Krampusnacht: Twelve Nights of Krampus by Mark Mills, Kate Wolford, Guy Burtenshaw, Jill Corddry, Elise Forier Edie, Patrick Evans, Scott Farrell, Caren Gussoff, Lissa Sloan, Elizabeth Twist Page B

“yes.”
    Mr. Pennyrake smiled broadly and shook Mr. Youngson by the hand. “Splendid,” he said. “Then I shouldn’t worry with it,” he clapped Mr. Youngson on the back as he escorted him to the office door. “Unless of course you ever have trouble sleeping, and then no apothecary could provide you a better remedy.”
    As it was Christmas Eve, Mr. Pennyrake was especially disposed to be pleased; therefore, everything pleased him. He was pleased to collect payments on debts owed him, along with the generous interest he charged. He was pleased to extend loans (and interest owed) a little longer, knowing that his due would eventually be greater still. He was even pleased to threaten legal proceedings against some who could not pay. He was sorry for them, of course, but they had come to him, after all, and he could hardly be held responsible for the fix they had gotten themselves into.
    But nothing pleased Mr. Pennyrake so much as his last visit of the day. It was with a young woman who, with reddened cheeks, told him of her husband’s ill-advised speculation in a railroad venture, the poor health which had kept him from working recently, and his ignorance of the seriousness of the situation, as the lady herself handled the family’s accounts.
    Sitting in the chair he had offered her, she kept her eyes downcast. “He is too proud to accept help from his family, and he would be so angry if he were to find out I had come to you. But our rents are due, and we’ve no money to pay them, and it is Christmas, and I’ve nothing to give to the children.” At last she had the courage to raise her imploring eyes to Mr. Pennyrake’s.
    Mr. Pennyrake had to admit he found the lady quite charming. He put on his most concerned expression. “I’m certain I can find a way to help you, Mrs.…” he trailed off, waiting for her to supply her name.
    The pink in her cheeks deepened. “I’d rather not,” she whispered, her eyes on the floor again.
    “Of course, of course,” he said sympathetically. “I quite understand this is a matter of some delicacy. In that case I will need some surety of your repayment.” Mrs. I’d-Rather-Not seemed to have anticipated this, for, reaching into her pocketbook, she drew out a string of pearls. Mr. Pennyrake smiled. “The very thing,” he said, as he bent to make out the paperwork. “Now I will need you to put your name and address to this little paper, but you have my word that I shall not look at it so long as you return with your prompt payment.” She nodded.
    When the document was finished, she leaned her delicate head over it and studied it minutely. Upon presenting her pen and ink, Mr. Pennyrake discreetly turned his back as she signed, then made a show of folding the paper and sealing it in a way that seemed most secure. Mrs. I’d-Rather-Not would have no way of knowing that Mr. Pennyrake was an expert at un-sealing and re-sealing documents when necessary. At last he slid the payment across his desk and said, “It just remains for me to collect…”
    She stood, the pearls held close to her heart. “They were a wedding gift from my husband,” she whispered.
    Mr. Pennyrake nodded solemnly. “They will be safe with me, madam, I assure you.” She held the pearls out then. He could feel her reluctance through her glove. At last she dropped them into his waiting hand, and she was gone.
    Quite, quite charming, Mr. Pennyrake thought to himself as he locked the pearls into his desk. He had a fleeting idea of taking them home to Mrs. Pennyrake, or, even better, to Jane, but he soon dismissed it. He needed those pearls. There was nothing like the need to keep a husband in the dark to turn a Mrs. I’d-Rather-Not into a Mrs. Well-Maybe-Just-This-Once.
    As he had decided to leave the pearls, he made a few stops on his walk home, purchasing the requisite brooch, dollhouse furniture, and toy soldiers, not forgetting something special for Jane. Servants deserve to be rewarded for their