Chapter Twelve
“Christmas is my favorite holiday,” said Miss Goodwin.
The candles in the chandelier and candelabras bathed the dining room in a warm glow, adding further cheer to the holiday greenery on display.
The dining room table had been beautifully set for the Christmas feast. They had begun with white soup, progressed to a boar’s head and sweet potato pie, and were now enjoying the main course that included roasted turkey stuffed with chestnuts, beef and kidney pudding, and several vegetable and potato side dishes.
The staff had brought each platter around so that guests might serve themselves and then had taken their places at the back of the room to assist as needed.
The partygoers had all dressed up for the occasion, the gentlemen in formal black and white, and the ladies—except for Miss Goodwin, who remained in mourning—in festive holiday gowns that Selena guessed had been purchased for this occasion.
Miss Thompson once again looked lovely in the navy-blue satin frock she had borrowed the day before, and a sprig of holly ornamented the braided bun in her dark hair.
Selena had taken care to sit at the opposite end of the table from Dr. Scott to ensure that she didn’t make some inadvertent remark to him during the meal.
She hugged her secret to her chest, determined that no one should ever guess that they were involved in two clandestine quests. Or that they had kissed. In a closet.
“I would enjoy Christmas more if it occurred at a different time of year so that we wouldn’t be bothered by all this snow.” Mrs. Whitlock’s querulous voice drew Selena from her musings. The older woman was attired in a gown of silver satin embellished by thousands of shimmering beads.
“It has been a rather endless onslaught,” Selena admitted, taking a forkful of mincemeat pie.
“You ought to move to India, Mrs. Whitlock,” quipped Colonel Blackwood. “I promise you’ll find the weather there warm enough to suit your taste.”
“Or Australia,” put in Mr. Davis, sipping his red wine with an appreciative smile. “I hear the seasons are upside down on that continent. Why, it’s summer there now, if you can believe it.”
“It would be so strange to celebrate Christmas in summer,” murmured Miss Thompson.
“It would, indeed.” Mrs. Hillman wrinkled her nose. “I, for one, should not like to spend Christmas in a hot, tropical climate, kept in a continual state of inelegance that could only be eased by sea bathing.”
Miss Goodwin turned to their hostess with a raised eyebrow. “Have you tried sea bathing, Mrs. Hillman?”
“I have not.” Mrs. Hillman swallowed a bite of mashed potatoes. “I have no interest. It is immodest and dangerous.”
“Oh! But it is such a thrilling occupation, and it’s perfectly safe and modest, if you employ a bathing machine and a dipper to assist you into the water,” enthused Miss Goodwin. “I bathe every time I visit the seaside.”
Selena paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean, ‘visit’ the seaside, Miss Goodwin? You live by the sea.”
Miss Goodwin’s lips parted slightly, and her cheeks grew pink. “Of course, I only meant, that whenever I go down to the beach, I like to bathe. I don’t always have the opportunity, you know,” she added hastily, “being so busy running the hotel.”
Mr. Davis cleared his throat. “Yes, managing a hotel is an exhausting business. For the proprietor, a visit to the beach is rare, indeed.”
Selena narrowed her eyes. It almost seemed as though Miss Goodwin had forgotten that she ran the hotel, and that Mr. Davis was trying to cover for her. But perhaps Selena was reading too much into that?
Changing the subject, Miss Goodwin turned to Mrs. Hillman and said, “What a lovely brooch. Was that a gift from your husband?”
Mrs. Hillman smiled softly as she fingered the small pin. “It was. It’s nothing, really. It’s made of pewter and the stone is glass.”
“It is pretty, and a reflection of his good taste,” Miss Thompson said.
“That reminds me.” Colonel Blackwood finished off his last bite of turkey and gravy. “Did you ever find that other brooch of yours that went missing, Mrs. Hillman? The one of the iris?”
Mrs. Hillman’s smile fled. “I’m afraid not, Colonel. I looked everywhere. I even had the maid pull the furniture away from the walls in my chamber, in case I had dropped it behind something, but it has simply vanished.”
“What a shame.” The colonel shook his head. “You seemed so fond of it.”
“It was quite dear to me.” Mrs. Hillman sighed. “But we must not dwell on it.”
In all the excitement of late, Selena had forgotten about Mrs. Hillman’s missing brooch. “I’m sure it will turn up soon,” she said, hoping that would be the case.
Mrs. Whitlock nodded. “I cannot tell you how many times I have lost a thing and looked high and low for it, only to find it hiding in plain sight exactly where it was meant to be all along.”
“I’ll take comfort in that thought, my friend,” Mrs. Hillman replied.
Mrs. Middleton soon brought in the plum pudding on a silver platter.
When Selena took a bite of the hot, steaming holiday treat, she closed her eyes with pleasure, savoring the molten combination of fruits, breadcrumbs, flour, eggs, and spices.
She and her sisters used to make plum pudding every Christmas when they were growing up.
Her thoughts darted to Christmases gone by.
She’d been too young when her mother had died to remember much about her, but Selena was enveloped by a surge of tender feelings as she recalled special times with her sisters; their brother, Damon; and their departed father, talking and laughing and enjoying their holiday feast. With a pang, she wondered if Athena and Diana and their families were enjoying a similar Christmas dinner at Pendowar Hall.
Might Damon be leading his congregation in prayer at this very moment?
All at once, she missed them with an ache so fierce, it threatened to close her throat.
Did her family miss her as much as she missed them?
What would they think if they knew she had become embroiled in her own murder investigation—and a treasure hunt to boot?
Selena had become so accustomed to seeing Athena every day, while running the school together.
She cherished the moments when they’d been able to steal away and share their thoughts and problems. True, those moments had become fewer since Athena’s marriage, but they had still found time for each other.
If only she could write to them—and they to her! But first, the storm had to end. It would be many days beyond that, she reasoned, before the roads were clear enough to post a letter in the village, much less to receive one.
Next year, Selena promised herself, we will all spend Christmas together. And there will not be a single murder involved.
*
After dinner, the group returned to the drawing room for parlor games.
Hot brandy, rum punch, wassail, and Christmas coffee spiced with cloves and cinnamon had been set up on the sideboard, where the guests—despite claiming to be too full to eat another bite—helped themselves to Father Christmas shortbread and gingerbread cookies.
Later in the evening, Selena planned to introduce a parlor game that she hoped would give them information about the person who had written the threatening notes.
First, however, they played charades. Mrs. Hillman excused herself from participating since she had prepared everything in advance herself.
A spirited game ensued. Everyone took turns silently acting out the word, phrase, famous person’s name, or book or play title that they had drawn from the basket, while the others tried to guess what was being portrayed.
Miss Goodwin mimed “Queen Victoria” by feigning a crown atop her head while holding a scepter.
Colonel Blackwood acted out the title for Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice by sticking his nose up in the air, and Selena got it right out of the starting gate.
Mr. Davis guessed A Christmas Carol, which Miss Thompson expressed by drawing an imaginary Christmas tree in the air and pretending to sing a song.
But Dr. Scott outdid everyone. He cleverly conveyed pirate ship, penguin, beekeeper, and Frankenstein with his acting antics and was the first to guess a slew of idioms from fox hunt and The Pilgrim’s Progress to Romeo and Juliet.
“I declare you the winner, Dr. Scott,” Mrs. Hillman announced to universal applause when the basket had been picked clean. “You may claim your prize from the gifts on the sideboard.”
His prize was a box of toffee, which Dr. Scott passed around for the assembled group to enjoy. Selena then passed out pencils and pieces of papers and announced the next game, the one she’d been waiting for. “One of my pupils taught me this last term. I call it ‘the Memory Game.’”
“‘The Memory Game’?” Mrs. Whitlock’s forehead creased. “How is it played?”
Selena set a cloth-draped platter on the low table around which the group was seated.
“Beneath this cloth is an assortment of everyday objects.” Selena had gathered the items in the few spare minutes she’d had in between her meeting with Dr. Scott and Christmas dinner.
“When I uncover the platter, you’ll have two minutes to study the contents on the tray before I cover it again.
You’ll then have three minutes to write down as many of the items as you can remember.
Whoever remembers the most things wins.”
Selena’s aim was to obtain a sample of everyone’s handwriting, to compare to the threatening notes she and Dr. Scott had received. She stole a peek at the doctor and detected an appreciative glint in his eyes, a look that sent a pleasant shiver racing through her.
“I don’t have the best memory anymore,” complained Mrs. Whitlock, placing a hand over her heart. “The very idea of this game gives me palpitations.”
Selena wondered if the woman’s physical complaint was real—or an excuse not to play. “I’m so sorry. Are you well enough to play, ma’am?”
The woman heaved a heavy sigh. “I suppose. If everyone else wants to play.”
Mr. Davis gave Selena a thumbs-up. “I think it sounds amusing.”
“You would.” Miss Goodwin made a face at him. “He has an excellent memory,” she added to the others, “so watch out.”
Gentle laughter filled the room. Only Mrs. Whitlock looked discomposed.
“All right, here we go. The clock starts now.” Selena removed the cloth from the platter.
For the next two minutes, everyone stared hard at the contents of the platter and didn’t utter a word.
There was a pencil, a coin, a spoon, a comb, a postcard, a feather, a sprig of holly, a key, a tiny vase, a paperweight, a seashell …
twenty objects in all. The only sound in the room was the whoosh of the wind in the trees outside.
After Selena re-covered the tray, the players grabbed their pencils and began making their lists.
When three minutes were up, Selena called the time.
Mrs. Whitlock threw down her pencil. “That was far too difficult.”
Mr. Davis delivered his page to Selena with a shrug. “It was a walk in the park for me.”
“Please help yourself to a cup of coffee or one of the other beverages,” Selena announced when she had collected lists from everyone. “I’ll go tally these.”
Selena’s heart pounded as she retreated to a table in a corner, where she made a quick overview of the seven entries.
She wasn’t interested just yet in who had listed the most objects on the tray.
She was looking for a handwriting style that matched the threatening notes she and Dr. Scott had received.
To Selena’s disappointment, Mr. Davis and Miss Goodwin had written their lists in capital letters, which made it difficult to make a handwriting comparison. But the rest were in cursive, as the notes had been. She disregarded Mrs. Hillman’s and Dr. Scott’s entries, which left only three.
When Selena turned to the last page of the bunch, she froze.
It only listed eight items. But when Selena snuck another glimpse at the note inside her handbag and compared it to the page she was holding, her breath hitched in her throat.
The handwriting bore a striking resemblance to that in the threatening notes.
She stared at the signature at the bottom of the page.
It had been written by Mrs. Opal Whitlock.