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

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.’