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update any records or post the day’s transactions, wanting to arrive early at the Cromptons’ dinner party. He knew that as soon as the party got under way, it would be difficult to find an opportunity to pull Jane aside long enough to ask about her health.
    Tim stepped from his cab in front of the Crompton mansion just before eight o’clock. The massive brick edifice, with its towering white columns, blazed with light. He barely had time to strike the brilliant brass knocker against the plate when a stiffly formal butler pulled open the oak door. Tim followed the man into the foyer, which was draped with pine garlands and holly. Muted sounds of gaiety reached Tim’s ears from the upper floor, the volume rising briefly when the butler, having ascended the ornately carved staircase, opened the door to present Tim’s carte de visite .
    A few minutes later the butler returned, took Tim’s coat, and escorted him upstairs to the drawing room, a vast space that took up the entire sixty-foot length of the upper floor on that side of the house. The room was already filling with men and women resplendent in formal attire, the women in colorful gold, red, and green gowns in keeping with the spirit of the season. Along one wall, polished mahogany tables groaned under silver trays heaped with every kind of fruit and pastry imaginable. Covered dishes held warm meats, sauces, and vegetables. Behind one table, a waiter busily poured fine wine and expensive whiskey into the guests’ crystal goblets. Tim guessed that there were fifty candelabras interspersed among the food and drink, so that the very food seemed to glow. Pine garlands and holly adorned the walls and ceiling, and formed an arbor in one corner of the room, under which two violinists and a flautist entertained the company with seasonal music.
    A young servant girl in a black dress with a white apron, one of half a dozen in the room, approached Tim with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Tim declined the proffered delicacies, but was glad that Mrs. Crompton had temporarily put aside her dislike of servants in order to make a favorable impression on her guests. It would save Jane a great deal of work tonight.
    Tim had just begun to scan the room for her when he felt a hand clutch his right arm like the talons of a falcon. He turned to find Mrs. Crompton, smiling with delight. Apparently she had overcome her anger at her daughter’s decision to invite him. She wore a gold satin gown with a red sash and a gold turban decorated with a sprig of holly. She looked like a brightly wrapped Christmas package, albeit one that Tim knew concealed a lump of coal inside.
    â€œWelcome, Dr. Cratchit!” she shouted. “It’s such a pleasure to have you here. Merry Christmas!” With his arm still in her clawlike grip, he politely accompanied her as she escorted him through the room, introducing him to her guests. Several were patients of his, and most of those who were not knew him by reputation, and appeared impressed. Tim now understood why her anger at Jane’s invitation had vanished; she relished each introduction of “my good friend Timothy Cratchit, the famous Harley Street doctor.” Tim, like the food, servants, musicians, and Mrs. Crompton’s garish diamond jewelry, had been relegated to a status symbol. He was contemplating bolting for the door, or perhaps even diving through a window to escape, when Archibald Crompton joined them.
    Unlike his wife, Archie Crompton was a likable person. He had inherited a prosperous merchant firm from his father, and had the foresight to recognize that the growing interest of the British upper class in all things Chinese offered great profit potential. Investing in sturdy ships designed for the Asia trade, Crompton had filled his warehouse with Chinese tapestries, pottery, and furniture just when it seemed that every wealthy Briton wanted to convert one chamber in their manor to an authentically