A Christmas Keepsake by Janice Bennett Page A

park.”
    “Oh, if only they would play off their foolish tricks in the daylight, so you might see who is responsible!” Mrs. Runcorn clasped her hands.
    “This time, they did,” Major Holborn said. “It happened just over an hour ago.”
    “Did you see anyone?” Mr. Runcorn demanded at once.
    The major shook his head. “I’m afraid they got away—again.”
    “If only you could have caught one of them,” Mrs. Runcorn cried, distressed. “Then at last you might have demanded an explanation.”
    “There is no point in repining. Perhaps next time—”
    “Perhaps next time,” Mr. Runcorn interrupted, “they will hit their mark, and you won’t be able to ask them.”
    “It was because of me, wasn’t it,” Christy said suddenly. “If I hadn’t—stepped—in front of you and tripped you, you could have seen who threw those knives. Couldn’t you?”
    “There is no way of knowing that,” came his calm response.
    “You should be mad at me instead of being so nice. I’m sorry.”
    “Do not distress yourself. It is in no way your fault. Had I been paying more attention to where I was going, I would not have knocked you down. It is I who should apologize.”
    Guilt flooded through her. It had been her unorthodox arrival into the past, literally tripping him up, which prevented him from catching, or at least seeing, the knife thrower. If she hadn’t appeared, he might be well on his way to solving his riddles. Or the knife might have hit its mark...
    A chill crept along her spine, and she swallowed a mouthful of tepid tea. What had she gotten into? Time travel of all things. And attempted murder.
    And possibly a revolution?

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
    The cup rattled in her saucer, and Christy stilled her trembling with an effort. Why her? The book with the apse print that changed only for her, the skaters in that ball who moved only for her. And James Edward Holborn himself, providing the link between them. What had he to do with her? And what was she doing in his time?
    Mrs. Runcorn rose. “We are being thoughtless, my dear. You have undergone a great ordeal. Allow me to show you to your room, where I make no doubt you will want to rest before we dine.”
    “Thank you. I—I think that might be a good idea.” Christy searched for her purse, remembered she no longer had it, and stood. To her relief, her legs held her.
    Mrs. Runcorn looked her over, her expression thoughtful. “We are much of a size, I believe. I shall find you a gown and night rail. Tomorrow we shall set about replenishing your wardrobe.”
    Amid Christy’s renewed thanks, her hostess led her from the chamber and up the staircase at the end of the narrow hall. As they reached the first landing, children’s voices shouted, laughed, and argued.
    “Don’t worry, I won’t show you around our orphanage until tomorrow. And the boys are very good, I assure you.”
    A high-pitched wail rose at that moment, followed by Nancy’s sharp reproof to someone named Sammy. Another voice piped up with the information that Alfie always whined, and it didn’t mean nothin’.
    “Now, no more mischief from you, Jem,” Nancy declared. “Davey, get your ’ead out of them clouds and ’elp Tom clear the table. And mind, Bert,” she added, her voice fading with her retreating footsteps, “the missus don’t want to see that sullen face at the dinner table.”
    “Eight of them?” Christy asked again.
    “Poor things. The weather has been so dreadfully cold, they haven’t been able to go outside as much as they would like. There, I’m sure the novelty of having you for a teacher will have them on their best behavior. The schoolroom and the boys’ rooms are on that floor,” she added as they passed it. “And we are all up here.”
    Christy emerged into the upper hall and looked about, favorably impressed. The wainscoting boasted a fresh coat of white paint, and flowered paper covered the walls above. The rug might be threadbare, but not a single speck of