The Santa Klaus Murder (5 page)

Dittie was very angry at what I said. She declared bitterly that she would be a different person now if she had been allowed to marry Kenneth—which may indeed be true, but not for the better. She said she could manage her own affairs and that Kenneth was the only person who sympathized with her and understood her. This alarmed me, because it is a sign of danger when a married woman says this about a man other than her husband. I pointed out that it is so much easier to sympathize with someone you do not have to live with.

She told me—less bitterly but very unhappily, I thought—that I couldn't understand. “The whole thing's a mess. I can only see one way out of it, and that's impossible—at present. Father would never understand. And then—I'm a coward.”

Those words of Dittie's I remember very well. The meaning is plain to me. Osmond had been worrying her again about why she had no children, and she was afraid to tell him the reason why she refused to have any.

I urged her to discuss her troubles with me and accept my advice, but she only said, with that regrettable coarseness which I have noticed before, “Father shouldn't have counted his grandchildren before they were hatched.”

The conversation did not decrease my anxiety, but I could do no more. Dittie is very self-willed.

The Christmas party was not made pleasanter by the inclusion in it of Osmond's secretary, Miss Portisham. By treating her as one of ourselves he gave the girl ideas above her station and deceived himself into thinking her better than she is. Some unpleasant things have been said about my poor brother's feelings for this girl, but I will not countenance this kind of gossip, though none of us could help being anxious about how much she would eventually wring out of my poor brother by her scheming and her affected pleasantness. I hope there is no need for me to point out that once this girl had achieved her avaricious purpose, it would be to her interest that my poor brother's life should not be prolonged.

Chapter Five

Christmas Day

by Grace Portisham

It was poor Sir Osmond's especial wish that I should take part in the family's Christmas Day festivities at Flaxmere, and naturally, being placed as I am and not wishing to hob-nob with the servants' hall nor to sit by myself at such a festive season, I was only too glad to conform to his wishes. Miss Jennifer is always kind, though perhaps she doesn't quite understand my tastes, but she certainly tries to make me feel at home. She has often remarked that it must be dull for me here, which is quite true, but there are many compensations, such as the advantage of living in refined surroundings in a gentleman's household.

Poor Sir Osmond was always kindness itself, and it seems dreadful to write now of that Christmas Day, which I little thought at the time would have such a shocking end. We were all so anxious that it should go well, and just when it seemed to have passed off happily this terrible thing occurred. It is difficult after such a shock and when my situation, which had seemed so settled and secure, has been thrown into uncertainty, to write down quite straightforwardly the events of Christmas Day, but that is what I will try to do.

As well as being anxious about how Sir Osmond's plans would go off—for this is a difficult family, I think, and things do not always run quite smoothly—I was also a little worried that the family might not like me taking part in everything like one of them. Miss Jennifer's eldest sister, Mrs. Wynford, is a very considerate lady, and her daughter, Miss Carol, always behaves quite respectfully to me; more respectfully, I might say, than she sometimes does to her aunts. But those are the manners of young people nowadays. I find Sir Osmond's other daughters rather stiff, but I dare say they feel a bit jealous of my position here, considering it used to be their own home, though I always do my best to have things the way they would like.

It was a funny thing that Harry Bingham had asked me, a week or so earlier, if I could manage for us both to have the day off after he had brought the family back from morning church, and he'd take me to Bristol, he said, and we'd have a real Christmas dinner at one of the hotels and some dancing.

He thought we might even be lent the car. Well, I did turn this over in my mind, but nothing was settled, me thinking I'd better wait and see how the arrangements for Christmas Day were turning out before I asked Sir Osmond about this plan of Harry's. It was a bit of a temptation to have some Christmas jollification on my own, and yet I wasn't sure if I really wanted to go with Harry Bingham. He was a bit put out because I didn't jump at the idea and agree at once. He went off in one of his moods, which I've noticed more often lately and which will do him no good in his career.

Well, as it turned out, when Sir Osmond got this notion of his for a Santa Klaus I didn't like the idea of not being at hand at the time. I was afraid something might go wrong and then Sir Osmond would be very put out. When he asked me to join the family party, I guessed that he'd be glad to have me there to help if need be, and I decided that I'd say nothing about Harry Bingham's plan. I thought maybe we could have our outing on New Year's Day instead, or some other time.

I felt that Harry had already made up his mind that I wouldn't go with him, but all the same I wasn't looking forward to telling him that was so. However, it happened all right. On the Saturday before Christmas Harry suggested to me himself that we should put off our party. Sir Osmond had spoken to him about fitting up the Christmas-tree lights, and Cook, it seems, had said something to him about hoping he'd be there for Christmas dinner. Of course he always had his meals in the servants' hall and seemed to enjoy their company all right, though he is really a cut above them.

“I've an idea,” he said, “that Sir Osmond might not be best pleased if I turned up my nose, in a manner of speaking, at what he's providing for us. I dare say it'd make a difference to things. And then there's this Christmas-tree that I may have to see to, so maybe we can have our party some other time.”

He seemed to have quite got over his disappointment and to be rather pleased with the way things had turned out. He talked about the Father Christmas arrangements, which he'd heard about from Sir Osmond when he was out driving, as if he was quite looking forward to it.

“
Santa Klaus
, we're to call the old buffer,” he said, in a joking sort of way. I knew Sir Osmond was particular about us saying Santa Klaus; said we gave it up in the War, because it was German, but we oughtn't to mind that now and
Father Christmas
was just silly. The other meant Saint Nicholas, and that's who the old man with the reindeer sleigh really was. Harry had got it all pat.

Of course this Santa Klaus idea nearly didn't come off at all, with the costume not turning up on Saturday nor on Monday morning. I was very upset when it didn't arrive on Monday, having advised Sir Osmond to wait till then. He had set his heart on having this affair, and I knew he'd be very put out if the plan was spoilt. I made up my mind that if they didn't send the costume by train on Monday I'd buy some stuff in Bristol and run something up myself, though the beard would be a bit of a puzzle. I thought I might get one in Bristol. However, there was no need, for the costume came sure enough by the afternoon train. I went in with Harry and collected it and brought it back. The people said when I telephoned that they'd sent if off by post on Friday morning, but I dare say, with the Christmas rush, they didn't post it at all. Anyway, the one first ordered never turned up, so it was a good thing we'd got another sent down by train.

Christmas morning went off better than I'd expected. It was a nice fine day, though not exactly Christmassy, being quite warm for the time of year. It was Sir Osmond's wish that all should go to church and make a good family show at this season, and the family party being nearly as many as all the rest of the congregation put together, they certainly did liven up the village church.

There was some talk about whether the two youngest children, Mrs. Stickland's Anne and Mrs. George Melbury's Clare, should be left behind, but Sir Osmond said it was time they learnt to behave in church and both the nurses should go too. But it turned out that Mrs. Stickland's new nurse was some sort of a free-thinker and had no wish to go. In fact, she was quite nasty about it, saying she was engaged to look after children and that she would do, she said, but not outrage her convictions. Sir Osmond was considerably put out and so was Mrs. Stickland, she being such a one for having all correct and doubtless would never have engaged such a woman, but was not able to pick and choose, her own nurse being called away so inconveniently. My own opinion is that Nurse should have kept her views, if views they can be called, to herself, instead of upsetting the family in such a way.

However, it was all settled. I sat beside Harry in the Sunbeam car, with Sir Osmond, Miss Mildred Melbury and Mrs. Stickland's two children in the back. Harry made some sarcastic remark about him wondering I condescended to sit by him, me being now one of the family. Sometimes I can't make out what's in Harry's mind. Mr. George Melbury drove his Austin car and took his wife and his youngest daughter and their nurse and also Lady Evershot. The others all walked through the park. Lady Evershot said she had a headache and so she'd take the two youngest children out before the sermon and walk home with them and put them in charge of the nurse who was a free-thinker. Though I wonder that the Hon. Mrs. George Melbury liked her little girl to be put under the influence of such a woman, after what had been revealed.

Besides the family there were two gentlemen in the party at Flaxmere; Mr. Philip Cheriton, who is very much in favour with Miss Jennifer, though I can't say the same for Sir Osmond, and Mr. Oliver Witcombe, who is a very gentlemanly young man and extremely good-looking. Mr. Witcombe was to be Santa Klaus and dress up in the costume which had caused so much trouble. I don't think he liked the idea very much, but it was Sir Osmond's wish. Considering all the trouble Sir Osmond had been put to over this Santa Klaus business, and how he'd spent a long time planning it out, I didn't think the family seemed very grateful to him. The Hon. Mrs. George Melbury had a lot to say about her children being so highly strung that they couldn't stand a lot of excitement and little Clare's bedtime must not on any account be upset. Lady Evershot, who has no little ones of her own, is never behindhand in giving her opinion about other people's, and she seemed to have some idea that Santa Klaus was old-fashioned and the children would see through him. Well, I must say I like a bit of old-fashioned fun at this festive season myself.

Mrs. Stickland fell in better than the others with her father's ideas, but Mr. Stickland had some jokes with the children about looking for smuts on Santa Klaus' nose, because he came down the chimney, and wanted to take the stag's antlers that Sir Osmond shot in Scotland from the study wall and fix them on his head with the bearskin rug over him—what he called local colour. Sir Osmond was a bit put out over that. “I won't have you playing the fool, Gordon,” he said. “This is not one of your modern pantomimes. Let the children use their imagination.”

“Only Oliver is licensed to play the fool on this occasion,” Mr. Cheriton said. “And he enjoys it less than anyone.” Which was rather hard on Mr. Witcombe, I thought.

The Christmas-tree was stood in the library, and Bingham had fixed it up with little coloured lights, all electric. After lunch Mr. Witcombe went off to put on the red robe and the beard, and so on, and Mr. Cheriton went to help him. Sir Osmond had us all say good-bye to Mr. Witcombe, because he wanted the children to think that he had really gone away and Santa Klaus was a new person, so to speak. So we all said we were sorry he couldn't stay, and Lady Evershot said she hoped the journey wouldn't be too difficult. Then little Kit called out, “Mr. Witcombe hasn't packed! I looked just before lunch and he hasn't had a chance since! He can't go without his tooth-brush.”

Mrs. Stickland quieted him by saying that we hoped Mr. Witcombe would be able to come back that night. Then Kit wanted to know what sort of car had come to fetch Mr. Witcombe and could he go and look at it, so he had to be quieted again. We were in the drawing-room, children and all. The children were all a bit restive because, except for their stockings in the morning, they hadn't had any Christmas presents yet, Sir Osmond having put all their parcels on the tree or piled up round it. Kit was the worst, of course. He's rather an obstreperous child. His elder sister, Enid, likes to please her grandfather, and she knew there was something up, and kept saying, “When's our surprise coming, Grandfather?”

At last Mr. Cheriton came back to us and said: “He's safely off!” That was the signal and meant that Santa Klaus was all ready in the library.

Sir Osmond said, “I think I heard a noise like reindeer.” He had been quite put out that there wasn't any snow, because he had meant to say he heard the sound of the sleigh-runners. “All sorts of queer things happen at Christmas-time, you know, children. Anne, run into the library and see if anyone's there waiting for us.”

Little Anne looked rather frightened at this. She is only four. “It'll be someone very nice,” Mrs. Stickland said.

“Reindeer wouldn't go into the library!” little Kit piped up. “Shall I go and look in the drive?”

“Perhaps it was Mr. Witcombe come back for his tooth-brush!” said young Osmond.

“Nonsense!” said Sir Osmond, a bit sharply. Of course, children can be very trying. “Run along to the library, Anne!”

But Anne began to cry and ran to her mother. Luckily Clare, Mrs. George Melbury's youngest, who is a much bolder child, called out, “I'll go and see!” She ran across to the library door, which was open, and peeped in, and there was the big tree all lit up and Santa Klaus. She squeaked out: “Oh, oh, oh! It's the Christmas-tree!” and all the other children raced across after her, and we followed.

Everything went off all right. Santa Klaus gave out the presents, and the servants all came in to have a look, and certainly it was a lovely sight. There was a handsome gift from Sir Osmond for each of the grown-ups, and there were dozens of presents for the children, because all theirs had been saved until then. When everything had been opened and admired, the children began to play with their toys in the hall, because there was more room there. Kit began laying out some railway lines, and Enid hung around him, fussing over a big doll which Sir Osmond had given her, though it was easy to see that she very much wanted to play with Kit's new train. Some of the grown-ups were playing with the children in the hall, or looking on, whilst others had gone into the drawing-room to listen to the wireless.

When nearly everyone had left the library, which was all littered with wrappings and string, Sir Osmond told Bingham he could switch off the lights on the tree and then go. Bingham had been helping Kit with his train, showing him how it worked. Sir Osmond had been particular that he should stay near at hand until the lights were turned off, in case anything went wrong. Sir Osmond was rightly very careful about any electric apparatus in the house, seeing that so many fine old places had been destroyed by fire all through the electric wires.

Sir Osmond then told me he was going to the study; he was tired and wanted a little rest before tea. Also it was his custom to begin to write his letters of thanks on Christmas Day. He did all those himself, of course, and was very systematic about them, doing so many each day.

Now that morning Sir Osmond had received a letter which had come by hand and was marked “Personal.” He had looked at it for a long time, though I could see it had only three or four lines of typewriting and no signature, and he never told me what was in it. But he said to me to remind him if necessary—because his memory was not what it used to be—that he had an appointment between three-thirty and four-thirty that afternoon. I thought this rather funny, Christmas Day not being usual for a business appointment, and I suppose I showed it, for Sir Osmond said it was only a personal matter, but he wanted to be in the study ready. From that I took it that he was expecting some private telephone call.