to recognize it as a nervous twitch in his eye. But what did he have to be nervous about?
Also in the room, seated on the settee closest to the fire, chatting about the barely palatable breakfast she had been served on the train, was a woman in her early fifties, who, though still attractive, must have been striking in her youth. Her light brown hair showed not a single streak of gray; her complexion was creamy and flawless except the few wrinkles etched into the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her day dress of cream and pink printed silk was exquisite, expensive, and probably mail-ordered from Paris or New York. She didn’t smile when she saw me. Nor did she stop talking.
“Don’t you agree, Mrs. Triggs?” Before Mrs. Triggs had a chance to reply, the woman continued. “And the food they served was simply atrocious. The omelet was cold, the salmon was slimy—” She glanced at me again. She screamed. “Oh my God, Sir Arthur! The filthiest vagrant creature I’ve ever seen is standing in your doorway!” She turned her head away. Sir Arthur started when he saw me. “John, Sir Arthur, somebody, please make it go away.”
“My, my, Miss Davish, you look like Saint George battling the dragon. Did the dragon win this time?” Lieutenant Triggs laughed at his own joke.
“Gentlemen, ladies, if you will excuse me for a moment.” With a scowl Sir Arthur indicated that he wanted me to precede him out of the room. The moment he closed the door behind him, he turned on me.
“Hattie, what the devil have you been doing this morning?” he scolded, scrutinizing my torn and filthy dress and wet rubber boots. “As you could see, our guests have arrived. And yet you were nowhere to be found, only to appear in my parlor as an unkempt vagabond. I don’t need to tell you how disappointed I am. I’ve come to expect more from you than this. I demand an explanation.”
“I’m sorry, sir, my appearance is unacceptable, even to me, but with good cause, I assure you.”
“And what would that be?”
“Gertie Reynard fell through the ice on the river this morning and I was the only one about to help. I was running late and didn’t have time to change.”
Sir Arthur stared at me for a moment and then roared with laughter. “My God, Hattie Davish, is there nothing you can’t do?” Then he sent me upstairs to change. Once presentable again, I returned to the parlor.
“. . . And I’d be more than happy to help with the—” The woman by the fire was cut off mid-sentence by Sir Arthur.
“Ah, there’s the secretary I know. Hattie, I’d like to introduce you to our new guests,” Sir Arthur said, indicating the man by the fire and the woman who had been talking when I came in. “Mr. and Mrs. John Baines, my secretary and personal assistant, Miss Hattie Davish. Despite her awkward appearance earlier, she is extremely capable and will aid you in anything you need here during your stay.”
“Charmed,” John Baines said, tipping his head. His eye twitched again.
His wife, with a blank expression on her face, said, “Good. As I didn’t bring my maid and yours did clean up well, I’ll need help unpacking. And I’d like a bath drawn before ten.”
“Rachel,” her husband hissed, “I don’t think that’s what Sir Arthur meant.”
“But I’m simply exhausted from my journey, darling,” she said.
Relieved that Mr. Baines had come to my rescue, I said, “Ida will be more than happy to help you, Mrs. Baines.”
“Yes, Hattie’s probably been too busy this morning typing up manuscript notes and rescuing little girls to see to anything else,” Sir Arthur said.
“Rescuing little girls?” Mrs. Triggs said, swinging her head around to look at me.
“That’s why Hattie appeared before us in tatters,” Sir Arthur said. “She’s been out on the river near General Starrett’s house. Tell them the story, Hattie.” I related the story of this morning’s adventure. Everyone seemed riveted by my tale, everyone except Mrs. Baines, who stood up and yawned.
“Excuse me, I’m going to my room now,” she said. “I’m simply exhausted by the journey. John, are you coming?” Her husband didn’t appear to hear her. “John? John? Jack!”
“Yes?” John Baines said.
“I said, are you coming?”
“I’ll be up in a moment,” he said. “Please, Miss Davish, you had me on the edge of my chair.” His wife stared at him, and then she glanced over at Lieutenant and Mrs. Triggs, who also seemed eager for the conclusion of my story.
“Mrs. Triggs,” Mrs. Baines said, “you look as exhausted as I feel. Wouldn’t you like to retire to your room?”
Mrs. Triggs’s shoulders drooped and all the color, except two rosy spots on her cheeks, left her face. She dropped her eyes to her lap.
“I didn’t notice it before,” Lieutenant Triggs said, “but you look unwell, Priscilla. Maybe you should lie down.” Mrs. Triggs visibly wilted before my eyes.
“But what about Hattie’s story and the little girl?” Priscilla Triggs said, almost in a whisper.
“You don’t need to hear the whole thing. We know the girl’s okay, right, Miss Davish?” Priscilla’s husband said. I nodded slowly, saddened by the sudden turn of events. Mrs. Triggs looked miserable as Rachel Baines took her arm.
“That story’s nothing,” Rachel Baines said. Priscilla Triggs looked over her shoulder at me, her eyes wide and filling with tears.
“But . . . ,” Priscilla said as Rachel Baines escorted her from the room.
“Did you know I was a nurse in the war?” Mrs. Baines said. “Well, let me tell you about the time I saved three boys from . . .”
Soon afterward, I excused myself to tend to the delivery that had arrived from Mrs. Brendel’s shop. With Ida’s and Harvey’s help, I spent the remainder of the morning decorating Sir Arthur’s house. We put bouquets of red and white roses in every room, except the Triggses’ bedroom, for flowers made the lieutenant sneeze. We laid boughs of holly across every windowsill and mantel throughout the house. We wrapped evergreen roping on the porch balustrade and pillars and draped it over every doorway, filling the house with the scent of fir and pine. As Harvey hung a branch of mistletoe from the entranceway chandelier, I couldn’t help but wish Walter were here.
All that was left was the red velvet ribbon to be draped from the dining room chandelier, and, most important, the Christmas tree. Although a vendor at Market House Square sold trees, I’d arranged for Harvey and me to take the horse and sleigh into the countryside to cut one down. I’d discovered a nice stand of white pines on one of my hikes. I was dressed to go and ready to leave when Ida came running out of the kitchen.
“He wants to see you, ja?” she said. Sir Arthur knew we were going to get the Christmas tree; what could it be now?
“Un, deux, trois. . . ,” I began to count under my breath.
I’d been looking forward to getting the tree. I’d made an effort all morning to enjoy the decorating and not dwell on the incident with Gertie and the consequences that followed. We hadn’t heard how the little girl fared and it took all of my discipline not to let it occupy my thoughts. But no Christmas was complete without a tree. I used to cut down our Christmas tree with my father when I was a little girl and had eagerly awaited doing it again for the first time as an adult, even if my only company was a gruff carriage driver. I was frustrated and let out a big sigh.
“Can you wait a few minutes, Harvey?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, “but I won’t wait too long. Got too much shoveling to do.”
Sir Arthur was in the library.
“Come in,” he called after I knocked. “Ah, Hattie. This stuff is brilliant.” He had the notes General Starrett had dictated to me spread out on his