Page 12 of Mrs. Holloway's Christmas Pudding

This is happiness, the words came to me. My resentment about my plight in life, my envy of those who had true homes to go to at Christmas, began to dissolve.

I had a beautiful daughter, dear friends, and a man with whom I could be wholly myself. Daniel not only admired me, but he put up with my insatiable curiosity, my quick temper, and my absolute need to put Grace first. Daniel had a good heart, and I knew I was lucky I had him in my life.

As I watched Puss and the following even more elaborate production of Aladdin, a sort of peace settled over me. These moments, stolen when I could take them, were joy. I would not trade them for all the riches in the world.

I clung to that feeling as we walked home, James darting off once we reached Cheapside.

Joanna invited Daniel to stay once we reached her house. I thought he’d beg off, saying he had much to do, but he accepted, and we sat in the parlor, sipping tea and enjoying conversation. Grace lingered with me instead of running back to her studies or to play with Joanna’s oldest daughter who’d become her closest friend.

Joanna’s husband, Sam, arrived home as the windows grew dark, and he joined us for tea and chatter. He and Daniel got along well, I observed, as the two men exchanged banter and laughter.

When I had to depart, bitterness stirred in my heart again. Joanna could remain in this warm house with her husband and children, whereas I had to return to drudgery before I went to sleep in my cold attic room alone.

Daniel, bless him, offered to see me home.

Once I tore myself from Grace, Daniel hailed a hansom, and we huddled together under the lap robe in the frigid December air.

“What is it, Kat?” Daniel asked, sensing my mood.

“Oh, I am merely being disgruntled.” I stretched my tired feet under the blanket. “Sometimes I wish I could chuck it all and run far away—with Grace, of course. Instead, I must argue with a woman who will have the perfect Christmas dinner, even though she has no knowledge about food and how it is prepared. If she is not ecstatically pleased with the Christmas meal, it will be all my fault, in her opinion.”

“Why don’t you then?” Daniel asked.

“Why don’t I what?”

“Chuck it all. Hand Mrs. Bywater your apron and tell her she must find another cook to put up with her. Go to a village in the country and set up the tea shop you dream of.”

I stared at him as he ran through this scenario, his teasing tone vanishing.

His sudden seriousness shook me from my doldrums, and my common sense returned. “Because, my dear Daniel, shoes and frocks for a girl who grows out of them each year cost money. So does food to eat and a roof to sleep under. I did not have the fortune to be born with coffers full of cash, you know.”

“I wish you did not always have to be worried about money,” Daniel said, almost fiercely.

“We all do, even gentlemen who sit in exclusive clubs.” I thought of Mr. Hardy and how desperate he might feel, owing Mr. Whitaker a large debt. “I will ask you in return, why do you not tell Mr. Monaghan to go hang and depart London with James for this picturesque village in the country? Whose inhabitants likely would not welcome strangers from London without some sort of introduction. We could be anybody.”

Daniel listened with a scowl that lightened as I ran through my speech. The softness reentered his voice as I finished.

“As always, Kat, you have more sense than any person I’ve ever known. You know good and well why I can’t tell Monaghan to go hang, as much as I’d like to. I want James to have a father who is not rotting in prison.”

“Mr. Monaghan would not dare,” I said with indignation.

“Indeed, he would. Even the hardest inspectors at the Yard are afraid of Monaghan. He is ruthless.” Daniel’s smile returned, and he kissed my cheek. “I will cling to the fact that when you spoke of retiring to our imaginary village, you implied that we’d go there together.”

I started. “Did I?”

“You did. I will also enjoy that you said it spontaneously, without thought.” Daniel brushed back a lock of my hair, which had straggled from beneath my hat when he’d kissed me. “I will think on this for the rest of the day and let it warm me in the winter’s darkness.”

For my part, I would remember his lips on my cheek, his touch on my hair, and his laughter as we’d enjoyed the panto.

“Leave off,” I said softly. “Daft man.”

James was waiting at the railings that evening after supper when I took scraps outside to the unfortunates.

“Doctor’s coachman was friendly enough,” he reported when I finished and turned to him. “Dr. Burnley’s a personable man, coachman says. Doesn’t mind a gab with his servants.”

“A good thing for us,” I observed.

James leaned negligently against the railings, his stance so like his father’s that my heart squeezed.

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