Page 20 of Mrs. Holloway's Christmas Pudding

Dr. Burnley recoiled as though he’d been slapped. He gazed at Mrs. Whitaker in anguish before he returned his angry glare to me, the woman who’d ruined all his plans.

He charged at me, shoving his beloved Mrs. Whitaker out of his way, ready to beat me to the ground. Cynthia seized his arm, hard enough that he had to waste a moment shaking her off.

I did not want to run and perhaps let him escape, so I looked around for a weapon to take him down. There was a poker at the fireplace, and I raced for it.

Dr. Burnley disentangled himself from Cynthia and came for me. He was nearly upon me when I dodged aside, adept at avoiding a man’s fists.

Dr. Burnley hurtled after me, but in the next instant, the large form of Mrs. Provost filled the doorway, a rolling pin raised.

“That will be quite enough of that,” Mrs. Provost announced.

I thought she would finish at simply threatening Dr. Burnley, but Mrs. Provost strode into the chamber and slammed the rolling pin into the doctor’s middle. The small man let out his breath with an oof, and slowly collapsed to the floor, his arm over his stomach in agony.

Mrs. Provost raised the rolling pin again, as though ready to have a go at me, but Mrs. Whitaker once more stepped protectively in front of me.

“Fetch a constable.” Her command was firm, and even the formidable Mrs. Provost hesitated. “At once, please.”

“I’ll go.” Cynthia dashed out, light on her feet, and waved imperiously at the maids and footmen who’d gathered in the hall. “You—come with me.” She pointed at the footman who’d opened the front door for her. He jumped and complied, the two of them skimming out of sight.

“Mr. Whitaker needs a purge, I’m afraid,” I said to his wife. “I believe a dose of morphine is in order as well. From a reputable doctor, mind.”

Mr. Whitaker laughed weakly from his bed. “She’s a physician and a knight in shining armor as well as an excellent cook. I commend you, Mrs. Holloway.”

“Hush.” Mrs. Whitaker went to him and leaned down to wrap her arms carefully around him. “Oh, my darling, to think he was taking you away from me.”

“I will be well.” Mr. Whitaker patted her, reassuring her even though he could barely speak. “Never you worry. I’ll sit at the table and eat our Christmas pudding with you. You’ll see.”

“Humph,” Mrs. Provost said. “If I can get one boiled up in time.” She switched a glare to me. “I suppose you have a recipe for that too, Mrs. Holloway.”

Cynthia and the footman returned with a constable, who was skeptical at first, but Cynthia and Mrs. Whitaker convinced him to head for Scotland Yard.

Dr. Burnley was in no condition to run away while we waited. He remained on the floor of Mr. Whitaker’s bedroom, clutching his abdomen and moaning.

Inspector McGregor turned up within the hour, Daniel with him. The inspector was not at all pleased to see me, but he listened to my babbled explanation without interruption, and gave the bottle to his sergeant for testing.

Dr. Burnley, when he could speak again, tried to claim that Mrs. Provost and I had attacked him for no reason. However, with the Whitakers, Lady Cynthia, and the staff who’d witnessed the struggle taking my side, Inspector McGregor brusquely arrested the doctor for attempted murder by poison.

Inspector McGregor betrayed no glee at catching a would-be murderer. He scowled at me as he followed his constables, who had Dr. Burnley in manacles, out of Mr. Whitaker’s bedchamber.

“Happy Christmas, Inspector,” I couldn’t stop myself from saying.

The inspector grunted something, tipped his hat politely to Lady Cynthia and Mrs. Whitaker, and strode from the room.

After I made certain that Mr. Whitaker’s servants settled him and his wife, Daniel, who had remained to help, walked us home.

“Thanos has invited James and me to Christmas supper at his flat,” Daniel announced as we strolled down Davies Street toward Berkeley Square. “He would be most happy if both of you could join us.”

Cynthia flushed, and not from the brisk wind. I imagined Mr. Thanos dithering about sending Cynthia an invitation directly, which would have been most improper. Having it come through Daniel was a wise solution.

“I am spending Christmas with Grace,” I reminded them. “But perhaps I could stop on my way home.”

“That would be splendid.” Daniel smiled at me.

“I will gratefully attend as well,” Cynthia said. “After I tear myself away from the very traditional Christmas luncheon Auntie insists on. Both Bobby and Judith are going to their respective families, so I’ll have no refuge with them.”

She spoke off-handedly but I could see she was quite pleased Mr. Thanos wanted to spend Christmas with her. Perhaps one day, Cynthia would be hosting Christmas feasts with Mr. Thanos at her side.

Daniel threaded his fingers through mine. “The Whitakers will have a happy Christmas after all.” He leaned to me. “Well done, Mrs. Holloway.”

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