TITLE: The Case Of The Wrong Pudding
AUTHOR: Talepiece
RATING: 12 cert.
PAIRING: Vastra/Jenny
SERIES: The Casebook Of Madame Vastra
CONTINUITY: Not exactly but sort of.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, please don't sue me.
CREDITS: This story is based on Agatha Christie's, The Adventure Of The Christmas Pudding. No infringement is meant, no harm intended and no profit made.
NOTE: Here's the second (possibly) annual Casebook Christmas story, though not perhaps as expected.
There's no Vastra or Jenny here but stick with me because there are a few mentions and hopefully it's an enjoyable diversion. There's more over at the TP blog on why I wanted to write about Jennifer The Younger and what else I'd like to do with the character. (If you're reading this on FF net, there's a link to the blog in my profile.)
There will be the usual break between volumes so the Casebook series will return in March.
POSTED: December 2014

I take a break from describing the many adventures of my beloved parents to speak of a small investigation of my own. I trust and hope that my readers will indulge this (admittedly unnecessary) diversion at such a pivotal moment in the story of Madame Vastra and Jenny Flint.

Jennifer Strax Vastra-Flint.
London, 1948.

I stood somewhat forlornly amid the ruins of what had been my family home. Paternoster Row had been destroyed by the Luftwaffe and was now little more than piles of rubble and broken furniture tumbling into the street. Here and there I could make out the markers of what my younger life had been but there was so little left of my former happiness that I felt my heart slow in its grief.

It was a chilly late-December day with the clouds low and heavy, which did not serve to improve my mood. I had not long returned from Berlin, having offered what little assistance I could - behind the scenes, of course - to those attempting to return some semblance of normality to the city. It would be some time before any such could truly be achieved.

But that was far away, though not so far as the memories that swept over me of my old life. It felt as if centuries had passed since I had last been here, though it was little more than four years. Such had been the intensity of my wartime adventures.

"You should write it all down, Jennifer," Jesmond had said not more than an hour before, "Obviously you can't publish now but you should think about some sort of memoir while it's still fresh in your mind."

Too fresh as far as I was concerned and an utterly inappropriate suggestion from a man of such ultimate discretion. Everything about Jesmond sang of obedience to his duty; from his plainly cut suit to his plainly cut hair and the deliberately blank expression on his plainly cut face. He was everything that a Man From The Ministry should be but without any of the wayward tendencies of so many such men. Rank or position would not lead Jesmond astray for rank and position meant nothing to the man.

Nothing for himself, at least, though he was acutely aware of the effects that rank and position could have upon others. The young man who sat beside him in my little lodgings was testament to that.

He had been silent but for a polite greeting upon entering the room. He had been careful to cover his discomfort, though he had failed under the gaze of one whose life had so recently depended upon watching for the most minute of signs. He had politely sat down when bidden, politely nodded when required and entirely failed to hold back his blushes as Jesmond explained the situation.

The young man was a Prince of some African nation that had been tangentially involved in the war. The father was an old man and the Prince his heir. As heirs were expected to do, he was soon to be wed to an intelligent young woman who had been educated at Cambridge but was careful not to show it when in her native land. She sounded like a boringly upright sort of girl but I suppose that's exactly the sort these young Princes should marry.

The young Prince, however, was not boringly upright. He had flown into England laden with the great jewels of his family's wealth. They were to be reset and then given as wedding gifts to his new bride. As foreign young men of wealth were want to do, this one had taken up with some pretty young thing and set about making the most of his final few days of freedom.

The pretty young thing in question appeared to be quite amiable and trustworthy. Surely that should have been a clue for the young man but alas not and when she asked for an evening wearing the most valuable stone of all... Well, the young fool agreed readily. Newly set by Cartier, the huge ruby had been the pride of his father's collection even in its old-fashioned necklace. Now, held firm in spectacular setting of gold and diamonds, the ruby appeared an even greater marvel.

And within minutes of them arriving at the restaurant of choice, it was gone. The pretty young thing having excused herself to powder her nose, as it were, and never returned.

"As you can imagine," Jesmond said gravely, "this is a matter of the utmost delicacy."

Well yes, obviously it was; a matter with the potential to be both an international incident and the end of this silly boy's future. I felt unkind laughter bubbling within me but clapped it down with all the force that I had used to control any number of emotions over the past few years.

"Will you help me?" the Prince finally spoke.

"I? I have no idea what you think I can do," I looked from the young man - his head now lowered once more - to Jesmond.

Jesmond smiled, "No false modesty, please Jennifer."

"I assure you, it is anything but false. This is a matter for some discrete little Police department, surely?"

"And such a thing exists?" Jesmond smiled his little smile.

I harrumphed, "Well, what would you do if it were a member of our own royal family?"

Jesmond managed a studied moment of shock and muttered something dutiful about such a thing never happening. Something I knew quite well was untrue as my own parents had helped at least three different members of the dynasty in the past.

I admit, I drifted off a little at that point, something I've been want to do since returning to the safety of civilian life. My thoughts turned to my beloved parents and their strange group of friends and colleagues. I felt their loss so deeply that I feared I may be forced to cry out. Of course I controlled myself but, still, the sensations were near overwhelming.

It was then that I had settled upon visiting Paternoster Row, having put it off since arriving in London. I believe it may have been then that I decided to make some record of my parents' more interesting cases; Jesmond's words still tumbling around in my head, no doubt.

Setting all that aside - then as now - I returned my focus to the two men. One of whom was watching me intently, while the Prince studied his expensive shoes in palpable embarrassment. How awful for such a man to be forced to come to a mere woman and beg for her assistance. What a great strain it must be putting on his soul. I confess that I enjoyed that thought rather too much.

"We both know that you're more than capable of dealing with any such matter," Jesmond flattered me, "and being discrete about it too."

"And what exactly do you want me to do for you?"

Jesmond offered up a brief summation of what his department had been able to uncover. The pretty young thing had been found to be an associate of some uncouth creature who had a tendency to prey on the richer, more stupid sort of girl. He would flatter and fawn for a while, take as much of her family's wealth as was on offer and then disappear.

"And you know where this young man is?"

"We do, yes."

"And you wish me to intercept him before he can sell the ruby?"

"Quite so."

"And then?"

Here Jesmond paused and the Prince twitched nervously. They did not need to say anything, so eloquent were their expressions. It amounted to: find the girl, find the man, find the ruby and, for the love of God, keep it quiet.

"And when would you have be begin this little adventure?"

"Today," said Jesmond and again I almost laughed aloud.

I suggested that the man was making sport of me but I knew well enough that it required at least three stiff drinks before Jesmond came even close to a sense of humour. He was a good man - a good friend and an occasional lover in the past - but he was not endowed with a jovial nature by any stretch of the imagination. Thinking of it now, imagination was something else that he rather lacked but I suppose that was a requirement of the position.

"We have traced Mr Lee-Wortley to a family home out in the country."

"He's spending Christmas in this country?" I said in amazement.

"He assumes himself unknown in this matter," Jesmond gave that little smile once more, "and seems to be concluding some unhappy business with another young lady."

I muttered something rather cruel but Jesmond was too much of a gentleman to notice. The Prince was not but his reaction didn't much interest me at that point; I was all for letting the foolish boy hang for his mistakes. I admit, my wartime adventures may have left some residual emotional effects.

Nevertheless, Jesmond was entirely serious in his request. He wanted me to leave the relative warmth of my London lodgings and spend Christmas in the company of strangers, huddled in some no doubt freezing cold and painfully draughty old castle. The thought was not appealing and I said as much.

"I assure you, Jennifer, that King's Lacey is quite a modern sort of house, the second Mrs Lacey having been something of a new broom, as it were."

Ah, so that was his trump card. Jesmond always had a trump card, he was that sort of civil servant. I studied his face carefully but it was a blank as a fresh piece of parchment.

King's Lacey: a name from my parents' past. The location of one of their more interesting cases and surely that was not unknown to Jesmond. How much, after all, was unknown to such a well-connected sort of man?

Not that I gave him the satisfaction of seeing these thoughts as they ran through my head. I was at least as practised as him at keeping my own council. More perhaps, since my life had so often depended upon it.

Eventually, I offered a little smile of my own and said, "The second Mrs Lacey?"

"The now Mrs Emma Lacey took to the Colonel rather more than to the place and set about modernising to her heart's content."

Good for her, I thought. Decent heating and running water were two things I had often lacked over the past few years but I saw no reason why a woman in her own home should do without.

"And you have found some way to insinuate me into their family festivities, of course."

"Of course. Mrs Lacey is very much looking forward to having you stay with the family. I told her to expect you about teatime."

Cheeky bastard, I thought and I fear a twitch of that did make it to my face. I gave up any pretence of disinterest at that point and glanced around my comfortable, warm lodgings. Comfortable, warm and lonely, alas.

My old friend did not need me to state my newly-made Christmas plans.

At least he had not lied about the amenities, I thought but a few hours later. Though King's Lacey was a bit of a higgledy-piggledy sort of pile on the outside, the interior was quite a modern home. It had the feel of one of those newly-refurbished hotels that are taking over some of the old houses of England. Without the coldness that they generally have, though, for it remained very much a family home.

Mrs Lacey was a pleasant, open-faced woman in her seventies. Her face showed the lines of age and of lost loved ones but, then, whose face did not? She greeted me with open arms - metaphorically, if not literally - and I was barely out of my car when my bags were being whisked upstairs and myself into the little drawing room that Mrs Lacey favoured.

It was blessedly warm, despite the falling snow that had loomed ahead for most of my journey down, and there was nary a draft to trouble me. Perhaps this Christmas wouldn't be so bad after all? I was even more certain of that when a butler of such advanced years that I feared he may depart this realm at any moment entered the room. My growing concerns were obviously shared by Mrs Lacey, who watched the man with an expression of such worry that I felt quite panicked.

Once Mr Peverell had completed his slow advance from the door and deposited his tray on the little table beside Mrs Lacey there was a palpable sense of relief from all three of us. And then there was my own pure joy at seeing an old-fashioned fruit cake amongst the treats that Peverell had carried with him.

Mrs Lacey thanked the man profusely and insisted that he have a sit down and his own tea in the kitchen. When he was gone, Mrs Lacey began proceedings by pouring from the silver teapot while explaining their reduced circumstances.

"We really don't have the staff these days, of course. Well, who does? But Mrs Rose the cook and Mr Peverell there insist on returning to their posts each Christmas. Christmas being such a tradition in this house."

"You really are very kind to allow me to turn up at the last minute," I said, still eyeing the fruit cake greedily.

Mrs Lacey - the kindly soul that she so obviously was - made no mention of this and simply handed me my cup, quickly followed by a healthy slice of the dark, heavily-laden loaf.

"Not at all," she said with a genuine smile, "we're very happy to have you and dear Edwina was so sure that it was exactly what you needed. You've been out on the Continent for some time? Oh, don't worry," Mrs Lacey laughed, "I don't expect you to tell me anything really but an old lady can have a go, eh?"

I smiled back, though around a mouthful of fruit cake, and merely said, "It's been so long since I had a traditional family Christmas."

"Then we are delighted to offer you one now. I fear that the women who risked so much will be less well favoured with medals than the men."

You could make a safe wager on that, I thought but only nodded and said, "And your family won't mind my presence?"

Mrs Lacey sipped her own tea before saying, "Well, the Colonel can be a little standoffish but please don't think him rude, it's simply his way. As to the children, I should think they'll be very happy to have someone else who's closer to their age.

I dare say they'll pile in quite soon; the offer of tea and cake is always strong in the young, eh?"

I had the good graces to blush but could only nod and keep chewing as Mrs Lacey continued.

"There's Colin, our grandson, and his school friend Michael. I'm afraid they both lost their parents in the war. What a horrible thing the Blitz was, taking away Mothers as well as Fathers from these boys."

There was a long pause and I could do little more than mutter my agreement and let the kind lady have her moment of grief. She visibly fought down her emotions and settled herself with a long sip of tea and a nibble on a crumpet only lightly dabbed with butter.

"Where was I? Ah, yes, Colin and Michael, then my grand-niece Sarah and her, well," she hesitated, "gentleman friend Mr Desmond Lee-Wortley and his sister."

"Sister?" I said, genuinely surprised.

"Yes, another last minute addition. The poor thing has been in hospital recently and Mr Lee-Wortley was afraid to leave her alone in London. Well, we could hardly tell him to so Sarah extended the invitation to her also. Not that you'll see much of her because she was taken ill only hours after arriving and is now cloistered in her room. In his favour, Mr Lee-Wortley does take up a tray to her at each meal."

"You don't sound quite so keen on the young man?"

"Ah," Mrs Lacey drew out the sound and then said only, "yes."

This was a tricky moment and I needed to handle it carefully. So I thrust a quantity of fruit cake into my mouth, nodded with a confused expression and allowed Mrs Lacey's natural goodness to keep the conversation going. Not that she would have required a great deal of persuasion, I suspect, as she seemed ready to discuss the matter with someone who would see it from a fresh perspective.

"He certainly isn't the sort one would choose for a girl like Sarah. The Colonel is livid but what else would you expect. No," another sip of tea, "no. Still, she does seem to love him, though I can't help but remember my first love, all those years ago. I can barely even remember his name but I can remember being absolutely enthralled. Until I wasn't," Mrs Lacey laughed almost girlishly and added, "I met him again some years later and he was quite the most vacuous fool you have ever come across."

I doubt it, I thought and remembered some of the men I had met during the war. I said only, "Perhaps Sarah's relationship will play itself out in the same way?"

"In truth, I hope so. That's my plan, you see: be utterly nice to him and wait for the scales to fall from her eyes. So much better than ranting against him and driving her ever more firmly away."

"A clever plan, Mrs Lacey."

She laughed again, "I don't know about that - and the Colonel is most certainly not happy about it - but I rather think it the best way. Let them have this family Christmas together and she might just see him for what he is."

There was a pause and I said, "And the rest of the party?" before taking the final mouthful of my second slice of cake.

"There's David Welwyn, a nice young man and the son of an old family friend. And then there's Sarah's cousin, Diana. You might know her, come to think of it, she spent most of the war typing away somewhere in Whitehall."

I choked audibly and was forced to hack and cough like an old man. Mrs Lacey was most alarmed and patted my back with some force. When the coughing fit had subsided - along with the last of the cake - she refilled my cup and offered it up to me as a balm.

I sipped at the still-hot liquid and tried to calm the thoughts that rushed through my mind. Could it be Diana? My Diana? Not that she had ever truly been mine but it had been a short, intense sort of love affair and they often burned the brightest in one's memory.

It had been on my last visit to London, before that long, dangerous trek across occupied Europe had begun. I had returned to the briefest of briefings - somewhat farcical in its clandestine nature - and what little equipment was on offer. Bless the SOE, they had done their best but there was so little that it had hardly been worth the bother.

"Are you quite well?" Mrs Lacey interrupted my spiralling thoughts.

I smiled at her and nodded as I gulped down another mouthful of tea. It gave me time to settle myself further and I was almost my old self when I spoke.

"Quite well," I forced a blush to my cheeks, a handy trick once learned, "I'm afraid I've been something of a greedy guts."

Mrs Lacey relaxed and laughed once more, "Mrs Rose will be most gratified to hear it. And if you think that was good, just wait for Christmas dinner."

She could offer no more details as the door opened and the imposing form of Colonel Lacey entered the room. He looked more a rugged farmer than the country gent and, in truth, he was exactly that. His face was red and weather-beaten, his bushy eyebrows redder still.

"Tea, yes?" was all he said.

He took the proffered cup from his wife, bestowed a surprisingly gentle smile upon her as she prepared a plate of scones for him and then settled into the far seat and tucked in. Mrs Lacey gave a little shake of her head in his direction but he remained resolutely silent.

Not that it much mattered, since the door again opened and a stream of people entered. Mrs Lacey introduced them as best she could in the ensuing chaos of tea and cakes.

Colin and Michael were typical schoolboys, one dark and one fair, who bounded in and attacked the food with gusto. Sarah and Mr Lee-Wortley were close behind them and the latter received a low growl of displeasure from the Colonel. Sarah was as charming in her greetings as Mrs Lacey but her beau was far more guarded. Then came an upright young man who introduced himself as David Welwyn.

Finally came Diana. My Diana. I stood on unsteady legs and tried to feign surprise, though it was obvious that neither of us was truly so. She greeted me politely but without the warmth that I had hoped for and we found ourselves standing in the midst of seated figures, all of whom were trying not to show their obvious interest in this little reunion.

All except the Colonel, who said, "Know each other, do you?"

"We met a few years back in London," Diana said.

She then turned away, accepted the tea cup and plate that Mrs Lacey held out and settled on the stool beside the Colonel. I sat down, aware that I had made something of a show of myself and regretting it deeply. Though not as deeply as the hurried departure from London that had caused me to miss our final assignation.

"How lovely that you know one of us," Mrs Lacey said and only a hint of her doubt came through the words. She looked from Diana to me and back again then added, "Though I expect neither of you will be able to tell us much about your wartime adventures."

"Oh please do," Colin said and he and Michael carried the conversation into their wild imaginings of wartime heroics and daring-do.

It was all schoolboy nonsense but it was good fun and the party relaxed into each other's company. Silly jokes quickly followed and the tea ended with Mrs Lacey declaring herself pleased with the Christmas so far and hoping for the best on the big day.

As rapidly as everyone had arrived, they all dispersed. The boys persuaded Diana and David to go off for a walk to see if the lake had frozen over yet. Sarah obviously wanted to go along too but Lee-Wortley announced that they were going to the pub and Sarah was forced to agree simply to save face in front of her great-uncle.

The Colonel strode off to deal with some matter on the farm and Mrs Lacey suggested that I remain in the warm and have a nice nap.

"You're looking a little pale, if you don't mind me saying so."

"I suppose I am. A nap sounds lovely, thank you."

So she left and I remained, watching through the window as the four intrepid adventurers trudged through the snow beyond. Looked pale? I certainly felt it after the shock of seeing Diana again. For a moment I wondered if Jesmond had known about her presence here and about our previous relationship. Unlikely but you should put nothing past the man.

I closed my eyes for just a moment. Or possibly two.

The evening was something of a whirl, with the tree going up and all the associated duties carried out by various members of the family. I stayed back unless invited to take part and watched them all laughing and joking. Perhaps not all, since Lee-Wortley thought himself above such trivialities and the Colonel was clearly indulging his wife and nothing more. Sarah obviously adored the whole business and again the gap widened between herself and her young man. Mrs Lacey's plan was working quite nicely.

Diana was ever a presence in my thoughts and often in my peripheral vision but stayed away from me unless absolutely required to be polite. I really couldn't blame her for I had treated her very shabbily all told and I regretted it deeply. But I could offer no real excuse or explanation. I doubt she would have wanted either.

So we all rubbed along until the hall was festooned, the dining room a forest and the evening meal consumed with gusto. How we would manage a full Christmas meal the very next day was beyond me but, I confess, I did take the offered slice of fruit cake for supper.

It was as I sat in quiet contemplation after that meal that Diana found me. I had taken up the same seat in Mrs Lacey's little drawing room, leaving the party to go about their pre-Christmas business and the boys to go to bed. Diana slipped in, stared down at me for a long moment and then took the seat that Mrs Lacey had previously occupied.

"I know that you can't tell me anything," she said, not looking at me as she spoke, "but at least tell me you wanted to meet that evening."

"More than anything."

"And you didn't return to London until recently?"

"Eight days ago."

She lapsed into silence but I felt that I may have passed a test of sorts. I allowed my mind to play through some of our more intimate moments, caused no doubt by her favourite perfume and the comfortable familiarity of her presence.

"And what are you doing here?"

I sat up, somewhat surprised by the accusing tone. Staring deep into her green eyes I knew that it was useless denying that I had a greater purpose but neither could I tell her any more than I could regarding my wartime activities. Well, perhaps a little more.

I said, "I've been asked to investigate a certain gentleman."

"Sarah's chap? Yes, I rather thought so. He's obviously the wrong sort, though I can't imagine that he's a Nazi or anything."

"Just your usual sort of wrong, I'd say."

"Well," and here Diana smiled, making my heart lurch and other parts react in similar vein, "at least you don't have to worry about being murdered on Christmas Eve."