Chapter 1

Chapter One

O n the first of December, I walk into the town house library and announce, “I believe it’s time to discuss Christmas.”

I’ve been very patient about the whole thing, considering it’s my first Victorian Christmas. I spent the last one in Vancouver... in 2018. That spring, I ended up in 1869 Edinburgh, which is a very long story, the short version being that I crossed into the body of a nineteen-year-old housemaid working for Dr. Duncan Gray and his widowed chemist sister, Isla. Gray is an undertaker with degrees in both surgery and medicine, and he combines the three through his true passion, which is early forensic science. Having been a police detective in my former life, I landed in exactly the right place, and after seven months here, I have turned in my mop and duster to take my full-time position as Gray’s assistant.

My current concern has nothing to do with murder or forensics. It’s the first of December, and I am tired of waiting for someone to discuss the upcoming holidays. So I’m taking the initiative, having cornered both Gray and Isla in the library.

Gray is reading the newspaper, and his sister is at the desk, editing the account of our latest adventure. Both look up at my pronouncement.

“It’s time to discuss Christmas,” I say again.

Gray shakes out the paper. “I cannot believe you would say such a thing, Mallory. You, a representative of the law, suggesting we discuss Christmas ?”

I arch one brow.

“That is—” He lowers his voice. “—illegal.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s December first. The official date on which we can start playing Christmas carols, wrapping presents, hanging decorations...”

“Illegal. All of it.”

I eye him. “Is this your way of saying you don’t celebrate? That’s fine. Just say so.”

“Do we celebrate Christmas, Isla?” Gray asks.

His sister’s blue eyes widen in mock horror. “Certainly not. It’s illegal.”

“Banned,” Gray says, folding his paper and setting it aside. “And in this household, we follow the rules.”

I snort at that. “Follow the law , yes. You most certainly do not follow the rules. Either of you. If you want to pull a prank on the time traveler, please try something more believable than saying Christmas is...”

I slow. Even as I say the words, a childhood memory surfaces, my nan saying something about Christmas not being a holiday when she was a child. Her eyes had been sparkling when she said it, which meant I presumed it was one of those “back in my day” tall tales, like my Canadian grandparents who insisted they’d walked five miles to school each day. Uphill. Both ways.

“Wait,” I say. “This is a joke, right?”

“Hardly. The mere mention of Christmas can still get you hanged in Scotland.”

“Duncan...” Isla says. “If you expect to convince her you are serious, you cannot make the tale utterly outlandish.” She looks at me. “Yes, it was banned, at one time. While it no longer is, it is still not commonly celebrated.”

“Christmas was... banned?”

“In Scotland.”

I peer at her, still not sure this isn’t a joke. “What happened?”

“The Reformation. Christmas was considered both a pagan celebration and a Catholic one, which was practically the same thing. The Church of Scotland prohibited the celebration of it.”

“What about Hogmanay? That’s pagan.”

Isla shrugs. “Scots always find a way around such things. Christmas was banned, so we simply moved the pagan traditions of the solstice to Hogmanay, which, being a secular holiday, the Church could do nothing about.”

“Clever. So despite the ban being lifted, people still don’t celebrate Christmas?”

She sets down her pen. “It is not a public holiday, but it is growing in popularity. If it is important to you, we will celebrate.”

“No, I’ll stick with Hogmanay. I used to celebrate that with my nan. My parents and I would stay in Canada for Christmas with my other grandparents and then come over to spend Hogmanay with Nan.”

Hogmanay is what the Scots call the last day of the year. In other words, it’s New Year’s Eve, but a bigger deal than it is in North America. Of all the traditions, my favorite custom was fireball swinging... which is exactly what it sounds like. You make a ball of flammable material, attach it to a chain, set it alight and swing it over your head. Like an industrial-strength firework sparkler.

“If you do want Christmas...” Gray says.

“Nah, I just like the trappings,” I say. “The decorations, the parties, the gift giving. I can get that with Hogmanay.” I pause. “You guys do celebrate that, right?”

“We most certainly do. And on that note...” He glances at his sister. “Isla? Would you reach into the top left drawer there? I believe you’ll find an early holiday gift for you and Mallory.”

She finds an envelope bearing Gray’s impeccable script and holds it out to me. “Would you like to do the honors?”

I wave for her to go ahead. She opens it and gasps as she takes out what looks like calling cards. Then she peers at her brother.

“Please tell me this is not a joke.”

His brows shoot up. “I never joke.”

“You just told poor Mallory that she could be hanged for mentioning Christmas.”

“Perhaps she could be. The ban may no longer be well enforced, but if they wanted to make an example of someone, Mallory would be a fine choice.”

I toss my hair. “They’d never hang me. I’m a pretty girl with blond curls and big blue eyes.” I bat those eyes at him. “The public would rise up in howls of outrage.”

“Not if they knew you were also a thief.”

“Former thief. Reformed. And that wasn’t even me. It was Catriona.”

“Ah, right. You can explain that to them. Tell them that you are actually from the twenty-first century, and they won’t hang you for mentioning Christmas. They’ll hang you as a witch.” He glances at me. “We still do that here.”

“Scotland has not hanged witches in a hundred years,” Isla says hotly.

“They would make an exception for Mallory.”

Isla glares at him and waves the tickets. “So these are a prank then?”

Gray sobers and meets her gaze. “Would I honestly do that to you, Isla?”

She inhales sharply. “They’re real?”

“Very real.”

She stares at him, speechless. I hurry to the desk, read the tickets and let out a squeal of glee.