good at that because I’ve seen some of your sketches.’
‘I draw what I see in my nightmares.’ Flora sat up, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. ‘I’ll draw her as a witch.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Alice said hastily. She rose to her feet and went to the washstand to dip a flannel in cold water. Having wrung it out she used it to wipe Flora’s hot cheeks. ‘It would be better to draw something to remind her that it’s the season of peace and goodwill,’ she said slowly. ‘Perhaps some holly and ivy or mistletoe would be nice, and a little note from you saying you’re very sorry.’
‘But I’m not sorry,’ Flora said crossly.
‘It’s your choice. You apologise and try to make amends or else you’ll have a very miserable Christmas.’
Flora stared at her, head on one side. ‘What sort of Christmas will you have, Radcliffe?’
‘I think we should start by being on first-name terms. I want you to call me Alice and I’ll drop the title Miss and simply call you Flora, at least when we’re on our own.’
‘All right,’ Flora said, nodding. ‘So will you be here with me on Christmas Day, Alice? Or will you go away like everyone else and have a jolly time with your family?’
‘If you want me to be here, then I will. I told you how it is with me and my mama. There’s little enough cheer in my aunt’s house.’
Flora threw her arms around Alice, giving her a hearty hug. ‘Then it’s the same for you. I want you here, with me. You can bring your mama, if you like, and I’ll tell Mrs Upton to give us a special luncheon.’
‘Don’t you ever take your meals with your parents, Flora?’
‘Sometimes, but they have friends to dinner on Christmas Day. I just go downstairs when the ladies sit in the drawing room afterwards and they give me crystallised fruit. And sugared almonds – I like that.’
Alice rose to her feet, turning away so that Flora could not see the tears of sympathy that welled in her eyes. She went to the desk and searched for pen and paper. ‘Come over here, Flora. You can write the words but I’ll help you with the picture.’
After several false starts with ink blots flying in all directions, Flora finally managed to write a short note of apology, and she drew some spiky holly leaves with berries that varied in size and shape. It was a good effort, but she was not satisfied.
‘Please draw some mistletoe, Alice. I remember Papa kissing Mama under the mistletoe last Christmas. She went red and giggled, but I think she liked it really.’ She pushed the piece of paper towards Alice. ‘Please. A lovely big bunch of mistletoe.’
Alice smiled. This was a different child from the brat who had greeted her first thing that morning. ‘All right, I will, just this once.’ She took the pen and began to draw. Flora leaned over her shoulder, making encouraging remarks and breathing heavily down Alice’s neck.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Flora said delightedly when Alice put the pen down. ‘Let’s go and give it to Mama now.’
‘We’ll wait until the ink dries or it will smudge, and then we’ll go downstairs and you can give it to her.’
They were prevented from going straight away by the arrival of Nettie with a tray of food for their midday meal. Flora picked at hers but Alice was starving and she ate with relish. One thing in Mrs Dearborn’s favour was her choice of cook. The chicken soup was rich and delicious, and the bread, hot from the oven, was liberally spread with butter. Followed by treacle tart and custard, it was the best meal that Alice had eaten in days and she finished off what Flora left for good measure.
‘You’ll get fat if you eat that much.’ Flora shook her head, staring pointedly at the empty plates.
‘There’s little chance of that,’ Alice said, wiping her lips on the starched white napkin. ‘My aunt doesn’t believe in overfeeding us. I just wish my mama could have had some of the chicken soup.’
‘I’ll tell Mrs Upton to prepare a basket for you,’ Flora said grandly. ‘Now, let’s go downstairs and give the note to Mama. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow and it’s getting very late to get a tree, or to buy presents.’
Flora ran ahead of Alice and burst into the drawing room without bothering to knock. Mrs Dearborn looked up from her embroidery, frowning ominously. ‘What now, Flora? Where are your manners?’
‘I’m sorry, Mama.’ Flora ran to her side, thrusting the note into her hands. ‘I made this for you.’
Mrs Dearborn scanned the paper. ‘You did this unaided, Flora?’
‘I had a bit of help from Radcliffe,’ Flora said airily. ‘I did most of it, but she did the mistletoe.’
‘Mistletoe?’ A male voice from the doorway made Alice turn with a start, but all she could see was a tangle of pine branches as a tall figure hefted a huge tree into the room.
‘Uncle Rory.’ Flora rushed to greet him. ‘I hoped you’d come. There’s someone I want you to meet.’
‘I said that there was to be no tree this year.’ Mrs Dearborn rose to her feet allowing Flora’s note to drift to the floor. ‘You spoil her, Rory. She doesn’t deserve such attention.’
Alice stood aside, mindful of her lowly position in the household, but she was curious to see the uncle whom Flora seemed to worship. The tree reached almost to the ceiling and the scent of pine filled the room as Rory manoeuvred it with some difficulty towards the window. He leaned it against the wall and stood back, brushing spiky green needles off his well-cut pin-stripe jacket. He turned to his sister-in-law with a disarming smile.
‘I’m sure you don’t mean that, Lydia.’ He bent down to lift Flora in his arms, placing a smacking kiss on her cheek before setting her back on her feet. ‘Have you been a bad girl again, Floss?’
‘No, of course not, Uncle Rory.’ Flora gazed up at him adoringly.
He was, Alice thought, undeniably handsome, and he had smiling brown eyes. She could see why he must appear like a Greek god to a lonely little girl.
‘Don’t pander to her,’ Lydia Dearborn said sharply. ‘Anyway, you started this particular bout of bad behaviour by listening to the ranting of that drunken woman my husband was forced to dismiss. Now the child thinks she has another family living in Spitalfields, of all places.’
Flora grasped Rory’s hand, holding it to her cheek. ‘Tell her, Uncle Rory. You believe me, don’t you?’
‘It’s time Miss Radcliffe took you back to the nursery, Flora.’ Lydia sank down on her chair as if exhausted by the conversation. ‘Run along now.’
‘Miss Radcliffe?’ Rory turned to Alice with an appraising look. ‘You’re new here.’
Alice inclined her head. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘She’s
