A Regency Christmas Carol (11 page)

‘I am here to show you the present, not explain the past to you,’ the ghost said, a little impatiently. ‘If the information is important to you, then you should talk to the girl before you.’

‘Did you not just hear her?’ Joseph retorted. ‘Whatever it is, she will not speak of in front of her own family. How likely is it that she will reveal all when I question her?’

The ghost gave him another sidelong glance. ‘I expect it will depend on how you ask her.’

‘Stop tormenting me with the idea that I will seduce her,’ Joseph said, setting his jaw against the idea. ‘It is clear that she has unhappy memories associated with Christmas time. I do not mean to be another of them. If that is what you wished me to learn this night, then let me go.’

In the blink of an eye he was in his bedroom again, standing alone and fully dressed before the fire, and lecturing the mantel clock as it struck three.

‘I will not forget,’ he said, just in case some wisp of the spirit remained. ‘I will be better. You will see. Let this be the last of these nightly visits. For I have had quite enough of them.’

He changed for bed, then—cautiously, as though at any moment he might be interrupted and dragged away again. It was nearly dawn before he closed his eyes.

T
he next evening found Barbara packed as an unwelcome fourth into the Clairemont carriage, trundling through the sodden streets towards the road that led to the manor. The drizzle had continued for most of the day, as though trying to decide minute to minute whether it would be rain or snow. Barbara felt in sympathy with it. Her own heart was as changeable as the weather, still unsure whether it wished to run towards this evening and its host, or away from it.

But Anne seemed unbothered. ‘I am sure it will be a delightful time,’ she said, with a wan smile. ‘There is to be dancing. And cases of champagne. Cook is preparing a fine buffet, and a cold supper at midnight. Joseph has promised a celebration to rival anything in London.’

‘Hmmmf,’ said her father, and scowled out of the window.

Her mother said nothing at all, unwilling to acknowl
edge either their destination or the extra passenger they had accrued for the short journey. The Clairemont family had moved to the largest house in Fiddleton proper, with five servants and room enough to keep both a carriage and horses, but it was nothing compared to the manor. Returning to it as guests was obviously a source of irritation that they would conceal only when absolutely necessary.

But Anne seemed to feel less of it, looking from one to the other of them with a kind of desperate enthusiasm, as though she could imagine nothing better than visiting her old home only to leave it again at the end of the evening. ‘Joseph says the chestnuts are particularly good this year. He has sampled them already.’

‘I imagine he would have,’ her father retorted. ‘He goes to excess in all other things. If he is not careful he will be prone to gluttony.’

‘I doubt it will come to that,’ Anne assured him. ‘He will not sit still long enough to grow soft. It is more likely that when he is in the throes of work he will need to be reminded to eat.’

Her father muttered something barely audible beyond the word ‘trade’.

Anne fell to silence again, and Barbara could almost hear her thoughts. She was wishing that she had not brought up the subject of her prospective fiancé having an occupation at all. It was clearly another sore spot in the conversation.

She looked desperately to Barbara, who said gamely,
‘He seems a most solicitous gentleman. When I was struggling in the shop yesterday he offered to transport myself and my basket in his carriage.’

Anne gave an approving nod, as if to say she would not have thought any less of him.

Her mother responded, ‘That might just as easily show a fickle nature. What is he doing, offering courtesies to others when he is promised elsewhere?’ She narrowed her eyes at Barbara. ‘Unless you were angling after a ride?’

Anne sucked in her breath, but Barbara managed to keep her reaction invisible to the other passengers. She knew Lady Clairemont’s opinion of her. But she’d hoped to see no obvious demonstration of it tonight.

‘Mother,’ Anne said quickly, ‘I am sure it was nothing of the kind. Though you might not think it so, Joseph has a kind and generous heart. I am not the least bit surprised that he should offer to aid Miss Lampett.’

‘Until his ring is on your finger you had best be less generous and more sensible,’ her mother informed her. ‘This party would be an excellent time to finalise the arrangement between you.’

‘I cannot very well demand that he make the announcement,’ Anne said, obviously embarrassed by her mother’s bluntness.

‘But his inviting other young ladies to this ball does not bode well.’

‘I think there is someone he wishes me to meet,’
Barbara said hurriedly. ‘He was quite clear about there being eligible gentlemen in attendance.’

‘Probably that Breton fellow,’ Anne’s father grunted. ‘He’s a bit high in the instep for you, my dear. But a bit low… Second son…’ His comment trailed off into inaudibility again.

‘You have not even met him, Father.’ Anne gave Barbara another silent apology. ‘He is really very nice. A true gentleman—neither too high nor too low.’

‘And no concern of yours, no matter what his birth. He will do for Barbara, here, if that is what Stratford intends for them. But he cannot be much of a man if he lets a business associate make such decisions for him.’

Anne stared out of the window, as though searching for another topic of conversation. ‘I hope the weather favours us this evening. It seems likely that the rain will turn to snow.’

‘Then we shall be forced to remain at the manor,’ her mother said, showing the first signs of cheerfulness. ‘I assume that Stratford has taken the master bedroom. But we shall make do in the next best suite, and you shall have your old room back, Anne.’

‘Then I hope that travel is not made difficult,’ Barbara said, considering the awkwardness of the situation. ‘I am quite unprepared to stay the night.’

‘Oh.’ Lady Clairemont gave a sad little moue that ended in a smile. ‘Do not worry upon it, my dear. I am sure there is a maid that can lend you a nightdress, should we be stranded.’

When they had arrived at the manor, the Clairemonts’ behaviour grew no warmer. Lord and Lady Clairemont swept into the ballroom as if they still owned it, greeting other guests as though they were old friends. Anne trailed along in their wake, polite and silent.

When Barbara made to follow, Lady Clairemont turned, giving her a cold and very deliberate look. The direct stare seemed to change as she held it, to look past Barbara and then through her, as though she did not exist at all. The cut was so beautifully made that for a moment Barbara longed for a mirror, convinced that it was she who had faded to transparency. With a single look, Lady Clairemont had made it clear to her that, whatever Joseph Stratford might think, Barbara Lampett was an unwelcome guest here. If there were introductions to be made, he had best appear and make them himself, for the Clairemonts planned to pretend she did not exist.

She had to admire the perfection of the revenge Lady Clairemont had devised. The room was full of strangers. And, if she wished to be thought a well-mannered young lady, Barbara could hardly introduce herself to any of them. She would spend her first night in ages as a sort of social ghost, separated by a glass wall of propriety from the merrymaking.

Nor would Anne come to her aid. Though she did not hold the deep animosity for Barbara that her parents did, she lacked the spine to stand against them.

She was sure that Joseph Stratford would help her, if
she could find him. But there was no sign of him, and she assumed that he must be in a card room somewhere, talking business. She could expect little else. To him, that was the only purpose for the gathering. Even if he had meant to be a proper host, it should be Anne standing at his side and not her.

But it was just as well Mr Stratford did not see her. Having taken a moment to admire the other women, she could see that she did not belong amongst them. While her dress had seemed quite nice in the cheval glass at home, it looked dowdy compared to the pale silks and fine embroidered shawls she saw tonight. And the loveliest amongst them was Anne Clairemont. Her net gown was trimmed with tiny pearls, her hair held in place with diamond pins. She glided through the room like a swan: pure white, slender and graceful.

In comparison, Barbara’s retrimmed blue gown managed to be both too bright and too plain. Her neck was bare. Her hair was dressed simply, with no jewels to ornament it. Even if Joseph were to see her he would look on her with pity rather than desire. She was little better than a charity case here—just as she had been the last time she saw him. She must learn to face the reality of it and not let the disappointment show. Invited or not, she did not belong here.

She must remember not to call him Joseph—to his face or to others. Anne Clairemont had that right of intimacy. She did not. But she quite liked the sound of the name in her head. After receiving a secret kiss
from him, and being alone with him on two occasions, in the privacy of her thoughts she did not need to think of him as Mr Stratford.

To save herself the embarrassment of another cut, Barbara withdrew, pretending to admire the hangings in the ballroom nearest the door and then easing through it to stroll towards the portrait gallery, as though engrossed in the quality of the art. She considered herself fortunate that the manor was so large, and she so familiar with it. She would steal her share of the refreshments and then wander away by herself to relive happier times in her mind.

When she went home she would concoct a story for her mother about the fine food and the dancing, and the courtly gentlemen who had paid her attention. None so specific as to make her expect a call, but she would claim that it had been a delightful night, and that she had enjoyed herself most thoroughly.

A group of gentlemen passed her in the hall, carrying heaped plates of cakes and sandwiches, clearly on the lookout for a quiet place to sit. Lord Clairemont was amongst them. To avoid further awkwardness she withdrew to one of the many hiding places she’d known as a girl—a chair behind a statue of Mars, which had been decorated in a most undignified manner with garlands of holly.

‘Has anyone seen our esteemed host this evening?’ asked the first, a rather large man with a lurid pink waistcoat.

‘Still trying to do business,’ the next remarked. ‘He would not let me alone before. Stratford is a most persistent fellow.’

‘Little else can be expected of his sort,’ the other responded pityingly. ‘In trade, you know. It seems they can think of nothing else.’

Unlike some, who thought of nothing but filling their bellies. Barbara looked hurriedly down at her empty glass and the plate of crumbs beside it. Of all the sins of which Joseph was guilty, she could not fault his hospitality to his guests. The portions were generous, and any whim would be indulged for one so fortunate to have been invited into his home.

It made the absence of the villagers more keenly felt. She was sure, had he bothered to include them, that he would have rewarded any stranger from the village with the same casual generosity.

It seemed Lord Clairemont viewed the abundance with less charity. ‘There is too much of everything here.’ He picked a leaf from Mars and flicked it to the floor. ‘When Anne is mistress, I trust she will teach him manners. He is rich, of course, but quite common. Did you see what he has done to the ivy on the south side of the house? He has stripped away great patches of it and brought it here.’

‘Decorations, man!’ Pink Waistcoat laughed. ‘It is hardly Christmas without the stuff.’

‘But there is a time and a place,’ Lord Clairemont said primly. ‘One does not go about denuding houses.’

Barbara was in two minds about that. The rooms looked very nice with the fresh greens. And now that some of the troublesome vines had been removed from around the windows she suspected there would be daylight in the library and the ballroom. Both had been gloomy places even by day, and she recalled being quite frightened of them.

‘Stratford and your daughter do make a lovely couple,’ one of the men remarked grudgingly. ‘It seems that birth does not show on one’s face.’

‘But it is plain enough in his conversation,’ Lord Clairemont remarked. ‘He goes to the best tailor in London, but he tells people that the fabric for his coat was woven by himself—on his own modern loom.’

‘Perhaps we will find him in the parlour, knitting a muffler?’ said Pink Waistcoat. The men around him laughed, moving on.

Barbara leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, wishing she had stopped her ears, before hearing a word of that conversation. She was ashamed of herself for eavesdropping, and embarrassed for Joseph as well. How awful must it be for him to be an object of ridicule amongst his guests and a source of amusement in his own home. She felt a rush of kinship with him. Of all the people in the manor tonight, maybe neither of them belonged.

‘Playing at hide-and-seek, Miss Lampett? I understand it is a common game here at Christmas.’

Her eyes flew open to find her host, leaning against
the wall at her side, scant inches away, smiling down at her.

‘I was doing nothing of the kind. I was simply—’ she searched for a plausible explanation ‘—resting for a moment. The dancing is most strenuous.’

‘It must be, for you to grow tired just by watching it. But you have not even done that, have you? I have been in and out of the ballroom all evening, and have not seen you there at all. Explain yourself.’

‘Before I stand up to dance I must be asked,’ she said. ‘And before that there must be introductions.’ She smiled politely. ‘But I am having a lovely time, reacquainting myself with the house. It is beautiful—especially done up for Christmas. I thank you for your invitation.’

‘Rubbish,’ he said sharply. ‘You came with the Clairemonts, did you not?’

‘They were kind enough to give me a ride in their carriage.’

‘But they did not make you known to the other guests?’

She could think of no proper answer for this, so she remained silent.

‘And I was negligent in my duties as host and let you wander, alone and abandoned.’ He swore then, a short colourful vulgarity that she had never heard before. She supposed she should be shocked by it, make some comment about his low birth and stalk off. But he had
had enough of that reaction, she was sure, and she did not have the heart to add her censure to the rest.

He collected himself quickly, and gave a curt bow of apology. ‘Come, Miss Lampett. We are going back to the ballroom so that you might dance with me.’

‘Really, that is not necessary,’ she whispered.

‘There you are again, trying to tell me what is needed and what is not.’ He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out from behind the statue. ‘You must know by now that it is quite hopeless to stop me once I have an idea in my head.’

‘But I must try,’ she said, pulling her arm from his grasp, and permitting him to escort her properly. ‘I know that your invitation here was little more than a sop to gain my father’s silence. But if we dance the Clairemonts are likely to think it was something more.’

‘Do not ascribe such dark motives to me,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I merely thought that you would enjoy the opportunity of socialising and devised an excuse so that you would not refuse my invitation. Instead I see you are wedded to the wall because my future in-laws are unable to behave like the lady and gentleman they purport to be. I do not know what the gripe is between you. But it ends now.’