Krampusnacht: Twelve Nights of Krampus (9 page)

“Not at all, my dear,” said Mr. Pennyrake, putting out an arm to detain her. “You’re in a great hurry.”

“It’s only Master Henry, sir,” she said. “He’s wet his bed again, and I must get some clean sheets.”

Here Mr. Pennyrake put an arm around Jane’s waist and told her he was heartily sorry that Master Henry was causing her extra work and that he would have a word with him this very minute. Jane took a step backwards (her modesty was really quite becoming) and replied that Master Henry was only little and she did not mind, but Mr. Pennyrake insisted on obliging her. Truth be told, he would rather stay and oblige himself with Jane, but Mrs. Pennyrake might be along at any moment, so he promised himself he would make another opportunity later and climbed the stairs to the nursery.

He arrived to find Nurse pulling a clean frock over the young offender’s head. “Papa, Papa!” he cried as soon as his head came back into view, and he held out his arms to be picked up. “When is it Christmas?”

Mr. Pennyrake lifted his son, holding him at arm’s length for a moment to be sure there was no danger to his new coat. Finding the boy dry, he held him close and carried him over to the nursery fire as Clara dropped her doll and ran to join them. “It’s tomorrow, isn’t it Papa?” she squealed. “I told him it was.”

Mr. Pennyrake nodded and settled himself in the rocking chair with one child on each knee. “It is tomorrow, Clara,” said he with a smile. “And what happens on Christmas?”

“Presents!” shouted Henry. “And sweets and oranges and turkey and cake and pudding!” Mr. Pennyrake said nothing, but looked at the children with eyebrows raised.

Clara folded her hands in her lap. “Baby Jesus is born,” she said.

“And?” said Mr. Pennyrake. He seemed to have something else in mind.

Henry wrinkled his nose. “We go to church?”

Mr. Pennyrake nodded. “All of those things, but one thing more.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Krampus comes visiting.”

Little Henry was puzzled. “Who is that?” he asked.

As ever, Clara was ready with an answer. “Our uncle, you ninny,” she said in a stage whisper. In this instance, however, she was mistaken.

“No, no,” said Mr. Pennyrake with a smile. “Krampus is not a man. Krampus is a beast. He is a beast with tangled black fur, horns like a goat, and a pointed tongue as long as my arm. He walks on two cloven feet. He carries a great basket on his back and a birch rod in his hand. Do you know what those are for?” The children shook their heads, their eyes as large as dinner plates. “The birch rod is for whipping naughty children.” Here Henry gasped. “Children who wet their beds at night.”

“I told him he mustn’t,” Clara interjected. “It’s the third night this week.”

Mr. Pennyrake continued. “Or children who tell tales on their brothers or do not put away their toys.” This information silenced Clara at last. “The great basket is for carrying naughty children home with him. What he does with them there I cannot tell you.” With that, he deposited both children on the floor. Once there, Clara ran to pick up her doll, and Henry stood contemplating the basket of wet sheets beside his bed, a woeful expression on his face. Mr. Pennyrake strode from the room, a smile on his lips. There was nothing like a little fear to guarantee the desired behavior.

A day full of opportunities awaited Mr. Pennyrake after he left his breakfast table. On the way to his offices he stopped in at a coffee house in the next street but one. Mr. Redfern could be depended upon to be there at that time of the morning, and Mr. Pennyrake had made up his mind to accidentally meet him. Mr. Redfern’s round face brightened on seeing Mr. Pennyrake, and he called out to him. “What a surprise to see you,” said Mr. Pennyrake as they shook hands.

“Jack,” said Mr. Redfern as he gestured towards a chair beside him. “You’re the very person I’ve been hoping to see.”

Mr. Pennyrake took the proffered seat. “Oh?” he said. Then, “But you are in mourning. What has happened, my dear fellow?”

Mr. Redfern glanced down at his black armband. “Yes. Well, it’s Mrs. Elliot, my aunt.”

“I had no idea!” Mr. Pennyrake exclaimed. He had, in fact, heard it from a very reliable source the night before. “My deepest condolences. I’ll not disturb you further in this time of grief.” He prepared to stand.

Clearly alarmed, Mr. Redfern reached out a hand. “No, no, Jack, don’t go. I was hoping you would advise me.”

Mr. Pennyrake was all concern. “Now, Redfern, you know I would do anything to help you, but I know nothing of arranging funerals.”

Mr. Redfern waved him away. “No, no, Jack. It’s about her estate.”

Mr. Pennyrake again pretended surprise as Mr. Redfern confessed that he had inherited all of his aunt’s money and didn’t know the first thing about what to do with it. He had no experience with solicitors and had no idea who to trust with such a sum.

Mr. Pennyrake grasped Mr. Redfern’s arm. “You may be easy on that account, Redfern. I would be most happy to advise you.” He then explained that he knew of a very promising fund in which he could invest the old lady’s money and that he would be happy to make all the arrangements for his friend. Solicitors would charge a ridiculous amount in fees and not take any care that the money was disposed of responsibly. Mr. Pennyrake, however, would handle it all for nothing, save of course some very small expenses he might incur in the course of the business. “If I am not mistaken,” he said upon parting, “this may very well be the making of your fortune, Redfern.”

As he took his leave, Mr. Pennyrake accepted Mr. Redfern’s repeated protestations of gratitude and promises that he would allow Mr. Pennyrake to handle it all. Any charges incurred, Mr. Redfern told him, would be well worth the peace of mind gained by his friend acting on his behalf.

Once Mr. Pennyrake arrived at his offices he made himself as comfortable as any spider in his web and prepared to receive any opportunities that presented themselves. He was not disappointed. First was Mr. Youngson, the grandson and heir of Lord Barrington. It is Christmas indeed, thought Mr. Pennyrake as he stood to welcome his guest, a wide smile on his face. His smile quickly turned to a look of concerned sympathy as the young man related his reason for troubling Mr. Pennyrake.

“I’m afraid I find myself in a bit of a,” here Mr. Youngson ran a hand through his hair, “well, an awkward situation. A bit of a fix, really.”

Mr. Pennyrake appeared most dismayed to hear it, and offered Mr. Youngson some brandy, which that gentleman readily accepted. “You see,” he continued, fortified by the drink, “I sometimes amuse myself with a small bet on a game of cards with friends.”

Mr. Pennyrake nodded. “A harmless indulgence, surely,” he intoned wisely.

Mr. Youngson pulled absently on his ear and made an attempt at a laugh. It was a feeble attempt, and an even feebler laugh. “That is just what I thought. But now I find I have gone through my entire allowance and have another five months before I receive it again. Lord and Lady Barrington greatly disapprove of gambling, so I can’t possibly tell them what’s happened to the money or ask for any more. A gentleman of my acquaintance,” here Mr. Youngson supplied the gentleman’s name, “suggested you might be able to assist me in the amount of,” and here he specified a handsome sum.

Mr. Pennyrake made a mental note that the gentleman’s kind referral would not go unrewarded. “Certainly, certainly, Mr. Youngson. All you need do is put your name to a promissory note to be due in, shall we say three months?”

Mr. Youngson looked as though he might like to protest, but was not sure how.

“Oh, I know you will not get your next installment for five months, but I do not think I can lend such a sum for so long a time. But perhaps this advance,” said Mr. Pennyrake as he wrote out the promissory note, “would allow you to return to your card-playing friends and make up what you have lost.”

Mr. Youngson mumbled something about thinking of reforming and not playing cards any more.

“Nonsense, Mr. Youngson,” Mr. Pennyrake said bracingly, putting the pen into the young man’s hand, “your luck will change, and you can give the business up then if you like.”

Mr. Youngson brightened a bit. “Yes,” he said, “doubtless it will.” He dipped the pen in the inkpot and hovered with his hand above the note. “But what about the terms, for the repayment?”

Mr. Pennyrake made a graceful gesture with his hand. “Oh, they are the simplest in the world. Go ahead and sign the note and I shall provide them to you as you go out. I’m sure you have much to do. You can easily peruse them on your way home.” As Mr. Youngson signed his name, Mr. Pennyrake reached in a drawer and lifted out a heavy booklet which he pressed into the gentleman’s hand, along with the bank note for the agreed sum. “It’s a bit dry reading, to tell the truth. I might not bother if I were you. You will be able to make full payment in three months’ time, won’t you?”

Mr. Youngson gave a slight movement of the head that might have meant “no” just as easily as “yes.”

Mr. Pennyrake smiled broadly and shook Mr. Youngson by the hand. “Splendid,” he said. “Then I shouldn’t worry with it,” he clapped Mr. Youngson on the back as he escorted him to the office door. “Unless of course you ever have trouble sleeping, and then no apothecary could provide you a better remedy.”

As it was Christmas Eve, Mr. Pennyrake was especially disposed to be pleased; therefore, everything pleased him. He was pleased to collect payments on debts owed him, along with the generous interest he charged. He was pleased to extend loans (and interest owed) a little longer, knowing that his due would eventually be greater still. He was even pleased to threaten legal proceedings against some who could not pay. He was sorry for them, of course, but they had come to him, after all, and he could hardly be held responsible for the fix they had gotten themselves into.

But nothing pleased Mr. Pennyrake so much as his last visit of the day. It was with a young woman who, with reddened cheeks, told him of her husband’s ill-advised speculation in a railroad venture, the poor health which had kept him from working recently, and his ignorance of the seriousness of the situation, as the lady herself handled the family’s accounts.

Sitting in the chair he had offered her, she kept her eyes downcast. “He is too proud to accept help from his family, and he would be so angry if he were to find out I had come to you. But our rents are due, and we’ve no money to pay them, and it is Christmas, and I’ve nothing to give to the children.” At last she had the courage to raise her imploring eyes to Mr. Pennyrake’s.

Mr. Pennyrake had to admit he found the lady quite charming. He put on his most concerned expression. “I’m certain I can find a way to help you, Mrs.…” he trailed off, waiting for her to supply her name.

The pink in her cheeks deepened. “I’d rather not,” she whispered, her eyes on the floor again.

“Of course, of course,” he said sympathetically. “I quite understand this is a matter of some delicacy. In that case I will need some surety of your repayment.” Mrs. I’d-Rather-Not seemed to have anticipated this, for, reaching into her pocketbook, she drew out a string of pearls. Mr. Pennyrake smiled. “The very thing,” he said, as he bent to make out the paperwork. “Now I will need you to put your name and address to this little paper, but you have my word that I shall not look at it so long as you return with your prompt payment.” She nodded.

When the document was finished, she leaned her delicate head over it and studied it minutely. Upon presenting her pen and ink, Mr. Pennyrake discreetly turned his back as she signed, then made a show of folding the paper and sealing it in a way that seemed most secure. Mrs. I’d-Rather-Not would have no way of knowing that Mr. Pennyrake was an expert at un-sealing and re-sealing documents when necessary. At last he slid the payment across his desk and said, “It just remains for me to collect…”

She stood, the pearls held close to her heart. “They were a wedding gift from my husband,” she whispered.

Mr. Pennyrake nodded solemnly. “They will be safe with me, madam, I assure you.” She held the pearls out then. He could feel her reluctance through her glove. At last she dropped them into his waiting hand, and she was gone.

Quite, quite charming, Mr. Pennyrake thought to himself as he locked the pearls into his desk. He had a fleeting idea of taking them home to Mrs. Pennyrake, or, even better, to Jane, but he soon dismissed it. He needed those pearls. There was nothing like the need to keep a husband in the dark to turn a Mrs. I’d-Rather-Not into a Mrs. Well-Maybe-Just-This-Once.

As he had decided to leave the pearls, he made a few stops on his walk home, purchasing the requisite brooch, dollhouse furniture, and toy soldiers, not forgetting something special for Jane. Servants deserve to be rewarded for their hard work, after all. Quite satisfied, he arrived home to find his house in the usual pre-holiday disarray. The children were shrieking in anticipation, and the kitchen was a bustle of activity.

“I’m afraid tea won’t be ready for a little while yet,” said Mrs. Pennyrake, as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear and presented her cheek for a kiss. “They’re just finishing the mince pies.”

“No matter, my dear,” he told her, handing her his hat, but failing to notice the proffered cheek. “Just have Jane bring me a brandy.”

His wife made as if to follow him. “I can bring—” she began, but he interrupted her.

“There’s no need to wait upon me, my dear. That’s what servants are for,” he said, leaving her alone with his hat at the bottom of the stair.

In his library, all was quiet. Mr. Pennyrake moved his chair in front of the fire and closed his eyes. It had been a satisfactory day indeed. But it was not over yet. Jane was coming with his brandy, and Mrs. Pennyrake was occupied downstairs supervising the mince pies and the tea. Who knew what might happen? He sighed a contented sigh.

Behind him he heard a rustling. “Ah, Jane,” he said with a smile, eyes still closed, “do come in. Close the door behind you.” The door did not close. Mr. Pennyrake looked around. “Jane?” No one was there. He settled back into his chair.

A floorboard creaked. “Jane?” There was no response. Perhaps, thought Mr. Pennyrake, one of the children was stealing in to search his pockets for presents. “Henry,” he said with a growl, “go downstairs.” There was another creak, and a curious odor stole into the room—it was as if the outdoors had gotten in, a scent of cold moist air and freshly turned earth. Mr. Pennyrake found it somewhat distasteful. He did not altogether approve of nature. It was why he lived in town rather than the country. He rose to see if the window was properly fastened. It was. He then closed the door and returned to his chair. Eyes closed, he amused himself by imagining a scene in which Jane entered with his brandy, and he presented her with the pair of gloves he had bought her. He was just arriving at the part in which she unwrapped the package and looked back up at him, eyes shining, when he heard another noise, a clicking on the floor behind his chair. It was like a footstep, and yet not.