A Christmas Hope (17 page)

“She is quite capable of recounting honestly and lucidly what she saw, as is Mr. Barton,” Claudine said coldly. “As am I. What they describe is exactly what I found when I reached the scene. And it is, detail for detail, what Mr. Tregarron described.”

“Indeed! And how do you know that?” he inquired, his eyes brilliant, challenging.

She had trapped herself. There was no escape, so she answered his question without excuse or evasion. “Because I asked him. There would be no point in speaking to the police if his account were different.”

“You did what?” Wallace was aghast.

“I asked him,” she repeated. “Is that not what you expected me to say?”

“I hoped I was wrong, that there was some other explanation.” He shook his head as he spoke. “You seem to have lost whatever little sense you had. Do you even begin to grasp what you have done?”

It seemed to be a question to which he was expecting an answer, so she offered one, knowing it would be unsatisfactory. “I have given the police the evidence they need to clear an innocent man, and possibly charge those who are guilty.”

“Don’t be idiotic!” Wallace said furiously, his face purpling with anger. “You have meddled in matters that are none of your concern, and as a result you will ruin your own reputation and, more importantly, mine as well. And you will destroy young Foxley’s life. He might have the friends and the influence to protect himself, but that remains to be seen.”

He drew in his breath and continued. “You will, of course, also seriously damage Cecil Crostwick, and therefore his family, by implying that he lied in order either to cover his own part in the woman’s death or to protect his friends. It will end Alphonsine Gifford’s chance of a fortunate marriage. Halversgate can hardly
offer for her now, when she has, by her own admission, had an indecent assignation with another man. In fact, no one of any standing will offer for her.”

“It wasn’t an indecent assignation,” Claudine corrected him. “It was simply a meeting. The indecency is in your imagination. But I agree: Halversgate will not offer for her, because he now knows that he would not be accepted. He is both a liar and a coward, and Forbes Gifford would not have him for his daughter. Whether anyone else would offer remains to be seen; very probably not. But then, I think, she will be perfectly happy to accept Mr. Barton.”

“Who has no means and no prospects,” he said derisively.

“Perhaps it has slipped your mind that it is she who has the money, anyway,” she said pointedly.

He sneered. “I am sure it has not slipped young Mr. Barton’s mind!”

“He did not expect to marry her,” she pointed out. “Or are you suggesting that this whole affair of inviting a street woman to the party and having Creighton Foxley lose his temper and beat her to death and Ernest Halversgate lie to protect him was entered into so Mr. Barton and Alphonsine could be conveniently placed to
witness it? It was all a plot he invented for the purpose of creating a scandal from which they could benefit? Well, if Mr. Barton is clever enough to do that, then he should run for political office. He may well have ahead of him a bright future.”

Wallace’s face burned a deep plum red. “You have become absurd,” he snarled. “I shall consult a doctor regarding the health of your mind. And I forbid you to attend Mrs. Monk’s clinic anymore. The place and its occupants have obviously affected your wits.”

She had nothing left to lose. “Why? Is it really your judgment, Wallace, that if Tregarron drank too much and lost his temper with a street woman and hit her hard enough to kill her, then he should hang, but if, on the other hand, the exact same actions, in the same circumstances, were committed by Creighton Foxley, then that young man should be permitted to blame someone else? See another man hang in his place and walk away unscathed? That is your idea of what is just, and best for society? Would you also lie to ensure that this is what would happen? Or at the very best, turn a blind eye and pretend that you didn’t know the truth? You sound like Ernest Halversgate: both a liar and a coward.”

He swayed on his feet, his face mottled red.

“Please tell me that is not so,” she continued. “I know we have little enough in common, less even than I used to believe, but still, I always knew you to have a sense of what was honorable. Am I wrong in that, too?”

He did not answer.

If she was going to add what was sharp in the forefront of her mind, then there would never be a better time than now. In fact, there might not be another time at all. So she burned the last of her bridges.

“You wanted a peaceful, comfortable Christmas, with all reminders of poverty, injustice, or other people’s griefs well out of sight, so as not to disturb your pleasure. That isn’t what Christmas is about, Wallace. Christmas is about offering hope to all people, not just those like ourselves. Christmas is about everyone: rich or poor, friend or stranger. The moment you exclude anyone, you exclude yourself.” She was standing now. “I am going to visit Tolly Halversgate to see if she will help me persuade Ernest to face his responsibilities.”

She walked out of the room, passing him without looking back. In the hall she told the footman to fetch her carriage and have it waiting for her in a quarter of an hour. She was quite aware of the lateness of the evening, and she did not care. Tomorrow morning would
not be suitable to call upon anyone, and tomorrow afternoon would be too late. The family might be out now, but they would come home sometime. Claudine was prepared to wait.

She was fortunate, though. Tolly had decided to spend the evening at home, making her last-minute preparations for Christmas. She intended the dinner to be one the family would remember, including the various uncles, aunts, and cousins she had invited. She was startled and put to some discomfiture to see Claudine, but she could not think of any excuse not to receive her.

The dining room was already decked with garlands of holly and ivy and dark green pine. There were silver-tipped cones in a woven basket, dried flowers, and well-preserved shining autumn leaves in two huge vases. A pleasant perfume of cinnamon mixed with other spices hung in the air. The fire was burning, but low, because the weather was still absurdly clement.

Claudine was intruding almost unpardonably, but although it embarrassed her, it did not cause her to hesitate for a second, much less to change her mind.

“I am sorry,” she said as soon as the door was closed and the footman’s steps had retreated across the parquet floor of the hall.

Tolly forced a smile. “I’m sure you would not have come at such an hour without a good reason,” she remarked.

“I’m afraid the reason is very good indeed, and urgent,” Claudine responded, walking over to the other chair near the fire. She sat down without waiting to be invited.

Tolly followed because she had little choice. “What is it?” she said coolly, folding her hands in her lap.

“I will be brief. The very unfortunate quarrel on the terrace at the Giffords’ party, in which the young woman, Winnie Briggs, was fatally struck, was witnessed from the window of another house. That has only just come to light, but now it is known exactly what happened.”

Tolly’s eyebrows rose in amazement. “My dear, Claudine, I really don’t care! I cannot imagine why you should think I do, let alone at this time of the evening, three days before Christmas. If you think it is of concern to me, a letter would have been more than adequate.” She gathered her skirts as if to rise.

“That would hardly be the act of a friend,” Claudine said, remaining in her seat. “Or even of an honest person. You see, Ernest’s account is quite seriously in error …”

Tolly froze, her body stiffening.

“I think it only fair to give him the opportunity to go to the police himself and correct it, rather than allow them to charge him with having given a false statement, which—as he has to be aware—will cause irreversible injustice.”

This time Tolly did stand, her face white. “How dare you? What you are saying is preposterous! Who are these … witnesses? Why did they not come forward at the time? I don’t believe you.”

Claudine rose also. “Yes you do. Ernest was no doubt pressured into helping his friends, but he has been unhappy about it, because he is, for the most part, an honest man. If he goes on to lie under oath in court, he will have embarked on a path from which he cannot retreat. The guilt will be with him forever, corroding everything he touches from now on. He will have caused the appalling death of another man he knows is innocent. Will this not haunt him all the days of his life? If he marries and has children, what will he tell his family of this? Will he lie to them also? What will they think when they hear the truth?”

Tolly sidestepped the main issue. “Of course he will marry. He is shortly to become engaged to Alphonsine Gifford.”

“She will not have him,” Claudine replied. “Her father already knows that Ernest lied over who really struck the woman. And I doubt Ernest would want to have Alphonsine, when he hears that she is one of the witnesses.”

Tolly stared at her, speechless.

“I’m sorry,” Claudine said and was surprised by how seriously she meant it. She
was
sorry. Tolly had only the one son, and she loved him fiercely, if perhaps too protectively. Now just how vulnerable she was lay naked in her face.

“It is not too late to mend the situation,” Claudine went on. “Ernest is at the point of a great decision in his life. Will he be the man he wishes to be, honorable and upright, even when being so costs a great deal of courage? It will not be easy, because I don’t doubt the Foxleys will make this as difficult as possible.”

“The Foxleys?” Tolly was not yet facing the inevitable.

“It was Creighton Foxley who struck her, albeit not intending to cause her death. But he will still have to pay the price for it,” Claudine explained.

“It can’t be!” Tolly shook her head. “What about that Tregarron man? He’s a drunkard and a womanizer!”

“So is Creighton Foxley,” Claudine replied. “A little less far along the road, perhaps, but with a more violent temper. Ask Ernest if that is not true.”

Tolly was still hovering on the edge of decision.

“Virtue is not always an easy or a comfortable thing,” Claudine continued. “Sometimes it comes at a high cost. Perhaps that is one of the reasons we admire it. If Ernest wishes to be what he seems on the outside—I hesitate to use the phrase ‘pretends to be’—then he must do more than speak well. He must act well. Now, tonight, is the moment for him to decide whether he will speak the truth, even against his peers, or whether he will lie to cover their weaknesses. No—perhaps that is inaccurate. Alphonsine has had the courage to speak out, in spite of what it will cost her, as has the young man she loves. And I myself was there on the scene within moments of the incident. We will all speak as to what we saw. Ernest’s deceit will become public knowledge. Knowing this, I’m sure you will do all you can to see that he does not make the choice to stay silent.”

Tolly blinked and shivered, staring at Claudine. “I realize that I do not know you at all, Mrs. Burroughs. You are frightening.”

“Life is frightening,” Claudine corrected her. “And beautiful and full of strange and unexpected opportunities. This is one of them.”

“I will speak to Ernest,” Tolly said in little more than a whisper. “I expect him home within half an hour.”

“Good.” Claudine smiled. “I will wait with you.” She returned to the chair by the fire and sat down again.

Ernest did not struggle against the inevitable for more than a moment or two. The weight of the evidence against him was overwhelming, and the chance to play a hero too great to forfeit. He conceded, shamefacedly, that the truth was exactly as Alphonsine had said. If the fact that she was in love with another man distressed him, he hid it. Claudine believed that it was a greater wound to his pride than his heart, but he bore it with more dignity than she had expected.

It would also be a blow to his financial expectations, but he did not mention that at all.

She was not sure, but she had a strange feeling that some small part of him would be relieved to escape the imprisonment of his friendship with Creighton and Cecil. They would hate him for what they might well see as a betrayal, but there would be those who would respect him. At the very least, he would be free to be his
own man: less daring, less outrageous, but a good deal truer to the best in himself.

The next day Forbes Gifford went with Alphonsine and John Barton to the station, and they offered their testimony as to exactly what they had seen on the night Winnie Briggs was struck. Claudine confirmed what she had found when she arrived on the terrace, which agreed with their account.

Then in embarrassment and some shame, Ernest Halversgate asked if he might amend his previous account of the incident and confess to what had really happened. Sergeant Green allowed him to do so and then to sign his statement.

When it was over, the charges against Dai Tregarron were withdrawn, and he was set free. As he walked out of the prison doors he met Claudine, who was not willing to accept anything as accomplished until she had seen it for herself.