Though not quite so much, he mused as he meandered back down the foggy streets towards Staple Inn, as a night with Mr Grigsby might.
~
“Do you have any plans for Christmas, Mr Hull?” Ephraim asked on a snow-muffled afternoon halfway through December.
“None at all, sir,” Mr Hull replied, much to Ephraim’s surprise. “Do you?”
“Oh, nothing very interesting, I don’t think,” Ephraim admitted. “The landlady at the Red Lion roasts a goose for the occasion, and I partake of that, and then I read a little Dickens in keeping with the season. Rather too quiet for most, I’d imagine, but more than enough for an old goat like myself.” He hesitated. “Would you care to join me?”
Mr Hull’s already-ebullient countenance brightened further still. “I’d be delighted, sir.”
“Splendid,” Ephraim blurted, equal parts pleased and astonished. While Lofthouse had spent every Christmas in the office, Ephraim suspected he didn’t enjoy it overmuch. What a wonder to have Mr Hull’s enthusiastic acquiescence to join him for the holiday.
“I’m intrigued by local tradition,” Mr Hull went on, to Ephraim’s continued delight. “Perhaps we might forge some new traditions together.”
To this, Ephraim heartily agreed.
~
The announcement that the Kings of Oak and Holly would perform their Winter Solstice ritual in solitude came as a shock to many in the fae realms. Rumours flitted from court to court that certain fae had received secret invitations to participate in the ceremony. Hullvardr knew otherwise, being more privy to the wishes of the Oak and Holly Kings than most. And he felt more glad of it than most, for with the rite held behind the writhing walls of Blackthorn Briar, it left him free to make his own plans to celebrate the solstice.
Hullvardr had heard, from certain gentlemen he’d encountered in Hyde Park who worked in the households of other gentlemen, that a delightful mortal tradition had sprung up regarding mistletoe on their wintry holy days. Finding mistletoe in London proved a touch more difficult than finding it in the fae realms, but a Saturday afternoon stroll through the woodier paths of the park sufficed to show Hullvardr an oak beset with vines bearing milky white berries. Climbing said oak to retrieve the mistletoe caught more than a few eyes. Still more took note as he ascended another tree—this time an evergreen—and plucked some sprigs. A smile and a wave from the upper branches sufficed to send most passersby on their way, and no one had arrived to stop him by the time he plucked his prizes and descended back down to stand amongst the roots.
Then, he need only bundle it all together beneath his coat and smuggle it back into the garret.
If Mr Grigsby noticed Hullvardr looking thicker around the middle than usual upon his return to the office, he made no mention of it. Hullvardr continued on upstairs and spread the boughs and vines out all across the floorboards. The next evening, and the one after, he did not venture out after dinner but instead went upstairs to work on his plans.
And each night before he went to sleep, he satiated himself in his own hand with the thought of what fruits his plans might bear.
~
On Sunday evening—the twenty-first of December—Ephraim invited his clerk to join him and Dr Hitchingham for dinner.
Unlike every other evening since Mr Hull had entered his service, Mr Hull declined.
Ephraim knew his disappointment at this was disproportionate to the event itself. Still, he felt it keenly, even as he smiled and wished Mr Hull a good evening.
Mr Hull, for his part, returned a warm smile of his own and added a cheerful wave as Ephraim departed the office.
Far from offering his sympathies, Dr Hitchingham made no secret of his refusal to share in Ephraim’s disappointment.
“If I may be frank with you, old boy, I’m rather glad of it,” said Dr Hitchingham. “I’ve been meaning to speak candidly with you for some time regarding his service.”
Ephraim, who’d only just sat down and not yet taken a bite of dinner, found his appetite vanished. “What could you possibly have to say to me that you couldn’t say in front of him?”
“Only this,” Dr Hitchingham replied, looking at his plate rather than at Ephraim as he carved up his roast. “He never gave you any history of employment or recommendations from past employers.”
“He had the best recommendation,” Ephraim countered. “From Lofthouse himself.”
Dr Hitchingham made a noncommittal sound. “I’ve my opinions on Lofthouse’s service as well. But we were speaking of Mr Hull. You say he carried a letter from Lofthouse.”
“He did.”
“And have you heard from Lofthouse since then?”
“Oh, yes!” said Ephraim, happy to be the bearer of glad tidings. “We correspond regularly. Hardly a week goes by that I do not hear from Lofthouse.”
“And do you put your letters to him into the post yourself?”
