from his moustache. ‘You have inherited my cousin’s charitable nature.’ He shot a sideways glance at Jane, who snatched up a bread roll and tore it into tiny pieces, popping one into her mouth and grinding it with her teeth.
Alice repressed a shudder as one of Flora’s nightmare sketches flashed before her eyes. Jane was suddenly the wicked witch about to eat Hansel and Gretel. She blinked hard and found Horace staring at her with a bemused expression. She managed a weak smile. ‘The soup is delicious.’
Jane curled her lip. ‘This will be our festive repast. I spend Christmas Day attending church services. You would do well to come with me, Alice.’
‘I would, of course,’ Alice said quickly, ‘but I’m afraid I have to work. Mrs Dearborn has not given me the day off.’ It was not exactly a lie, nor was it the complete truth. In fact, nothing had been mentioned by the lady of the house, but Flora wanted her to be there, and even on such a short acquaintance her welfare had become important to Alice.
‘Really?’ Beth’s eyes were moist with unshed tears. ‘Must you, Alice? Surely everyone deserves to spend the day with their family?’
‘You’re invited too, Mama,’ Alice said in desperation. ‘Miss Flora will be glad of the company. The poor child spends most of her time alone in the nursery.’
‘I’m proud to belong to such a caring family,’ Horace said, clasping his hands as if in prayer. ‘Although I was hoping that perhaps I might be invited to spend Christmas Day here with my only living relatives.’
Alice held her breath, praying that Aunt Jane would not weaken, and she could have cried with relief when her aunt shook her head. ‘You have friends who will make you welcome, Horace. You’re always telling me how popular you are.’
‘Well, yes, indeed, but …’
‘No buts, Cousin. I’m sure you will find somewhere to go, but it won’t be here. I will be in church or helping the poor and needy, as is my wont.’
Horace mumbled something into his beard.
‘What did you say, Cousin?’
He gave her a sheepish grin. ‘I said you are a saint, Cousin Jane.’
She beamed at him. ‘Oh, no. That I am not, but I’m glad that Alice is taking her work seriously, and Beth can spend the day in bed if she so chooses.’ She pushed her plate away. ‘Alice, you may ring the bell, and if that stupid child doesn’t appear within minutes you will go below stairs and tell her to pack her bags.’
Snippet saved herself by arriving promptly, if a little dishevelled and out of breath, but she managed to clear the table without dropping anything and delivered the main course without further mishap. The roast beef was a bit tough, the potatoes not quite cooked through and the cabbage a little watery, but Horace ate ravenously and Jane cleared her plate. Alice had already eaten well that day and she only ate a small amount, and her mother, as usual, picked at her food, but there was apple pie to follow and that was delicious. The custard was thick and creamy and everyone did justice to the dessert, but the moment she had finished her meal Jane rose to her feet and announced that the evening must come to an end.
Horace stared at her. ‘But it is early as yet, Cousin. Might we not sit for a while and allow our meal to digest?’
‘There is nothing wrong with my digestion, Horace, and you have a long walk to your rooms in West Smithfield. Unless, of course, you intend to take a cab.’
‘That costs money, my dear cousin, and as you know my finances leave much to be desired.’
‘And that is because your father was a gambler and risked his fortune on unwise investments. My own dear Robert was a prudent man. He strived hard to provide for us in our old age.’
‘And he worked himself to death, Cousin.’ Horace’s moustache quivered with suppressed emotion. Alice could not be sure whether it was grief or indignation, but he was obviously moved.
‘Robert did not work himself to death. He caught lung fever when visiting the docks, and that was what took him to an early grave.’ Jane produced a hanky and dabbed her eyes. ‘I was widowed at the age of thirty-five and my heart is interred with my beloved husband.’
Horace rose to his feet. ‘We all share your sorrow, Cousin.’ He turned to Alice with a wolfish smile. ‘Will you see me out, Miss Radcliffe? Or may I call you Alice?’
‘I will see you out.’ Jane stood up, brushing crumbs from her skirt. ‘It’s not proper for a young unmarried woman to be alone in the company of an eligible gentleman. You know that as well as I do, Horace.’
He bowed, clicking his heels together. ‘You are right as always, Cousin Jane. Please forgive me for my boldness, but in the face of such youth and beauty I’m afraid it is difficult to remain aloof.’
Alice stared at him in horror. If Horace Hubble had any romantic ideas in his head he would do better to forget them. The mere sight of him revolted her and although they had only just met, her first impression of him had been far from favourable. For once she was grateful to her aunt for her rigid sense of propriety. Jane shooed Horace out of the room and Alice turned to her mother with a sigh of relief.
‘Would you believe that, Mama? He seems to think a lot of himself.’
‘I suspected that Jane had an ulterior motive in having him here tonight and treating us all to such a meal.’
‘I can’t think what that would be.’
‘Nor I, but I’ve heard your papa speak about Horace’s father and it’s true that he went through a fortune by playing the stock market. They lost everything and George Hubble blew his brains out, leaving Horace with virtually nothing. It seems that both our families have been unlucky.’
‘Horace’s misfortune has nothing to do with us, Mama.’ Alice stared at her mother, eyebrows raised. ‘Apart from losing Papa and Uncle Robert, what else is there?’
Twin spots of colour stained Beth’s cheeks. ‘All families have something they want to hide or are ashamed of, darling. Forget I said anything.’
‘No, Mama. You can’t leave it like that.’ Her curiosity aroused Alice, moved to sit beside her mother.
‘I don’t suppose you remember your Aunt Viola, do you?’
Alice frowned. ‘Papa’s sister? I have a vague memory of her. She was young and pretty and she laughed a lot.’
‘Viola was headstrong and spoiled. She was your father’s half-sister, the child of your grandfather’s second marriage. You were only seven or eight when she eloped with a man who was totally unsuitable. It was a terrible scandal.
‘What happened to her, Mama? Where is she now?’
‘I was told that she died of consumption.’
‘Poor thing, how sad.’
‘The family hushed up the details. It was very tragic.’
‘What happened to her husband?’
‘They weren’t married. I don’t know what happened to him, and it was all a long time ago.’
