A Christmas Hope (9 page)

Within moments she was drawn into the buzz of conversation. Gossip was cheerfully exchanged, and for the first time in a long time she listened with genuine attention. One never knew what one might hear; any small piece of information might inadvertently fit into the puzzle of Winnie’s death.

It was almost an hour before she managed to speak to Eppy alone and not obviously be overheard.

“What an unusual pleasure to see you here,” Eppy said with undisguised curiosity. “I can’t imagine you are going to find many donations to your clinic, though. We are all too involved in preparations for Christmas. It always costs more than you think it will, don’t you find?” It was a rather heavy-handed warning that she did not intend to contribute to the clinic and would not appreciate being placed in the position of having to refuse.

Claudine smiled back at her with a warmth she did not feel. “Actually, we are doing quite well, thank you.
Many people have already thought of the less fortunate and given. A beautiful part of the true spirit of Christmas, don’t you agree?”

Eppy’s smile froze. “Of course. And how nice that you are not in the position of having people dread seeing you approach, in case you ask for something they cannot give.”

“Exactly,” Claudine agreed. “I would hate to embarrass someone who was in … straitened circumstances.”

Eppy’s smile turned to ice. A few yards from them, a woman in a silk gown whose cost would have fed a family for a year smiled happily and swept past to greet someone.

Claudine reminded herself why she was here and returned the warmth to her voice.

“But you are quite right,” she said gently. “This is a time of year for enjoying all the blessings we have and being grateful for them. One can hardly do that with a long face or by thinking only of misfortunes. I do hope Oona Gifford does not feel crushed by that wretched event at her party. Until that moment, which no forethought could have prevented, it was completely delightful.”

Eppy looked startled but hastily agreed. “I’m sure she will forget it in a while, especially if we do not keep
reminding her.” She met Claudine’s eyes. “I imagine that wretched man will be caught sooner or later.”

“He may have left the country.” Claudine referred back to the remark at the theater. “That could be best for all of us, don’t you think?”

Eppy thought in silence for a moment.

“I’m sure Cecil would rather not have to go to court to testify as to exactly what happened,” Claudine went on. “Apart from anything else, when you have an interesting, busy life—as I’m sure he does—it gets harder to remember things as time goes by. There are so many other parties, other occasions.”

“Yes,” Eppy agreed. “Yes, of course. But I’m sure Cecil would remember. It’s not every day you see some … some madman kill a woman in front of you.” She shivered.

“Oh dear,” Claudine said with commiseration. “Was that really what happened? Poor Cecil.”

“Of course it was!” Eppy looked startled at Claudine’s slowness of wits. “Tregarron brought the woman, and then when she refused to do what he wished, he struck her. Right across the face, Cecil said. He was horrified. He said that at first he was too appalled to do anything at all. Then when Tregarron struck her again,
even harder, Cecil stepped forward and told him in no uncertain way that if he did it again, then he would be obliged to strike him back.”

“Thank goodness he was there,” Claudine said warmly. “What did the others do? Surely they were appalled as well?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Eppy agreed. “Cecil said Creighton Foxley was absolutely incensed. He tried to drag the wretched man off her, but apparently he had completely lost his head. Of course, he was out of his mind with drink. It took both of them—I mean all three of them—to drag Tregarron off. But by that time the poor girl was unconscious on the ground. Obviously that was all after you spoke with the man. Why did you go out to the terrace, anyway?” She looked at Claudine curiously.

“I went for a breath of air. It is actually a very pleasant space,” Claudine explained. Nearly the truth. There was no need to say that the conversation had bored her and made her feel hemmed in by trivialities. That would be unnecessarily rude. Perhaps others felt as she did but had better manners than to let it be known.

“And you were the first one out after the … the tragedy,” Eppy noted. “I expect Cecil was trying to revive her, when you found them.”

“Actually …,” Claudine began then suddenly changed her mind. “They were all crowded near her when I got there. Poor Cecil, what a distress for him it must’ve been when she did not stir.”

“Terrible,” Eppy agreed. “I don’t know how you think he could forget it in a few days, or even weeks.”

“I’m sorry,” Claudine lied. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. Well, that testimony should be plain enough for there to be no defense for Tregarron.”

“None at all,” Eppy agreed.

“I imagine Creighton and Ernest Halversgate will say the same. They’d all be there to support one another … over the distress of it all, I mean.”

“I imagine so,” Eppy agreed. “And wouldn’t you have to testify if that awful man is arrested? I mean, mightn’t you have to?”

“Yes,” Claudine said very soberly, “I would have to.” She gulped air, and it caught in her throat, almost choking her. What Eppy had described was not at all what she had seen. But if all three of the boys swore to the same circumstance, would her word be enough against theirs? She doubted it. “Of course,” she added when she had regained her composure.

The day after that she decided to pursue another tack. She did not know Alphonsine Gifford well. However, on the occasions when they had met she had found her a very pleasant young woman and of an independent mind, which showed a degree of courage as well as intelligence. She decided to visit her and congratulate her on her prospective engagement to Ernest Halversgate.

They were sitting in the withdrawing room. It was the appropriate place to receive calls, traditionally known as “morning calls,” although the visits actually took place in the afternoon. The fire was roaring up the chimney, in spite of the still unusually clement weather. The mantel was decked with garlands, as were many of the doors and archways. It all looked most welcoming. It took an effort of will to recall that only just over a week ago a tragedy had taken place in this house.

Alphonsine was dressed in an afternoon gown of rich burgundy, which was startlingly attractive against her warm coloring. Claudine would have expected the shade
to be overpowering, but on the contrary, it seemed perfectly natural on Alphonsine.

“Thank you,” the young woman said demurely when Claudine offered her congratulations. “I’m sure I shall be very happy.” She looked down at her hands, avoiding Claudine’s eyes.

With a jolt of memory Claudine thought of herself thirty years ago, sitting just like that, receiving someone’s well-meant congratulations on becoming engaged to Wallace. What her visitor had implied was that a girl as plain as Claudine was lucky to receive an offer of marriage from a man as decent and promising as Wallace. Someone safe, comfortable, and assured of respectability. And in truth, it was much more than some women could look forward to. Heaven knew, she had ministered to hundreds who would have given everything they possessed to change places with her. A roof over their heads, warmth, food, and nice clothes were dreams that barely flickered in their imaginations.

Poor Winnie Briggs had been one of them
.

That thought jerked Claudine back to her reason for being here, which had nothing to do with the fresh hot tea, cakes and tiny pies of pastry, and rich fruit that were before her on the table.

“I hope you will be,” she said. “Of course, much of happiness is what we make of it. But I believe you are a woman of courage. You will embrace life. You will not expect it always to be gentle with you, or even fair.”

Alphonsine’s head came up sharply, and she met Claudine’s eyes. “What … what do you mean? And don’t tell me you don’t mean anything. I know you better than that, Mrs. Burroughs. You are not one of the usual society women who goes from party to party, giving a little charity here and there and saying all sorts of things they don’t mean. You work at the clinic in Portpool Lane, don’t you?”

Claudine was surprised. “Yes. It means a great deal to me. Why do you ask?”

“Do you have women there like the one who died here the other evening?”

“Yes. Many exactly like her. We do manage to save most of them, and at least to give a little comfort to those we can’t save. But if you’re worried about Mr. Halversgate’s part in all this, there’s no need to be—I’m sure he did all he could to save her.”

Alphonsine’s eyes lowered again. “Of course. It was … dreadful.” Suddenly she looked intently at Claudine. “Will he have to testify in court, if they find Mr.
Tregarron? Do you think they will? If … if they find him guilty, they’ll hang him, won’t they?”

In spite of the fire and the hot tea, Claudine was chilled. She remembered Lambert Foxley’s words about assuring that the young men would not have to appear in court and therefore would avoid being cross-questioned by a lawyer for the defense. Was it because he wanted to spare them the ordeal of a trial, or because he wanted to ensure they would not be caught in a lie? Apparently, Alphonsine did not question the story Ernest and his friends had offered. Claudine doubted the young woman would be able to sit calmly on a sofa if she thought her soon-to-be fiancé was guilty of such a crime and that it was possible an innocent man could be hanged for something he did not do.

“Yes,” she said decisively. “They will hang him, if they believe he deliberately beat her. But Mr. Halversgate was there. He must know what happened, and he will be able to testify to it.”

Alphonsine stared at her. “Yes …” She swallowed. “He will. But of course he was not the only one who was there. Cecil Crostwick and Creighton Foxley were as well. Perhaps one of them testifying will be enough … do you think?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t think so at all.” Claudine had no compunction in being blunt with her. “If you were the person defending Mr. Tregarron, wouldn’t you wish to question them all, to make sure their accounts were exactly the same?”

“I suppose I would.” Alphonsine gave a very slight smile. “Don’t you think they will make sure that it is? If Mr. Tregarron is caught, of course?”

Claudine thought for a moment before she answered. “But, of course, they would have been standing in different places and therefore seen things slightly differently. So their accounts might be a bit varied.”

Alphonsine was very pale, even in the gaslight. “I … yes, of course they would. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“It would probably be best if they each described exactly what they saw. One would wish to be as natural sounding as possible, should it come to anything, which of course it may not.”

A succession of emotions crossed Alphonsine’s face: relief, disappointment, then misery. “Yes, you are quite right,” she agreed. “Perhaps he will never be caught, and they won’t have to say anything at all.”

In the hansom cab on her way home, Claudine considered all the bits of information she had gathered.
Only one struck her as very slightly incongruous now, after talking to Alphonsine—the fact that the girl was having her friends tell what amounted to lies, even if very conventional ones, so that she might spend more time with Ernest Halversgate. The girl didn’t seem particularly besotted, though happy enough. It appeared to be a relationship of convenience … So, surely the ordinary social arrangements were more than sufficient? It was a small thing, but it nagged at her. She decided then that she had no choice but to call again on Arthur Davidson.

She hated doing it. She was actually trembling as she stood at the front door and reached for the brass-headed bell pull, but she could not afford to wait any longer. If Arthur Davidson preferred not to answer her request, then better that she know it now. She was aware that by returning to press him for more information, she might also make him less likely to contribute to the clinic in the future. That would be a heavy blow. He had been generous.