Dilly Court - The Christmas Card - The perfect heartwarming novel for Christmas from the Sunday Times bestseller

Flora shot a sideways glance at her mother. ‘I will be good, Mama. Please let us keep the tree.’

Rory bent down to pick up Flora’s note. ‘This must be yours, Floss. I can tell by the blots.’ He examined it closer. ‘This is very good, but I don’t think it’s all your own work.’ He held it out of reach as Flora tried to snatch it from his hand. ‘Tell the truth now.’

‘Miss Radcliffe did the mistletoe, but I did all the rest.’

‘You’re quite an artist, Miss Radcliffe,’ he said, studying the drawing more closely. ‘This shows talent.’

‘Alice did most of it, sir. I only did the last little bit.’

‘Well, we all need a little mistletoe in our lives, especially at Christmas.’ He dropped a kiss on Flora’s curls and handed her the note. ‘I believe this belongs to your mama, Floss. Perhaps if you give it to her again she will relent.’ He turned to his sister-in-law with a persuasive grin. ‘It is the season of goodwill to all men, and that includes naughty children, don’t you think, Lydia?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘You are just like your brother. You give in too easily, Rory.’ She reached out to take the piece of paper from Flora. ‘All right, you may have the tree, but you will have to be very good if you want to receive a present.’

‘Yes, Mama.’ Flora ran to the door and opened it. ‘Come along, Miss Radcliffe. I’m waiting.’

Rory kept his word and spent half an hour in the nursery before taking his leave, and Alice decided to leave them to enjoy each other’s company. She went to find Mrs Upton, who directed her to the sewing room where she was able to take off her torn gown and repair the ripped seam. Rory had departed by the time Alice returned, but Flora was in high spirits and the rest of the day passed without any further incidents.

There did not seem to be any set hour when Alice was supposed to finish, but she waited until after supper when Flora was tucked up in her bed. She read her a story from a book that was so well used it was falling apart, and kissed her good night.

‘Won’t you stay, please?’ Flora whispered. ‘Smithson used to sleep in the next room, although it was no use calling out to her in the night because she wouldn’t wake up.’

‘I have to go home to see that my mother is all right,’ Alice said softly. ‘But I’ll be here first thing in the morning. Perhaps we’ll go outside and play snowballs, and roast chestnuts in the fire.’

Flora raised herself to lean on her elbow. ‘Will we really?’

‘I don’t see why not. I’ll make sure I have a stout pair of boots and warm clothes. It will be fun.’ She could tell by Flora’s baffled expression that the child had little idea of what constituted fun, but she would learn. ‘And it will be Christmas Eve, so perhaps your mother will allow us to decorate the tree?’

Flora grabbed her hand and kissed it. ‘You are my best present ever, Alice. I love you.’

Alice gave her a hug. ‘You and I will do very well together, Flora Dearborn. Now I have to leave, but if you close your eyes and go to sleep it will soon be morning and I’ll return. Good night, my dear.’

Snippet opened the door and Alice could tell by her expression that all was not well. She stamped her booted feet on the top step, shaking off the frozen lumps of snow before entering the house. ‘What’s the matter, Clara?’

‘She likes her dinner on time, miss.’ Clara glanced at the mahogany drop dial wall clock. ‘She don’t like to be kept waiting.’

Alice removed her bonnet and mantle, handing the snow-caked garments to Clara. The chill in the house struck her like a blow; it was, she thought, warmer outside than it was indoors. ‘I didn’t think they’d wait for me,’ she said in a low voice.

Clara nodded sagely. ‘She wouldn’t have, miss. Not under normal circumstances, like, but he come to see her today, and Cook thinks there’s more to it than meets the eye.’ Clara winked and tapped the side of her nose. ‘If you get my meaning, miss.’

‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. Who else is here?’

‘Snippet. Get back to the kitchen and tell Mrs Jugg to serve dinner immediately.’ Jane’s strident tones reverberated around the entrance hall. Clara turned and ran, her small feet pitter-pattering on the bare boards as she headed for the green baize door.

‘You’re late, Alice. Punctuality is the politeness of princes.’ Jane hovered in the dining-room doorway, putting Alice in mind of a bird of ill omen in her black dress with her shawl flapping in the draught like the wings of a carrion crow. ‘Come and take your seat at table.’

To Alice’s surprise the dining room looked almost festive, or at least it was a little less austere than the previous day. The table was laid with a white damask cloth and the best crystal glasses glistened in the candlelight. A bowl of holly added a festive touch and the fire had been banked up with extra coal, although it barely raised the temperature enough to prevent Alice’s teeth from chattering. She experienced a feeling of relief when she saw her mother seated by the fire, but before she had a chance to speak to her she was accosted by her aunt. Jane grabbed her by the arm, twisting her round to face the fourth person in the room as he emerged from the shadows.

‘Alice, I want you to meet my cousin, Horace Hubble.’

The resemblance between Jane and the gentleman who stepped forward was striking. He was taller than his cousin, and his dark hair was greying, as were his mutton chop whiskers and drooping walrus moustache. He held out his hand but the smile on his lips did not reach his eyes. ‘I’m delighted to meet you at last, Miss Radcliffe. I’ve heard so much about you.’

‘Really? I’m afraid I don’t know anything about you, sir.’ His handshake was limp and his palm moist. Alice withdrew hers quickly, hoping that he did not notice the shudder that ran through her at his touch.

‘Cousin Jane,’ he said, stretching his wide lips into a rictus grin, ‘I thought better of you. You leave me at a disadvantage.’

‘Stuff and nonsense.’ Jane strode to the head of the table. ‘Take your seats, everyone. We are very late dining.’ She shot a reproachful glance in Alice’s direction.

Horace moved swiftly to pull out Jane’s chair. ‘You really ought to employ more servants, Cousin.’

Jane sat down and rang the bell. ‘Snippet does well enough. I don’t approve of wasting money on underlings to eat my food and cost me money.’

Alice helped her mother to take her seat at the table. ‘How are you feeling this evening, Mama?’

‘Quite well, thank you, my darling. Jane has kept me fully employed today, which took my mind off my ailments, and the sorry position in which we find ourselves.’

‘Self-pity is a waste of time,’ Jane said severely. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you, Beth. It’s all in your silly head.’

‘Really, Aunt,’ Alice protested. ‘That’s not fair. Mama has always been delicate.’

‘Sit down, Alice. You too, Horace. I can’t do with people hovering.’ Jane rang the bell again. ‘Where is that idle child?’

‘Perhaps I ought to go and help?’ Alice suggested tentatively. ‘She’s quite small to carry heavy dishes up from the kitchen.’

‘People from her walk of life are born with the strength of oxen,’ Jane said dismissively. ‘That’s why they dig roads and plough the soil. We were put on earth to guide them and to help them control their base instincts. The child has to learn.’

The crash of breaking china was followed by a loud howl. Alice hurried to the door and opened it to find Clara on her knees amidst shards of broken crockery. She raised her to her feet. ‘There, there, don’t cry, Clara. It was an accident.’