The Christmas Card: The perfect heartwarming novel for Christmas from the Sunday Times bestseller

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.’