reached the baize door when he caught up with her.

‘You’re right, of course. You are a very wise young lady.’ He held the door for her. ‘And I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ she said vaguely as she hurried down the narrow staircase.

Cook stared at them in amazement. ‘Oh my Lord, whatever next? The silly girl told me that she’s dropped the plates, and she’ll be punished severely.’

‘It’s all right, Mrs Jugg,’ Alice said calmly. ‘It was an accident and no one blames Clara. She is going to clear up the broken china and we will take the food upstairs.’

‘Oh, no, miss. That’s not right at all. And you, sir, what must you think of us?’ Mrs Jugg glanced anxiously at Horace as if expecting the worst.

Alice picked up the soup tureen and passed it to Horace. ‘Mr Hubble is in complete agreement with me.’

His sickly smile was unconvincing, but he nodded his head. ‘Just this once.’

Alice went to the dresser and selected four soup bowls. She picked up a basket of bread rolls. ‘Tell Clara not to worry, Mrs Jugg. It could have happened to anyone.’

Cook’s lips worked soundlessly as Clara rushed in from the scullery armed with a brush and coal shovel. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she breathed. ‘Ever so sorry.’

Alice stood back to allow her to race on ahead. ‘She’s a good girl,’ she said firmly. ‘Nothing more will be said, Mrs Jugg. And the soup smells delicious.’

‘There’s roast beef to follow. The mistress always puts on a show for her cousin. He’s her only living relative, apart from you, of course, Miss Alice.’

Alice knew that, but it did not explain the extravagance of the hospitality, or her aunt’s desire for them to meet. She hurried after Horace and arrived in the dining room as he was about to place the tureen on the table.

Jane stared at them both, aghast. ‘Horace, what do you think you’re doing? And you, Alice, you should know better.’

‘There was a slight mishap due to that clumsy young maidservant, but I could not bear to think of you waiting a moment longer for such an excellent repast,’ Horace said, taking the credit for the idea even though he had been against it at the start. ‘Miss Radcliffe was kind enough to assist me.’

‘I’ve a good mind to send Snippet back to the workhouse. One takes these people in for the most Christian reasons and they invariably fail in their duties.’

Horace lifted the lid and was about to begin serving the soup when Jane held up her hand.

‘We haven’t yet said grace.’ She launched into a much shortened version of the prayer. ‘I don’t know why I burden myself with these charity cases. They always let one down,’ she added at the end.

‘Your acts of generosity to the poor are well known, Cousin,’ Horace said, ladling soup into a bowl and placing it in front of her. ‘The world would be a happier place were there more people like you.’

Jane smile modestly. ‘You’re too kind, Horace. Do sit down and enjoy your meal.’ She clicked her fingers at Alice. ‘You may finish serving the soup, and after dinner you will go down to the kitchen and tell Snippet that unless she pulls herself together she will spend Christmas in the workhouse.’

‘That seems a little harsh, sister-in-law,’ Beth said timidly. ‘The child is very young and she will learn.’

Alice filled a bowl with soup and passed it to her mother with a grateful smile. She knew how much courage it would have taken to enable her to speak up for Clara. ‘I agree with Mama,’ she said stoutly. ‘Snippet is eager to improve.’

Jane’s brows drew together in an ominous frown, but Horace beamed at Alice. ‘Well said, Miss Radcliffe.’ He used his table napkin to mop up the soup as it dripped from his moustache. ‘You have inherited my cousin’s charitable nature.’ He shot a sideways glance at Jane, who snatched up a bread roll and tore it into tiny pieces, popping one into her mouth and grinding it with her teeth.

Alice repressed a shudder as one of Flora’s nightmare sketches flashed before her eyes. Jane was suddenly the wicked witch about to eat Hansel and Gretel. She blinked hard and found Horace staring at her with a bemused expression. She managed a weak smile. ‘The soup is delicious.’

Jane curled her lip. ‘This will be our festive repast. I spend Christmas Day attending church services. You would do well to come with me, Alice.’

‘I would, of course,’ Alice said quickly, ‘but I’m afraid I have to work. Mrs Dearborn has not given me the day off.’ It was not exactly a lie, nor was it the complete truth. In fact, nothing had been mentioned by the lady of the house, but Flora wanted her to be there, and even on such a short acquaintance her welfare had become important to Alice.

‘Really?’ Beth’s eyes were moist with unshed tears. ‘Must you, Alice? Surely everyone deserves to spend the day with their family?’

‘You’re invited too, Mama,’ Alice said in desperation. ‘Miss Flora will be glad of the company. The poor child spends most of her time alone in the nursery.’

‘I’m proud to belong to such a caring family,’ Horace said, clasping his hands as if in prayer. ‘Although I was hoping that perhaps I might be invited to spend Christmas Day here with my only living relatives.’

Alice held her breath, praying that Aunt Jane would not weaken, and she could have cried with relief when her aunt shook her head. ‘You have friends who will make you welcome, Horace. You’re always telling me how popular you are.’

‘Well, yes, indeed, but …’

‘No buts, Cousin. I’m sure you will find somewhere to go, but it won’t be here. I will be in church or helping the poor and needy, as is my wont.’

Horace mumbled something into his beard.

‘What did you say, Cousin?’

He gave her a sheepish grin. ‘I said you are a saint, Cousin Jane.’

She beamed at him. ‘Oh, no. That I am not, but I’m glad that Alice is taking her work seriously, and Beth can spend the day in bed if she so chooses.’ She pushed her plate away. ‘Alice, you may ring the bell, and if that stupid child doesn’t appear within minutes you will go below stairs and tell her to pack her bags.’

Snippet saved herself by arriving promptly, if a little dishevelled and out of breath, but she managed to clear the table without dropping anything and delivered the main course without further mishap. The roast beef was a bit tough, the potatoes not quite cooked through and the cabbage a little watery, but Horace ate ravenously and Jane cleared her plate. Alice had already eaten well that day and she only ate a small amount, and her mother, as usual, picked at her food, but there was apple pie to follow and that was delicious. The custard was thick and creamy and everyone did justice to the dessert, but the moment she had finished her meal Jane rose to her feet and announced that the evening must come to an end.

Horace stared at her. ‘But it is early as yet, Cousin. Might we not sit for a while and allow our meal to digest?’

‘There is nothing wrong with my digestion, Horace, and you have a long walk to your rooms in West Smithfield. Unless, of course, you intend to take a cab.’

‘That costs money, my dear cousin, and as you know my finances leave much to be desired.’

‘And that is because your father was a gambler and risked his fortune on unwise investments. My own dear Robert was a prudent man. He strived hard to provide for us in our old age.’

‘And he worked himself to death, Cousin.’ Horace’s moustache quivered with suppressed emotion. Alice could not be sure whether it was grief or indignation, but he was obviously moved.

‘Robert did not work himself to death. He caught lung fever when visiting the docks, and that was what took him to an early grave.’ Jane produced a hanky and dabbed her eyes. ‘I was widowed at the age of thirty-five and my heart is interred with my beloved husband.’

Horace rose to his feet. ‘We all share your sorrow, Cousin.’ He turned to Alice with a wolfish smile. ‘Will you see me out, Miss Radcliffe? Or may I call you Alice?’

‘I will see you out.’ Jane stood up, brushing crumbs from her skirt. ‘It’s not proper for a young unmarried woman to be alone in the company of an eligible gentleman. You know that as well as I do, Horace.’

He bowed, clicking his heels together. ‘You are right as always, Cousin Jane. Please forgive me for my boldness, but in the face of such youth and beauty I’m afraid it is difficult to remain aloof.’

Alice stared at him in horror. If Horace Hubble had any romantic ideas in his head he would do better to forget them. The mere sight of him revolted her and although they had only just met, her first impression of him had been far from favourable. For once she was grateful to her aunt for her rigid sense of propriety. Jane shooed Horace out of the room and Alice turned to her mother with a sigh of relief.

‘Would you believe that, Mama? He seems to think a lot of himself.’

‘I suspected that Jane had an ulterior motive in having him here tonight and treating us all to such a meal.’

‘I can’t think what that would be.’

‘Nor I, but I’ve heard your papa speak about Horace’s father and it’s true that he went through a fortune by playing the stock market. They lost everything and George Hubble blew his brains out, leaving Horace with virtually nothing. It seems that both our families have been unlucky.’

‘Horace’s misfortune has nothing to do with us, Mama.’ Alice stared at her mother, eyebrows raised. ‘Apart from losing Papa and Uncle Robert, what else is there?’

Twin spots of colour stained Beth’s cheeks. ‘All families have something they want to hide or are ashamed of, darling. Forget I said anything.’

‘No, Mama. You can’t leave it like that.’ Her curiosity aroused Alice, moved to sit beside her mother.

‘I don’t suppose you remember your Aunt Viola, do you?’

Alice frowned. ‘Papa’s sister? I have a vague memory of her. She was young and pretty and she laughed a lot.’

‘Viola was headstrong and spoiled. She was your father’s half-sister, the child of your grandfather’s second marriage. You were only seven or eight when she eloped with a man who was totally unsuitable. It was a terrible scandal.

‘What happened to her, Mama? Where is she now?’

‘I was told that she died of consumption.’

‘Poor thing, how sad.’

‘The family hushed up the details. It was very tragic.’

‘What happened to her husband?’

‘They weren’t married. I don’t know what happened to him, and it was all a long time ago.’

‘How was Aunt Jane unlucky? What skeleton has she got hidden in her cupboard?’

‘It’s not a laughing matter, Alice.’

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why Aunt Jane went to such a lot of expense entertaining her cousin.’

‘Perhaps she has a generous side to her nature. From the little I know about Horace I believe he works in a counting office somewhere in the City and lives in rented rooms in a poor area. You might say he’s come down in the world.’

‘But why did Aunt Jane want us to meet him?’

‘She once told me that she could not bear to think that the Hubble name would die out. Horace is the last in the line and hasn’t shown any inclination towards marriage.’

‘I doubt if there are many young women who would want him, unless they were desperate,’ Alice said, chuckling.

‘You shouldn’t judge a person by their looks, my love. Poor Horace wasn’t blessed with a handsome countenance, but I’m sure that deep down he’s a kind man and would make someone a good husband.’

‘You don’t think that Aunt Jane means me to be the sacrificial lamb, do you? That would be too ridiculous.’

‘Jane is a wealthy woman and Horace has few prospects. Without a son and heir the Hubble line will come to an abrupt end. Jane doesn’t want that to happen and I think she’s desperate to find a bride for her cousin.’

‘I pity the woman who is chosen, that’s all I can say.’

‘I was watching him closely and from the way he was acting and the attention he paid you, I think he sees a way out of his predicament.’

‘No!’ Alice stared at her mother in horror. ‘I wouldn’t marry Horace Hubble if he was the last man on earth.’ She spun round at the sound of the door opening and saw her aunt standing on the threshold. Judging by the sour expression on her face she had heard everything. ‘I – I mean it, Aunt Jane,’ Alice said hastily. ‘If you’re thinking of encouraging me to marry your cousin, it won’t work.’

Jane folded her arms across her chest. ‘While you live under my roof you will do as I say. Horace might not be a young girl’s dream of romance, but he is a respectable man of good family, and his wife will be assured of living in modest comfort for the rest of her life. I will see to that.’

‘I’d sooner die than agree to such a marriage,’ Alice cried passionately.

‘People are expiring on the streets at this moment, and you have your mother to consider, Alice. How do you think she would survive in the workhouse? I advise you to think about it very carefully.’

‘I’m sorry, Aunt Jane, but nothing you could do or say would make any difference. I don’t know Mr Hubble. He’s a stranger to me, as I am to him. Surely he wouldn’t consider marrying someone he didn’t know?’

‘My cousin will do as I think best. He knows that his future depends upon satisfying me that the Hubble name will live on. Our ancestors were here before the time of William the Conqueror and we once owned half of Kent. Marry Horace, give him a son, and then we will all be happy.’

‘You might be,’ Alice said indignantly, ‘but I wouldn’t.’

‘It is asking a lot of her,’ Beth said softly. ‘Surely it would be better to allow them to get to know each other before making such demands, Jane?’

Jane turned on her in a fury. ‘What do you know about anything? You had neither brains nor breeding and you didn’t bring a dowry to the marriage. Clement could have done so much better.’

‘We were happy.’ Beth’s voice broke on a sob. ‘We loved each other. Doesn’t that count for anything?’

Alice moved swiftly to her mother’s side, placing her arm around Beth’s trembling shoulders. ‘Leave Mama out of this, Aunt Jane.’

Jane tossed her head. ‘I have only this to say to you, Alice Radcliffe. Agree to marry my cousin or leave this house and make your own way in the world. It’s your choice.’

Chapter Four

Reluctantly, and only because of her mother’s weakened state of health, Alice agreed to consider Horace’s proposal should he pluck up the courage to make her an offer of marriage. She had no intention of accepting him, but until she could earn enough to support her mother and herself they would have to rely on Aunt Jane’s charity. The future looked bleak, but Alice Radcliffe was not one to give in without a fight. She went to bed in the cold, cheerless room with the precious Christmas card tucked beneath her pillow. To anyone else it might be just a piece of paper, but to her it was a symbol of family, love and security. No one could take away what was in her heart, not even Aunt Jane.

The child who greeted Alice next morning was totally different from the angry little girl of yesterday. Flora was up and dressed and had even made an effort to drag a comb through her tousled mop of hair.

She gave Alice a wide smile. ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t come.’

‘Why would you think that? I made a promise and I always keep my promises.’

‘Most grown-up people don’t,’ Flora said darkly. ‘They’ll say anything to keep me quiet, and then they go away and forget about me.’

Alice took the comb from her hand and began teasing out the tangles. ‘Well, I’m not like that, Flora.’

‘And will we still go outside and play snowballs?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And decorate the tree?’

‘Yes, if your mama permits.’

‘She will or I’ll have a tantrum and scream until I make myself ill, or else I’ll hold my breath until I go blue in the face. That usually works.’

Alice shook her head. ‘I think we might be able to persuade her without you endangering your own life. We’ll try, shall we?’

‘Oh, all right,’ Flora said reluctantly. ‘Do we have to wait until after breakfast? I’m not really hungry.’

‘We don’t want to upset Cook, especially as she’ll be very busy with preparations for tomorrow. Can you imagine what it must be like to work in a hot kitchen?’

Flora put her head on one side, frowning. ‘No. I’m not allowed below stairs.’

‘Then perhaps we ought to visit the kitchens, and you can see how the servants have to live and work.’

‘Mama wouldn’t like it, but I would.’ Flora snatched the comb from Alice’s hand. ‘Shall we go now?’

‘Maybe later, but I think I hear Nettie coming with our breakfast. Don’t forget to thank her.’

‘Thank her? She’s a servant. We don’t thank them.’

‘Well, we do now,’ Alice said firmly. ‘I’m a servant in this house and you thank me.’

‘You’re different. I like you.’

‘And I like you too.’ Alice heard the rattling of china as Nettie struggled outside the door and she moved quickly to open it for her. ‘Good morning, Nettie,’ she said cheerfully.

‘Good morning, miss.’ Nettie shuffled over to the table and put the tray down with a clatter, spilling some of the milk from the blue-and-white china jug.

‘Thank you, Nettie,’ Alice said, nodding to Flora.

‘Thank you,’ Flora echoed, although she did not sound very convincing.

Nettie shot her a sideways glance. ‘I’m sorry I spilled the milk, but me chilblains are playing up this morning. You won’t tell on me, will you, miss?’

Flora shrugged. ‘I’ll throw the jug across the room, if you like. They expect me to do things like that.’

Nettie’s horrified expression made it hard for Alice to keep a straight face. She patted her on the shoulder. ‘Miss Flora is teasing you.’

‘Yes, miss.’ Nettie backed towards the door, opened it and fled.

‘Well done, Flora,’ Alice said, smiling. ‘You see, you can be nice when you put your mind to it. When Nettie gets over her shock she’ll be really grateful.’

Later, after what to Alice was now a magnificent breakfast of porridge, toast and strawberry jam, they put on their outdoor clothes and were making their way downstairs when Mrs Upton waylaid them outside the drawing room.

‘Where do you think you’re going, Miss Radcliffe?’

Flora’s small fingers tightened around Alice’s hand. ‘She’s taking me to play snowballs in the square gardens.’

‘Indeed she is not.’ Mrs Upton stood arms akimbo, glaring at Alice. ‘Miss Flora is not allowed outside unless accompanied by a responsible person.’

Alice drew herself up to her full height. ‘Flora is in my charge and I’ll see that she comes to no harm.’

‘That isn’t good enough. Miss Flora can be very persuasive when she wants to be and we’ve had incidences.’ Mrs Upton seized Flora by the shoulders and propelled her towards the staircase. ‘It’s back to the nursery for you, miss. Your mama will send word when she wishes to see you.’

‘But this is so unfair,’ Alice protested angrily. ‘I promised her that we could go out into the gardens and play snowballs. She’s just a child, Mrs Upton. I’ll keep an eye on her.’

Flora stamped her foot. ‘It’s always the same. They all hate me and want me to be miserable.’ She threw herself down on the floor, drumming her feet and screaming.

‘Now see what you’ve done.’ Mrs Upton spoke through clenched teeth. ‘She’ll make herself ill and we’ll have to send for the doctor.’

‘Why?’ Alice demanded, raising her voice to make herself heard above Flora’s screeching. ‘Why do you want to keep the child prisoner in her own home? Surely a breath of fresh air and some healthy exercise would do her more good than being shut up in the nursery?’

Mrs Upton drew her aside. ‘She has tried to run away several times. Keeping her under strict supervision is the only way to protect her from herself.’

Ignoring her, Alice went down on her knees beside Flora. ‘Stop this at once. This sort of conduct won’t get you anywhere.’

Flora quietened for a moment, eyeing her warily. ‘You’re supposed to be my friend.’

‘I am your friend, but if you continue like this you’ll only make things worse for yourself.’ Alice rose to her feet, holding her hand out to Flora. ‘Get up.’

‘Do as Miss Radcliffe says, Miss Flora.’ Mrs Upton’s voice shook with barely controlled anger. ‘Your mama will hear about this.’

Flora’s answer was to go into a fresh tantrum, sobbing and beating her fists on the floorboards.

‘What is going on?’ Lydia Dearborn leaned over the banister. Tendrils of fair hair escaped from beneath the goffered frill of her linen nightcap and she clutched her wrap around her. ‘Why is Flora dressed for outdoors? I gave explicit instructions that she was not to be allowed out of the house, Mrs Upton.’

‘It’s not my fault, ma’am,’ Mrs Upton said hastily. ‘It was I who prevented them leaving.’

‘Miss Radcliffe, I will have words with you later, but please stop the child making that dreadful noise.’ Lydia retreated to her room, slamming the door.

Flora stopped howling, but her whole body shook with suppressed sobs. ‘I – I hate you, Upton.’

‘That’s no way to speak to Mrs Upton,’ Alice said severely. She pulled Flora to her feet. ‘Say you’re sorry.’

‘But I’m not sorry. It’s the truth. I hate you all.’ Flora stamped her foot and genuine tears spurted from her eyes.

‘The child is a she-devil.’ Mrs Upton shook her head. ‘She’s past redemption. That’s what you get when you take a brat from the slums into a decent home.’

Alice placed her arm around Flora’s shoulders, holding her close. ‘It’s no wonder she misbehaves if that’s what you think of her.’

‘Mrs Dearborn will hear more of this and you will be replaced, Miss Radcliffe.’ Mrs Upton turned on her heel and marched off with the keys on her chatelaine jingling, but it was not the happy sound of Christmas bells.

‘Never mind, Flora,’ Alice said, taking her by the hand. ‘We’ll go back to the nursery and I’ll explain everything to your mama when she sends for me. I’m sure if she understands why we were going into the gardens then she’ll change her mind.’

Flora wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘Do you think so?’

‘I do indeed. After all, it is almost Christmas, the season of peace on earth and goodwill to all men.’ She chuckled. ‘And women, including Mrs Upton.’

The summons to the morning room came two hours later. Mrs Dearborn was seated by the fire, hands folded in her lap with a judgemental look on her face that did not bode well.

‘What did you think you were doing, Radcliffe? You know that Flora is easily upset and yet you decided to go against my wishes and take her out.’

‘I only intended to take her into the gardens, Mrs Dearborn. I thought that she would enjoy playing snowballs and running around like any ordinary child.’

‘I don’t pay you to think, Radcliffe. You will know by now that a previous employee filled the child’s head with nonsense about her natural mother. Flora is obsessed by the idea that she wants to find the woman.’

‘Then it is true, ma’am?’

‘Flora was adopted by my husband and me. She would never have known had it not been for the nursemaid who turned out to be a drunken slattern. Flora is unstable and given to bouts of temper tantrums that can only be controlled by large doses of laudanum. You were supposed to take care of her and prevent such outbursts.’

‘No one told me what to expect, Mrs Dearborn. But I don’t think that Flora is unstable, as you put it, and I decry the use of laudanum on such a young child.’

‘You dare to tell me what to do?’ Lydia stared at her, delicate eyebrows raised until they disappeared into her hairline. ‘What gives you the right to question my authority?’

Angry and undaunted by her employer’s indignation, Alice faced her squarely. ‘I don’t question your authority, ma’am. But from what I’ve seen of Flora she is a little girl who needs love and affection.’

‘Flora has the best of everything. My husband spoils her and she wants for nothing.’

Alice could see that this was going nowhere. Lydia Dearborn did not seem to have any maternal feelings towards her adopted daughter, but arguing was not going to help. ‘I can see that she is a lucky little girl to have come into such a comfortable home, but I was an only child and it’s a lonely path to tread. Might I suggest that she be allowed a little more freedom? She is intelligent and talented, and if she were allowed out under my supervision I think I could help her.’

‘I haven’t decided yet whether or not to sack you, Radcliffe. If you are a bad influence on Flora then you must leave.’

Alice said nothing. She clasped her hands behind her back, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl standing in front of an irate headmistress, but there was little she could do other than wait for Mrs Dearborn to decide her fate. She could imagine Aunt Jane’s smug expression if she were dismissed. It would give her added encouragement to see marriage as the only solution, but the thought of marrying Horace made Alice feel physically sick.

Lydia relaxed her hands with a sigh. ‘I suppose I will have to allow you stay on for the time being, Radcliffe. Apart from upsetting Flora even further, it would be difficult to find a replacement at such short notice, and at this time of year.’

‘I’ll do my best to look after her, Mrs Dearborn.’

‘You will indeed. There will be no more trips out unless you have my permission.’

‘I understand.’

‘You may go, but I expect you to work tomorrow, even though it’s Christmas Day. I have guests coming and I don’t want Flora to ruin my party.’

Alice nodded, biting back the sharp words that rose to her lips. This woman, she decided, was selfish to the core and she disliked her intensely.

‘You may go.’ Lydia dismissed her with a wave of her hand. ‘Wait. On second thoughts you can make yourself useful. The wretched tree needs decorating and the servants are all fully occupied with preparations for tomorrow. I’m going out to luncheon and will be gone all afternoon, so you and my daughter may hang the baubles and tinsel. It will keep Flora occupied.’

Flora knew exactly where the decorations were stored. She led Alice to an attic room at the far end of the corridor where the servants slept. Cabin trunks and other items of luggage were piled from floor to sloping ceiling. Oddments of furniture, oil lamps and a couple of crinoline cages were littered about the room, together with tea chests spilling over with unwanted items.

With a cry of delight Flora pounced on a wooden box. ‘There it is. I knew it was here.’ She lifted the lid and pulled out a strand of tinsel, holding it so that the silver threads danced in rays of sunlight that filtered through the grime on the small windowpanes. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

‘Yes, it’s lovely.’ Alice glanced anxiously at the cobwebs that festooned the rafters, but to her relief there was no evidence of the creatures that had made them. She knew that for a grown woman to be afraid of spiders was irrational, but like Flora she had been at the mercy of a nanny who was addicted to drink and laudanum. The gruesome tales of giant arachnids that came in the night to punish naughty children had been told to subdue and scare her. The nightmares had ceased, but the fear remained. She closed the lid. ‘Let’s take them downstairs to the drawing room, Flora.’

‘And I want to put the star on top of the tree.’

‘I want doesn’t get,’ Alice said automatically, and for a moment she thought she was about to witness another tantrum, but Flora’s angry look melted into a smile.

‘May I put the star on top of the tree, please, Alice?’

‘Of course you may.’ Alice picked up the box. ‘You see how easy it is to get along with people when you speak to them nicely?’

‘I think I’m beginning to.’ Flora held out her hand. ‘Let me help you.’

Together they transported the heavy box to the drawing room and set about decorating the tree, stopping briefly at midday when Nettie summoned them to the morning room where, as a special treat, luncheon had been laid on a table in the window.

‘I feel like a grown-up,’ Flora said happily. ‘I’m not usually allowed to have my meals anywhere but in the nursery.’

‘We’re very busy below stairs, Miss Flora.’ Nettie placed a jug of gravy on the table next to the mutton pie with a glistening golden crust and a tempting aroma. ‘Mrs Upton said it would be easier if you and Miss Radcliffe ate here.’

Alice took her seat at table opposite Flora. ‘It looks and smells delicious, Nettie. Thank you.’

‘There’s boiled cabbage to come, miss. I’ll fetch it now.’

‘Ugh,’ Flora said, pulling a face. ‘I hate cabbage.’

‘It’s good for you.’ Alice cut into the pie. ‘But perhaps on this occasion we’ll just have the pie, Nettie. Miss Flora will forgo dessert and have an apple instead.’

Flora’s eyes opened wide and her bottom lip trembled. ‘No, it’s all right. I’ll eat my cabbage, but only if I can have pudding. What is it, Nettie?’

‘Jam roly-poly, miss.’

‘And custard?’

‘Of course, miss. Cook wouldn’t serve pudding without custard.’ Nettie bobbed a curtsey and left the room, returning minutes later with a dish of boiled cabbage. Flora wrinkled her nose, but ate hers without further complaint. Alice smiled to herself and said nothing.

The pudding, as usual, was delicious and very filling. Flora ate all hers, scraping the dish with her spoon to get the last drop of custard, which made Alice laugh. ‘I’m sure there’s plenty more in the kitchen, if you’re still hungry.’

Flora licked her lips. ‘No, that would be greedy, and I’m full.’ She sighed. ‘But I would like to go outside and play snowballs. The sun’s shining on the snow and it looks so pretty.’

Alice had also eaten her fill, mindful of the austerity she would face that evening, and she sympathised with Flora, but she did not dare go against Mrs Dearborn’s wishes. She rose from the table. ‘I think we’d better finish the tree, don’t you? I’m sure it will please your mama to see it looking so lovely.’

Alice had to lift Flora up in an attempt to place the star on the topmost branch of the tree, but it was still out of reach and Flora was heavier than she looked. They tried again and toppled over, ending up in a giggling heap on the floor with a tangle of booted feet and frilled petticoats. Alice was struggling to rise when the door opened and Rory Dearborn strolled into the room. He came to a halt, staring at them in surprise, and a slow smile curved his lips.

‘Well now, what happened? Has there been an earthquake?’

Flora leaped up and ran to give him a hug. ‘You’ve come just in time, Uncle Rory. Alice was trying to lift me high enough to put the star on the tree.’ She held it up for his inspection.

Alice rose to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster, and as she shook out her crumpled skirts she found herself wishing that she had something prettier to wear than the severe black cotton uniform provided by Mrs Upton. She adjusted her white cap, which had slipped over one eye in the fall. ‘Good afternoon, sir.’ She turned away, avoiding his amused gaze as she felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment.

‘Let me help.’ He lifted Flora as easily as if she were a toddler, and held her until she had fastened the slightly bent and battered star in place. ‘That looks splendid, Flora. You and Miss Radcliffe have done an excellent job.’

Alice murmured an acknowledgement, but was still unable to look him in the face. For a gentleman to see a lady’s unmentionables was shocking even to someone who considered herself to be a modern young woman. Flora, however, did not seem to be worry about such niceties and she clung to her uncle’s hand.

‘Have you brought me a present?’

‘Need you ask?’

‘What is it? May I see it now?’

He shook his head. ‘You will have to wait until tomorrow, so there’s no need for you to put on that sulky face, Flora.’

‘But I want—’ Flora broke off, shooting a sideways glance at Alice. ‘I mean, I would like just to see it and feel it so that I can imagine what it might be. Please, Uncle Rory.’

He stood back, holding his hand to his heart with an exaggerated look of astonishment. ‘Who is this polite child? What have you done with Flora, Miss Radcliffe? Where is my niece?’

His laugh was infectious and Alice forgot her moment of chagrin. ‘Flora is standing beside you, sir. She is a reformed character.’

He bent down to ruffle Flora’s curls. ‘In that case I think I might allow her to fetch the present and put it under the tree.’

‘Yes, please.’ Flora tugged at his hand. ‘Where is it?’

‘I left it outside the door. Hoskins told me you were in here.’ He watched her with a smile on his lips as she raced from the room. ‘Such excitement,’ he said, turning to Alice. ‘I almost wish I were a child again at this time of the year.’

‘You’ve made her very happy.’ Alice folded her hands in front of her, not knowing quite how to behave in the presence of her employer’s brother. It was hard to remember that she was a servant. Her father had always treated her as an equal, as had his intellectual friends and acquaintances, but her lowly situation put her at a distinct disadvantage.

‘And you’ve wrought an astonishing change in her,’ he said in an undertone as Flora returned, carrying a large package tied with red ribbon.

‘It’s quite heavy,’ Flora said thoughtfully. ‘Is it a book?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not giving you any clues. You’ll have to be like everyone else and wait until the morning. I suggest you place it beneath the tree.’

Flora shook the package, holding it close to her ear. ‘It rattles. Is it a box of coloured beads? You know I love necklaces.’

‘Put it under the tree.’ Rory turned to Alice with a wry smile. ‘Perhaps the old Flora is still here, after all.’

‘Flora,’ Alice said sternly.

‘Oh, all right.’ Flora walked slowly towards the tree and went down on her knees to place her present under its spiky branches. She jumped up again, spinning round to face her uncle. ‘Have you got a present for Alice, too?’

‘No, of course not, Flora,’ Alice said quickly. ‘Servants don’t get presents from their employers.’

‘Perhaps they should.’ Rory reached out to take Flora by the hand. ‘I’ve just had a splendid idea; something that will take your mind off presents.’

‘What is it? Tell me, please.’

‘The sun is still shining and the snow is crisp and clean in the gardens. Would you like to go for a walk?’

‘Yes, please. And we could make a snowman and snowballs.’

‘Remember what your mama said, Flora.’ Alice shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Dearborn, but your sister-in-law specifically forbade us to go out and play in the snow.’

Rory angled his head, a mischievous smile curving his generous lips. ‘Lydia is out and I’m reliably informed by Hoskins that she is not expected to return until four o’clock or even later.’

‘Please, Alice,’ Flora entreated. ‘Just this once. It might never snow again and I’ll die without having made a snowball.’

Alice looked from one eager face to the other and knew she was beaten. ‘That would be a tragedy indeed,’ she said softly.

Flora released her uncle’s hand to throw her arms around Alice. ‘I love you, Miss Radcliffe. May I call you Alice in front of Uncle Rory? He won’t mind. He’s a good sport. I heard my pa say so.’

‘Come along, Flora.’ Rory moved towards the door. ‘And you too, Alice. If Flora can call you that in private I claim that privilege too, and you must call me Rory.’

Alice hesitated. ‘I don’t think I ought to, sir.’

‘What did I just say?’ He paused in the doorway. ‘If I’m allowed to use your Christian name then you must return the compliment, and I insist that you accompany us. If I’m to be bombarded with lumps of ice I refuse to undergo the humiliation alone.’

It was an invitation she knew she should forgo, but it was her duty to look after Flora, or so she told herself as she hurried upstairs to fetch their outdoor garments.

The paths were well-trodden by nannies pushing babies in their perambulators, and their older charges had shuffled through the icy carpet, churning it up so that it turned to slush, but the pristine whiteness of the snow-covered grass was smooth as icing on a cake. Flora uttered a cry of delight, running round in circles and leaving a trail of footprints. Alice hesitated, glancing over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching from the house, but common sense told her that the servants were far too busy to worry about the troublesome child who occupied the nursery. It seemed that Rory Dearborn was alone in regarding Flora as a person in her own right. He was watching her with an indulgent smile, which broadened as he turned to Alice.

‘You’ve worked wonders. Flora is a different child.’

Alice shook her head. ‘She’s always been like this but she wasn’t allowed to express herself. That’s why she was so badly behaved.’

‘Well, you’ve certainly brought out the best in her—’ he broke off as a snowball hit him in the chest. ‘Why, you little devil.’ Laughing he bent down and made another, lobbing it at Flora, who dodged and counterattacked with yet another good shot.

Alice stood back, smiling at their antics until a snowball caught her a glancing blow on the cheek. Forgetting that she was supposed to be above such things, she joined in until they were all breathless with laughter. Flora’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling as she danced over to Alice. ‘Let’s make a snowman.’

Rory brushed flakes of ice off his overcoat. ‘You won that contest, I think, Flora.’

She grinned. ‘Yes, I did. I won, Alice.’

Alice was about to congratulate her when she heard the rumble of carriage wheels and she looked round. ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she said, pointing at the vehicle. ‘That looks like Mrs Dearborn. Your mama had returned, Flora.’

‘What will we do, Uncle Rory?’ Flora clutched his hand. ‘Mama will send Alice away. Please do something.’

Chapter Five

‘Wait here,’ Rory said firmly. ‘I’ll keep Lydia talking. Take Flora in by the servants’ entrance, Alice, and go up the back stairs to the nursery.’ He brushed Flora’s cheek with the tip of his fingers. ‘Don’t look so scared, poppet. I’ll take care of everything.’ He nodded to Alice and set off, strolling out of the gardens and across the road to arrive just as Lydia stepped out of the carriage.

Under cover of the tall plane trees, Alice waited until they entered the house and as soon as the front door closed she took Flora by the hand and hurried her across the street. The wrought-iron gate opened noiselessly and they descended the steps to the basement area. Alice tapped on the door and after a minute or two it was opened by Nettie. She gaped at them open-mouthed.

‘Lawks! What’s going on, miss?’

‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ Alice said, propelling Flora into the narrow passageway. ‘We thought we’d come in this way so that Miss Flora could thank Cook and the kitchen maids for all their trouble.’

‘Well, I never did. I never heard of such a thing.’ Nettie backed away, turned and ran into the kitchen.

Flora glanced up at Alice, a frown creasing her brow, but Alice placed her finger to her lips. ‘Just follow my lead.’

The kitchen was hot and steamy, filled with the savoury aroma of fried onions, herbs and roasting meat. Every surface was covered with baskets of fruit and vegetables and the ingredients for the festive meal. One of the daily cleaning women was at the sink in the scullery, plucking a large goose, and feathers floated to the ground like snowflakes. Cook was at the table whisking something light and frothy, while a small girl, even younger than Nettie, was attempting to peel the skin off blanched almonds.

Alice led her young charge across the slippery flagstones to the table. ‘Miss Flora has something she would like to say to you and the kitchen staff, Cook.’ She nudged Flora, who had been staring at the preparations, wide-eyed.

‘Thank you for making such nice meals,’ she said in a small voice.

Cook stared at her, gulped and swallowed. ‘There’s no need for thanks, Miss Flora. We’re just doing what’s expected of us.’

‘Nevertheless, Miss Flora wanted you all to know that she appreciates what you do. Merry Christmas to you all.’

‘Yes,’ Flora said, nodding. ‘Merry Christmas.’ She was about to take a mince pie from the table, but Alice hurried her towards the back stairs.

When they reached the nursery she saw to Flora first and then took off her sodden boots and hung her stockings from the mantelshelf to dry.

‘Well, that was a near thing,’ she said, pulling up a chair and resting her bare feet on the fender.

Flora sat on the floor, warming her hands in front of the fire. ‘I don’t care if I get into trouble, but I don’t want Mama to send you away, Alice.’

‘That won’t happen, I promise you.’ Rory’s voice from the doorway made them both turn with a start.

Alice hastily covered her bare limbs with her damp skirts and rose to her feet. ‘We were just getting warm.’ She knew she was blushing and she was embarrassed to be caught barefoot and barelegged, but if Rory had noticed he gave no sign of it.

‘That’s very sensible of you. I came to reassure you that my sister-in-law suspects nothing.’

Flora gazed up at him. ‘So Alice won’t be sent away?’

‘I think it’s safe to say that Miss Radcliffe will stay for as long as she wants.’

‘If Alice leaves then I’ll go with her.’ Flora jumped to her feet. ‘Will I see you tomorrow, Uncle Rory? Are you coming to dinner?’

He nodded, smiling. ‘I am indeed. My landlady is the worst cook in London, and probably the worst cook in England, so I have to come here if I want a good meal.’

‘I’m glad,’ Flora said earnestly. ‘I mean, I’m not glad that she’s a bad cook, I’m just happy that you’ll be here on Christmas Day. I only wish that I could see my real mother and give her a present.’

Forgetting everything other than the child’s needs, Alice slipped her arm around Flora’s shoulders. She met Rory’s concerned look with a question in her eyes that she could not voice in Flora’s presence.

He nodded, seeming to understand. ‘I’m sure she was well compensated and now lives in a degree of comfort. She wanted the best for you, Flora.’

‘Will you take me to see her, please?’

‘Much as I’d love to make you happy, I’m not sure that would be the right thing to do. I can’t go against your father’s wishes.’

Flora stamped her foot. ‘He’s not my father. I want to know who my real father is, and I want to go and see my mother. If you don’t take me I’ll run away and I’ll find Blossom Street. That’s where she lives; Smithson said so.’

Alice laid her hand on Flora’s shoulder. ‘You can’t do that, my dear. She might not be there now and you would be all alone in a part of London you know nothing about.’ She turned to Rory. ‘You shouldn’t encourage her, sir.’

He nodded, frowning. ‘Yes, you’re right. What Miss Radcliffe says is true, Flora. But I’ll see if I can find out exactly where she is living. I can’t promise anything, but I might be able to arrange for us to visit her, if that would set your mind at rest.’

Flora’s eyes shone with excitement and she jumped up and down. ‘Yes, I want to see her more than anything in the world. I think it must be a lovely place where she lives with trees covered in pink blossom and the sun is always shining. Sometimes I see her in my dreams. She’s beautiful, like a golden angel.’

‘I think you’re old enough to learn the truth about your family,’ Rory said, frowning. ‘I’ll see what I can do, Floss, but I have to go now as I have an important business appointment. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Alice followed him to the door. ‘You shouldn’t tell her things just to make her happy. This could end badly.’

He met her searching gaze with a hint of a smile. ‘I promise to do my best for everyone concerned. I wouldn’t hurt Flora for the world.’

Flora was tired after playing in the snow and needed little persuasion to go to bed that evening after supper. Alice helped her to wash and put on her flannel nightgown, and when Flora was comfortably settled she read her a story, but Flora was asleep before the tale ended. Alice put the guard around the fire and blew out the candles before leaving the room, and as she made her way downstairs she racked her brains in an attempt to think of a suitable present for Flora. She was still deep in thought when she reached the entrance hall where she met Rory, who was also about to leave the house.

‘I wasn’t expecting to see you, Mr Dearborn.’

‘My meeting finished early and I had to come this way to give my brother some papers. Is Flora behaving herself?’

Alice suppressed a gurgle of laughter. ‘She’s being an angel.’

Hoskins opened the front door, staring at a point somewhere above their heads with an impassive expression.

‘Good night, Hoskins,’ Rory said easily. He proffered his arm to Alice. ‘It’s starting to snow again. We could share a cab.’

The steps were coated in ice and Alice accepted his help. ‘Thank you, but I haven’t far to go.’

‘I believe you’re residing in Queen Square. It’s quite a long walk on a cold and wintry night.’

‘Alice. There you are. I’ve been waiting for a good half-hour.’

To Alice’s dismay Horace appeared as if from nowhere. Snowflakes sparkled on his top hat and the shoulders of his caped greatcoat.

‘I didn’t ask you to meet me,’ she said angrily. ‘I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way home.’

Horace uttered a whinnying snort. ‘Now, now, my dear, we’re about to become engaged, so I am in some way responsible for your safety.’

Rory’s expression gave nothing away as he released Alice’s hand. ‘May I be the first to congratulate you, sir?’

‘And who may you be?’ Horace demanded.

‘This is ridiculous.’ Alice looked from one to the other, shaking her head. ‘We do not have an understanding, Horace. That was my aunt’s idea and had nothing to do with me.’ She could feel the cold seeping through the worn soles of her boots and she shivered. ‘I thank both of you gentlemen, but I wish to be alone.’ She marched off, leaving them standing on the pavement.

‘Where is Horace?’ Jane stood in the dining-room doorway, hands clasped together as if in prayer. ‘He was told to meet you and bring you home.’

Angry words rose to her lips but Alice could see her mother standing behind Jane with an anxious look on her pale face. ‘I don’t need my hand held by him or anyone, and he seems to think that I’ve agreed to our engagement.’

‘You have no choice,’ Jane said coldly. ‘You obey me in this or I wash my hands of the pair of you. Horace needs a wife and you and your mother need a home.’

‘Have you no pity, Jane?’ Beth’s voice broke on a sob. ‘How can you be so hard-hearted?’

Jane turned on her in a swirl of black silk. ‘My heart was broken when my dear Robert departed this world. How dare you question my judgement? You ruined my brother with your spendthrift ways, and your daughter seems to take after you. She would be a fool to turn down an offer from a man like Horace.’ She pointed a shaking finger at Clara, who was standing by the open front door. ‘Close the door, Snippet, you foolish child.’

‘Yes, ma’am, but I think I see Mr Hubble walking through the snow.’ Clara clapped her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. ‘Oops. He’s come a purler.’

Jane strode across the floor to push Clara out of the way. ‘Horace Hubble, get up this instant and stop acting the fool.’ She waited until he had limped into the hall before slamming the door. ‘Just look at you, Horace. You’re plastered in snow.’

Alice covered her mouth with her hand, trying hard not to laugh.

Horace shot her a baleful look. ‘I suppose you think it’s funny, but I could have broken a limb.’

‘Well, you obviously didn’t,’ Jane said impatiently. ‘I gave you explicit instructions to wait for Alice and see her safely home, instead of which you act the fool, sliding around in the snow like a five-year-old. I despair of you sometimes, Horace.’ She turned on her heel and marched into the dining room. ‘And don’t think you can stay for dinner because you are not invited. Having two extra mouths to feed is an expense I could well do without, and you have an appetite like a horse.’

Alice felt almost sorry for Horace, who hung his head, looking sheepish. The tip of his nose had turned from red to blue and he was shivering convulsively. He clutched his top hat to his chest. ‘That’s rather harsh, Cousin. A drop of hot toddy would save me from catching a chill and it’s a long walk to West Smithfield.’

‘I do not hold with strong spirits, as you well know. A glass of sherry wine on special occasions is acceptable, as is communion wine, but strong drink is the work of the devil. Now go home and leave us to have our meal in peace.’

Horace made a move towards the door, ramming his slightly battered hat on his head. ‘I suppose you’ll pray for me when I’m dying of lung fever,’ he grumbled.

Clara opened the door for him and he left the house still muttering.

‘Bring the soup, Snippet,’ Jane called from the dining room. ‘We’ll dine now.’

Alice nodded to Clara. ‘I’ll hang my things up. Better do as my aunt says.’

Clara skipped off, no doubt to relate the goings-on above stairs to an interested Mrs Jugg.

Having divested herself of her outdoor garments, Alice entered the dining room to find her mother already seated at table.

Beth looked up and smiled. ‘How was it today, dear? Was the child better behaved?’

‘Never mind that now.’ Jane glared at Alice from her place at the head of the table. ‘I think you owe me an explanation as to your behaviour, young lady. Why did you refuse Horace’s offer to walk you home? Are you going out of your way to be difficult?’ Alice took her seat at table. ‘No, Aunt, but I’ve considered the matter carefully and I want nothing to do with Horace. I cannot stand the man and I’d rather live under a railway arch than tie myself to a creature like him.’

Beth gasped, staring at her sister-in-law wide-eyed. ‘She doesn’t mean it, Jane. Alice must be tired after a long day at the Dearborns’ establishment.’

‘That is no excuse for out-and-out rudeness. You will apologise, Alice.’

Alice could see that her outburst had upset her mother and she regretted her hasty words. ‘I am sorry if I offended you, Aunt Jane. But I dislike Horace intensely and I cannot see myself married to him.’

‘Whether you like or dislike your future husband is immaterial. You know my terms. You either accept them or you leave my house. Do you understand?’

After dinner, which as usual was badly cooked and meagre, Alice and her mother huddled by the fire in the dining room. Jane had gone to her room, warning them not to waste expensive candles by staying up late.

‘I am sorry, Mama,’ Alice said softly. ‘I was angry but I shouldn’t have spoken out against Horace like that.’

‘He isn’t the ideal husband,’ Beth agreed, sighing. ‘I’m sure he has many excellent qualities, but for a start he is much too old for you. I wouldn’t want to see you married to someone like him, even if it meant that we were to live in luxury.’

‘I can’t do anything until after Christmas, but I’ll start looking for a better-paid position so that we can find a room to rent, although I’ll hate to leave Flora. She’s a lonely little girl who pines for the mother she’s never known.’

‘That is sad, but if her mother gave her up willingly perhaps she is better off where she is.’

‘It’s hard being a servant, Mama. I keep forgetting that I’m supposed to be invisible and keep silent, especially when I see things going horribly wrong.’

‘I’d like to meet Flora, and I’d like to give Mrs Dearborn a piece of my mind.’

Alice chuckled at the thought of her meek and mild mother taking on a termagant like Lydia Dearborn. ‘I don’t know about that, Mama, but you’ll see Flora tomorrow. We’ll spend Christmas Day trying to make her happy, but I wish I had a present to give her.’

Beth frowned thoughtfully. ‘What would she like the most?’

‘That’s easy. She’d like to find her real mother.’

Next morning when Alice went to wake her mother she was alarmed to find her unwell and feverish.

‘I must have caught a chill,’ Beth said faintly. ‘It’s so cold in this house, and Jane insisted that I polish the brass door knocker yesterday, even though it was snowing.’

Alice laid her hand on her mother’s forehead. ‘You are rather hot. You ought to stay in bed, but I don’t want to leave you on your own.’

‘I’ll sleep most of the day, my darling. I would have loved to meet young Flora and see inside the Dearborns’ mansion, but I’m better off where I am.’

‘But it’s Christmas Day and I have nothing to give you, Mama. I am so sorry it’s come to this.’

Beth lifted a thin hand to touch her daughter’s cheek. ‘You are the greatest gift of all. What more could a mother want than a daughter who is kind as well as beautiful, and very talented?’

‘Mama, you’ll have me blushing if you say things like that.’ Alice leaned over to drop a kiss on her mother’s forehead. ‘I’ll ask Clara to keep an eye on you, and I’ll come home as soon as I’ve finished work.’ She was about to leave the room when her mother called her back.

‘I want to give you something.’ Beth’s voice was hoarse and little more than a whisper. ‘Look in my reticule. The only piece of jewellery that I have left is the silver butterfly brooch your father gave me when you were born. I want you to have it, my love.’

Alice hesitated; she knew how much her mother valued the delicate filigree brooch. ‘Are you sure, Mama? You don’t have to give me anything.’

‘I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you wear it, and it’s the only thing of value I managed to save from the bailiffs. Please take it, Alice.’

Not wanting to distress her mother, she reached for the reticule and took out the brooch, pinning it at the neck of her blouse. ‘Thank you, Mama. I’ll treasure it always.’

Beth’s eyelids drooped. ‘You mustn’t be late or Mrs Dearborn might dismiss you, and I’m sleepy.’

Alice tucked her in and left the room quietly, closing the door behind her. Downstairs in the dining room she found a plate of cold porridge waiting for her but there was no sign of her aunt. Clara brought her a pot of tea, and as usual there was neither milk nor sugar to make it more palatable.

Alice stirred the thick glutinous oatmeal, wrinkling her nose. ‘I can’t eat this. Has my aunt left for church, Clara?’

‘Yes, miss. She went out early and won’t be back for hours. I’m sorry about the porridge, but she made me put it out even though you weren’t here. She said something about being punctual for meals.’ She eyed the plate, licking her lips. ‘Mrs Jugg will tell her if you don’t eat it, miss.’

‘You can have it, Clara. If you don’t mind eating a cold sticky mess—’ She broke off as Clara seized the plate and proceeded to spoon the unappetising food into her mouth. ‘Are you always this hungry?’

Clara swallowed a mouthful. ‘I get my porridge watered down, miss. Cook says it goes further that way.’

‘I suppose it does.’ Alice finished her tea, ignoring the pangs of hunger that cramped her stomach. ‘Will you look in on my mother later, Clara? She’s unwell and I’d be grateful if you would take care of her for me. I’ll get home as soon as I can.’

Clara gulped down the last morsel. ‘I dare say there won’t be much merriment below stairs today, miss. I don’t think we’ll be feasting on roast goose and plum pudding, but I’ll keep an eye on the missis. She’s been kind to me.’

‘My mother is kind to everyone,’ Alice said, smiling. ‘I know I can rely on you, Clara. Merry Christmas, such as it is in this house.’

Alice arrived at the house in Russell Square to find the servants bustling about making ready for the guests to arrive. The kitchen was steamy and fragrant with delicious smells that made her mouth water when she collected Alice’s breakfast tray. Nettie had been set to work churning ice cream for the elaborate bombe that Cook was endeavouring to recreate from one of Mrs Beeton’s recipes. Mrs Upton was overseeing arrangements, marching around the kitchen like a sergeant major, and Hoskins had retired to his pantry to put the finishing touches to polishing the silver and the best crystal glasses. The Dearborns’ Christmas feast was obviously going to be a very grand affair. Alice took the back stairs, carrying the heavy tray to the nursery with a growing feeling of admiration for Nettie, who in the normal course of things had to do this several times each day.

Flora was unexpectedly subdued and quiet. She picked at her breakfast, showing little enthusiasm for the food.

‘What’s the matter?’ Alice asked anxiously. ‘Are you unwell, Flora?’

‘No. I’m quite well, thank you.’

‘You’ve been so excited about Christmas, so what’s wrong?’

‘They don’t want me here,’ Flora said, her bottom lip trembling. ‘And I want to be with my real mama.’

Alice moved swiftly to give her a comforting hug. ‘I understand.’

‘No,’ Flora cried, burying her head in her hands. ‘No one understands how I feel.’

Alice stroked her hair. ‘Your uncle said he would try to help, and I think you should put your trust in him. I’m sure he’ll do the right thing.’ She turned with a start at the sound of someone outside the door, and was about to tell Nettie that Flora had not finished her breakfast when Rory entered the room.

‘What’s all this, Flora?’ he said cheerfully. ‘Why the long face? It’s Christmas Day.’

She jumped to her feet and ran to him. ‘Have you found out where my real mama lives? May we go and see her today?’

‘I don’t know about that, Flora. I’m in a difficult position.’

‘But you promised, Uncle Rory. Alice told me you’d keep your word.’

He glanced at Alice, a wry smile curving his lips. ‘Did she now?’

‘Yes,’ Alice said sharply. ‘But it seems I was mistaken.’

‘As it happens I’ve given it a lot of thought since yesterday, and I think Flora should be allowed to visit her mother. My brother and sister-in-law won’t agree with me, but in this instance I’m prepared to risk their displeasure.’

Flora stared at him wide-eyed. ‘You’ll take me to see her?’

‘I will, but only if Miss Radcliffe will accompany us.’ He met Alice’s startled gaze with a question in his eyes.

‘Yes, of course I will. I think it’s a splendid idea. Put your coat on, Flora, and your best bonnet.’

‘You do realise that you could find yourself in serious trouble if we’re found out.’ Rory said in a low voice. ‘I wouldn’t ask it of you, but I think Flora will need you when she discovers that reality is sometimes hard to take.’

She nodded. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Blossom Street. It’s in Spitalfields, off White Lion Street. I’m afraid it’s not the most salubrious area in London.’

Rory had spoken the truth. Blossom Street sounded romantic and brought visions of trees in springtime decked with pink and white flowers, but nothing could be further from the truth. White Lion Street itself was lined on both sides with terraced Georgian townhouses, once owned by affluent silk weavers, but now fading into genteel poverty. Blossom Street was a mixture of warehouses, workshops and cheap lodging houses. The cabby had been reluctant to venture this far, but a large tip from Rory had persuaded him to wait for them on the corner.

The snow was knee-deep, giving Blossom Street a charm that it otherwise did not possess. Alice clutched Flora’s hand as they made their way to the address where Rory hoped to find Molly Bishop, Flora’s birth mother. He paused outside a red-brick house with green shutters that were hanging off their hinges, and a front door where the lower panels had either rotted or had been deliberately kicked in. Finding it unlocked, Rory opened it and stepped inside. Alice and Flora followed him, but the stench was suffocating and Alice covered her nose and mouth with her hand. Flora looked up at her, wrinkling her nose.

‘That’s disgusting,’ she said loudly.

‘Don’t worry,’ Rory said cheerfully. ‘It’s bound to get worse. If my information is correct Molly Bishop lives in the basement.’ He opened a door beneath the staircase and they were engulfed in a waft of fetid air.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Alice asked anxiously. ‘We could leave now, Flora.’

‘No,’ Flora said in a small voice. ‘I won’t leave without seeing my mama.’

Rory patted her on the shoulder. ‘All right, Floss, we’ve come this far.’ He met Alice’s gaze with a smile. ‘I’ll take her if you’d rather wait here.’

‘No,’ Alice said stoutly. ‘We’re in this together. Lead on.’

They descended into almost pitch-darkness where the evil-smelling air felt thick and cloying, like walking through a peasouper. The rancid odour of the tallow candle at the foot of the stairs added to the noxious vapours, and in its dim light there appeared to be just two rooms leading off a narrow hallway.

Rory motioned them to wait while he investigated the nearest, but he came out shaking his head. ‘You don’t want to go in there.’ He disappeared into the room at the rear of the building and returned moments later. ‘She’s in there, but you can change your mind, Flora. You don’t have to put yourself through this if it’s too much for you.’

‘Yes, Flora,’ Alice said earnestly. ‘We can leave some money for your mother and she’ll understand. She made a huge sacrifice in giving you up.’

‘I want to see her, and I want to ask her why she did it.’

Rory picked up the candle. ‘I hope I’ve done the right thing by bringing you here.’

‘It’s a bit late to worry about that, isn’t it?’ Alice tightened her hold on Flora’s small hand. ‘I’m with you, dear.’

The appalling smell was made worse by the stench of unwashed bodies and human excrement. Even in the dim light of a single candle Alice could see fungus sprouting from the lichen-encrusted walls, and she was aware of hunched shapes, some lying on the floor as if dead to the world, while others propped themselves up against the bare brickwork. All of them were clad in filthy rags. The more fortunate adults wore boots, but the children appeared to be barefoot in the bone-chilling cold. A loud keening made Alice’s blood curdle in her veins.

Chapter Six

‘What do you want, guv? If you’re the landlord we ain’t got no money for rent.’ One of the shadowy shapes rose with difficulty, holding out stick-like arms. ‘Have pity on a poor widow, sir.’

Rory took a step forward, keeping a wary eye on the other occupants of the cellar. ‘Are you Molly Bishop?’

The woman shrank back into the darkness and another, bolder figure stepped forward. ‘Who wants to know? If you’re the law then I never done nothing wrong. It were Long Nell what bashed the cove over the head. I weren’t even there at the time.’

‘I’m not the law, madam,’ Rory said hastily. ‘If you are Molly Bishop speak up. There’s someone who wants to meet you.’ He held the candle closer to reveal a woman who, despite her dishevelled appearance, was better dressed and fractionally cleaner than the other occupants of the cellar.

‘And if I am Molly Bishop, what would the likes of you want with me?’

‘It was your child’s Christmas wish to meet her mother.’ Rory placed a protective hand on Flora’s shoulder. ‘This is your daughter, or so I’ve been led to believe.’

Molly clutched her bony hands to her breast. ‘Is it really you, Fanny?’

‘Flora,’ Rory said sternly. ‘Her name is Flora.’

‘Of course it is. My mind wanders something terrible these days.’

‘It’s the laudanum, my duck.’ The woman who had spoken first cackled with laughter. ‘Got a penny piece so she can get some more, guv?’

‘Shut up, you old troll.’ Molly peered at Flora, twisting her lips into a parody of a smile. ‘Come to your mama, darling.’

Flora’s fingers curled around Alice’s hand and she shook her head.

‘You’re frightening her, ma’am,’ Alice said, drawing Flora closer.

‘You are me long lost child.’ Molly insisted. ‘Me little daughter what was robbed from me by rich folk. I never wanted to give you up, me little angel.’

Rory stepped in between them. ‘That’s not quite true, is it, Molly?’

‘As I said just now, I’m the child’s mother.’ She inched towards Flora. ‘I was tricked into giving you away, my baby girl.’

‘As I heard it you were quite handsomely paid,’ Rory said calmly. ‘Where are your other children? You had seven of them, according to Smithson.’ He held up his hand as Molly opened her mouth to protest. ‘I know she’s not the most reliable witness, but when I tracked her down yesterday she was reasonably sober and it was she who told me where to find you.’

‘Well, I could lie to you, guv, but the sad truth is that they’re all gone. The little ’uns is buried in paupers’ graves and the older ones have run away, the ungrateful brats. They left their poor ma to survive on the streets. I ain’t had a proper meal in days – weeks, even.’

‘She lying, guv. It’s her what owns the building. She’s here to collect the rent from us poor devils.’ The voice from the shadows spoke up again, accompanied by grunts of assent.

‘Don’t take no notice of her,’ Molly said hastily. ‘She’s touched in the head – they all are. I’m poor like them and in need of help.’

‘Have I got brothers and sisters?’ Flora asked anxiously. ‘Why did you give me away? Didn’t you love me?’

Molly eyed her speculatively. ‘Of course I did, me little flower. I loves you with all me heart, but they snatched you from me arms. I cried for a week after you’d gone.’ She reached out to grab Flora by the arm. ‘Now you’ve come back and you can look after your old ma. I got plans for you, darling.’

Flora pulled away, cowering against Alice. ‘I don’t want to live here. You’re not the beautiful angel I see in my dreams.’

A ripple of grim laughter echoed round the room, and Molly turned on her companions with her hands balled into fists. ‘Shut up, the lot of you.’ She bent down so that her face was close to Flora’s. ‘You wouldn’t leave poor Molly to rot, would you, sweetheart?’

‘I think I’d like to go home,’ Flora whispered.

‘We’ve seen and heard enough.’ Rory put his hand in his pocket and took out a small leather purse. ‘This will keep you in laudanum or whatever takes your fancy for a few days, Molly. Merry Christmas.’

She snatched the money and slipped it down the neck of her blouse, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. ‘So you’re taking me baby away again, are you, guv? I deserve more compensation than that.’

‘You surely don’t expect the child to stay here, do you?’ Rory moved closer to Alice and Flora as the other occupants of the basement room stirred, some of them rising to their feet and others slithering towards them on their backsides.

‘You could take me with you, sir.’ Molly eyed Flora with a sly smile. ‘I could look after me girl. You needn’t tell no one that we’re mother and child. You could say I’m the new nursemaid.’ She made a move towards Flora. ‘You love your old ma, don’t you, girl? Otherwise you wouldn’t have come all this way to see me.’

Alice could stand no more. ‘You are a mean, ungrateful woman, Molly. You don’t deserve a lovely daughter like Flora. It was her dearest wish to find you and make sure you were all right, and this is how you treat her. Do you never think of anyone other than yourself?’

‘I want to go now,’ Flora whispered.

‘That’s right,’ Molly pointed a bony finger at Flora. ‘Run off with your rich friends and leave me here to rot. I’m the one what gave you life and this is how you treat me.’

Low growling sounds echoed off the walls as the other occupants advanced on them. Rory reached into his pocket once again and dropped a handful of coins in their midst. In the wild scramble that ensued he guided Alice and Flora out of the room and up the stairs. Screams and threats followed them even as they reached the street, but thankfully the cab was waiting for them on the corner, as instructed.

‘It’ll be double what I quoted you, guv,’ the cabby said crossly.

‘I won’t argue with that.’ Rory bundled Flora into the cab and Alice climbed in after her. ‘Drive on, cabby.’ Rory jumped in and slammed the door.

Flora sobbed all the way home and nothing that either Alice or Rory could say seemed to comfort her.

‘This was a terrible mistake,’ Alice said in a low voice. ‘We’ve only made things worse for the poor child.’

‘She’s upset now but maybe it’s for the best. At least she knows what sort of woman her mother is.’

Alice was not convinced. She tightened her hold on Flora and they lapsed into silence until they reached Russell Square.

They were met in the entrance hall by Lydia, who had been issuing orders to Hoskins, but she broke off when she saw them.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ she demanded angrily. ‘How dare you take Flora out without first consulting me?’

Rory handed his hat and coat to Hoskins, who backed away hastily. ‘Merry Christmas, Lydia. I must say that the house looks very festive.’

‘You can’t get round me that way, Rory. I want an answer.’

Flora opened her mouth to speak, but Alice silenced her with a warning glance.

‘I knew you would be busy preparing for your guests to arrive,’ Rory said smoothly. ‘So I took the liberty of asking Flora and Miss Radcliffe to accompany me to my office in Ludgate Circus, where I had a surprise for Flora.’

‘What sort of surprise?’ Lydia shook her head. ‘Really, you are the most exasperating person, Rory.’

‘It’s a secret, Lydia.’ Rory winked at Flora and patted his jacket pocket. ‘One that must be put beneath the Christmas tree with the other presents.’

Lydia threw up her hands. ‘You are talking nonsense, and you abused our trust by taking Flora from the house without my permission.’ She turned to Alice, frowning. ‘As for you, Miss Radcliffe, I’ll deal with you later.’

‘No, Mama.’ Flora stamped her foot, scowling. ‘You must not blame her. It was my doing and I threatened to have a tantrum if she didn’t allow me to go with Uncle Rory.’

‘Keep out of this, Flora. It’s none of your business.’

‘I’ll scream and make myself sick if you don’t promise to be nice to Alice.’ Flora opened her mouth, closing her eyes and screwing up her face until tears oozed from beneath her eyelids.

‘Stop that, you horrid child,’ Lydia cried, holding her hand to her forehead. ‘My guests will be arriving for luncheon at any moment. Stop it, I say.’

Flora opened one eye. ‘Do you promise, Mama?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She was shaking with barely suppressed anger as she spun round to face Alice. ‘In the future if Mr Dearborn suggests an outing you must check with me first, Miss Radcliffe. Do you understand?’

Alice nodded and bobbed a curtsey. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Come with me, Rory. I haven’t finished with you.’ Lydia marched off in the direction of the staircase, leaving Flora and Alice to make their way back to the nursery.

‘Don’t worry, poppet,’ Rory said, winking at Flora. ‘I’ll see you later.’ His expression changed subtly as he turned to Alice. ‘All will be well, I promise,’ he added in a low voice. ‘Coming, Lydia.’ He strolled off, following in his sister-in-law’s wake.

Flora waited until they were back in the nursery. She grinned up at Alice. ‘Uncle Rory is a good liar and I’m rather good at getting my own way.’

‘Are you all right, my dear?’ Alice asked anxiously. ‘I know you were very upset by what we saw this morning. Your uncle meant well by taking you to see your mother.’

Flora sank down on the chair by the fire, holding her hands out to the blaze. ‘I know that, and now I’m sorry I made such a fuss about finding her. Do you think that person was just pretending to be my mama? Maybe she wanted money. She didn’t seem to have any or she wouldn’t have been living in such a dreadful place.’

Alice sat down beside her. ‘That could be a possibility.’

‘But you don’t think so?’

‘To tell you the truth I don’t know what to believe. There’s one thing for certain, and that is your uncle really loves you and I’m sure that your father does too. Your mama might have an odd way of showing it, but she obviously cares about you or she wouldn’t take so much trouble to keep you safe.’

Flora put her head on one side, a frown creasing her brow. ‘I suppose so.’

‘And you have a good home here, even if the rules are very strict. I think what you need most is the company of other children.’

‘I don’t know how to play games. When Smithson used to take me for a walk in the square I used to see children playing together, but they never asked me to join in with them.’

Alice stared into the flames as they danced around the coals, creating glow fairies in the soot on the fireback. ‘I know how you feel. I was an only child and it can be lonely, but you have me now.’

‘And Uncle Rory. I wonder what’s he’s going to give me. There was that big present he put under the tree and now there’s the little package he had in his pocket. I can’t wait to find out.’

An hour later a flustered Nettie brought them their luncheon, complaining bitterly about the amount of work that guests created. She thumped the tray down on the table and stomped off, grumbling beneath her breath. Alice attacked her food with a keen appetite, but her thoughts were with her mother and she could only hope that Clara was keeping an eye on her. It had been a traumatic morning, but at least Flora seemed to have recovered from her meeting with Molly Bishop. She appeared to have convinced herself that the woman was lying and that her real mother was the angel she had imagined her to be. Alice did not try to persuade her otherwise. It seemed too cruel to make a nine-year-old face up to such a stark reality.

Shortly after Nettie had cleared the table and taken the tray back to the kitchen, she returned breathless and red in the face to tell them they were summoned to the drawing room. ‘Me legs will drop off if I have to climb them stairs again today,’ she grumbled. ‘Cook is in a flap because the jelly didn’t set in time for luncheon and she had to serve the mince pies she was saving for dinner this evening. She threw a saucepan at Winnie what’s come in to help with the serving up and covered her with custard. Luckily it was cold or she’d have been scalded and might have died.’

‘I wish I’d seen it,’ Flora said, giggling. ‘I wonder if she licked it off. I love custard.’

Alice grabbed her by the hand. ‘Yes, so do I, but I wouldn’t like to wear it. Come along, Flora, we’ve been told to go downstairs. You want your presents, don’t you?’

‘You’re lucky,’ Nettie said gloomily. ‘I won’t get no presents. I’m off to Wapping to visit me mum and dad tomorrow, but I won’t get nothing. Poor folk can’t afford to give each other presents.’

‘Do they live in a cellar, Nettie?’ Flora asked eagerly. ‘Is it cold and damp and smells nasty?’

‘Certainly not, miss. They’re respectable folks. Pa is a lighterman and Ma takes in washing, but there’s twelve of us children and money is tight.’ She made for the door and held it open with a dreamy smile on her face. ‘One Christmas I had a poke of peppermint creams. I loves them more than anything, but I’m quite partial to toffee and barley sugar as well.’ She wandered off, still rhapsodising about the delights of sugary treats.

‘I’ll ask Uncle Rory to buy her some sweets,’ Flora said in a whisper as she followed Alice downstairs. ‘I’ve never thought about how poor people live before. It’s not nice.’

‘No,’ Alice agreed. ‘Poverty is dreadful.’ A vision of Horace Hubble sprang to mind and she shuddered. Would such a marriage be preferable to living hand to mouth? She led the way to the drawing room, putting such thoughts aside, and was about to knock on the door when Flora pushed past her and barged into the room. She dropped a dramatic curtsey for the benefit of the visitors and smiling angelically she marched up to her parents.

‘Merry Christmas, Mama and Papa, and everybody. May I have my presents now?’

A ripple of amusement greeted her theatrical entrance, and Lydia managed a tight little smile. Her husband leaned over to pick Flora up and he dandled her on his knee. ‘Merry Christmas, my darling.’ He kissed her on the cheek and set her back on the floor. ‘You may open your gifts.’

Alice stood at the back of the room watching Flora’s apparently carefree performance. She could only wonder at the resilience of children, and a quick glance in Rory’s direction convinced her that he was thinking along the same lines. Flora was sitting on the floor unwrapping the large present he had given her, and he edged his way through the assembled guests to stand beside Alice. ‘She’s quite remarkable,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I was afraid she would be devastated.’

‘Children are tougher than we imagine,’ Alice answered in a whisper. ‘She’s convinced herself that Molly Bishop is not who she claims to be.’

He frowned, shaking his head. ‘I was wrong to take her there. I should have known better.’

Alice was prevented from replying by a cry of delight from Flora as she opened a large wooden box and showed off its contents. ‘It’s a paint box,’ she cried gleefully. ‘With brushes so that I can make proper pictures. Maybe I could be an artist at your printing works, Uncle Rory.’

‘An able apprentice, I’m sure. You’re a lucky little girl, Flora.’ A large man with a red velvet waistcoat straining at his corpulent belly slapped Rory on the back. ‘That’s a splendid gift.’

Flora closed the box, stroking the polished lid with the tips of her fingers. ‘I want to be an artist like Alice.’

Heads turned to stare at her and Alice felt the blood rush to her cheeks. ‘Thank you, Flora, but I’m sure you are more talented than I.’

‘There is still our present, Flora,’ Lydia said icily. ‘Why not open it now?’

Flora reached beneath the tree and took out a much smaller gift, which she opened carefully. ‘A Bible,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Thank you, Mama and Papa.’

‘A leather-bound Bible,’ Lydia said firmly. ‘With your initials embossed on it in gold leaf, Flora. Aren’t you a lucky little girl?’

‘It’s very nice.’ Flora laid it aside, peering under the tree. ‘Where is the other present from Uncle Rory? He said he brought it especially for me.’

Once again heads turned to stare at Rory. ‘Did I forget to put it under the tree?’ he said loudly. ‘My fault entirely, Floss.’

‘You said you went to your office to fetch it,’ Lydia said icily. ‘Let us all see it, Rory.’

Flora jumped to her feet. ‘I can’t wait. I’m sure it’s something very special.’

Rory leaned closer to Alice. ‘It wasn’t for her. I thought she might forget with all her other gifts to open.’

‘You have to give her something,’ Alice said in a whisper. ‘You can’t disappoint her now.’

‘Well, Rory, we’re waiting,’ Frederick Dearborn rose from his seat. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve lost it.’ He glanced round at the flushed faces of his guests. ‘This is typical of my brother. He always was a scatterbrain. I could tell you stories of our childhood and the pranks he used to play. Our father beat him so often that at times he could hardly sit down.’

‘Don’t be vulgar, Frederick,’ Lydia said primly. She glared at Rory. ‘Well, where is it? We’re waiting.’

Rory patted his pocket. ‘I must have dropped it in the hallway. Perhaps Miss Radcliffe will be kind enough to help me look.’ He held his hand up as Flora danced towards him. ‘Wait there, poppet. This won’t take a second.’ He opened the door and stepped outside, followed by Alice.

‘Did you have anything for her, or not?’ she demanded angrily. ‘You can see how disappointed she was by her parents’ present.’

‘That would be Lydia’s doing. She’s not over-generous when it comes to her daughter.’

‘That’s not an answer. Have you something for her or not?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid not. I just said the first thing that came into my head.’

‘So what was in the little parcel?’

‘It was a small gift for you, Alice.’ He took the package from his pocket. ‘I know it was a liberty, but I also knew that my sister-in-law would never think of giving you a present, even though you’ve done so much for Flora in such a short space of time. She’s a different child.’

‘I wasn’t expecting anything. You must give it to Flora.’

‘I can’t.’ He laid it in her hand. ‘It’s not suitable for a nine-year-old, and it’s only a trinket, but you’ve been so kind to Flora, and I thought you’d like it.’

She opened it and found a gold ring with a single pearl in a claw setting. ‘It’s lovely.’

‘I saw it in a jeweller’s window and I thought of you.’

Alice shot him a sideways glance and realised that he was being serious. She knew she was blushing, but she was more concerned about Flora than she was for herself. Thinking quickly, she took off her precious butterfly brooch, which she had hidden beneath the stiff white collar of her uniform dress. She placed it in the paper and wrapped it, placing it in his hand. ‘The ring is beautiful, but I can’t accept it. Give this to Flora; she’ll love it as I always have.’

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