A Christmas Hope (10 page)

The footman opened the door and recognized her immediately. A few minutes later she was in the withdrawing room in front of the fire, Davidson standing to receive her. She had always seen him in his study before, or at the clinic. However, there was no time to appreciate the glass-paned bookcase or the slightly mismatched furniture, evidence that he cared for comfort rather than for appearances. She wondered what his wife was like. He had never spoken of her.

Claudine forced herself to address the subject immediately.

“I apologize, but I must ask you if you have learned anything about the three young men we recently spoke about.” She swallowed. Her mouth was dry. “I am afraid the matter grows urgent.”

His mouth pulled a little tighter, and there was a sadness in his eyes. “I have. None of it particularly surprising. Halversgate is, as you implied, a follower rather than a leader. Crostwick and Foxley are another matter. In better society, they are merely a trifle daring. More privately, they indulge in excess of drink in very dubious places, which increasingly often descends to violence. I wish I could tell you otherwise.” A faint humor touched his mouth. “I would advise your friend, if she
exists, to counsel her son most strongly not to associate with them. They may never be caught doing anything wrong, but they are a malign influence.”

Claudine felt the color burn up her face. She was clearly far more transparent than she had intended.

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly. She could not tell him the real reason for her inquiries, but she made no more pretense at excuses. She was too embarrassed to accept any hospitality, even though she would have enjoyed conversing with him on other matters. After wishing him a happy Christmas, she excused herself and left.

The next morning Claudine told Squeaky Robinson what she had learned. They were in his office with the door closed. The rest of the clinic was busy preparing for Christmas—trying to bring as much cheer as possible to those who had nowhere else to go, or whose sickness and injuries made them unable to care for themselves.

Squeaky was impressed with her account, although he did his best not to show it.

“Good,” he said a trifle sententiously. “It’s a start. So Halversgate’s a follower.”

“Apparently. This is information, but I’m afraid it is not proof,” she warned.

Squeaky pulled his face into an expression of disgust. “I know that! But don’t underestimate it. It’ll give you a lever to use with him.”

“Me?” She was startled. “How?”

He squinted at her. “He doesn’t know you don’t have proof. We can’t neither of us find anything much about Winnie Briggs, poor little cow. Nothing different from thousands of others, just unlucky. An’ so far I still haven’t found any sign of Tregarron, just a lot of stories, most of ’em lies, far as I can tell. But it only needs one nasty bastard rubbed the wrong way, an’ someone’ll nab him. So you’d better get about it, seeing as I can’t hardly go, and put a flea in Mr. Halversgate’s tail. You’ll think of something.”

Claudine did not find this task easy. She hated not so much actually telling a lie, but rather implying one and allowing it to be understood. Ordinary tact in talking about things that did not matter greatly was a social skill everyone was expected to possess. But deception came hard to her. Social exchange was a web of small flatteries and of compromises that entangled them all. It was one of the reasons she found it difficult.

Nevertheless, she needed to speak honestly with Ernest Halversgate.

While ostensibly calling on Tolly Halversgate, she actually met with Ernest in the large garden room overlooking their paved terrace and the rather fine balustrade, which gave the illusion that the lawn was bigger than it actually was. It was a clever piece of design, and she admired it.

“Thank you,” Ernest said a little stiffly. “My grandfather had it put in. It was rather dull before. I’m so sorry Mama is not here, Mrs. Burroughs. I don’t expect her for another half hour or so.” He was a very correct young man and at the moment clearly embarrassed.

Claudine smiled at him. “I’m sure it is my fault. I must have written down the wrong time. Or else I have it confused with another date. If I improved my handwriting, instead of scribbling when I am in a hurry, I would save myself from inconveniencing other people. It’s I who must apologize.”

“Not at all,” he said a trifle automatically.

“You’re very kind.” She looked through the windows at the lawn and the carefully planned curved walk, which appeared to lead to spaces beyond but in reality probably doubled back on itself. “It does not look too windy out there, and it certainly is not raining. Would you be gracious enough to show me around the garden?
I think it has a remarkable art to it, which I find most pleasing.”

He could hardly refuse. “Of course,” he said reluctantly. His body was tense and his hands oddly stiff as he walked over to the door and opened it for her.

As they crossed the terrace and went down the steps, she began the conversation for which she had come.

“I recently had a most delightful visit with Alphonsine Gifford, and she told me of your forthcoming engagement. May I congratulate you? She is in every way a charming young woman.”

“Thank you.” The shadow of a smile softened his face, but he did not turn his head or meet her eyes.

“It will be good to have someone to stand by you and be of support should this wretched business of Tregarron come to trial,” she went on. “It cannot be pleasant to have to testify to such a distressing incident.”

He stopped on the edge of the grass. “I don’t think I shall have to do that. Surely the evidence is perfectly plain? I … I didn’t really do anything.”

“All the more reason why you should testify, if he is found,” she said gently. “You will have had a clearer view and, I daresay, a clearer head. You seemed to me to be a little more … sober … than the others.”

He gasped, and she realized that perhaps he had forgotten for a moment that she had been there, moments after the incident, when Tregarron was still attempting to revive Winnie and the other three young men were standing close by.

She waited for him to continue. The silence was heavy and awkward.

He started to speak and then changed his mind.

She was acutely aware of his difficulty, but she could not afford to break the silence or change the subject, as she would have at any other time.

“It was all … ridiculous and unpleasant,” he said at last. “Tregarron should never have been invited. He’s a complete outsider … appalling man. Creighton can’t possibly have known how he would behave, or he wouldn’t have had anything to do with him.”

“Creighton Foxley invited him?” She affected surprise. She really only wanted to get a response from him.

“Well … I …” He trailed off unhappily.

“You are very loyal.” The remark was not complimentary. Her voice held a shadow of the contempt she felt for his seeming emotional indifference to the tragedy of a young woman’s death and the fact that neither
he nor his friends had done anything effective to prevent it.

Ernest blushed hotly. “Yes, I am, Mrs. Burroughs. I have no intention of discussing the matter unless I am forced to. But of course I will testify against Tregarron, if they call me. I’m angry that the man was allowed onto the premises, especially into Miss Gifford’s home. But when we are married I shall make certain that such a thing doesn’t happen again.”

“Of course,” Claudine agreed, her heart sinking as she pictured a long and fiercely protected life stretching ahead for Alphonsine. Was it what she wanted? Or what she believed it wise to settle for? Perhaps there were sides to Ernest Halversgate that Claudine had failed to see. “I’m sure you will find it distasteful to stand in court and tell the public exactly what happened,” she said more soothingly than she felt. “Any of us would. But you are, above all, a man of honor, so that is what you will do. I am so sorry any of this happened.”

He managed a bleak smile then moved forward and pointed out a particularly fine holly bush that was brilliant with berries.

“Superb,” she murmured politely but quite honestly. “Holly is such good value, I think. It provides color,
shape, and interest in a garden when there is so little else at this time of year.”

They made meaningless conversation around the rest of the garden, which was not nearly as large as clever optical illusion had suggested.

At last they reached the door to the withdrawing room again. Tolly Halversgate was standing just inside, controlling her expression of annoyance with some difficulty.

“I’m so sorry,” she said coolly. “I thought I had made my arrangement clear, but apparently I was remiss. I hope Ernest kept you entertained.” There was no lift in her voice to make it a question. She was expressing criticism, not concern. She glanced at her son with anxiety. He met her eyes then looked away.

“He was charming,” Claudine said with warmth. “What a perfectly delightful garden you have. In this mild weather he was kind enough to show me some of its very best aspects. It seems his grandfather had a gift for design that I very much admire.”

Tolly’s eyebrows rose in something that looked like disbelief. “I had no idea you were interested in garden design.”

“Surely anything that creates beauty is interesting?” Claudine countered.

“Tea?” Tolly asked. Then before Claudine could reply, she turned to her son. “Thank you, Ernest. Please feel now that you may leave to continue with your own business. I’m sure Mrs. Burroughs will excuse you, and I am most obliged for your courtesy.”

“Thank you for your company, and your conversation, Mr. Halversgate,” Claudine said courteously.

“My pleasure.” He bowed in a stiff and rather old-fashioned manner for such a young man. Then, without adding anything further, he left the room.

“What an agreeable and sensitive person he is,” Claudine said approvingly as she sat down in the chair by the fire, opposite the one nearest Tolly. “So much more mature than others I meet who are his age.”

Tolly stared at her.

Claudine continued to smile, feeling as if she were baring her teeth. “Miss Gifford must be very happy, and quite confident in her future.”

“We have not announced their engagement yet,” Tolly said a trifle sharply. However, her shoulders were relaxing a little, and there was a hint of satisfaction in her voice.

“Alphonsine told me herself.” Claudine stretched the truth considerably. “Of course it is very difficult for a
young woman to keep such secrets, especially when we are all involved in this other most unhappy matter.” It was clumsy, but she could not think of a more tactful way to introduce the subject.

Tolly did not need to ask to which matter Claudine was referring. “I have no idea what you mean,” she said coldly. “Ernest is not involved in it at all. He simply was unfortunate enough to have been close by, and he very naturally tried to restrain Tregarron. Heaven only knows what the other two were doing, inviting that man to the house in the first place. But if you had really thought about it, you would have realized that yourself.” She looked at Claudine directly. “Naturally you were upset, having arrived at the scene before anyone else. Anybody would be. But if you look at it with hindsight, it is perfectly apparent what occurred.”

Claudine looked at her with interest. Her mind was whirling, and there was a prickle of excitement stirring inside her: fear mixed with the scent of the hunt. She felt there was suddenly a glimpse of truth to be found here, beyond the carefully prepared words that had been there before.

“Yes. I am still thinking back over everything I saw,” she answered, her own gaze not wavering from Tolly’s.

“How wise of you,” Tolly replied. “I can see that you are weighing your position very cautiously. After all, a word misplaced can do a lot of damage.”

“It often can,” Claudine agreed. “And once spoken, be very difficult to retract.” She wondered if Tolly was merely concerned about her son’s forthcoming engagement, which might be jeopardized if he appeared to be too closely involved with Tregarron. Or of the considerable unpleasantness if he were to testify in a way that reflected badly on Creighton Foxley and Cecil Crostwick, who were unquestionably leaders in their social set. Or possibly of the damage to Alphonsine’s value if someone were to suggest, even obliquely, that Forbes Gifford’s parties were of a character where men and women such as Tregarron and Winnie Briggs were often found.

Tolly smiled. “I see you understand exactly.” Her voice was cold and careful. “I’m sure you will do the right thing. Alphonsine is a lovely young woman. My son is very fortunate. He will be marrying into a family who will take the greatest care of their daughter’s reputation so neither of them will ever have cause for embarrassment. I’m certain, had you a son, you would wish the same for him.” Her smile grew wider, easier. “You
understand the nuances precisely. Now, may I offer you tea? I’m sure after your walk you would like some refreshment.”

“How kind of you,” Claudine accepted, her mind racing to weigh all that Tolly’s remarks were intended to mean. The Giffords were powerful, wealthy, quite capable either of helping Wallace in his climb to success or of hurting him. It would depend on Claudine’s behavior regarding the situation and the reputations of everyone involved—not only Alphonsine’s but, by implication, that of the young man she was going to marry. If Claudine were to cause any kind of embarrassment, Tolly Halversgate would make very sure that she paid for it dearly.

Did that mean that there was some way in which Ernest Halversgate needed protection? Surely it did. Tolly was worried, and Ernest himself was afraid, afraid of his new friends, the circle of which he was on the edge and so badly wanted to be within. What price would he pay for that privilege? Telling lies as to who was responsible for Winnie Briggs’s death? Would he let an innocent man hang for it?

If that was the case, Claudine must find a way to make sure he understood that price and that he would ultimately find it more than he was willing to pay.

Could she use Alphonsine somehow? How much of the truth did the girl know, or guess? Did Ernest know the answer to that, and did he care?