O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Samantha had to admit he was a handsome devil—tall and broad-shouldered, with jet black hair, and his deep voice was almost musical. She’d bet he was a good singer. In uniform, he probably looked distinguished. A peculiar thrill stole up her spine and settled in a very private place.

  Fanning herself, their mother blushed profusely. “Adela Hindley, Sergeant,” she replied. “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new?”

  Samantha rolled her eyes at her mother’s gauche inquiry, but the man didn’t seem offended.

  “Yes. Transferred from Bristol.”

  “I suppose you see more crime there. We’re very law-abiding here in Aust.”

  Cullen pursed his lips in reply.

  Samantha felt obliged to intervene since it seemed her mother had forgotten about introducing them. “Samantha Hindley, sir,” she said, “and my sister, Grace.”

  “Samantha,” he replied in the seductive voice that echoed in her belly. He then nodded to her sister. “Grace.”

  Heat rose in her face. He’d definitely said their names differently, but she could detect no hint of lechery in his mesmerizing blue eyes. She should be relieved not to be seated with a philanderer, but perhaps he didn’t find her attractive.

  When her father returned to the table with their glasses of punch, Sgt. Cullen offered his hand and introduced himself again.

  “Bill Hindley,” her father replied, accepting the handshake. “I see you’ve already met my wife and daughters.”

  “Yes. You’re lucky to have so many beautiful females in your family.”

  Had his gaze rested on Samantha for the briefest moment? She dragged her eyes away from his stunning good looks. She was an engaged woman, for heaven’s sake. What would Brock think of her behavior?

  She snorted involuntarily, drawing her mother’s censorious eye. “Sorry,” she whispered, hoping Sgt. Cullen hadn’t heard the unladylike noise. He probably thought she was an immature child, so she fluttered her left hand over the pearls at her neck so he couldn’t fail to notice the sapphire engagement ring. Such as it was. Brock had explained that a young barrister couldn’t afford diamonds.

  If Cullen noticed the ring, his bored expression didn’t change, but she was strangely sorry she’d flaunted it.

  The village band announced an English country dance. Samantha sighed. In the nearby cities of Gloucester and Bristol, men and women would be partnering in the waltz. But in Aust, they were to gad about doing the Barley Mow.

  Her father stood and helped his wife to her feet. “Come on, girls.”

  Samantha didn’t relish the thought of barn dancing in her crinoline, but it was better than sitting all evening. “Will you join the dance?” she asked the policeman when he made no move to rise.

  “I don’t dance, Samantha,” he replied.

  She allowed her father to pull her along, unsettled by Cullen’s reply. The use of her given name was rather forward, but she sensed a note of regret in his voice.

  It was a pity. Being twirled around a dance floor in Sgt. Cullen’s arms would be exhilarating.

  “Ouch,” Grace exclaimed when Samantha stepped on her foot.

  Parker inhaled deeply as he watched Miss Samantha Hindley. He couldn’t explain the thrill of hope that had shot through him when he’d first set eyes on her. It wasn’t as if she were the prettiest girl in the place, nor the most fashionably dressed, but there was something about those intriguing eyes—so dark a brown they might almost be black. A potent combination with the blonde hair, not to mention perfect breasts that strained against the confines of the modest dress.

  An insistent voice kept telling him she was the one, but another, saner voice pointed out she was engaged to another man, a fact she’d made sure he was aware of. Was it a sign of his desperate loneliness that he was jealous of a man he’d never met?

  If he could dance…

  He snorted at his own folly. He’d likely lose his balance and crash into one of the other dancers. He envisioned the whole ensemble tumbling like a house of cards.

  On the other hand, if it was a waltz, he could draw Miss Samantha Hindley’s body closer to his and…

  He clenched his fists. Do what? Ask her to help him stay upright? Coming to the ball had been a bad idea, but it was as well to stay in the chief constable’s good books. Another ludicrous notion—there was no future with a small constabulary in the middle of nowhere.

  He’d be an inspector by now if he’d stayed in Bristol instead of being invalided out to the sticks. A bad leg didn’t mean his brain had stopped functioning. Her Glorious Majesty might be alive thanks to him but he’d been buried in Aust. It was fortunate his uncle had taken a house here for the duration of the bridge project, but once that was over…not that Judson Cullen was much company on the rare occasions they saw each other.

  Snapped out of the doldrums by the return of his table companions, he levered himself to his feet briefly as good manners dictated. It would have been better if he hadn’t looked across at Samantha. Her enticing breasts heaved as she gasped for breath. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright. His cock saluted her innocent beauty.

  She’s the one, the voice repeated.

  “It’s unfortunate you don’t dance, Sergeant Cullen,” she gushed. “I love to dance.”

  His resolve to leave before he said something he might regret was stymied by Mr. Hindley.

  “I understand the bridge designer is your uncle.”

  Parker might have known his relationship with Judson would be common knowledge in the village. Aware Hindley stood to lose business with the coming of the railway across the Severn, he chose his reply carefully, trying not to look into Samantha’s wide-eyed gaze. “Yes. Although we rarely see each other.”

  “Will you be at the official opening?”

  Parker could think of a thousand things he’d rather do than sit on a grandstand in the howling gale forecast for the next day. “Probably. You?” He recognized his mistake when Hindley scowled.

  “We’ll watch from my boat.”

  “We’re all going,” Grace blurted out. “We’ll have the best view of all.”

  Parker met Samantha’s gaze. It was lunacy but he convinced himself her eyes held a silent plea. The voice egged him on. “That sounds like an excellent adventure. Would you have room for one more passenger?”

  Chapter Eight

  Mixed Feelings

  Parker awoke after a restless night. He wasn’t sure why he’d been so keen to ride the ferry with the Hindleys. His uncle would be disappointed not to see him on the grandstand. He really ought to forego the ferry, but the desire to see the beautiful Samantha again was too strong.

  He was letting himself in for a world of hurt. He’d managed to retrieve his cane from under his chair and slip out of the village hall the previous evening when the Hindley women left to go to the ladies’ powder room. Bill Hindley was procuring more punch. There was no way he’d be able to conceal his limp if he boarded the boat. Samantha would likely react negatively to his disability. He should be used to it by now, but an inner yearning hoped she might be different. Not that it mattered. She was engaged to another man.

  Still, there was something about Samantha that drew him.

  The other thing that had kept him tossing during the night was the remembrance of the other-worldly voice he’d heard during his walk home on Christmas Day. At the time, he’d put it down to his imagination but, the more he considered it, the more certain he became he had seen the strange bank of fog. And heard the voice.

  He raked his fingers through his hair, the word disaster playing on his mind. “Your policeman’s mind,” he admonished himself. As for his heart’s desire, he’d been feeling ridiculously sorry for his bachelor existence.

  However, instinct had guided him to intercept the assassin who planned to attack the queen. Had he not listened to his inner voice, the assassination attempt might have succeeded.

  Was it too much of a coincidence that the foretelling of disaster had come
just as the longest railway bridge in England was to be officially opened? Or was he just overly suspicious and imagining things? The powers that be would think he was losing his mind if he tried to forewarn them. “Oh, by the way, a voice in a fog bank warned me there is going to be a disaster.”

  After breakfast, he checked his pocket watch and decided he had enough time to walk to his uncle’s house—just to apprise himself of the security precautions that had been put in place. And to come up with an explanation as to why he wouldn’t be on the grandstand.

  “Still thinking about the handsome policeman?” Grace whispered, jolting Samantha back to the bowl of oatmeal in front of her.

  “No,” she lied, exasperated she couldn’t seem to get the man out of her thoughts. He’d left the village hall without a word while she was in the powder room. Disappointing—and rude.

  “You’ll see him again this afternoon when he boards the ferry,” her sister said.

  Samantha shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I doubt he’ll turn up.”

  “Good morning, girls,” her father enthused, taking his seat at the breakfast table. “An exciting day.”

  “I’d hardly call it that,” their mother replied, emerging from the kitchen with a plate of fried sausage, tomatoes and eggs. “This bridge means our ruination.”

  Her husband accepted the plate. “Not necessarily. We must look on the bright side. After all, it is Christmas.”

  Try as she might, Samantha couldn’t see a bright side to the ferry losing business but her father had always been an incurable optimist.

  “It will take a long while before people trust the trains to make it across the bridge safely,” he said, slicing into the sausage. “But they’ll want to see it, and the river is the best vantage point, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “So, you’re saying passengers will pay to cross on the ferry just so they can look up at the bridge?” their mother asked.

  “It’s a possibility. Touring is all the rage. I even had an Irishman from New York on my boat the other day and he agreed. I explained my thoughts to Brock on Christmas Day, and…”

  A cold shiver crept up Samantha’s spine. Her parents would be terribly disappointed if she broke off the engagement.

  “…he pooh-poohed the idea, of course, but I still think…”

  She didn’t hear most of the rest. Perhaps her mother and father wouldn’t be so disappointed after all. But Brock should be the first to know. When next they met, she would tell him to his face, and return the sapphire ring.

  She tucked into the oatmeal, feeling better now that she’d come to a decision. She might end up an old maid but, somehow, that didn’t loom as terrible a fate as being married to Brock.

  As he expected, Parker tracked down his uncle at the grandstand. Judson was inspecting the seats and railings in his usual nitpicking way, pointing out to the workmen a nail head sticking out here, a piece of rough wood there. Parker would have thought he’d be more concerned about the bridge.

  “Must make sure all is well,” his uncle said when he caught sight of him.

  “And the bridge?” Parker asked, still unaccountably bothered about the voice in the fog. “Everything set?”

  “Nothing to worry about there, dear boy. I’ve built bridges before, you know.”

  “But this one is the longest, and people say the wind coming up the Bristol Channel…”

  Judson scowled. “And do these people have experience in the design and construction of bridges?”

  Parker felt like a naughty schoolboy. “Well, no.”

  Judson nodded to the passenger train waiting in the small station a hundred yards away, the engine already hissing and belching steam as if impatient to be underway. “The engineers have gone over every inch of the locomotive with a fine-tooth comb.”

  His uncle had made sure all was in order. Parker’s sense of impending disaster was clearly unfounded, but there was still the matter of the grandstand. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to sit with the dignitaries today, Uncle. I’m sorry but something has come up at the station.”

  “No matter,” Judson replied.

  “You’ve a lot on your mind,” Parker replied, not sure whether to be relieved or slighted. “I’m sure all will go well.”

  “Of course it will,” his uncle replied as he turned away to speak to a workman.

  Bristling at the dismissal, yet feeling guilty at the lie he’d told, Parker made his way down the steps from the grandstand. He noticed a well-dressed man loitering in the roadway, looking up at the wooden structure. “You’re early if you plan to attend the opening,” he said by way of a polite greeting when the fellow tipped his top hat.

  “The early bird catches the worm, don’t you know?” the man replied in an accent Parker recognized instantly.

  “Ireland?” he asked.

  The man laughed heartily. “New York, though my roots are in Derry.”

  “You’re a long way from home,” Parker replied. “Here to see the opening?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, boyo.”

  Another tip of the hat and the fellow walked on, leaving Parker with a distinctly uneasy feeling in his gut that had little to do with the man’s poor choice of cologne that smelled like rotten apples. He considered himself a good judge of character, and something malicious lurked in the American’s eyes—but then most Yanks he’d met tended to lord it over Englishmen. “Boyo, indeed. Patronizing sod.”

  As a man of Irish descent, he’d come across more than one American who assumed every Paddy living in England burned to sacrifice himself on the altar of Home Rule for Ireland. Parker had heard enough of that from his drunken father.

  He increased his pace, worried he might be too late to catch the ferry, but the appearance of a fog bank stopped him in his tracks. Gooseflesh marched up his spine. Perhaps the agonizing months spent in the hospital after he’d been stabbed had affected his mind. He was sure of it when a voice whispered close to his ear, “Rotten to the core.”

  Chapter Nine

  The Ferry

  Samantha gripped the white railing on the deck of her father’s ferryboat, scanning the long line of people waiting to board.

  Grace linked arms with her. “Don’t worry. He’ll come.”

  “Who?” she asked, feeling the heat rise in her face despite the brisk wind.

  “You know very well who,” her sister retorted. “Papa was right. He told me this is the largest number of passengers he’s had for a long while.”

  “Let’s hope it continues,” Samantha said, losing hope as the end of the queue came in sight.

  “There he is,” Grace squealed, bouncing up and down, until, “Oh.”

  Samantha followed her sister’s gaze. Sergeant Cullen was limping along the docks, relying heavily on a cane.

  A myriad of emotions swamped Samantha. Despite his limp, he walked erect, his head held high. A proud man, easily the most striking gentleman she’d met in a long while. She’d misjudged him, deemed him rude because he’d refused to dance and left without saying goodnight. Clearly, he hadn’t wanted them to see his disability. Her heart went out to him. He’d overcome his pride and joined them today. She’d sensed an attraction between them at the ball, and hoped he’d come because he wanted to see her again.

  His jaw clenched as he paid the steward for his ticket and saw her watching him. She was so glad to see him, she beamed a smile, elated when he returned the smile, transforming his worried features into the face of Michelangelo’s David.

  The boat rose and fell in the choppy waters of the small harbor. He made his way slowly down the companionway and joined her on deck. “Miss Hindley,” he said, doffing his bowler before gripping the railing.

  His deep voice chased away the chill in the air. In the clear light of day, she could see the true color of his eyes. “Sergeant Cullen,” she replied from her dry throat. “I was right. Your eyes are blue.”

  He laughed, causing butterflies to flit about in her tummy. “Please, call
me Parker.”

  “Then you must call me Samantha,” she countered.

  “And I’m Grace,” her sister said, jabbing an elbow into Samantha’s ribs.

  “Grace,” Parker acknowledged.

  Samantha unhooked her arm, thankful her grinning sister took the hint and wandered off.

  Her father’s distorted voice came over the loud-hailer. “Welcome aboard. This is Captain Hindley. We’re in for a rare treat today as we cross the Severn. You’ll have the best view of the opening of the new railway bridge.”

  Several passengers on the crowded deck chatted excitedly, but fell silent when the announcement continued. “We’ve a brisk wind coming up the channel today, so it will be choppy out there. I can assure you you’re in safe hands. I’ve been plying these waters for twenty years.”

  Women huddled deeper into their cloaks. Gentlemen tapped top hats, forcing them lower on their brows. Samantha noticed Parker’s knuckles on the railing had turned white. A man with an injured leg might find a rough crossing difficult. “I want to apologize,” she began, hoping what she was about to say wouldn’t offend him. “I misjudged you last evening.”

  He frowned. “In what way?”

  As the boat lurched away from the dock, she took a chance and put her hand on his, emboldened by his warmth. “I understand now why you don’t dance. And you left without saying goodnight because you didn’t want us to see…” Her courage faltered. “…your cane.”

  He stared at her hand. “You’re not wearing your ring.”

  As she raised her eyes to look into his questioning gaze, Samantha knew she had made the right decision. “No. I’ve decided to break off my engagement.”

  Parker was certain Samantha must be able to hear the frantic beating of his heart. She’d been hoping he would come. She hadn’t averted her eyes in embarrassment when she saw him limping along the dock, though his problem had clearly taken her by surprise. Nor had she shied away from mentioning his limp. Women usually avoided the topic as if it didn’t exist. And she’d broken her engagement! He suddenly felt like a tongue-tied youth. “I see,” was all he could manage, filled with an urge to lift her cold hand to his lips. “Your fiancé wasn’t at the ball.”