A Christmas Hope (15 page)

“I’m sorry,” Claudine said to John Barton, who was a very agreeable young man. He was not exactly handsome, but perhaps better than that—he had a face that showed both good humor and openness, coupled with a considerable intelligence. Had she been Alphonsine’s age, Claudine had no doubt at all that she would have chosen him above Ernest Halversgate, whatever their difference in expectations or suitability.

But then Claudine was older and wiser. She had tasted years of pedestrian marriage that had now settled into a pattern of mutual dislike. If she had known then what she knew now, she would have taken the risks, sacrificed the parties, the balls, the theaters, the carriages, and the servants, in favor of a little hardship as the price of laughter and affection.

Not that she valued comfort lightly. It was easy to become used to, even to take for granted in a surprisingly
short time. It was just that things had a different value when you were older and had lost the chance to make your decisions again.

“Mr. Barton,” Claudine began as they moved down an empty pathway, the trees sheltering them from most of the damp. It was possible here to furl the umbrella again and speak more easily.

He turned to pay her his full attention.

Briefly she told him of their current situation regarding the struggle and death of Winnie Briggs and the fact that Tregarron was now in custody and due to be charged.

“I believe you and Alphonsine were in a situation where you witnessed at least a part of these unpleasant events.” She made it more of a statement than a question, but she watched him carefully to see his response.

He understood with dawning gravity. “You mean, the young men lied?” he said, stopping on the sandy gravel.

“Yes. If what Alphonsine says is correct, and it was not Dai Tregarron who struck the young woman.”

“It was not,” he said, shooting a glance at Alphonsine then back again to Claudine. “I was witness also. I don’t know who did strike her. I am not acquainted with the
young men to know one from another. But Tregarron is older, and quite distinctive. He was standing apart from them, and it was not he.”

Claudine drew in a deep breath. She did not dare to look at Alphonsine, whom she was about to embarrass profoundly, but there was no alternative to it.

“Mr. Barton, I wonder if you have considered fully the consequences if you and Alphonsine were to tell the truth?”

“I know that they will fight against us, Mrs. Burroughs. In fact, they will do all they can to discredit us and prove that we are wrong. I don’t know what motive they could ascribe to us. But Mr. Tregarron will lose his life if we say nothing, and that is not an acceptable bargain. No honest man would allow such a thing. I have only been quiet for this long because of Alphonsine.” There was no pomposity in his voice. He was not proclaiming his virtue, simply stating what he believed to be a fact.

“Indeed. And
have
you considered what Miss Gifford may lose?” Claudine said as softly as she could in the breeze and above the sound of their footsteps in the gravel and the gentle swishing of skirts.

John Barton was embarrassed and for the first time unable to find easy and passionate words.

Claudine said it for him. “Mr. Halversgate will not marry her.”

“Well, it seems unavoidably true that either he knew who killed that poor woman—and he lied to protect his friend and thus blamed an innocent man—or else he killed her himself, possibly not intending to,” Barton responded. “I hardly think her father would permit the marriage after that, whatever proves to be true.”

Alphonsine turned away, hiding her face from them both.

“You have not taken my point, Mr. Barton,” Claudine said, hating doing it. “Mr. Halversgate will not marry her because she was keeping a tryst with another man, even if nobody believes you and he emerges with his reputation intact—and Mr. Tregarron hangs. Alphonsine’s testimony will ruin her reputation, whatever happens.”

Barton looked as if she had punched him in the stomach, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He stood still, not even fighting for words.

“It is likely no one else will marry her, after such a
scandal,” Claudine added. Would he accept this? Did he love her as much as apparently she loved him?

Barton looked ashen-faced, but there was no time for pity now. She stood her ground and waited.

“I would marry her the day she would have me, Mrs. Burroughs,” John Barton said at last. “But her father would not permit it. He has already said so.”

“If you testify against Cecil Crostwick, Creighton Foxley, and Ernest Halversgate, his opinion may change,” Claudine replied. “He may no longer have a more acceptable choice.” She drew in her breath to add that she hoped passionately that that had not been their intention from the beginning, then thought better of it. The thought was too ugly to bear. Instead, she added further weight to the other side. “And of course the families of the three young men, who have considerable power in both business and society, will not forgive you. You may pay a very heavy price for your honesty, Mr. Barton. I don’t know what your ambitions are, but it might spell the end of them.”

“Are you trying to dissuade me, Mrs. Burroughs?” he asked, his voice tight in his throat.

“No, Mr. Barton, I am trying to be fair.”

“You have been fair, Mrs. Burroughs,” he said
gravely. “Now let us go and do what we have to. Whatever it proves, I believe the cost of silence would be greater, not only to Mr. Tregarron but to me.”

Claudine hoped profoundly that he was right, but she did not say so. She simply nodded fractionally and smiled at him then looked at Alphonsine.

Alphonsine gulped. “I’m ready,” she said huskily.

An hour later, damp and beginning to get a little chilled, the three of them sat in front of Oona Gifford. They were stiff with apprehension, struggling to keep their courage high.

“I think you had better explain to me,” Oona said quietly after the maid brought in high tea and fresh toasted crumpets then departed. It was dark and late, far too late for such refreshments, but none of them had eaten since luncheon, and it was now past dinner.

Alphonsine looked at the man she loved, then at her mother, and finally at Claudine.

“One of you, please,” Oona requested.

It seemed to fall naturally to Claudine to explain.
She did so as briefly as was possible, detailing all the facts and what she believed was likely to happen as a result of both Alphonsine and John Barton going to the police and telling the truth, or their remaining silent and saying nothing. She left out none of the consequences, good or bad, certain or problematical. No one interrupted her.

“I see,” Oona said at last.

Alphonsine stared at her. She looked lonely, frightened, and very young. It occurred to Claudine to wonder how long she had been without a mother since her own mother died, and then her father had met and married Oona. Perhaps too long for her to retain the power to believe that she would not be left inexplicably alone again.

Oona smiled. She reached out her hand and put it very gently over Alphonsine’s where it lay on her skirt.

“You seem to have thought this over very carefully. Are you certain that it is what you want to do, even knowing the inevitable consequences? I think Claudine is right and they will be exactly as she says. Innocent or guilty, and whether he loves you or not, I don’t think Ernest Halversgate will marry you when he knows this. Even if he wished to, I doubt his mother would permit it.” A very slight smile touched the corner of her mouth
then vanished again. In that instant Claudine knew that Oona was entirely on her stepdaughter’s side, perhaps with more understanding than her own mother might have had. Maybe the fear for her was less. She had not loved her as a child and so did not in any sense still see her as one.

It was Barton who spoke. “I have already met Mr. Gifford, ma’am,” he said gently. “He is aware of my feelings for Alphonsine, and he made it politely but very definitely clear to me that I am not suitable as a husband for her. I’m … sorry.”

“That was then,” Oona told him. “It looks as if circumstances are about to change rather dramatically. I shall speak to him. You will remain here in the withdrawing room. Finish the tea and the crumpets. Claudine and I shall go and discuss the issues and what may be done.”

Claudine was startled. She was not a family friend and had no standing in the matter at all. Was Oona about to tell her so and dismiss her with all the outrage she had so carefully concealed until now?

As she followed Oona across the hall and along a wide passage to the door of Forbes Gifford’s study, Claudine found her head spinning. She was afraid for a moment
that the sheer tension of it would make her trip, even faint.

Oona knocked on the door. Without waiting for an answer, she turned the handle and went in.

Forbes Gifford was sitting by the fire with a book in his hands. The room was warm both in temperature and in the rich leather and velvet of its furnishings, the polished wood and the glowing carpet.

He looked up and saw his wife with pleasure. Then, the moment after, he realized she was not alone and rose to his feet, his face grave with concern. “Has something happened?” he asked.

As soon as Claudine was inside with her, Oona closed the door.

“Yes, my dear, I’m afraid it has. I could explain it to you, but I might do so a good deal less lucidly than Claudine will, if you will permit it? I’m afraid it cannot wait until a more convenient time.”

“Very well, if this is necessary, then we had better proceed. May we offer you some refreshment, Mrs. Burroughs? You seem … a little damp. Are you chilled? Would you like the seat nearest the fire?”

Claudine accepted it. To tell the truth, she felt shivery. It was not the temperature in the house, it was her
own nerves. At Forbes Gifford’s insistence, she again told the story of the attack on Winnie Briggs and exactly what Alphonsine had told her. As she did so, Forbes’s face darkened. Every so often he glanced at Oona, and she affirmed what Claudine said.

When she had finished, Claudine sat motionless, waiting for the storm to break.

“And do you believe him?” Forbes asked, looking at her through narrowed eyes.

She considered for a moment evading the answer but knew it would be futile. She knew exactly what he meant, and he would not appreciate prevarication.

“I do,” she answered. “Of course, I wondered if it might be an elaborate piece of opportunism he had seized so that he could sabotage Alphonsine’s chance to marry Ernest Halversgate, or anyone else of suitable expectations. But I believe that Alphonsine really did see the incident and that it was not Tregarron who instigated it or indeed struck the woman at all.”

“And do you believe that my daughter was keeping an assignation with John Barton when the attack took place?” he pressed. “Have you any means at all of proving that she was there, and not somewhere else, where she should have been, entertaining our guests?”

“I have not tried to find proof,” she admitted. “But I am sure you could question your own staff, if you wished to. What Alphonsine described to me was exactly what she would have seen from the neighbor’s windows onto the terrace. I saw the same myself, from the other side, when I went out there a few moments after the attack. Mr. Tregarron had moved forward from the place Alphonsine saw him, in order to try to save the woman who was lying on the stones. Everyone else was exactly where she described them. Tell me, Mr. Forbes—you have known Alphonsine all her life—do you believe her to be capable of creating such a story in order to free a man she knows might be guilty of murder and condemn to scandal at least, the gallows at worst, three young men whose families are friends—all in order to ruin herself socially and marry a young man who has no money and few prospects that are of the order she is accustomed to?”

“I think she is young and in love and has no idea of the realities of life,” he replied guardedly. “She has always been very comfortable, having all the clothes and parties she desires, all the friends, opportunities to do whatever she wishes. She can have no idea what it will be like to lose those.”

Claudine drew in a deep breath and let it out softly. Now was the time to speak, however shaming, however difficult. She did it for Alphonsine as she might have done for a daughter of her own.

“Mr. Gifford, we all like certain luxuries. They are things we enjoy but could actually survive without. Most people do. One of the happiest women I know is married to a man who earned very little, in their earlier years together. She came from a good home where she could have married money, but she chose a man with a difficult past and a very doubtful future, because she loved him, and I think she was as certain as one ever can be that he loved her. They are now more than ten years after that decision, and I don’t think she has regretted a day of it. She runs a clinic for street women, where I work quite often, and for which I am always seeking funding. That work brings me the greatest happiness I have.”

Forbes Gifford stared at her, his attention total, although there were questions in his eyes that he was too sensitive to ask.