The Christmas Card: The perfect heartwarming novel for Christmas from the Sunday Times bestseller

‘Miss Flora has been a model child,’ Alice said quickly. ‘I think we will do very well together.’ The words tumbled from her lips before she had time to think, but she had taken an instant dislike to Mrs Dearborn, who might have been a beauty had it not been for her dissatisfied expression. Her thin lips hinted at a discontented nature, and this was borne out by the twin furrows on her forehead, which created a permanent frown.

Flora shot Alice a puzzled glance, as if amazed to think that an adult would stand up for her, and for once she seemed to have nothing to say.

‘You surprise me,’ Mrs Dearborn said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Flora needs a firm hand. My husband spoils her and she thinks that she can do as she pleases, but the sooner she learns to behave properly the better.’

‘May I ask you a question, Mrs Dearborn?’ Alice moved closer, lowering her voice. ‘Why was it thought necessary to lock Miss Flora in her room? Surely it’s frightening for a young child to be treated so harshly?’

Mrs Dearborn leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed. ‘If you are to work for me you will not question my authority. Is that clear?’

The temptation to tell Mrs Dearborn that she would not be accepting the position in her household was almost too great, but one glance in Flora’s direction was enough to convince her otherwise. Whether or not she was the daughter of the house was immaterial. Whether it was true or just a story made up by a lonely little girl, Alice could not simply walk away. She nodded. ‘Perfectly clear, ma’am.’ Even as she spoke she felt small fingers curling around her hand. She gave them an encouraging squeeze.

‘You said we could have a Christmas tree, Mama,’ Flora said slyly. ‘I promise to be very good.’

‘I’m not sure that you deserve anything at all for Christmas,’ Mrs Dearborn said stiffly. ‘Mrs Upton tells me that you attempted to leave the house again yesterday. Hoskins had to chase you round the square twice before he caught you.’

‘I was going home.’ Flora squared her small shoulders, meeting her mother’s angry gaze with a toss of her head. ‘You don’t really want me. You only bring me down here to show me off when your friends are visiting.’

For a moment it seemed that Flora had gone too far. The look on Mrs Dearborn’s face was a mixture of chagrin and rage. ‘Take the child back to the nursery, Radcliffe. You have my permission to chastise her as you see fit.’ She rose to her feet. ‘And you, Flora Dearborn, will apologise or you will not have Christmas at all. There will be no tree and definitely no presents. I’ll tell your father and he will agree with me, so don’t think you can get round him.’ She slumped down on her seat, mopping her brow with a lace handkerchief. ‘Ring the bell on your way out, Radcliffe. I feel quite faint and in need of my smelling salts.’

Alice seized Flora by the hand and left the room, pausing to tug at the bell pull on the way out.

‘Why did you say that, Flora? You can see that you’ve upset your mama.’

‘She isn’t my mama. I told you that, Radcliffe.’ Flora stamped her foot and marched off towards the staircase.

Alice hurried after her. ‘You and I need a serious talk if I’m to stay on here, Flora.’

‘See if I care.’ Flora took the stairs two at a time, reaching the third floor well ahead of Alice. She slammed the nursery door.

In no mood for childish tantrums, Alice followed her inside. ‘Sit down, miss,’ she said firmly. ‘Stop behaving like that or you’ll hurt yourself.’

‘So what if I do?’ Flora cried angrily. ‘Nobody cares except Papa, and he’s not here most of the time, and he doesn’t always listen to me. He just pats me on the head and gives me whatever I ask for. The only one who does hear what I have to say is Uncle Rory.’

‘I’d like to meet your uncle,’ Alice said, choosing her words carefully. ‘He sounds nice.’

Flora came to a halt, looking up at her with a sudden sparkle in her blue eyes. ‘He is nice, and he’s funny.’ She threw herself down on the bed, beating the pillow with her small fists. ‘Now I won’t get any presents or a tree. Papa promised me a tree with candles on it and tinsel, like last year.’ She began to sob, her whole body racked by intense emotion.

Alice sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Flora’s wildly curling hair back from her damp forehead. ‘I’m sure it was said in the heat of the moment. If you apologise to your mama it will all be forgotten.’

Flora raised a tear-stained face to look up at her. ‘She won’t forget. She’s mean.’

‘Wipe your eyes and I’ll help you write a note to your mama. You could do a little drawing for her. I know you’re good at that because I’ve seen some of your sketches.’

‘I draw what I see in my nightmares.’ Flora sat up, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. ‘I’ll draw her as a witch.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Alice said hastily. She rose to her feet and went to the washstand to dip a flannel in cold water. Having wrung it out she used it to wipe Flora’s hot cheeks. ‘It would be better to draw something to remind her that it’s the season of peace and goodwill,’ she said slowly. ‘Perhaps some holly and ivy or mistletoe would be nice, and a little note from you saying you’re very sorry.’

‘But I’m not sorry,’ Flora said crossly.

‘It’s your choice. You apologise and try to make amends or else you’ll have a very miserable Christmas.’

Flora stared at her, head on one side. ‘What sort of Christmas will you have, Radcliffe?’

‘I think we should start by being on first-name terms. I want you to call me Alice and I’ll drop the title Miss and simply call you Flora, at least when we’re on our own.’

‘All right,’ Flora said, nodding. ‘So will you be here with me on Christmas Day, Alice? Or will you go away like everyone else and have a jolly time with your family?’

‘If you want me to be here, then I will. I told you how it is with me and my mama. There’s little enough cheer in my aunt’s house.’

Flora threw her arms around Alice, giving her a hearty hug. ‘Then it’s the same for you. I want you here, with me. You can bring your mama, if you like, and I’ll tell Mrs Upton to give us a special luncheon.’

‘Don’t you ever take your meals with your parents, Flora?’

‘Sometimes, but they have friends to dinner on Christmas Day. I just go downstairs when the ladies sit in the drawing room afterwards and they give me crystallised fruit. And sugared almonds – I like that.’

Alice rose to her feet, turning away so that Flora could not see the tears of sympathy that welled in her eyes. She went to the desk and searched for pen and paper. ‘Come over here, Flora. You can write the words but I’ll help you with the picture.’

After several false starts with ink blots flying in all directions, Flora finally managed to write a short note of apology, and she drew some spiky holly leaves with berries that varied in size and shape. It was a good effort, but she was not satisfied.

‘Please draw some mistletoe, Alice. I remember Papa kissing Mama under the mistletoe last Christmas. She went red and giggled, but I think she liked it really.’ She pushed the piece of paper towards Alice. ‘Please. A lovely big bunch of mistletoe.’

Alice smiled. This was a different child from the brat who had greeted her first thing that morning. ‘All right, I will, just this once.’ She took the pen and began to draw. Flora leaned over her shoulder, making encouraging remarks and breathing heavily down Alice’s neck.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Flora said delightedly when Alice put the pen down. ‘Let’s go and give it to Mama now.’

‘We’ll wait until the ink dries or it will smudge, and then we’ll go downstairs and you can give it to her.’

They were prevented from going straight away by the arrival of Nettie with a tray of food for their midday meal. Flora picked at hers but Alice was starving and she ate with relish. One thing in Mrs Dearborn’s favour was her choice of cook. The chicken soup was rich and delicious, and the bread, hot from the oven, was liberally spread with butter. Followed by treacle tart and custard, it was the best meal that Alice had eaten in days and she finished off what Flora left for good measure.

‘You’ll get fat if you eat that much.’ Flora shook her head, staring pointedly at the empty plates.

‘There’s little chance of that,’ Alice said, wiping her lips on the starched white napkin. ‘My aunt doesn’t believe in overfeeding us. I just wish my mama could have had some of the chicken soup.’

‘I’ll tell Mrs Upton to prepare a basket for you,’ Flora said grandly. ‘Now, let’s go downstairs and give the note to Mama. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow and it’s getting very late to get a tree, or to buy presents.’

Flora ran ahead of Alice and burst into the drawing room without bothering to knock. Mrs Dearborn looked up from her embroidery, frowning ominously. ‘What now, Flora? Where are your manners?’

‘I’m sorry, Mama.’ Flora ran to her side, thrusting the note into her hands. ‘I made this for you.’

Mrs Dearborn scanned the paper. ‘You did this unaided, Flora?’

‘I had a bit of help from Radcliffe,’ Flora said airily. ‘I did most of it, but she did the mistletoe.’

‘Mistletoe?’ A male voice from the doorway made Alice turn with a start, but all she could see was a tangle of pine branches as a tall figure hefted a huge tree into the room.

‘Uncle Rory.’ Flora rushed to greet him. ‘I hoped you’d come. There’s someone I want you to meet.’

Chapter Three (#u5d6aa649-01a1-5bd6-b9ba-aeb3f5e1665a)