A shiver raced up Rosemary Lillywhite’s spine as she leaned back against the cold porcelain sink and felt the press of its icy surface through her silk blouse. She had been hiding in the upstairs powder room of her townhouse for a few long minutes already, seeking refuge from her mother’s invasive questions and relentless meddling. Through the walls, Evelyn’s muffled voice instructed Rosemary’s ever-patient butler, Wadsworth, on the proper way to set the table for dinner.
“Mrs. Woolridge, I assure you, the silverware will be positioned according to your exact specifications.” Wadsworth’s calm voice floated up the stairs.
“Very well, Wadsworth,” Evelyn replied curtly as if she suspected he’d really meant her exacting specifications.
Rosemary rolled her eyes at the exchange. Despite having been in her home for less than an hour, Evelyn had already alienated the staff in addition to inquiring—twice—about whether Rosemary was considering becoming engaged to Max Whittington, the Chief Inspector of the London police. While she was quite fond of Max, the constant probing made her feel like a specimen pinned under a microscope, particularly given how mercurial her mother had been regarding the relationship thus far.
It wasn’t that Evelyn wholly disapproved of Max. How could she when he was practically flawless? Handsome, intelligent, upright, respectful—not to mention, had worked diligently to clear her son’s name when he was falsely accused of murder. As far as Rosemary could tell, the only item her mother could possibly add to Max’s con tally was his status as a working-class man.
The one thing Rosemary couldn’t give a lick about.
A man like Max, who earned his living rather than being born into wealth, provided a comforting type of security, one different from the kind her mother prized. Not that Evelyn hadn’t changed her tune before, even singing Max’s praises on at least one occasion, but it was hard to keep up, and Rosemary had grown weary of the task.
With a wistful sigh, she let herself fantasize about how much easier life would be if she could politely decline her mother’s visits.
Unfortunately, Evelyn Woolridge wasn’t so easily dissuaded.
Roused from her thoughts by a sharp rap on the brass door knocker, Rosemary reached the landing just in time to see her dearest friend and sister-in-law, Vera, step over the threshold with an air of practiced grace. For all of Evelyn’s perfectionism, the spunky actress brought a refreshing dose of unpredictability to the family, and Rosemary felt her spirits lift immediately.
“Vera, darling,” Evelyn exclaimed, the corners of her blue-grey eyes crinkling into a smile that softened her otherwise forbidding appearance. “Don’t you look lovely today? And what a stunning coat!”
The garment, a tailored affair in deep emerald, slipped into the butler’s waiting arms along with a matching hat adorned with a tasteful plume. “Thank you, Wads, darling,” Vera said affectionately before turning to Evelyn.
“Isn’t it exquisite? I just got it from Harrods.” Vera’s smile was as bright as her words. She shook out her short crop of coal-black hair as if shrugging off the late afternoon chill and enveloped Evelyn in a warm embrace. To Rosemary’s relief, the fragile detente between mother and daughter-in-law appeared to be holding fast.
“Harrods, of course!” Evelyn replied, her voice laced with approval. “We’ll have to stop there tomorrow during our shopping excursion.”
“Mother, honestly, I doubt so much as a slip of paper will fit into the boot alongside what you arrived here with. How ever will you get it all back to Pardington?” Rosemary’s eyes twinkled as they met Wadsworth’s. Always the consummate professional, his expression never wavered.
Neither had it budged an inch during the unloading of Evelyn’s cases, though Rosemary had noticed the flush of crimson he couldn’t keep from coloring his cheeks. Wadsworth wasn’t a young man, and she hoped her mother hadn’t been working him too hard. Aside from a weekly card game, he hardly ever asked for personal time and, in fact, had only agreed to take a Christmas holiday at Rosemary’s resolute insistence.
“Oh, dear,” Evelyn sighed, a hint of exasperation coloring her tone. “You’re worse than your father sometimes. I’ll simply have everything shipped directly, won’t I? Harrods is quite competent, I assure you.”
Never having been afflicted with buyer’s remorse, Vera nodded sagely in agreement, but Rosemary ignored her.
“Regardless, bringing half the contents of your wardrobe does seem a bit excessive for such a brief visit.”
“That’s not nearly half my wardrobe, darling,” Evelyn replied crisply. “And as I always say, it’s best to be prepared for whatever occasion might arise.”
Rosemary’s lips curved with gentle mirth. “You two are beginning to sound alike.”
Vera laughed, quite used to being ribbed about her penchant for luxury. “Mock us if you must,” she said with a wink. “You’re in good company. Frederick has been trying to cure me of it for ages.”
“Frederick can try all he likes,” Evelyn replied dryly, “however—”
“—a leopard never changes its spots,” Rosemary finished another of her mother’s well-worn phrases. Laughter trailing behind, she led the way to the parlor, where a fire crackled cheerily in the hearth.
Before long, the tinkle of glass and the whisper of wheels on the carpet announced Wadsworth’s arrival with the drinks trolley. Rosemary waved him away, selected a crystal decanter, and, with a practiced hand, poured rich amber liquid into three glasses. The scent of aged brandy mingled pleasantly with the lingering aroma of beeswax polish.
“Here we are,” she announced, handing each woman a glass. “A little fortification against the evening chill.”
“Well, then, this is quite cozy,” Evelyn observed, settling onto an embroidered settee with a satisfied sigh.
“Thank you,” Rosemary replied, mildly pleased despite her insistence that her mother’s opinion held no weight in her decorating choices, and added innocently, “Although I must say, now that the renovations are complete, Freddie and Vera’s new home boasts much more spacious rooms. The guest suite is particularly charming. A shame not to take advantage of it during your stay.”
“Oh, you know your father,” Evelyn said, waving a dismissive hand. “Cecil is a creature of habit. He’s accustomed to staying here when we’re in town. It would only confuse him to change the routine now.” She took a slow sip of brandy, but her eyes remained glued to the drapes.
Rosemary arched an eyebrow. “Are you certain it isn’t because Frederick and Vera don’t employ a full staff at their new home?”
Evelyn’s lips pursed slightly, a telltale sign that Rosemary had struck a nerve. But before she could respond, a soft pattering of paws heralded the arrival of Dash, Rosemary’s vivacious German Spitz. With a joyful bark, he bounded across the room and leaped onto Evelyn’s lap, tail wagging furiously.
“See, Mother? Even Dash knows you prefer the full domestic ensemble,” Rosemary teased, enjoying the sight of her mother’s stoic composure breaking into a reluctant smile under the little dog’s enthusiastic affection.
“We both know a household runs more smoothly with a full staff,” Evelyn said with a pointed stare towards the door, where Wadsworth stood discreetly. “It’s naught but a matter of time before Frederick and Vera accept the fact themselves.”
Vera laughed and aimed a cheeky wink at the butler. “Given that Rosemary has already monopolized the most impeccable services available, what hope did Frederick and I have? We’re rather doomed to inefficiency, I’m afraid.” Despite his well-known soft spot for Vera’s bold disposition, Rosemary noticed that Wadsworth’s responding smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I’m perfectly capable of managing without a battalion of servants, you know,” Evelyn chided, stroking Dash’s fluffy head. “I quite enjoy a bit of rustic charm now and then.”
“Independence does have its charms, Mrs. Woolridge,” Vera replied lightly, “though I’m afraid I find the term rustic somewhat inaccurate. Nevertheless, Frederick and I take great delight in our little domestic adventures. He’s organized his wardrobe down to the cuff links, and you ought to see how he’s decorated his study,” she added with a hint of pride.
Unmoved, Evelyn merely smiled and abruptly changed the subject. “We’ve more important things to discuss, don’t we?”
“Such as?” Rosemary asked, genuinely curious as to what her mother deemed more pressing than meddling in her children’s lives, no matter how inconsequential the topic.
“Tomorrow’s factory tour, of course,” Evelyn declared, her voice regaining its authoritative edge. “The American expansion is a significant opportunity for Woolridge & Sons, and we cannot afford any missteps. We must all put our best faces forward.”
Rosemary’s tone sharpened. “Rest assured, Mother, we’ll all be on our best behavior until told otherwise. All attempts to embarrass the family will be postponed until after the new year.”
“Your sarcasm is unbecoming, Rosemary,” Evelyn scolded, her gaze as unwavering as a hawk’s. “I expect each of you to conduct yourselves appropriately during the tour. We must show the potential investors that Woolridge & Sons is a company shaped by good old-fashioned family values.”
Rosemary resisted the urge to roll her eyes, knowing that even the subtlest expression wouldn’t escape her mother’s scrutiny. Instead, she opted for a more diplomatic approach and pasted on a serene smile. “Yes, Mother. Of course.”
Evelyn scrutinized her daughter’s face briefly but seemed satisfied enough to let the matter drop. She turned her attention back to Wadsworth, who was dutifully tending to the drinks, and began explaining how to mix a gimlet precisely to her liking.
“Of course, Mrs. Woolridge, as you wish.”
Rosemary exchanged a small, conspiratorial smile with Vera just as the lively jingle of the doorbell announced Cecil and Frederick’s arrival. As the door swung open, father and son entered with the air of those bearing good tidings, their neckties adorned with sprightly holly patterns that caught the light with each step.
“Mother!” Frederick exclaimed warmly, depositing an affectionate kiss on her cheek. “I dare say you look positively radiant this evening.”
Cecil followed suit, pulling Evelyn into an embrace that thawed her usual reserve. “That description doesn’t do you justice, dear.”
For a fleeting moment, Evelyn’s face lit with unguarded fondness. “Always the charmer.”
Rosemary observed the scene from her vantage point near the drinks trolley, a small smile tugging at her lips. Watching her stern mother soften under her husband’s charm was like witnessing frost melt under the warmth of the morning sun and had a similar effect on her own mood.
The conversation turned to their upcoming family commitments, each detail scheduled down to the minute, as Evelyn always insisted. Yet despite the regimented nature of her mother’s plans, Rosemary couldn’t help but feel a flicker of anticipation for the festive days ahead.
“We’ll all go to Clerkenwell for the factory tour first thing tomorrow,” Evelyn explained. “And I’ve taken the liberty of making dinner reservations for the family at Kettner’s. Have you spoken to your sister?”
“Yes. Stella rang earlier to say she’ll be on the first train from Oxford tomorrow morning. Leonard still has a few classes to teach before the official end of term, and she thought it best to leave the children with the nanny rather than drag them all around London. She said little Nelly put up quite a fuss and would only settle once reassured he was still going to visit his grandparents for Christmas.”
Evelyn smiled at the mention of her grandson and nodded. “I anticipated that might be the case, so I only reserved a table for eight.”
“Eight?” Frederick asked, looking around the room with a puzzled expression.
“Yes, eight. The five of us,” she said, holding up a finger for each name, “Stella, and then, I thought it might be nice to invite Uncle Henry and your cousin Miranda. After all, Henry deserves to celebrate as much as anyone.”
Cecil beamed at his wife. “Indeed. Our finances would be an utter disaster without my brother’s guiding hand. He’ll be chuffed, I’m sure, to have been included. However, I won’t hazard a guess as to Miranda’s availability.”
“If she declines, perhaps we could invite Max,” Rosemary suggested, mildly annoyed her mother hadn’t thought to reserve a seat for the man she’d been pestering her daughter to marry.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Evelyn replied airily, “I wasn’t aware that his intention to join us in Pardington over Christmas meant he was also to be included in all other family gatherings.”
“Max is coming to Pardington after all?” Vera inquired, her voice laced with curiosity as she settled back into the armchair near the fire, hands wrapped around a still-full brandy glass.
“Yes,” Rosemary brightened. “His mother’s hip has improved significantly, and she decided to join her friends for a holiday in the tropics. Who would have thought it?”
“Speaking of holiday travels,” Vera added, leaning back with a conspiratorial grin, “Mother’s found herself a new beau. They’re also basking in some sun-drenched locale while we brave the London chill.” She let out a warm laugh, the sound light and musical against the crackling fire. “He’s quite the character from what I hear—flashy, charming. Just Mother’s style.”
“A holiday fling, perhaps? Or something more serious?” Frederick teased, his expression sly as he swirled the port in his glass, watching the rich liquid catch the firelight.
“Oh please,” Vera rolled her eyes playfully, her laughter bubbling. “Mother’s not one for flings anymore.”
“Well, she certainly deserves some happiness after all these years,” Evelyn interjected, her usual cool demeanor softening at the mention of her most coveted friend. “I do hope this new gentleman treats her well.”
“He’d better,” Rosemary said, her tone stern but her eyes twinkling with amusement as she glanced at Vera. “Or he’ll have you to contend with, I suppose.”
Before Vera could reply, the door creaked open, and Max appeared.
“Speak of the devil.” Frederick raised his glass.
“Evening, everyone.” Max nodded respectfully towards the Woolridges before turning his focus on Rosemary. “I apologize for my tardiness. I hope I haven’t missed too much.”
“Only a discussion of our holiday plans,” she replied, brightening as he sat beside her. “And how glad we are that you’ll join us this year.”
Max’s mouth turned into a wider grin than the one he habitually wore, but he didn’t have time to reply before Frederick pressed a glass into his hand and said, “Wait until you see Woolridge House all done up in Christmas garb. It’s a sight to behold, especially the tree.”
“The tallest one Father can get his hands on,” Rosemary added, “and then we all decorate it together.”
“Ah, yes,” Cecil chuckled, leaning back into his armchair. “Little Nelly is always so excited to participate, even though half of the ornaments end up clustered around the bottom branches. I remember when Frederick and Lionel were young lads—they’d do the very same thing, piling everything within reach of their chubby little arms.”
“Father, please,” Frederick groaned, rolling his eyes as he sipped his drink. “You’re worse than Mother.”
“Sounds like quite the festive gathering,” Max remarked, his voice tinged with genuine cheer as he met Rosemary’s gaze with another of his disarming smiles. She felt her heart flutter but refrained from gazing at him adoringly within view of her mother.
“Indeed,” Cecil agreed, his expression softening as he surveyed his family, pride evident in his eyes. “I can hardly wait.” With a small flourish, he rose from his armchair, balancing a glass of port in one hand. He made his way to Evelyn and, in a tender, intimate gesture, adjusted the delicate pearl necklace resting at her throat.
“Ah, my little Pavlova,” he murmured, just loud enough for the room to hear. A flush of color crept into Evelyn’s cheeks, and she allowed herself a smile that could only be described as radiant.
“Really, Cecil!” Evelyn scolded lightly, but her protest lacked any real bite. “Such nonsense.” Yet, the twinkle in her eye spoke of her delight. For a moment, she looked almost like a young girl again, the graying strands of hair around her face the same golden shade as Rosemary’s in the glow of the firelight.
The room fell silent, everyone observing their quiet affection until Max cleared his throat and rose, lifting his wine glass in a modest toast. “I’d like to say Merry Christmas to you all and thank you for welcoming me into your holiday traditions. It means a great deal.”
Cecil nodded and raised his glass, but it was Evelyn who responded smoothly, “Of course, Max. We’re more than happy to have you as part of the family.” Her gaze flicked meaningfully to Rosemary.
The underlying message was quite clear, and Rosemary suppressed a sigh, feeling the familiar weight of her mother’s expectations settle on her shoulders. Evelyn’s constant nudging was like a pebble in her shoe, never quite painful enough to confront but ever-present.
Fortunately, her father deftly redirected the conversation, launching into an animated description of the annual Woolridge & Sons holiday benefit. “Every year, the neighborhood children gather in the factory courtyard and enjoy a visit from jolly old Santa Claus himself,” Cecil explained, “and each child leaves with a wrapped gift.”
It was no wonder where Frederick got his charm, Rosemary thought as she watched her father, his enthusiasm belying his usual businesslike demeanor.
Suitably impressed, Max beamed. “A worthwhile endeavor, if I’ve ever heard one.”
“Nothing warms the heart quite like giving back,” Cecil agreed. “Especially during the holiday season.”
The heavenly scent of freshly baked pastry filled the room as the cook, Gladys, entered carrying a tray laden with mince pies.
“Fresh from the oven,” she declared proudly, her cheeks flushed from the kitchen’s warmth. “I couldn’t help but overhear your discussion about the charity event, and I wanted to thank you. I’m from Clerkenwell, you know, and your generosity means a lot to those families. For some, those gifts will be the only ones beneath the tree on Christmas morning.”
Evelyn’s brow furrowed as she considered Gladys’s statement.
“It’s our pleasure,” Cecil said humbly, waving off the praise.
“We must all do our part,” Evelyn agreed, her tone tempered by a rare moment of humility Rosemary suspected had something to do with the fact that while she wrote a generous check every year, she had never actually attended the company’s annual charity event. “It is only right.”
After Gladys returned to the kitchen, Frederick leaned forward, his already boyish grin brightening further. “It’s also good for business. Two birds, one stone. Charles Harrington, who will head our new American division, has even agreed to don the Santa suit this year in Uncle Henry’s stead.”
“That’s probably for the best. Uncle Henry could do with taking a year off,” Rosemary mused aloud, picturing the stately executive struggling with the costume the year before. “He grumbled about it last year from start to finish, if memory serves.”
“That is,” Cecil said, “until the children arrived. He’s always much better with children than he is with adults.”
Frederick snorted. “A fact I’m certain our investors will attest to. It’s good we didn’t leave him in charge of bolstering the charity coffers.”
“No, certainly not,” Cecil replied, eyes twinkling. “Your bit of trickery was all we needed for that. We’ve secured more donations this year than ever before. The checks have been pouring into the office all month.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Vera asked, eying her husband curiously.
Frederick took his time answering. “Oh, just a bit of artful manipulation, if you will. I simply mention the event in passing, never asking for donations directly. People are much more generous when they believe the act of giving was entirely their own idea.”
“My brother, the strategist,” Rosemary remarked with a wry chuckle, imagining guests reaching for their wallets, moved by the festive spirit and Frederick’s subtle persuasion.
“These mince pies are delicious,” Cecil remarked around a mouthful of pastry, earning a reproachful glance from Evelyn, who had, for a long moment, been staring contemplatively at the air just above his head. “We should add them to our holiday menu.”
“The Christmas menu has been planned out for months, darling.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying them, Father,” Rosemary replied without acknowledging her mother’s comment. “I’ll pass the compliment along to Gladys.”
Frederick’s expression turned mischievous as he settled back into the plush settee, cradling his glass in one hand. “Mother, I must say, it’s quite the clever strategy to avoid our humble abode,” he teased. “One might think you’re sparing yourself the horror of dealing with our nonexistent servants.”
Posed as a challenge, Frederick’s comment lingered in the air. Evelyn’s composure faltered ever so slightly, her lips pursing in a display of annoyance rarely directed towards her precious son.
Vera chuckled softly, her fingers curling around Frederick’s in a subtle gesture of support. “It’s a good thing we manage well enough on our own, isn’t it, Freddie?”
“We do,” Frederick agreed, his gaze on Vera softening. “And quite comfortably, I might add.”
Evelyn leveled her gaze on her son. “Frederick, dear, how fortunate Vera is to have married a man who excels at making himself comfortable.”
‘Tis the season…for murder.
Christmas has arrived in London, and for the first time in two years, Rosemary Lillywhite has much to celebrate. Her relationship with Max is moving in the right direction; her brother and best friend are hopelessly in love and as happy as they’ve ever been; and the family’s booming textile business is expanding into America. Riding high on holiday cheer, Rosemary isn’t even daunted by the arrival of her overbearing mother, Evelyn, who has come to London to attend the company’s annual children’s charity event.
She should have known it was all too good to be true.
Before the festivities can even begin, one of Rosemary’s father’s employees turns up dead, and another case must be solved before Christmas is ruined! Except this time, Evelyn isn’t content to sit on the sidelines of the investigation, not with the family’s reputation on the line.
When it turns out Evelyn is no slouch in the deduction department, Rosemary might have to do the unthinkable – admit she could still learn a thing or two from her mother!
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