CHAPTER 19

The Christmas Angel

A Christmas angel must have been in attendance at the Endicotts’ party because while the room suffered damage, no one was seriously injured. I quickly attended to Holmes, who was affected far less than the sleeve of his finest frock coat. Dr Anthony Hughes, the Endicotts’ Harley Street family physician, came forth and attended to Mrs Findlay, who was more frightened than hurt.

Some thirty minutes later, the house cleared of guests and the fire safely out, Holmes demanded a meeting with both sets of parents. Lord Endicott, the Findlays, Holmes and I gathered in Lady Endicott’s salon, where she had received us last week. I perched nervously on a velvet chair, uneasy at what was to come. I fingered the Webley in my jacket pocket, keeping a wary eye on the violent Mr Findlay, but he sat calmly with his arm around his young wife, who dabbed at her streaming eyes. Lestrade’s men waited, respectful but alert, in the open doorway.

Anything, I thought, could happen next.

Holmes stood in front of the darkened window, through which a persistent snowfall glimmered in the light from outdoor lanterns. He was on edge. I had no idea what to expect from the gathering, and from his own drawn look it seemed that he was not sure, either.

Lord Endicott stood near the fireplace, seething. ‘Why do you insist on this pointless meeting?’ he demanded of Holmes. ‘Surely your plan for this evening did not include this disaster?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Now that the story is in the open, these people can see that the child is suitably housed. I shall sue for permanent custody and we will easily get it,’ said Endicott.

‘I must advise caution, Lord Endicott,’ said Holmes. ‘There are precedents in both directions. It is entirely unclear who would win custody. It would be best for the child—and indeed this was my plan here—if the four of you came to an accord privately.’

‘Imagine the damage to Jonathan if you took this case to trial,’ I added.

‘Christopher,’ said Peter Findlay, quietly.

A taut silence pervaded the room. The fire crackling blended into the soft sound of some carollers down the street.

The maid, Jenny, and Hector the bodyguard entered with Jonathan, who cradled his new puppy in his arms. The boy ran to Lady Endicott. ‘Mummy, I love my doggie! Can he sleep with me?’ he cried, kissing the puppy’s head. The dog responded by licking the boy’s face.

Lady Endicott embraced the child and patted the dog. ‘Not in your bed, darling. I think he has his own little basket nearby?’ The maid nodded. ‘Time for sleep now, dear one,’ said she. ‘Enough excitement for the day.’

‘I was scared, Papa,’ said Jonathan to Lord Endicott.

‘Foolish of you to go under the tree, young man,’ said Endicott, tousling the boy’s hair. ‘You must always look before you leap.’

I glanced at the Findlays, who sat motionless, watching this intently.

‘Thank Mr Holmes here,’ said Lady Endicott to the boy. ‘He saved you.’

Clarice Findlay made a small whimpering sound.

‘My wife tried, as well,’ said Findlay.

‘Thank you,’ said the child, looking from Holmes to Clarice Findlay and back. He approached my friend. ‘Would you like to pet him?’ he asked, holding out the puppy with a smile. Holmes nodded and scratched behind the animal’s ears.

The boy then approached Clarice Findlay. ‘What is your name?’ he asked with the special gravitas of the very young.

‘I … I … Clarice. I am …’

‘Thank you for trying to save me, Mrs Clarice,’ said the little boy. ‘It was very brave of you. What do you think of my puppy?’

Clarice paused, trembling. She reached out a hand and patted the dog awkwardly. ‘He … he is gold. He—’

‘Goldie!’ cried the boy. ‘That’s his name! Goldie!’

Clarice stared at the boy and smiled shyly.

‘Mummy!’ squealed the boy. Clarice started, but now the boy had turned to Lady Endicott and raced back to her, leaning into her gentle embrace. ‘Mummy!’ he said. ‘His name is Goldie! The bestest name! The bestest doggie. Don’t you think so, Mummy?’

Clarice watched this in silence. A tear spilled down her face.

‘I think it is a splendid name, Jonathan. And now, off to bed,’ said Lady Endicott.

The boy secured a brief hug from Lord Endicott and was led from the room.

Findlay remained stoic, but his wife buried her head into her husband’s shoulder and softly wept.

‘Never candles on the tree, never again,’ Lady Endicott said.

‘It was a danger to everyone,’ said Peter Findlay.

‘It is time to get to heart of the matter,’ said Holmes. ‘I would like to conduct this next business in private. Are we safe to do so, Mr Findlay?’ He gestured towards the police, still standing watch in the doorway.

Findlay nodded, ashamed.

Lord Endicott stood up and closed the doors on the police with a pointed look at Findlay. He returned to his wife’s side.

Holmes stood and cleared his throat. ‘We begin. There are a number of points to resolve. Lord and Lady Endicott, as I told you, your Jonathan was born Christopher Findlay, to Mr and Mrs Findlay here, while they were residents of the Marylebone Workhouse. He was taken by the matron there, Mrs Claudia Huron, and given to the Bright Little Ones adoption agency, where you adopted him.’

‘We were told he was an orphan,’ said Lord Endicott. ‘You know that.’

‘That is what Mrs Huron told the agency,’ said Holmes.

‘We would never have stolen someone else’s child,’ whispered Lady Endicott.

‘Understood,’ said Holmes. He turned to the other couple. ‘Mr and Mrs Findlay, the Endicotts adopted the baby boy in good faith. Aside from wealth, the child has been showered with love.’ He turned back to the Endicotts. ‘But, Lord and Lady Endicott, the Findlays are Jonathan’s birth parents.’

‘Christopher! He’s mine!’ cried Clarice Findlay. ‘And I want him back! Shouldn’t I?’ All eyes turned to her. In her wide-eyed desperation, her extreme youth was evident. She looked barely out of her teens.

Clarice Findlay looked at each person in the room, wanting an answer. No one replied. ‘Mine,’ whimpered Clarice. She looked up at her husband. ‘Peter?’

He looked sadly down at his wife.

‘I will be a good girl, Peter. I will be a good girl! A good mum!’

Peter Findlay swallowed and said nothing.

‘Mr Findlay,’ said Holmes, ‘tell the Endicotts what made you suddenly believe your child was alive, and that he was here?’

Findlay took a deep breath and stood up, next to his wife. Endicott stiffened, on the alert. But Findlay only put a comforting hand on his wife’s shoulder.

‘I … read about Mrs Huron’s trial in the newspaper. The false adoptions. Mrs Huron, that woman! It was she who found Christopher dead, or so she told us. I believed her. But now I thought, what if he hadn’t died and she’d taken him, too?’

‘You then went to the two adoption agencies mentioned in the article to inquire about the child,’ said Holmes. ‘The first was closed, and then you were rebuffed at Bright Little Ones. You returned and ransacked the office, finding the records that proved your child—with his distinctive port-wine stain—had lived and was adopted by the Endicotts. What did you do next?’

‘I wrote to Lord Endicott!’ He turned to face Endicott. ‘Yes, I wrote to you, sir. Twice.’

‘Philip?’ Lady Endicott turned to her husband in astonishment. ‘Those two letters you burned?’

‘Extortion, I thought,’ said Endicott. ‘A man in my position is frequently approached.’

‘I wrote to you in good faith. You could have responded,’ said Findlay.

Endicott said nothing.

‘Why, then, did you not pursue legal means to regain your son, Mr Findlay?’ I asked.

‘I tried,’ said the man gravely. ‘Rudyard Click would not take our case.’

‘Why not?’

Findlay looked at his feet. This next was difficult for him. ‘He said … he said he smelled drink on me. And Mrs Huron had told him some things—’

‘Who the bloody hell is Rudyard Click?’ said Lord Endicott.

‘Click was the solicitor who presented the case against Mrs Huron and sent her to prison,’ said Holmes. ‘Two falsely adopted children have all been restored to their birth parents. You would be wise to pay careful attention, Lord Endicott.’ He turned back to Findlay. ‘You all know what transpired next. Mr Findlay, recount it please.’

Peter Findlay took a deep breath and nodded. Turning to Lord Endicott, he said, ‘Sir, abject apologies to you for breaking into your home, terrifying the servants and guests, like some kind of common criminal.’ He turned to Lady Endicott. ‘And even deeper apologies to you, madam, for my terrible actions on Oxford Street. I never meant for you to fall. It was an accident.’ A tear appeared on his cheek and he wiped it away. ‘But … but I was doing it for the good of—’

‘You can’t tell me you were doing it for the boy!’ cried Lord Endicott. ‘Imagine his terror, being wrenched from his bed or from his mother’s arms by a violent stranger? What kind of home could you provide him? No judge in the world would—’

‘Let Mr Findlay continue,’ said Holmes. ‘Gentlemen, sit down, please.’

Findlay did so, and his wife buried her face in his shoulder.

Endicott sat next to his wife with reluctance, still fuming.

Findlay took a deep breath and continued. ‘When I tried to abduct our son, I will be honest. I wasn’t—’

‘Twice! You tried twice!’ Lord Endicott cried, rising to his feet.

‘Philip,’ said Lady Endicott, laying a hand on his arm. ‘Calm yourself. I know how much you love our child. But do sit down.’

Endicott paused, then resumed his seat.

‘I … I will admit, I wasn’t doing it for the boy,’ said Peter Findlay. ‘I was doing it for Clarice.’ He drew her closer. ‘Everything I have done, I have done for her. And I am so very sorry.’

The room went silent. A log turned in the fireplace and crumbled in a shower of sparks. Both couples started.

Findlay swallowed, paused, cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Huron took our son for a reason. Four days before … before he left us, Clarice took a baby soother intended for the child and thus under the spell of laudanum, fell asleep. She left our Christopher—that is the name we gave him—on the cold stone floor of her cell, where he nearly froze to death. He was three weeks old. I found the boy just in time and rescued him. So when Mrs Huron told me she had found him there a second time, and this time too late, I … had no reason to doubt it.’

Clarice stared vacantly into space as her husband continued his story.

‘Clarice was never the same after that, thinking she had caused our son’s death.’

Endicott said, more calmly, ‘Well, even tonight, this careless woman—’

‘Lord Endicott,’ I interrupted. ‘Mrs Findlay bravely dived into danger to save the child.’ As much as I wanted the child to stay with the Endicotts, the man was being cruelly unfair.

‘My wife did do that!’ said Findlay. He hugged his wife closer. ‘You were very brave, darling.’

‘Yes, she was,’ said Holmes. ‘Mr Findlay, continue, please.’

Turning back to the Endicotts, Findlay said, ‘You see a criminal before you, sir, and that is all you see. But it is not all that I am. I am an educated man, a trained maritime engineer, driven to desperate measures. You, sir, with all your privileges, have no idea how a decent man can descend overnight into poverty. You cannot imagine the effects of this life.’

Endicott made to reply but his wife put her hand on his arm.

Findlay continued. ‘Four and a half years ago I lost my job when the company for whom I worked was sold. I then fell ill for a month with fever. Just as I recovered, our neighbours in the building fell asleep with a pot on the fire, and the only home we knew burned to the ground, along with everything we owned. We were destitute. Winter was coming on, and my Clarice was with child. Our choice was the workhouse or to die of the cold.’

I glanced at the Endicotts. They listened intently.

‘Once there,’ Findlay continued, ‘I fell into despair and, for the first time in my life, I am ashamed to admit … I took to drink.’ His face clouded and he looked down at the floor. ‘I now know, sir, that I am a man who should never raise a glass again. And I will not.’

Findley continued. ‘Only Mrs Huron saw any good in me at that awful place and allowed me familial visits with Clarice up to and after Christopher’s birth. But after … after Christopher’s death, or so I thought, I got another job, found a home for the two of us, and thought us to be on the mend. But Clarice was inconsolable. Nothing seemed to bring her back to herself.’

‘Poor girl,’ said Lady Endicott. ‘But Mr Findlay, perhaps a doctor—an alienist—could help your wife?’

‘Perhaps, madam. Clarice was but fifteen at Christopher’s birth,’ said Findlay. ‘Laudanum took her in its grip and has her still. I tried to make things right by setting her up in business—a baby minding service for the factory girls. I thought that caring for infants would bring her back.’

‘But you were wrong, Mr Findlay,’ said Holmes. ‘Your wife’s addiction has impaired her judgment. And she has been drugging her charges.’

A sharp intake of breath from Lady Endicott.

‘No …’ moaned the girl, still buried into her husband’s shoulder.

Peter Findlay loosened her grip and stroked his wife’s forehead. ‘You were, Clarice.’

‘I love my son,’ said Clarice defensively. ‘I love Christopher.’

‘Mr Findlay, I have a question for you,’ said Holmes. ‘It could not have been a complete surprise to you that your poor wife was unsuitable for the business you set up for her. She is still in need of help, even now. It will take much more than my short intervention to remedy this situation.’

‘Explain yourself, Mr Holmes.’ Lady Endicott said, staring at Holmes.

‘I provided for the Findlays five days of rest, in a safe, quiet place, Lady Endicott. Five days of good, nutritious meals and medical care,’ said Holmes. ‘That has effected the transformation you see in Mr Findlay. It is remarkable what a sound body can do for sound thinking. But only if the mind is capable of logic. My hope lies with you, Mr Findlay, to see and do the right thing.’

‘It was an accident, tonight! Not my fault!’ cried Clarice Findlay.

‘Hush, darling,’ said Findlay. ‘Not your fault at all. You tried to save the child.’ He looked up at my friend. ‘Mr Holmes, your plan worked. I have seen the grotesque error I have made. And I am ready to make the right decision, both for my Clarice and for our son.’

Endicott stood, ready to assert sovereignty, but his wife pulled him back next to her.

The girl looked up at her husband. ‘Peter?’

‘Darling, we must leave Christopher with parents who love him and who can give him the best possible life,’ he said.

‘But he’s ours!’ she cried.

‘Clarice, my love, consider this,’ said Findlay. ‘Christopher believes them to be his parents and he is happy. Can you see what he has here? It is far more than money, my darling.’

Clarice gasped and stared at her husband.

‘It would break his heart to take him away from all that he has known,’ said he.

My God, Holmes was right again. He had seen the rational and loving man behind Peter Findlay’s apparent criminality. A man no one else, including me, had discerned. ‘What, then, is your plan, Findlay?’ asked Holmes.

‘I have been offered a position in Liverpool. We will move north and begin again.’

‘You are still young,’ I said.

Findlay nodded. He turned to his wife. ‘Clarice. All will be well. You see what Christopher has here. What he is now accustomed to. Mr Holmes is right. This is best for all.’

‘But I can get better,’ she whined. ‘I can be a good girl.’

He put his arm around her. ‘I believe you can be … a very good girl. And now, let us give our son the best gift of all. Give him … all of this. It is in your power, my darling.’

Endicott could barely restrain himself, but his wise wife put her hand on his arm.

Clarice paused. She looked around at the beautiful room, then at the elegant couple who clearly loved the boy. I glanced at Holmes. His face gave nothing away.

‘Let me take care of you,’ said Findlay to his wife. ‘We shall begin again. What do you say, my darling?’

Clarice hiccoughed and wiped tears away. ‘All right, Peter,’ she said at last. ‘All right. Christopher should … He should stay.’

At the portico, as the Findlays prepared to depart in a carriage provided for them by the Endicotts, Lady Endicott took Clarice Findlay by the hands. ‘Thank you, Mrs Findlay. Jonathan … Christopher … will be cherished.’

Clarice Findlay looked up at Lady Endicott, then at Lord Endicott beside her. Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘Love him for me. Love him … so much …’

Lady Endicott nodded, and her own tears matched Clarice’s. ‘I will write to you every year at Christmas. You will know what becomes of him.’

‘Thank you.’

Findlay helped his wife into the carriage. He started to follow. Holmes put a hand out to stop him. ‘Not yet. There is still business to conclude,’ he prompted. ‘Mr Findlay, make your pledge.’

Findlay turned to Lord Endicott and steeled himself. ‘I will sign all papers, granting you full custody. The falsely documented adoption will never come to trial,’ said Findlay.

Lady Endicott exhaled in relief, and Lord Endicott nodded.

‘Lord Endicott, it is to you,’ Holmes prompted.

Lord Endicott put his arm around his wife. ‘I will not file charges against you, Mr Findlay. But … never set foot near us again.’

‘Agreed,’ said Findlay.

‘Excellent. Consider it the greatest Christmas gift that you give each other,’ said Holmes. ‘And to your son.’

The coach departed. We watched it proceed down the street, passing some carollers along the way. One of the Endicotts’ footmen whistled to a passing cab. Holmes broke the spell.

‘No cab, thank you, I should like to walk. But Dr Watson’s wife would dearly love his presence at least for the remainder of this evening. And there is a roast goose awaiting you, is there not, Doctor?’

‘If there is any left,’ I said. ‘But I shall walk back to Baker Street with you.’ As we set out, I felt a rush of relief for the boy, happiness for Lord and Lady Endicott … and dare I say it, hope for Mr Findlay and his poor, childlike wife.