the luxury of the Arcadia Hotel. Before typing up the pages of Sir Arthur’s manuscript that he’d handwritten in his illegible scrawl, I sat at the desk and deciphered them. As always, it confounded me how a man like Sir Arthur, so meticulous in his research, could be so slovenly in his handwriting. But then again, I was grateful for it; it’s one of the reasons why he’d hired me.
When I was done, I picked up the Christmas card that had arrived earlier. The envelope was postmarked Eureka Springs, Arkansas. I sliced it open with my pearl-handled letter opener. Fringed in blue silk, one side of the card showed a richly colored bouquet of red roses, wheat, and blue forget-me-nots and it read: “Happy may your Christmas be.” On the other side, it read: “May Christmas Peace keep Winter from thy heart.” I read the brief note Miss Lizzie, the dear elderly woman I’d met during my time in Eureka Springs, had included, written on Arcadia Hotel stationery.
They weren’t coming! She and her sister, Miss Lucy, friends of Sir Arthur’s, had planned to visit for the holidays, but Miss Lucy had come down with a coryza and Dr. Grice didn’t recommend that she expose herself to the cold winter weather.
How disappointing, was my first thought. Ah, Dr. Grice, was my second.
Dr. Walter Grice, a physician I’d also met in Eureka Springs who, only after a brief acquaintance, had become dear to me and, I think, me to him. But the reality of our lives intervened and separated us. The situation was impossible, but it hadn’t stopped me from anticipating and relishing every letter I’d received from him.
I was replying to Miss Lizzie’s letter when someone tapped on my door.
“Come in,” I said. Ida Hollenbeck, maid-of-all-work for Sir Arthur, opened the door tentatively. Ida was at least ten years younger than me, with big bones and big hands that were strong, calloused, and stained with something she’d been helping Mrs. Monday, the cook, with in the kitchen. She had a wide face and small eyes and often mixed her German and English without realizing it. She wore a dark apron over a blue working dress and two unmatched boots, which she alternated every other day, so “to wear them down evenly.” Brown frizzy hair stuck out from under her white cap.
“Verzeihung—Excuse me, Hattie, but he wants to see you, in the library, ja?” Ida, in awe of her employer, could never bring herself to call him by name. She seemed to be slightly frightened of even me. At least I convinced her to call me Hattie.
“Thank you, Ida.” I didn’t have to ask her when Sir Arthur wanted to see me, the answer was always “now.” I brushed my dress off, picked up my notebook and pencil, and followed Ida down the stairs.
“Gute Nacht—Good night, Hattie, ja?” Ida said as we separated at the bottom of the stairs, Ida toward the kitchen and me toward the library.
I knocked and then opened the door. “You wanted to see me, Sir Arthur?” I said.
“Sit down, Hattie. There’s a matter I’d like to discuss,” he said. He was settled in his favorite leather chair, smoking a cigar and reading the local newspaper, the Galena Gazette. A stack of newspapers were folded up on the table beside him.
I found a seat opposite him and flipped over to a blank page on my tablet. As he folded the paper and set it on top of the stack, he pointed to a headline, SHOPLIFTER STRIKES ST. LOUIS STORE, MAKES OFF WITH HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS’ WORTH OF GOODS. “Not my idea of getting into the Christmas spirit, eh, Hattie?”
“No, sir.”
“Anyway, I received news this afternoon. Philippa has decided not to join me here in Galena for Christmas. She wants to stay in Richmond with the grandchildren.” I was crushed, first Miss Lucy gets sick and Miss Lizzie cancels, and now this.
When Sir Arthur had hired me directly from my disastrous assignment in Eureka Springs, I was elated to accept in part because I hated spending Christmas alone. I was looking forward to a jolly holiday with Sir Arthur’s large and boisterous family. Lady Philippa was a wonderful hostess, but with only a few days before Christmas I’d begun to wonder when his family would arrive. Finch and Ida had prepared all the rooms, but they’d remained empty. I’d wanted to ask Sir Arthur when we should expect Lady Philippa, but it was not my place to ask. Now I had my answer. Christmas wasn’t going to be festive after all.
“I had suspected as much when she wrote of her ambivalence in her previous letter. So I decided to invite some old friends of mine for the holidays,” Sir Arthur said, holding up two letters, “and they have both accepted.” Suddenly things didn’t look so bleak after all. “But that will mean more work for the staff, preparing for the holidays, decorating, trimming the tree, that sort of thing. Philippa usually takes care of all that. I want you to do it, Hattie.”
“Sir?” I wasn’t a hostess. I’d spent the last eleven years of my life alone on Christmas and the seven years before that it was only my father and me. I didn’t know the first thing about preparing for a proper holiday. “I’ve never done anything like this.”
“I want you to oversee everything, Hattie. Coordinate the menus with Mrs. Monday and work with Finch in arranging for the guests. And I want you to supervise all of the holiday preparations, the tree, the greenery, the ribbons and bows, whatever you want. All of my decorations are in Richmond with Philippa, so you’ll have to either buy or make what you need. And since Philippa usually buys the staff’s presents for Boxing Day, I’ll need you to do that too.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Though I’m concerned I won’t have time to do everything properly.” My subtle hint was as far as I could question Sir Arthur.
“You’ll have Finch, Harvey, Mrs. Monday, and the maid to help you. Besides, I have proofreading I need to do in the next few days, which should free you up to attend to these extra responsibilities. I can count on you, can’t I, Hattie?”
I was elated about enjoying such an elaborate Christmas but overwhelmed by the fact that I had to plan it all. Just another challenge, I told myself.
“Of course, sir,” I said.
“Good,” Sir Arthur said. I poised my pencil to paper again. “Lieutenant Triggs and his wife, Priscilla, are due to arrive any minute now. You remember the lieutenant, don’t you, Hattie? He acted as our guide and liaison in Kansas City.”
I did remember Lieutenant Morgan Triggs. I’d only been working for Sir Arthur for four days when he insisted I accompany him to the Westport battlefield site he was researching. Lieutenant Morgan Triggs was the man who volunteered to escort us and answer any questions Sir Arthur might have. For three days, the two men trampled every inch of what remained of the battlefield discussing every nuance of strategy while I, straggling along behind them, diligently recorded every word they said. Once, while taking notes, I tripped over a fieldstone and fell sprawling on the ground at Lieutenant Triggs’s feet. He helped me to rise. I thanked him, brushed myself off, and continued taking Sir Arthur’s dictation without comment.
“Now that’s loyalty,” the lieutenant said to Sir Arthur, pointing over his shoulder at me with his thumb. “I’ve seen a pack of bloodhounds during a hunt less diligent and steadfast than your Miss Davish.” Sir Arthur stopped in his tracks and gestured to the field around them.
“You were in the infantry, Twenty-Ninth Missouri Volunteers, if I recall right,” Sir Arthur said. The lieutenant nodded. “Isn’t that what you soldiers did every day of the war?”
“I’d never thought of it like that,” Morgan Triggs said.
“Loyalty,” Sir Arthur had said.
