O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,153

Rather, he seemed to see the good in all the servants. She sniggered. Perhaps that was why there was so much turnover. He believed in giving everyone a chance. Warmth spread through her at the thought.

When Charles finished, he placed a small bouquet of red roses atop her casket before stepping back.

The vicar turned to Mr. Hudson. “I suppose you have something to say, as well?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Indeed, I do,” Mr. Hudson stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Lady Wendt has supported our orphanage every year with generosity. Had it not been for her generous donations of clothing and money throughout the years, me missus and me would not have had the needed funds to feed and clothe the children. I thought she might not continue the donations when his lordship passed, but she did, most generously.”

“What? I always turned him away. I called him a beggar and demanded that he be told not to return,” she said indignantly. Then she recalled the crying little boy—Henry. “The orphanages really need the money,” she whispered. “Otherwise, no one would care for the children. They would starve or freeze, or both.” Her heart wrenched at the harsh reminder of her greed.

“How could Mr. Hanson have gotten donations from me?” she wondered out loud. “I kept a strict accounting of my books. There was nary a variance.” Agatha looked at Bentley. “Could he have given his own money? For me?”

“Perhaps,” Thomas murmured.

“Why?” she asked.

“These are things you will have to figure out, Agatha,” he reproved. “You have been greedy and singularly focused on yourself for so many years. Change will be hard, not impossible. However, I encourage you to try before it is too late. If you do not change, you have seen your future.”

“I have had enough. My head hurts. Please…I must get my rest. Surely, you have tortured me enough,” she whined.

A bell chimed loudly as he held his hand up. “Enough. You are forever a grumbler and a victim, never owning responsibility for problems of your own making,” he thundered.

Once again, the room went dark and the dank, grey mist rose about her feet. She felt chilled and wrapped her arms tightly about herself. This all makes one feel dead already, she thought bitterly.

“The sooner I return to my bed, the sooner I will decide how to change things.”

“Not just yet. I am not convinced you have seen enough to give you reason to change.” Her brother crooked his finger at her and pointed away from them.

“What? I see nothing,” she snapped.

“You will,” he droned.

A well-lit room opened before them. In the corner sat a table covered with a tablecloth, trimmed with greenery and stacked with family gifts wrapped for Christmas. A little boy sat rocking on a wooden horse next to the table, giggling, with a smiling Agatha kneeling beside him.

“That is Henry,” she exclaimed. “At my home.” Of course! She had heard that orphanages encouraged families to share their homes with the children during holidays. She made a mental note to become more acquainted with the local orphanage. She also planned to learn more about her reported generosity. Smiling, she noticed Pretty and her babies were cozied in their own baskets, warming themselves in front of a fireplace.

Bentley walked in with refreshments and set the tray down on the table next to Agatha and the small child, before taking the large leather chair next to her. “I brought it myself. The staff are enjoying our gifts, and I thought we could handle this ourselves.”

“What is he doing? He should not be sitting so. I am not paying him to sit,” she demanded. “He acts as if he is master of the house. . .”

“Shhh! Be quiet, Agatha, and watch. You miss so much with your constant need to censure,” he admonished.

She started to say something back, as was always her habit, but remained quiet and watched as he bid.

A butler walked in and announced her niece’s family. “Lord and Lady Clarendon, their son, the Viscount Thomas, Lady Romney, and Viscount Collins have arrived, my lady,” he announced.

“They have come to visit me?” Agatha asked. She looked again at Bentley and noticed he was not dressed as a butler.

“Walters, see that we have readied the guest rooms. Please see they have everything they need,” Agatha heard herself say.

“How is all of this possible? You are saying this is my life? Are you sure you have not imbibed some spirits?” she questioned her