“And John would seem to have joined our ranks, Dickon, and become, to no one’s surprise but his own, a gentleman, after all. I have brought a few bottles of that exquisite port I mentioned, brother dear. You will toast the season with me, I trust?”
“Of course,” Richard said, reaching out to shake his brother’s hand. “Welcome to Acton Mead!”
Harry bowed to Helena as she rose at last to greet him.
“Your humble servant, sweet sister-in-law,” he said. “And Merry Christmas! Am I in time for the roast goose and sausages?”
That afternoon Helena watched Richard as he took his seat at the head of the table. The curtains in the dining room had already been drawn against the dim winter light. Fresh snow was falling from leaden skies outside to coat the countryside.
No one would ever know that he had last come here in disguise because his very life was forfeit. Laughing and joking with his brothers and sisters, he seemed suffused with a golden glow. Did he feel no fear at all?
After the roast goose, the mince pies, the frumenty and ginger, Mrs. Hood herself carried in the plum pudding, which had been steamed tied up in a cloth, and which the children had helped stir. Blue flames danced around a holly twig on the brandy-soaked pudding.
Helena laughed and applauded with the rest. She was determined that no one should discover that her heart was heavy with dread.
Harry was back. Would Richard be attacked again?
Christmas dinner was over and the cloth had just been cleared when Williams came in and bowed stiffly.
“There is a gentleman come to the door, my lord. I have shown him into the study. He claims to be a relation.”
Richard looked up. He was sucking at slightly singed fingers where he had been playing at Snapdragon with Milly and John. John had snatched the most raisins from the flames, but Milly made no objection since Richard was sharing his booty with them both.
“Did the fellow give a name?”
“A Mr. Nigel Garthwood, my lord.”
Richard leaped to his feet. “The devil!” he said softly.
Helena hesitated only a moment before following him from the room. She hadn’t seen her cousin since leaving Trethaerin. What on earth was he doing here?
As she came up to the study door, she was in time to hear Richard’s voice. It was tight with anger.
“You honor us with your presence, sir, at Christmastide, but you will see that with the house full of children, it would be more than tiresome for you to stay. Perhaps I may send a man with you to arrange a room in the nearest town?”
Helena opened the door and went in. Her cousin’s arms were laden with packages.
“How do you do, Mr. Garthwood? May we offer you the felicitations of the season?” she said calmly.
“Dear Lady Lenwood.” Garthwood bowed his head and smiled. “I am called to London on business. From the sensibility of family feeling and duty I wanted to stop by to see how you go on. I had no idea how secluded you are here. Now I find myself benighted on Christmas Day. I hope you will allow me to offer you some small gifts in appreciation for your hospitality?”
Richard’s voice was colder than the weather outside. “That will not be necessary, sir. As I was saying—”
Embarrassed, Helena cut him off. “No, of course, you must stay the night. Welcome to Acton Mead, cousin.” She rang the bell. “Williams, would you show Mr. Garthwood to the green room? He will be our guest for tonight.”
With much bowing and scraping Nigel Garthwood set down his gifts and left the room in the wake of the servant.
Richard waited until he had gone, then he turned to Helena with a force that she could feel across the room.
“How dare you! I will not have that man under my roof.”
She had never seen him really angry before. She took a deep breath, but she stood her ground. Richard should not bully her out of doing what was right.
“For heaven’s sake, he’s my cousin. I do not pretend to be happy to see him, but it’s Christmas Day.”
“And for that you hazard countermanding my wishes, madam?”
A miserable shaking started somewhere deep inside. Richard stalked to the fireplace and stared into the flames, then spun to face her. His hair shone bright gold, but the lines of his face were rigid with fury above the snowy folds of his cravat.
Helena’s knees felt weak, but she faced him and kept her voice calm.
“It is now snowing hard and it’s dark outside. Surely there is enough charity in this house that we can give him a bed, however grudgingly, for one night? I will not stand here and see anyone turned out into the weather, even Nigel Garthwood.”
“You don’t know what he is.”
“I know that I don’t like him, though he never really gave me reason for that dislike. When my father’s will left me destitute, Mr. Garthwood allowed me to stay on unmolested at Trethaerin for months. Now that Edward is dead, he’s my only living relative. What possible harm can he do? Why don’t you forget about him and concentrate on Harry instead?”
His fist thudded into the mantel. Helena flinched.
“For God’s sake,” he said at last, his voice barely under control. “You welcome Garthwood to this house, then dare to express concern about my brother? Harry kissed you once in the garden and you are so vindictive that you still hold that against him?”
“No, it’s not that—”
“Then what? I thought you truly feared your cousin, but it seems I was wrong. Were you acting at Trethaerin? Because if so, you’re a damned good actress. Both of us are going to have to show our thespian talents, aren’t we, if we’re to get through the rest of the day without disgracing ourselves in front of my brothers and sisters and spoiling their holiday, after all. I thought— Oh, damn it all to hell!”
Richard turned on his heel and strode from the room.
* * *
The rest of the family was too sated with food and excitement to notice if Helena was a little more quiet and distracted than before. She wasn’t required to do much more than bury her fear, as she had long been in the habit of doing.
Richard had gone to the stable, ostensibly to wish the best of the season to his beloved charger. When he came in, his good humor seemed unchanged, even though Nigel Garthwood had now joined the family in the drawing room. There was no hint in Richard’s courteous good manners that he was anything but delighted to welcome his wife’s cousin.
Amid much secret hilarity they opened Garthwood’s packages. Helena’s unctuous cousin, who had suddenly turned up from nowhere, had brought gifts for them all. The Actons received his generosity with polite thanks, even though some of the gifts were a little odd in the children’s eyes—particularly the china doll for Joanna, who had outgrown such things years before. Yet they all knew that one must be gracious in public, even if it was more than human nature could stand not to laugh to oneself in private afterward.
There was a gold chain for Helena and an enameled snuffbox for Richard. As her husband made polite acknowledgments, she wondered briefly why her cousin should have gone to so much trouble for a family he had never met. Garthwood seemed particularly eager to please and flatter her. Such humble solicitude was completely out of character, but Helena received it as graciously as she could.
At least Nigel Garthwood had the sense to retire early to bed.
Helena escorted him to his room herself.
“It was very clever of you, sir, to know just what to bring for everyone. How did you find out about my husband’s brothers and sisters?”
“Henry told me, my dear. He and I are fast friends—on the most intimate terms, I am pleased to say. May I express how very contented I am to see you so happily situated? I shall always have an interest in you, as I trust you would find unexceptionable in a near relation. The chain I gave you is just a token of my abiding affection. Should you ever be in need, you would find me instantly at your side, to do whatever small service I could. You will never forget that, I trust?”
But Helena heard nothing of her cousin’s protestations of family concern. His casual comment struck her like a blow. Harry had once mentioned meeting her cousin, but she had quite forgotten it. Why had he told Garthwood intimate details about the family? What other confidences did they share? Was Garthwood Harry’s accomplice in a plan to harm her husband? Yet how could she possibly warn Richard, when he wouldn’t hear a word against his brother?
“There is something, dear cousin,” Garthwood went on, “that you could give me in return.”
“Of course,” Helena said. She was hardly listening.
“I have nothing personal of dear Edward’s, you know. If there was some small item of his? Some memento?”
Helena turned toward him and smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous, sir! You have his entire estate.”
She stepped back into the drawing room, only to be cornered by Eleanor and Joanna for piquet. Harry and Richard were deep in private conversation at the side of the room. She stole glances at the two brothers, the dark head leaning close to the blond one.
Please, my love, she wished silently, be careful! Your brother is in league with my unpleasant cousin, for heaven knows what nefarious purposes, yet it is your wife you cannot trust, isn’t it? And so, I can’t even tell you.
“Are you listening, Helena?” Joanna asked. “It’s your turn.”
Helena laughed and apologized, then gave her attention to the game.
After supper the men lingered for a long time over the port that Harry had brought down from London. Helena was not surprised when Richard did not come to her room that night.
* * *
Nigel Garthwood left first thing the next morning, before the family was down to breakfast. Helena had slept badly and risen early. She stood alone on the front step and watched her cousin ride away with considerable relief.
In spite of her new suspicions and her old dislike, how could she have turned him from the door on Christmas Day? Richard might not have forgiven her yet, but she felt the lonely satisfaction of having done the right thing.
As Helena lost sight of her cousin at last, Eleanor appeared at her side and hugged her arm.
“You’re a noble soul, Helena. How did you turn out to be so kind, when you had relatives like that?”
Helena laughed. “Eleanor, I assure you that all the rest of my family were quite unexceptionable. My cousin Sir Edward Blake, who was killed, you know, was the warmest and kindest of boys. You would have liked him. In some ways, John makes me think of him. And now it’s time to face our next problem, isn’t it?”
“With John?” Eleanor said.
“He will still be smarting about the wren, I’m afraid. We shall have to come up with some other entertainment for today.”
St. Stephen’s Day, the day after Christmas, was supposed by tradition to be devoted to the hunting and shooting of a wren, a bird normally safe from any harassment, which would then be paraded around the grounds on a little bier. When John had first suggested the idea, Helena had vetoed it. Eleanor had of course backed her up.
John had not been prepared to take this female interference in male pastimes lightly. When Eleanor and Helena went in together to breakfast, the rest of the family was already sitting at the table and John had obviously just finished pitching his appeal to Richard.
“No, I’m sorry, John, I’m afraid I do not agree,” Richard was saying. “I see no need for an innocent bird to lose its life for our amusement. If the custom once had any deeper significance, it’s lost now. I think we should allow the wren killing to subside into history and pursue a less deadly entertainment.”
Helena had been prepared to have to argue with Richard over this. But perhaps he also hated to see the useless destruction of any creature—or perhaps he didn’t want to be out in the woods with his brothers, when that meant that Harry would be there with a weapon?
“John wouldn’t hit it anyhow,” said Milly, who was heartily relieved.
“No, but Harry would,” John said. “Harry’s always been a crack shot.”
“Alas, dear John, I must leave right after breakfast. Since Richard will not allow the murder of our poor feathered friends, my skill lies unneeded. In the face of such indifference, I go to bury my sorrows in town.”
“We can’t persuade you to stay, Harry?” Richard asked.
“Nothing would keep me a moment longer. This is far too wholesome a household for someone of my dissolute tastes.” He winked at Helena. “Enjoy your holidays, dear children. And forget the wren, John. You are entirely outnumbered.”
“Let’s go and build a snowman, instead,” Helena suggested. “Come on, John, we can’t do it without you, you know.”
“In a minute,” John said.
The others left the room, and Richard went to the stables with Harry. He had promised to accompany his brother as far as Mead Farthing.
With her heart in her mouth, Helena saw them go. The last time Richard had gone to see his brother off, he had returned with a bullet through his sleeve. Then she bravely herded the girls together as if nothing were wrong and sent them after their hats and pelisses.
* * *
John was left sitting alone at the dining table. He really didn’t want to sulk, but the rest of the fellows at school would shoot down their wren and consider it a noble venture. He would be made to look the fool if he had to tell them he’d helped his sisters build a snowman, instead.
It was only his longing to please Helena and Richard that had forced him to agree and not make a fuss. He had never had such a fun Christmas and Helena was a pretty good sort, but a chap deserved some recognition of how nobly he’d been staying out of mischief, didn’t he?
It seemed he was expected to behave like a gentleman without enjoying any of the privileges of that state. It was really more than a fellow could stand.
His eye lit upon a half empty decanter of port still standing on the sideboard from last night. The servants had been allowed considerable laxity in honor of the holiday, and the leftover wine and glasses had not yet been cleared away. It was the stuff Harry had brought for Richard. The brothers had sat up late over the precious liquor, while John had been denied even a sip and sent from the room as if he were a girl.