What the Dickens!
A Euphemia Martins Christmas Story

Caroline Dunford

NOTE TO READERS

 

This Christmas story takes place after A Death for King and Country (Euphemia Martins Mysteries Book 7), but can be read out of order without fear of spoilers!

Frost as pretty as lace outlined the edges of my window. My breath hung before me in little clouds and my fire crackled as I sat up in bed and drank my morning tea. I wondered if snow would come today. I imagined the Muller estate would look spectacular covered in white. The trees down by the lake would be particularly pretty. It seemed as if Christmas 1912 might be the best we had had for years.

The maids had been and gone about their early morning tasks and currently all was quiet. Richenda and Hans’ adopted daughter, Amelia, who had been found under the most extraordinary circumstances, had finally settled into her new home thanks to the help of her temporary nursemaid, my old friend Merry. We were no longer kept awake by her cries and shouting.

All of us quite understood that the tot had been through more than most two-year-olds, but when your sleep is broken every night for several months one becomes irritable and tired. Richenda’s former insistence at staying by the side of her new daughter had wrought havoc in the marital department of the Mullers’ marriage to the extent the poor man had had to beg me for help in veiled, but embarrassing, terms. But all this was behind us.

My most recent adventures had concluded satisfactorily – which I confess is unusual – and I was looking forward to the prospect of a happy Christmas, safe in my position of companion to the lady of the house. Frankly, the Mullers, for various reasons, were more than generous to me, and Merry seemed to have quite forgiven me for my rise in status.

We had begun as maids at the infamous Stapleford Hall, Richenda’s birthplace. Merry had always been supportive of my various promotions, but now I had risen to a level that was closer to lady than servant. To complete matters Bertram, Richenda’s half-brother and my unwilling, but loyal, companion in various adventures, was due to arrive to spend Christmas with us all.

Of course I would have liked to have been back home with Little Joe and Mother, but I had been able to send them a substantial amount of money, so I was assured they would be having a very merry Christmas too.

All in all, everything was right in the world. I found myself humming a carol under my breath as I used the wash-stand. Despite the fire it was cool in my room and I promised myself I would have a bath before dinner. This morning, after breakfast, Richenda, Merry, Amelia, and I were to decorate the huge tree the new head gardener had set up in the hall. Hans had spared no expense for his daughter’s first Christmas here and had sent for the most expensive of tree trimmings from Harrods store. Boxes of them were downstairs waiting to be opened.

I chose my older green dress to wear. I expected that tree-trimming, especially with a toddler, might get quite messy. [1] Richenda was already at breakfast, picking at a smoked haddock on her plate, and looking glum. My heart sank.

‘Is something wrong?’ I asked.

Richenda gave me a tired smile. ‘I’m feeling a little under the weather this morning. It must have been something at dinner last night.’

Yes, too much cake, I thought. Richenda was extremely fond of cake. She could also be temperamental, so we were all inclined to ply her with yet more cake when she was low or difficult. I could see from her waistline that this was something all of us would have to curb. Since she had married Hans, though, and since the arrival of Amelia in particular, Richenda was improved beyond measure from the old days at Stapleford Hall, when she had been under the sway of her manipulative and, quite frankly, black-hearted brother. In contrast, she had shown herself to have a heart of gold.

‘Shall we put off dressing the tree till tomorrow?’ I suggested. ‘It is only the eighteenth of December and many families do not decorate their tree until Christmas Eve.’

‘No, I don’t want to do that. Amy has been so excited about the boxes in the hall. It would be a great shame to disappoint her. I will be fine.’ She pushed away the plate of haddock. ‘I usually love it,’ she said, ‘but the smell is making me feel sick.’

‘Shall I ring for some more hot toast? That always settles my stomach.’ I lifted the lid of the teapot. ‘And more tea. This is rather stewed.’

Richenda nodded. ‘Hans came down very early this morning. There’s some surprise he is arranging. He thinks I don’t know anything about it.’ She gave a very feminine smile. ‘He can be so sweet.’

Pleased as I was for Richenda, I did not want to listen to romantic anecdotes over my breakfast. Instead I asked her about the toys ordered for Amelia. Her face softened and she began an alarmingly long list. Really, if they gave all these toys to the tot she would disappear under the mountain they made and never be seen again. However, I kept my thoughts to myself. Instead, when I could take no more about how Professor So-and-so thought it good for children to be introduced to musical instruments early in their life – a decision I knew we would all come to regret – I turned her thoughts to the estate ball for the servants and we passed the time quite happily thinking of games and treats for the staff. Richenda wanted to organise a game of blind man’s buff. At that moment Stone, the appropriately named butler, came into the room and Richenda and I almost fell off our seats laughing. The idea of such a correct and serious individual playing silly Christmas games was irresistible.

Fortunately Stone had not heard our conversation and stood there stoically regarding the opposite wall until we composed ourselves. When Richenda had wiped the last tear of mirth away, Stone announced, ‘Mr Bertram Stapleford is here.’

‘Gosh,’ said Richenda. ‘I wasn’t expecting him until just before dinner.’

‘I cannot explain the gentleman’s early arrival, ma’am, but I feel I should inform you that Mr Stapleford does not appear happy.’

‘Oh,’ said Richenda, somewhat taken aback. It was most unlike Stone to venture an opinion on a guest and on a member of the family it was unheard of.

‘I did not like to mention it, ma’am,’ continued Stone, ‘but I felt you should be warned.’

The words were barely out of his mouth before Bertram erupted into the room. His face was black as thunder and contorted in a ghastly frown. His unfortunate beard, one no one could convince him to get rid of, seemed longer in a tufty sort of way.[2]

‘Damn, this bloody season!’ he cried and threw himself down into a chair. ‘Eggs, Stone. I want eggs. Fresh and scrambled. Toast, and coffee as black as ink.’

‘At once, sir,’ said Stone and left.

‘It’s lovely to see you too, brother,’ said Richenda.

‘Gah,’ said Bertram.

‘I beg your pardon,’ said Richenda, a note of warning in her voice.

‘It is fortunate you have arrived early,’ I interjected, hoping to avoid a sibling spat, ‘we are shortly to dress the tree with Amelia. It should be most entertaining.’

‘Pah,’ said Bertram, showing a little diversity in his speech, ‘McLeod would be more use. He’s taller.’

This was said with all the bitterness of a shorter gentleman. Rory McLeod, now butler at Bertram’s estate, White Orchards, and once my fiancée, was tall, broad, golden haired, and handsome. Bertram was short and dark, his delicate features taken from his French Mama. [3] Both men had once been rivals for my affection. Rory from real affection and Bertram out of a misplaced sense of duty. It was all terribly awkward.

‘Amelia will be down shortly. She will be delighted to see you,’ I said desperately. Bertram, although approving of children in general and Amelia’s adoption in particular, had the natural wariness of the male towards small, unpredictable creatures.

‘Hmm,’ said Bertram, toning his grumpiness down slightly.

Bertram’s eggs, Merry, and the aforementioned small creature arrived at the same time. Amelia ran to her mother.

‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself,’ said Richenda. ‘What have you and Merry been up to?’’

‘’Umptious,’ said Amelia.

‘Christmas porridge,’ explained Merry. ‘She means it’s scrumptious.’

‘My, that’s a big word,’ said Bertram, trying to be avuncular. ‘Scrumptious.’ Amelia happily turned her attention towards him and trotted over. Bertram’s eyes rolled in his head, displaying far too much white, rather like a frightened horse.

‘I ate lots ’n’ lots ’n’ lots,’ said Amelia proudly. She then gave a little hiccough. Merry and I moved as one, but we were too late. Amelia deposited a substantial portion of her breakfast in Bertram’s lap. Bertram leapt to his feet, uttering a small cry of distress.

‘Shall I get Stone to show you to your room?’ said Richenda with all the nonchalance of a mother used to the activities of toddlers.

Bertram stood, Amelia’s vomit dripping slowly down onto his shoes, and nodded forlornly.

Merry and Richenda fussed over the child, who having now lost her the contents of her stomach was asking for more porridge. I found the view out of the window most attractive. Stone whisked Bertram away without further embarrassment.

‘Well, I suppose if Uncle Bertram doesn’t want his eggs,’ Richenda said to her daughter.

‘I think perhaps a little toast, ma’am,’ said Merry quickly. ‘We don’t want Amelia’s tummy being yucky on the Christmas tree, do we?’

Amelia, having argued for jam, sat down to the task of making herself seriously sticky.

‘I don’t think that improved Bertram’s mood,’ I commented.

‘No,’ agreed Richenda, ‘but it was rather funny.’

‘I’d be surprised if you saw him before dinner,’ said Merry, who having served the Staplefords since her childhood, knew Bertram’s sulks of old.

Richenda poured Merry a cup of tea. When no one else was around the distinction of rank was not as defined as it should be. My mother would be horrified, but then the three of us had been through so many adventures separately and collectively that if sometimes felt as if the rules of the normal world didn’t apply to us. ‘I’m thinking,’ said Richenda eyeing Merry meaningfully, ‘that it is going to put a bit of a dampener on Christmas if Bertram continues in this frame of mind.’

‘You mean we need a plan,’ said Merry, grinning mischievously.

I regarded them with foreboding. ‘Perhaps there is something amiss that is causing his distress,’ I said.

‘Other than Rory being taller?’ said Richenda.

‘Other than Amelia being sick?’ said Merry.

‘Beard bad,’ said Amelia through her toast.

‘Why does he persist in trying to grow it?’ asked Richenda.

I shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’

‘Will you be wearing the lovely evening gown I had made to go with the hats I gave you last Christmas?’ asked Richenda suddenly. She turned to Merry. ‘I am trying to make Euphemia understand that she needs signature colours. I have chosen purple and green for her.’

‘Lovely,’ said Merry, her eyes sparkling, ‘I’d give a lot to see that. How about a fashion show, Euphemia?’

Richenda’s pet project of clothing me had on more than one occasion led to my doing an excellent impression of a mouldy cabbage. An experience I was not keen to repeat. ‘So what are we going to do about Bertram?’ I said, heartlessly sacrificing him in my own interest.

By the time the tree was finished we had a plan. I felt it was both highly imaginative and doomed to failure from the start. Fortunately, I would not be the one starting it off. Richenda stood, hands on hips, in the centre of the lobby, looking up at our efforts. The tree had been placed next to the sweeping staircase so we could reach the higher branches from the stairs. The whole thing sparkled and glittered. Each branch was laden with the finest baubles, some of hand-blown glass, others brightly painted wood, and some intricate half-hollow porcelain affairs with miniature snowy landscapes inside. Amelia clapped her hands in delight. ‘Pretsy,’ she said. ‘Pretsy as Mama.’ She cast her mother a sly smile. Even at two pushing three I could tell this one was going to be a handful. Richenda glowed with the compliment and hugged her. ‘And well done you. You only broke one bauble.’

Merry, still picking bits of glass out of her hair, did not smile. We had all told Amelia not to attempt to hook decorations on through the stair-rail, but a few minutes’ inattention when the three of us were hotly debating whether an angel or a star should go on top of the tree had enabled the naughty sprite to sneak to the top landing clutching the ill-fated bauble. Richenda seemed proud of her daughter’s wilfulness. Merry and I foresaw a minx in the making.

Merry departed to thoroughly brush out her hair and consult Merrit on the technical aspects of our operation. Richenda called for Stone and asked him to locate the magic lantern, a novel way of displaying lighted pictures, which she told Stone would delight Amelia. Stone received his orders stoically though I detected from the slight twitch under his eye that the task was less easy than Richenda blithely assumed. Once he had departed I said, ‘The attic is rather large, if you remember.’[4] Richenda shrugged. ‘It gives him something to do. I have been meaning for ages to get those attics sorted. There’s enough space up there to let Amelia have a suite of rooms of her own.’

‘She already has some,’ I said.

‘Not big enough,’ said Richenda. ‘She needs more space.’

I looked down at the tiny mite. ‘At least promise me you won’t start on clearing the whole lot out before Christmas.’

Richenda gave me a non-committal smile. She held out her hand to Amelia. ‘Let’s go and have lunch with Daddy down at the Estate Office,’ she said brightly. ‘You can get it sent down, can’t you, Euphemia?’

‘Of course,’ I said, knowing Hans would have only ordered sandwiches for himself. I asked the cook to add more of these and some cake to the lunch basket. That should more than suffice. Then I went into the dining room to enjoy a solitary lunch. Much as I liked Amelia, time away from her company was a relief. Richenda was too indulgent, and Merry, who was only a temporary nursery maid, was enjoying the novel experience too thoroughly to discipline the child in the manner it was becoming most clear she needed. If it had been possible, one afternoon with my mother, the estranged daughter of an Earl, would have straightened out Amelia. At least, she had straightened me out. I suspected Amelia might be more of a challenge even for Mother.

Dinner that night was strained. I do not know precisely what Amelia had done in the Estate Office, but it had taxed even Hans’ patience, and he was a man known throughout the business world for never losing his cool. He was a good host over dinner, but I could see his smile was taut on his face and did not reach his eyes. Richenda was also remarkably subdued; although she still ate all of her dinner, she did so with her eyes downcast. Bertram glowered at me, but was taciturnly polite to his hosts. It was not a jolly meal. Amelia, of course, did not join us, but I was sensing that she was going to be as much an obstacle to a jolly Christmas as Bertram’s sour mood. I could only hope tonight did not end too disastrously.

I met Merry on the servants’ stair around 11 p.m. She giggled nervously as she clutched a candle. Wax dripped onto the stone steps.

‘You were right,’ she hissed, ‘Richenda is much more fun now. This is going to be a great laugh.’

I tugged my shawl more tightly around my shoulders and thought wistfully of my own warm bed. ‘I only hope Bertram sees it that way.’

‘Oh come on! There’s no way we could put him in a worse mood.’

I was spared the necessity of answering this foreboding comment by the arrival of Richenda. She held her candle high, and perilously close to her hair, so we were able to see even at a distance that she was not looking happy. Indeed, her face resembled that of a woman who, expecting to bite into a cake, had found herself biting into a lemon. ‘Stone didn’t find it,’ she said.

Merry gave a humph of exasperation. ‘Merrit spent ages drilling me.’ She saw the look on our faces. ‘I told him it was to give Amelia a show. You know how difficult she’s being about Father Christmas.’

‘Father Christmas?’ I said blankly.

‘She thinks he’ll never find her now she’s living here. Gawd, if she could but see the boxes Mr Muller has stacked up in the cupboard downstairs. It’s like the whole bleedin’ Elves’ Workshop has moved in.’

‘You can’t tell her!’ exclaimed Richenda.

‘Of course not,’ said Merry. ‘But she does go on about it.’

‘I suppose we will need to rethink our plans,’ I said, trying not to show how relieved I was. ‘Tonight’s adventure cannot now take place.’

‘Don’t be a spoilsport, Euphemia,’ protested Merry. ‘I’m sure we can do it without it.’

‘She’s right,’ said Richenda, nodding in my general direction and setting her fringe on fire, ‘it won’t work anywhere near as well.’ She was so concerned about making Amelia’s first Christmas a happy one that she barely registered she was alight.

I patted Richenda’s hair and Merry repositioned her candle. ‘You want to get it right, don’t you?’ she continued barely missing a beat. ‘If he guesses it is us straight away there is no point.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Merry glumly. ‘So we give up on the whole idea.’

‘Not at all,’ said Richenda. ‘I shall instruct Stone to look harder. We will reconvene on December the twenty-first. The night of the Solstice. It will be most appropriate.’

I protested, but to no avail. Richenda had once been interested in Spiritualism, but I thought she had long given up on such things. I returned to my bed feeling very like one of Macbeth’s witches. What on earth would my dear departed father, the vicar, have said?

Sadly for me, Stone, though almost overwhelmed by Christmas duties, managed to locate the desired object. It was therefore just before midnight on the Solstice that I found myself hiding on the landing with Richenda wrapped in a sheet, Merry clutching the found, and lit, magic lantern, and myself tasked with the unenviable duty of making mysterious noises. After our last attempt I had thought further about my role and obtained a number of items from the kitchen which I hoped would prove more atmospheric than my saying ‘Whoo-whoo’ and ending up sounding, at best, like a lost owl or a faulty railway engine, neither of these being helpful to the mood we were trying to engender. Merry giggled helplessly. The magic lantern’s swirling images jiggled across the passageway’s wall.

Richenda stood heavily on her foot. ‘You’re spoiling the mood. I need to get into character.’

This set Merry off so badly she had to put the lantern down and stuff both her small fists in her mouth to muffle her laughter. Richenda cast her a look of disdain. I found myself biting my lip as she pulled an edge of the sheet up to obscure her face. She gestured to me to open Bertram’s bedroom door. As his sister, we had decided Richenda was the only one who could enter his room without impropriety. Besides, if it all went wrong she would be the one left dealing with him. I was fairly sure that Merry, like myself, was ready to bolt and leave her to it if disaster fell. After all, she was the hostess!

Very carefully I tried the knob of Bertram’s door. I had the master key with me in case, but the door opened easily. I pushed it wide, my teeth on edge waiting for the hinges to creak, but the housekeeper had instructed her staff well and the door opened without a sound. I moved back, so I was hidden from sight, but not before I had caught a glimpse of a large hump in the bed that stood in the centre of the room. A combined loud snort and snuffle confirmed it was Bertram. Merry slid the magic lantern along the floor and aimed it into the room. I took a quick peek. The effect was most ethereal. Colours swarmed and swam across the room. The white-blue light from the full moon leaking through the curtains only added to the ambience. I hoped the girls were right and that Bertram would believe this to be a dream. He had a weak heart and the last thing we wanted to do was frighten him to death. I began to have strong qualms about the whole project.

Richenda was looking daggers at me through a slit in her sheet so, sighing internally, I gave the box of dry rice I had brought with me a few shakes. The slithering noise of the rice was meant to gently awaken him. Bertram grunted and turned over. I tried a few more times to no effect. I moved on to the cheese grater I had brought and scraped a butter knife over the grill, praying Stone never found out it was I who had damaged his beloved cutlery. ‘Thrrup. Thrrup’ went the grater. In the quiet and amid the swirling colours I thought it quite effective. I took another peek. Bertram stuck his head under his pillow. Merry looked at me in despair. In desperation I picked up the kitchen pot and rattled around inside it with a metal spoon. The noise seemed incredibly loud. There was a muffled, ‘Wot! Wot!’ inside the room and the sound of moving bedsheets. I changed back to the rice, not wanting to terrify him. Richenda, taking the sounds as a sign he was now awake, did her best to glide into the room. At least I assume she was aiming for a ghost-like glide. In reality, with her legs pinned by the sheet, she sort of half limped, half hobbled. ‘Good Gad!’ came Bertram’s startled exclamation from the room.

‘Yoooooooouuuuu are dreaming-ing-ing,’ said Richenda in what she obviously thought was a spectral voice. ‘I am the ghost of Christmas …’

Her voice was cut off abruptly, but the sounds of a scuffle. ‘What the Dickens!’ came Bertram’s voice. Merry and I looked at each other. This was it. Time to run.

‘Euphemia! Merry!’ summoned Bertram’s voice.

Too late.

As sheepishly as boot boys summoned before the butler for a misdemeanour, we popped our heads round the side of the door.

‘Can’t come in,’ said Merry. ‘Wouldn’t be seemly.’

‘Put out that wretched lantern,’ snapped Bertram. ‘It’s giving me a headache.’ Obediently, Merry opened the hatch and blew out the candle.

‘It were Richenda’s idea,’ she said, happily throwing her mistress to the wolves – or wolf on this occasion.

‘I had thought better of you, Euphemia,’ said Bertram. He stood in the middle of the room in his paisley pyjamas, clutching Richenda’s sheet. Richenda stood there in a violently coloured orange nightdress that was distinctly honeymoon-like in its style. Bertram seemed finally to take in her attire as he threw the sheet back over her. He shook his head and blinked rapidly as if trying to erase the image. ‘Euphemia,’ he then continued, ‘why didn’t you stop them?’

I took a deep breath and said, ‘Because I was as fed up as both of them with you ruining our Christmas celebrations.’

‘What?’ said Bertram staggering back to sit on the bed. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Oh you know damn well, Bertram Stapleford, you’ve been nothing but a bad-tempered grouse since you got here,’ said Richenda.

‘You ’ave been a bit of a black cloud, sir,’ said Merry. ‘And we are trying to make it the best Christmas ever for little Amelia. Notwithstanding it’s also Mr and Mrs Muller’s first Christmas together.’

‘But I haven’t said a thing,’ protested Bertram.

The scales dropped from my eyes. ‘Bertram, are you fondly imagining because you haven’t broached the topic of whatever is making so disagreeable with any of us that we won’t have noticed your black mood?’ I asked.

‘I’ve been hiding my feelings,’ said Bertram nobly.

‘Yeah, right,’ said Merry, borrowing from Rory’s vocabulary. ‘You’ve been a positive little ray of sunshine.’

‘Merry!’ I said shocked. ‘That’s no way to speak to Mr Stapleford.’

‘She’s absolutely right,’ said Richenda. ‘You’ve been a pig, Bertram. A pig to all of us.’

Bertram appealed directly to me. ‘Have I?’ he asked.

‘I am afraid so,’ I said.

Bertram stood up. ‘Please accept my apologies,’ he said. ‘Please also accept my assurances that I will alter my behaviour to better fit the season.’

‘Just like that?’ asked Merry.

‘Hadn’t you better get back to your charge?’ said Bertram. A look passed between Richenda and Bertram.

‘Yes,’ said Richenda, ‘you had better get back to Amelia.’

Merry assumed an expression of disgust, but she knew when she was beaten. She gathered up the magic lantern and stalked off.

‘So what is this all about, Bertram?’ asked Richenda.

‘I would rather not go into details,’ said Bertram, ‘but I have been jilted.’

‘What!’ said Richenda.

‘The Beard Lady,’ I said, understanding dawning.

‘You were engaged to a woman with a beard?’ Richenda’s voice climbed higher.

‘No. Shhh, Richenda. You’ll have the whole house on us,’ I said. ‘Bertram has been growing his beard because he was told it would give him gravitas.’

‘Gravy-what?’ said the ever food-conscious Richenda.

‘A serious disposition,’ said Bertram. ‘She wanted me to run for Parliament.’

‘But you’re about the most apolitical creature I have ever known,’ I cried.

‘Well, I think you’re well shot of her. She can’t have any taste if she liked your beard,’ said Richenda.

Bertram drew himself up to his full height and attempted an air of great dignity. Something very hard to do in paisley pyjamas. ‘My beard was the cause of our parting. She felt it was not sufficient.’

I could not help myself; I giggled. Bertram gave me a hurt look. ‘I am sorry, Bertram, but ghastly though your beard is, if a woman truly loved you, I cannot see how that would matter. It is ridiculous.’

‘Indeed,’ said Richenda. ‘No amount of facial foliage would ever make you a good public speaker.’

‘Felicity thought I would do rather well,’ said Bertram, trying to make a comeback.

‘Felicity,’ said his taunting half-sister, ‘is this Felicity deficient in wisdom, years, or both?’

Bertram flushed slightly.

‘Oh, Bertram,’ said Richenda, ‘just how old was this girl?’

‘Seventeen,’ said Bertram muttering into his beard.

‘Good heavens,’ I said.

‘I take it she was very beautiful,’ said Richenda.

Bertram sighed and a faraway look came into his eyes, ‘She is …’ he began, when he was rudely interrupted by Merry, who ran full pelt into the room.

‘Amelia,’ she panted, ‘Amelia’s gone!’

As one all the adults in the room transferred their attention to her. Merry began to weep. ‘When I left her she was fast asleep. I never shut the nursery door, knowing how Mr Muller fears fire. When I went in to check she was sleeping sound her bed was empty.’

‘How long has she been gone?’ asked Bertram.

‘Dear God!’ shrieked Richenda.

‘Tell me the window was shut,’ I said.

Merry turned to me. ‘No, it wasn’t. It was only open an inch to stop the room getting stuffy, but it’s wider now. You don’t think …’

‘Is her room on the ground floor?’ asked Bertram.

‘Of course not,’ snapped Richenda. ‘But no two-year-old is going to climb out over the roof.’

‘She’s almost three,’ I said. ‘And it is not as if the roof seems steep. Well, not at first.’

Bertram snatched up his dressing gown and ran from the room as he struggled to put it on. ‘Wake people,’ he yelled. Richenda fled. Instinct told me she had gone to find Hans. We needed more practical help. ‘Ladders. Gardeners,’ I said to Merry. She nodded. She’d been here long enough to know where the head gardener’s cottage was. Merry didn’t argue; she ran. I headed up to the male corridor, as I knew where the guest valets were housed. I went to wake Rory.

I banged hard on his door. I doubted he was asleep as he opened the door almost at once. By the light of my candle I could see the confusion on his face. ‘It’s Amelia,’ I said at once. ‘We fear she has got out onto the roof.’

Rory, who I knew had younger siblings, believed me at once. He stopped only to pick up his coat. He was already wearing slippers. ‘Take me to her room,’ he said as I had hoped he would. As we hurried along he asked, ‘What fool left the window open?’

‘Merry,’ I said. ‘She was sleeping in the room with the child, so I suppose she thought she’d hear if Amelia got up. Only when she came to meet Richenda she did not remember to shut it.’

Rory gave me a look to signify that he knew there was more to the story. ‘Honestly,’ I protested, ‘I had no idea she would leave a window open.’

‘She shouldnae have been away from the wean at all.’

‘It was only for a few minutes,’ I said. I met a look from those luminous green eyes. I dropped my gaze. ‘You’re right. She should never have been left alone.’

We had reached the nursery door. Rory went in. I followed, hoping against hope that Amelia might simply be hiding under her bed. I bent down to check. Rory cast no more than a cursory eye around the room before he opened the window wider and climbed out. A cold blast of frosty air hit me full in the face. ‘Be careful,’ I warned. ‘Don’t slip.’

‘I dinnae intend to,’ said Rory. ‘Could you find a sheet or something, Euphemia? It’s guy icy.’

Not entirely sure what he was meaning I took the counterpane off the bed and threw it to him. ‘Verra pretty,’ said Rory catching it. ‘But I was meaning for use as a rope. It’s not going to do anyone any guid if I slip and fall on her.’

I stripped the bed in a moment and tied five of the sheets together. I tied one end round the bedpost, knowing I was not strong enough to hold Rory should he slip, and threw the other end to him. He tied it around his waist and moved out.

Rory was now edging out along the flat, almost balcony-like stretch of the roof in front of the window. I peered out. I could see the roof tiles were thick with ice. From somewhere below I heard voices and the noise of a ladder being lifted.

‘Bugger,’ I heard Rory say. He turned his head back to me. ‘I can see her. Wee mite’s clinging on half way down the gable.’

Without thinking of the danger I climbed out through the window. ‘No,’ cried Rory, but it was too late. I crept carefully up beside him. He put a strong arm around my waist. ‘She’s going to be terrified,’ I said. ‘You might need me.’

I lay flat along the edge and looked over. Amelia had wedged herself between the gable edge and the wall about half way down. She was shivering with cold. Her little hands were clutched around the side of the gable and her feet pushed hard into the roof tiles to keep her where she was. Her eyes were screwed up shut tight. It was immediately clear that she could not hold herself in that position for much longer and also that she was far too terrified to move.

Bertram’s head appeared below us. The ladder did not reach Amelia. It was several feet too short. Bertram continued to climb.

‘Stop,’ yelled Rory. ‘That ladder won’t stay balanced if you come any higher. I will get the wean.’

He moved forward slowly. ‘Amelia, sweetheart, I am coming to get you.’

The little girl opened her eyes and looked up. ‘Santa?’ she said.

‘Aye, that’s me. The Scottish Santa,’ said Rory, but even as he reached forward there was the sound of material ripping.

‘The rope won’t hold,’ yelled Bertram and scrambled further up the ladder. Then Rory’s words came true. The ladder swayed wildly. Bertram lost his footing. The ladder fell away, but at the last moment Bertram managed to grab the bottom edge of the gable. He hung there. His sleeves fell down and I saw his muscles straining as he tried to hold his weight.

Rory gave his rope a quick tug. Satisfied, he said, ‘Hold on, man. I’m coming for you.’

‘Get the girl,’ commanded Bertram. ‘I’m fine.’

Below we could hear sounds of people trying to raise the ladder again. Where was it? I had a sudden fear it had broken in the ice and the cold.

‘Santa?’ said Amelia. ‘I’m so cold.’ She reached out a hand towards Rory. Doing this stopped her being wedged in position. Amelia gave a scream as she slid several tiles down the roof. She managed to stop herself from going over the edge by putting her feet against Bertram’s face and bracing herself against him.

I saw Bertram’s fingers whiten against the edge of the roof. ‘I’ll get her,’ I told Rory. ‘You get Bertram.’

‘We need another rope,’ said Rory.

‘There’s no time,’ I said. ‘They’ll both be gone any second. Hold onto my feet.’

Rory scowled but nodded. We made our way forward carefully and quickly as far as his makeshift rope would allow. Then I edged forward on my stomach. Rory held onto my ankles. I reached out my arms and found Amelia’s waist. She was like a block of ice. I wrapped my arms tightly around her and using all my strength I pulled her towards me. Rory’s grip on my ankles tightened. His fingers felt like they were biting into my flesh. I saw the relief on Bertram’s face as I started to inch the girl away. His eyes met mine. I realised he could not hold on. I could not reach him without letting go of Amelia. He shook his head very slightly. ‘Well done, Euphemia,’ he said, and let go.

I did not watch him fall. Inside I concentrated on inching my way back up to Rory and keeping Amelia safe in my arms. Tears coursed down my face.

Rory’s arms found me. He pulled us up and back into the nursery. The room was full of people cheering. Amelia was taken from me and wrapped in a blanket. Everything was chaos. I collapsed, sobbing into Rory’s arms, and he held me for a long time.

Cold, saddened beyond belief, and overwhelmed by my ordeal I have no clear memory of how I ended up in the dining room downstairs. The large fire was blazing and a mug of something hot had been put into my hands. Stone came and told me quietly that the doctor had been summoned and that Amelia appeared to have taken no hurt from her adventure, though it was possible she might have a chill tomorrow. He patted my hand, something I could never have imagined him doing, and said, ‘Well done, Miss St John.’ He made no mention of Bertram. Rory had disappeared into the general throng of people milling about. I recognised gardeners and footmen standing side by side drinking soup. This must be the party who had held up the ladder. I wondered who was dealing with Bertram’s body when I saw him coming across the room. His eyes sought me out and he hurried over.

‘But I saw you fall,’ I cried.

Bertram gave a faint smile. ‘Thought it was all over for me,’ he said. ‘But the men over there had gone and got a blanket they held out for me to fall into. Seems no one thought I’d have the strength to hold on for as long as I did. What with that and the snow piled up beneath I’m going to have a lot of bruises …’

I didn’t let him finish. I was out of my chair, my soup flung on the ground as I wrapped my arms around his neck. ‘I thought I had lost you,’ I sobbed.

‘Ow, careful,’ said Bertram awkwardly patting my back. ‘It’s all right, old thing. Bit of an adventure, but we all survived.’

‘You were so brave,’ I said, my voice muffled against his shoulder.

‘You were magnificent,’ he said and dropped a kiss on my head before taking my arms from around his body.

There was almost a party atmosphere in the house now the incident was over. It felt like Christmas had come early. We were all giddy with relief. Then Hans walked into the room. I have never seen a man look so angry. We all fell silent. ‘Miss St John, Mr Stapleford, I would be grateful if you could join me in my study.’

Bertram made a ‘uh-oh’ noise under his breath. He took my arm and we followed Hans from the room. Behind us the sounds of merriment ceased and the clearing up began.

Hans’ study was a deeply masculine room with a large hearth and wing-backed leather chairs. This evening the fire was cold and no one was sitting. Instead, Richenda was standing awkwardly at the side of the desk, her arm around a weeping Merry, and Rory stood a little apart, his face closed and displaying no emotion. Hans, wearing his glorious green dressing gown, shut the door behind us. ‘I am to understand that my wife, Euphemia, and Merry tried to play a practical joke on you tonight, Bertram, and as a consequence my daughter was left alone in her nursery with the window open.’ Merry gave a huge sob. Hans appeared unmoved. His voice was cold and dispassionate. ‘My wife assures me she was the leader in this escapade and because of that I can hardly berate the other persons involved. Although I would have thought you, Euphemia, would have had more sense.’

Rory frowned at this. Bertram burst out ‘Hang on a minute, Hans …’

Hans put his hand up. ‘I am fully aware that Euphemia risked her own life to save my daughter and for that she has my undying gratitude. I have told her before, but I will restate it now in front of witnesses, Euphemia has a place in my household for life.’

Rory’s frown vanished.

‘I am also aware I owe a deep debt of gratitude to both McLeod and Bertram. That you were obviously willing to give up your life to save my daughter, Bertram, I will never forget. As for your actions, McLeod, I doubt I can ever repay you, but should you ever need anything I can offer - employment, money, reference, even a cottage on my estate, you need only ask. I will be in your debt for the rest of my days.’

Rory ummed and ahhed and looked both embarrassed and pleased. Hans went over and shook him by the hand. It was clear he was thanking him as an equal and not as a servant. I felt tears prick the back of my eyes. Then, finally, he turned to Merry.

He spoke carefully and slowly. I realised he was doing his best to rein in his temper. Merry, must also have sensed his ire, for she was cowering with fright. ‘Under the circumstances I must not only dismiss you from my service, but recommend that Sir Richard does the same. I acquit you of deliberate menace, but your negligence cannot go unpunished.’

Richenda began to protest. ‘My decision is final,’ roared Hans. Everyone in the room started in shock. Hans never raised his voice. Then the master of house turned on his heel and left. Merry collapsed weeping on the floor.

‘I’ll talk him round,’ promised Richenda.

‘No offence, ma’am,’ said Rory, ‘but I think that even you will not be able to move him.’

‘Afraid so,’ said Bertram.

‘But when he’s calmed down,’ I said. ‘He has had the most terrible fright.’

‘Would you leave your child with a nursery maid who’d let your child get onto the roof?’ asked Rory gruffly in a quiet aside to me.

I sighed. ‘No, I would not,’ I whispered back, ‘but surely Sir Richard will not be dictated to.’

‘Business,’ said Bertram darkly. ‘He won’t want to upset Muller. City business.’

The door opened again and we all jumped. ‘’Cuse me, ma’ams, sirs,’ said Merrit, ‘I was looking for Merry.’

Bertram stepped aside allowing him to see Merry. Merrit went forward, crouched down and embraced his girlfriend. ‘Ah, pet, no one thinks you did it deliberate,’ he said. ‘The little one is fine. There’s no need to cry.’

‘But I don’t have a position,’ sobbed Merry. ‘I’m homeless.’

Merrit turned his head to look at Bertram. ‘Could I tell her tonight, sir? I know you wanted me to do it on Christmas Day …’

‘Yes, dammit, man,’ said Bertram. ‘I’d been wondering when you would show up.’

Ignoring the rest of us, Merrit placed a finger under her chin and turned Merry’s face up to his. ‘Sweetheart,’ he said, ‘Mr Bertram has been so kind as to give me a cottage seeing as I’m his chauffeur. A cottage for life.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Merry in a wobbling voice.

‘It’s even got a patch of garden for growing veggies. It’s not a cottage for one,’ spelled out Merrit, ‘it’s a family house.’

Merry looked at him blankly.

‘My dearest Merry, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife and living with me in my cottage?’

Merry threw a look at Bertram. ‘That was the point of giving him the cottage,’ said Bertram.

Merry looked puzzled for a moment, as if she could not believe what she was hearing, then she broke into a huge smile. ‘Yes, oh yes, Merrit,’ she said. ‘Of course I’ll marry you.’

‘This is certainly turning out to be one memorable Christmas,’ said Bertram in my ear. ‘If I promise to behave, Euphemia, do you think we could get through the rest of the festive season without any more adventures?’

‘Oh, heavens, I do hope so,’ I said.

‘Merry Christmas,’ said Rory to the newly engaged pair. ‘And congratulations.’

Richenda clapped her hands. ‘Merry Christmas, everyone!’ she said. ‘Now, who wants some celebratory cake?’

[1] I do not understand how small children are always sticky. Even when there appears to be no sticky substance in sight that they could have smeared themselves with.

[2] The beard’s biggest drawback was that it would not grow evenly.

[3] Though there had been nothing delicate about the nature of the lady in question, who had ruled the children with alternate disinterest and a rod of iron.

[4] I was referring to the time we searched the attics for Hans’ late wife. A most disturbing occurrence.