Krampus: The Three Sisters (The Krampus Chronicles Book 1) (7 page)

Although Maggie was aware that St. Nicholas didn’t exist, she couldn’t shake the eeriness that tonight happened to be Christmas Eve. She wondered if perhaps there was some truth to Grandfather Clement’s poem after all. Or perhaps even truth to her annual dream. Maggie thought of the unknown shadow that had pushed St. Nicholas off the rooftop. Could this intruder be the mysterious figure from her dream?

Maggie soon realized the absurdity of her thoughts, and her initial concern was replaced with a need to investigate further. Maggie tiptoed into the hallway just as a door closed on the second floor. Impulsively, she rushed to the banister and leaned over. She guessed that the intruder had come from the master bedroom, since nothing could stir Grandfather Clement awake―not even someone crawling out of the fireplace a few yards from his bed.

Chelsea Manor was too dark to see anything below, but the east staircase moaned as a shadowy figure scurried down to the main floor. Maggie desperately tried to spy the person’s face, but when the intruder quietly paused near the bottom of the stairs, Maggie nervously ducked behind the banister. It felt like the New Year had already come and gone before the intruder continued down the steps with Maggie following close behind.

The grandfather clock chimed midnight as she reached the circular hall on the main floor. There had been no additional noise, so Maggie suspected that her mysterious friend had gone through the kitchen door that quietly swung open and closed. Maggie cautiously made her way into the kitchen. But just as its door swung behind her, another door clicked shut on the west end of the mansion.

The intruder was now either in the parlor, music room, or library.

Maggie didn’t go back out the kitchen door. With so many different entrances in the stair hall, she would be completely vulnerable. Instead she turned toward the doorway connecting the kitchen and Great Room where hours earlier she had listened to the discussion about Sidney Livingston.

During the day, the Great Room was the brightest and warmest room in all of Chelsea Manor. But alone at night, the room was cold and frightening. Jagged shadows curled around the furniture and along the walls, and even the enormous Christmas tree in the corner looked menacing with its dark twisted branches. As Maggie crossed the icy floors, she couldn’t remember a room ever feeling so foreboding.

Maggie slipped into the gentlemen’s parlor only to find it empty. She then crept into the music room. It also appeared vacant, but she knew only too well the room’s hiding places. A bulge in the curtains immediately caught Maggie’s eye, and she carefully pulled them apart, revealing the porch door and west facing windows. The moonlight blinded Maggie temporarily. But when her eyes adjusted, she saw an unusual blemish gleaming up from the floor. Kneeling down to inspect, she wiped a finger along the ground and then brought it up to her face.

Her heart stopped.

Ash.

Then someone rushed up behind her. Maggie was too surprised to scream, and even if she had garnered enough composure, a hand came across her mouth, muffling any noise.

“Remain quiet,” someone whispered in her ear.

She immediately recognized the voice.

“Henry,” Maggie tried to say into his hand, but it came out like a cough.

The realization that Henry was the intruder was strangely comforting, so Maggie didn’t struggle as he led her into the library. Sensing her cooperation, Henry removed his hand from her mouth as the library door shut behind them.

“What are you doing here?” Maggie gasped, still locked in his arm.

Henry released his grip, stepping to the side so she could see him.

Maggie was glad she had already heard Henry speak, for he’d be impossible to identify on appearance alone. His hair, cap, and clothes were now dusted in ash, and his face was smeared in black soot.

But Maggie recognized Henry’s blue eyes.

“And why did you come down the chimney?” Maggie hissed. “You could have awoken the entire household.”

“I was not trying to,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with an arm sleeve. Tasting the soot, Henry smacked his lips in disgust. “Is anyone else awake?”

Maggie shook her head. “And after ruining Christmas Eve, I don’t believe anybody would be particularly pleased to see you again.” Maggie looked up and down Henry’s ash-covered body before adding, “Even with such a festive entrance.”

“I mean no harm,” Henry said, reaching into his jacket’s inner pocket and taking out a handkerchief similar to the one given to Maggie that morning. Henry dabbed his dark face, creating pale streaks along his forehead, nose, and mouth.

Maggie folded her arms and stared at the floor. “So our meeting this morning wasn’t a coincidence.”

Henry stared at Maggie’s disappointed expression and his face softened.

“My presence outside Chelsea Manor this morning was no accident. But meeting you was unexpected. There was no way to anticipate such a charming girl would come flying through the air,” Henry said with a smile, but seeing that Maggie still looked betrayed, he continued solemnly, “But I am sorry if you feel like I lied to you. Coming here earlier tonight was a mistake. I had hoped my mere appearance might provoke Clement Clarke Moore to confess. But since it didn’t, I am taking it upon myself to get the evidence I need to prove him wrong.”

“But I have no idea what you want,” Maggie insisted. “Some of the family remembers your father, but they have no idea why you came here.”

Henry sighed. “Only your grandfather knows the true reason.”

“Which is what? That your father didn’t cheat at seminary? Or that Sidney and Grandmother Catharine were in love?”

Henry’s mouth slightly opened in surprise at Maggie’s last suggestion. “What makes you mention
love
?”

“Is it true?”

Henry still seemed stunned, but responded, “I don’t know. Possibly. But that’s not why I am here. At least not really.”

“Then why?”

“Maggie, your grandfather…” Henry paused thoughtfully, his face lit by the colorless moonlight drifting through the library. “Your grandfather stole the poem.”

“What poem?”

Henry threw up his arms in exasperation. “What poem do you think?”

Maggie didn’t respond.

“
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas… A Visit from St. Nicholas… Clement Clarke Moore’s Famous Plagiarized Poem
―
whatever you want to call it,” Henry said, sounding rather frustrated. “The poem was my grandfather’s. Major Henry wrote it long ago. And Clement Clarke Moore stole it.”

“How can that be true?” Maggie asked. “My grandfather is many things, but he’s not a thief.”

“Perhaps declaring it stolen is harsh,” Henry admitted. “But the poem originally appeared in a newspaper in 1823. Anonymously.”

“Because Grandfather Clement never thought much about that poem. He wrote it for his children. But a friend came across it and had it published without his knowing,” Maggie said, reciting the well-known family tale.

Henry crossed his arms. “It’s possible that someone could have taken it without Moore’s knowledge. But my grandfather, Major Henry, was the true author. It had been told at Christmastime in the Livingston household long before it was ever seen in print. My family only recently discovered that Clement Clarke Moore falsely claimed authorship to Major Henry’s poem, since it took Moore twenty years after it was first published to do so. My father became obsessed with the matter right up until his death. Although the poem initially coming in contact with your family was not Moore’s fault, he still lied about being the writer due to its popularity and the pressure for someone to take credit. He would rather lay claim to a poem he hates than risk exposing the real author and the story of how it came to the Chelsea Manor in the first place.”

“From your father?” Maggie whispered.

Henry nodded. He wiped his face one last time and then stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. “After my father died, I found all his journals and letters, revealing more of the story than I knew. Sidney was a seminary student. He and Catharine became close acquaintances. She was a young mother of four with a fifth on the way. Again, I do not know the extent of their relationship. There was some kind of love, but I cannot confirm whether it became romantic. Sidney was also strongly attached to the children―the eldest one, Margaret, especially. He often visited both Catharine and the children. Many stories he had shared with them had been learned from his own father Major Henry, including
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
.”

“So what happened?”

“Clement Clarke Moore found out, of course. So not only did he forbid Catharine from seeing Sidney, Moore set out to destroy my father’s name. He accused him of plagiarism, shattering his academic reputation and kicking him out of seminary. Sidney had no choice but to return home to Poughkeepsie. But he had left behind many things―letters to Catharine, stories for the children, and one Christmas poem. Someone must have discovered it, and thinking Clement Clarke Moore had written it, they had the poem published. My father heard about your grandmother’s death. But he didn’t learn of the poem’s publication until much later and was understandably upset.”

“So why are you here tonight?” Maggie asked.

“I was hoping to find some evidence; maybe something in writing where your grandfather admits to all of this. Not about Sidney and Catharine’s relationship. Not about framing Sidney for plagiarism. But confessing that he is not the true author of the most famous Christmas poem in the world.”

Maggie wanted to ask Henry more, but something clattered in another room. The sound wasn’t particularly loud, but it still got the attention of Maggie and Henry in the library.

Henry’s eyes grew large. He looked toward the door and back at Maggie, silently inquiring about the noise. Maggie shook her head; not knowing anything other than the rustling was coming from the Great Room.

Maggie and Henry walked out into the foyer and crossed the hall carefully. They each grabbed a knob on the Great Room’s doors, and after Henry gave a slight nod, they swung them open.

For a moment, nothing moved―neither Henry, Maggie nor the petite intruder by the Christmas tree.

The stranger was certainly no St. Nicholas. The boy looked Gardiner’s age of twelve, but was dressed much older. He wore a burgundy coat, sharply cut to expose his emerald green vest and matching trousers. His tall burgundy top hat sat loosely on his tiny head while long blond hair was swept across his brow.

After Maggie and Henry came bounding into the room, the boy seemed the most startled of the three. And now all of them stood frozen, watching to see who would move first. But then the burgundy-coated boy tightened the gray sack he was holding, slung it over his shoulder, and bolted toward the fireplace.

Maggie expected the boy to attempt the nearly impossible task of climbing back up the chimney, figuring that must have been how he had entered. But instead of watching him struggle with the chimney, the boy disappeared down an unusual opening in the back of the fireplace.

Maggie and Henry dived toward the hole, but it closed by the time they reached the fireplace. Maggie pounded on the bricks while Henry tried to pull open the ash pit cover on the ground just as footsteps sounded from the second floor. They locked eyes, both suddenly aware of the trouble that would arise if Henry were to be caught.

The footsteps drew nearer to the second floor landing and then began to slowly make their way down the steps. The Great Room doors were wide open and Maggie knew they would be discovered in a moment’s time.

But just as Maggie was about to grab Henry and hide him in the parlor, Henry’s scuffle with the ash pit cover exposed a round golden emblem in one of the blackened bricks. The emblem was no bigger than a half dollar with a tiny hole in its middle. Maggie spotted an engraved cursive
G
intertwined with smaller letters:
L
and
S.

Without thinking, Maggie pressed the emblem with her thumb. The ash pit cover and its surrounding bricks disappeared, forming back into a hole.

Maggie couldn’t see how far down the opening went. But as the footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs, Maggie and Henry jumped into utter darkness.