She listened but could hear no other footsteps or voices. It didn’t sound as if Myall had brought a constable with him.
“You may as well let me in, Julia. I assume you don’t want to cause a scene.”
He was right. The other lodgers loved entertainment of the domestic kind, having no funds for other things—a miracle play on the top of a wagon was the most they could hope for. So, if a husband and wife, or a pair of lovers, embarked on some dispute in public, it was like a festival for the local people.
She opened the door, and Myall strode in. Alone, thank heaven.
He’d changed his ink-stained shirt for a clean one and wore a smart-looking cloak flung across one shoulder. He was carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle beneath his arm.
“Good morrow. I see my goose is well settled.”
“Best not wake it up, or it’ll chase you all the way from here to London Bridge.”
He nodded soberly. “I appreciate that. I haven’t come for the bird—I came to talk to you.”
Why? She had no desire to speak with him—he belonged to the past. Her new world was so far beneath his that there was no bridging the gap between them.
He held up a hand. “Before you say me nay, I bring offerings. Nothing fine, as we’ve little to spare. But you can’t have a goose without trimmings.”
He glanced around the room. “I see you have no fire. Where did you propose to cook the bird?”
“One of the bakers will let me use his oven in exchange for a share of the meat.” Not that it was any of Myall’s business. Her lack of a hearth made it obvious how poor she was. Was he too insensitive to understand her shame?
“Don’t frown. The wind might change, and your face will be stuck looking like a gargoyle’s.” There was a glint in his eyes, curse him. Not only did he wish to demean her, but he was also amusing himself at her expense.
Her gaze kept shooting back to the bundle he’d brought. If her action would only affect herself, she’d send him off with a flea in his ear. But there might be something in that bundle that Hal would enjoy. She forced herself to bite her tongue.
“Nothing to say for yourself, Mistress Wentworth? Very well. Mayhap this will loosen your tongue.”
He laid his package on the straw-filled pallet she used as a bed and unwrapped it. “We have one onion. Also, a handful of sorrel from my garden, a turnip, a carrot, several apples, and a brace of knotted biscuits. I remembered you used to have a sweet tooth.” He paused and stared at the truckle bed.
“But mayhap, I’ve not brought enough. I see you don’t live alone.” His voice had an edge to it, and he was looking at her intently.
She returned his gaze with equal intensity. By the thin morning light that filtered through her window, she could see better what was wrong with his face. It was splotched with scars, both white and livid red. The handsome lines she remembered were unchanged—it was only the skin that was damaged. His dark hair grew normally, his brow still looked noble, and his firm mouth just as tempting. What had happened to him? Had someone thrown lye in his face?
“You’re very kind, but I cannot accept this.” She’d lived in London long enough to know no one gave anything away without expectation of a favor in return. And in Myall’s case—knowing their past amorous encounter—she had a fair idea what that favor might be.
“I don’t want charity, and I’m not to be bought. How I live my life, and with whom, is none of your concern.” It was a shame about the knotted biscuits, though. She would have liked those.
“You think I want to buy you?” His look of astonishment appeared genuine. But before he could respond, Hal had hurtled into the room. The boy took one look at Myall, then threw himself at the man.
Myall’s face brightened in recognition, and he caught the boy, swung him up into his arms, and stared at him. The next moment, both were grinning broadly at one another.
“Master Farrar.” Hal flung his arms around Myall’s neck and clung to him.
“Don’t choke me, you young knave. What in God’s name are you doing here? I thought you’d still be at Christ’s Hospital, where I left you with the other orphans. Don’t tell me you ran away, you incorrigible mongrel.”
Julia pressed her hand to her stomach. The world seemed to have just turned upside down.
“You two know each other?” She could barely speak for astonishment.
“Indeed, Mistress,” said Hal as Myall held him up so high that his head almost brushed the ceiling timbers. “This is the gentleman who saved me from the fire.”
Chapter Four
It had cost Myall more than he could have imagined to part with Julia and Hal. The pair’s bond had been so tight, like a true mother and son—and an overexcited Hal had made him feel part of the little family, despite Julia’s apparent reservations.
He barely knew how he found his way home—his mind was buzzing like a hive in a thunderstorm. Julia Wentworth was back in his life. How should he proceed now?
And Hal was back in his life, too, the tow-haired terror. Why had the boy not stayed at Christ’s Hospital where Myall had taken him after the fire? He would have been safe there, well-fed, properly clothed, and among others of his kind. Eventually, an apprenticeship would have been found for him, and he’d have been set for life.
But instead, the child had run away, preferring the brutal freedom of the streets. God be thanked that it was Julia who’d found him and taken him in. She was—very sensibly—teaching him his letters and trying to ensure that the boy made himself useful. And she was doing a fine job of it, from what he could tell.
Ah, well. Just because one thought one was doing a good deed didn’t mean it would be well received. He’d obviously made a mistake in taking Hal to Christ’s Hospital. He was yet to discover if he’d made a mistake in giving succor to Julia Wentworth.
“There you are, Brother! I’m glad you’ve returned, as it looks like rain.” Helena smiled up at him as she held open the door to their rented dwelling.
Did it look like rain? He glanced up and saw a kite wheeling against a leaden sky. It was indeed dark—mayhap even cold enough for snow.
“I hadn’t noticed what the weather was doing.” How would Julia fare in inclement weather? He didn’t like the idea of her being out on the streets in rain or snow, trying to sell her decorations. Wouldn’t the silk ribbons be stained?
He handed his cloak and cap to his sister. “I’ve just seen Julia Wentworth. And Hal was with her—the boy I saved from the fire.”
Helena’s hand paused halfway to the cloak hook. “Julia Wentworth? That girl from Milforde over whom you broke your heart, well-nigh ten years ago? I suppose everyone comes to London once in their lives—but how miraculous that you should meet her! What is she doing here?”
“It was eight years ago, not ten, and I didn’t break my heart. I was annoyed at being turned away from the door, that’s all. Call it wounded pride, if you like.”
His sister tilted her head at him. “I’d call it more than that. But I’ll not pry into your affairs of the heart. Come within and have some mulled ale. I have a good fire going.”
He followed her into the tiny parlor, staring around him. He’d considered himself and Helena poor when they were forced to fend for themselves, but compared to what Julia had, they lived in luxury. They had the benefit of flagstone floors, whitewashed walls, windows infilled with diamond-shaped glass panes, and a table at which one could sit. They even had beds with legs to raise them above the floor.
“It’s terrible what’s happened to her.” He sat close to the fire and pulled off his boots, then warmed his hands. Julia had no fire, no tankard of steaming ale, no one to love and care for her but Hal.
“What’s amiss, Brother? Was your meeting with her not a happy one? But how remarkable that Hal should be with her!”
Myall took a deep draft of his ale and felt a little better. Then he explained about the goose. By the time Helena had finished laughing, he was starting to see the amusing side himself.
“She must have been sitting on it that first time you went past.” Helena was struggling to regain her breath. “How uncomfortable it must have been. Poor bird—I pity it.”
And he envied it. At least Julia wanted the goose. But after that one night when they’d explored each other’s young bodies, Julia had no longer wanted him. He’d been too bold, and he’d gone too far. He was lucky her uncle or her father hadn’t taken a horsewhip to him. But how often he’d wished things could have turned out otherwise! He had always intended to do the right thing by her.
“I can see what must be done.”
His head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
“It is simplicity itself.” Helena beamed. “You must share the goose.”
“How?” He had a vision of the bird cloven in two and winced.
“It would be cooked first, fond fellow! Then you can share the meat. Faith—we could cook it here, and invite her and Hal to join us for the meal. I’m certain Aidan won’t mind if there are two more at the table on Christmas Day. Although—we ought really to be with Father.”
He didn’t want to talk about their father. “She won’t come—she’s too proud. When somebody who was once above one then finds themself beneath, it causes bitter resentment. She doesn’t want charity. I could barely persuade her to accept the vegetables and worts that I took.”
“And what’s she going to do with those if she has no hearth to cook them over? Honestly, Myall—I know you mean well, but you don’t always think these things through.”
He didn’t know what he’d thought. He’d only known he must do whatever he could.
The idea of eating the goose together might be acceptable to Julia. He broke into a grin. Hal would be his ally in this. Hal would never turn his nose up at the offer of a Christmas feast.
“If she agrees, she won’t want to come here dressed in rags. Is there aught you can lend her?”
“Remind me what color her hair is.”
“Like ripe corn on a summer day.”
“And her eyes?”
“Blue as the ocean.”
His sister groaned. “Unlike you, I’ve never seen the ocean, so that doesn’t help.”
“As blue as lapis lazuli, then. Like the Virgin’s robes in an old painting. Why do you ask?”
She smirked at him. “You’re besotted already—I can tell from your poetic descriptions. I ask because I want to know which of my old gowns would suit her best. I hope she’s not too much larger or smaller than I, although the lacing can be opened up quite a lot if she’s plumper.”
Curse it. Now, Helena had him thinking about Julia’s figure. He almost groaned aloud as a vivid memory of the taste of her tingled on his tongue.
His throat was constricted. “She’s a similar height to you—fuller in the bosom and hips, mayhap.”
“Well, she can always leave off wearing a rouleau, if that’s the case. My russet gown with the blue embroidery will serve well, I think. She must come here early, so I can help her dress. Why not invite her for a meal before Christmas Day, so that she can feel more comfortable around us? Then she can try on the gown in advance. But you’ll have to manage the dinner while I help her.”
That wouldn’t be a problem—he’d learned a lot about cookery from assisting Helena. He knew he’d have to fend for himself when she left to marry Aidan, as he couldn’t afford a servant to do it.
Having a wife to cook for him would be infinitely preferable—though there was little likelihood of that.
“Why so gloomy, when I’ve just suggested a brilliant solution to your problem?”
“I was thinking about Father, and what he said to me that day.”
His sister’s smile melted away. “If only you could make your peace with him. He must be so lonely without us.”
Myall stiffened. “You weren’t there. You didn’t hear the names he called me after the fire. You didn’t see his expression when they took the bandages off, and he saw my ruined face.”
“He was upset for you and frightened. And you know he’d been drinking heavily since Mother died. He hated that you went into that burning house to rescue the child—he thought he’d lost you.”
“Did he tell you so?” Myall still felt slightly ill every time he remembered that dreadful argument with his father. It had hurt more than the burns.
“Nay, but I suspect that was the source of his rage.”
His jaw clenched. “You don’t insult someone because they’ve been burned. You don’t tell them they’ll never find a wife, or have children to carry on the family name, because they look grotesque. You don’t say such things if you love them, as a father should his son.”
He turned away, picked up the poker, and jabbed at the logs. Hopefully, they could leave the subject now.
“Myall.” Helena’s voice was soft and low. “You’re not a monster. When the swelling went down, you looked perfectly normal, except for a few discolored patches. Father was shocked at the sight of you back then, but he hasn’t seen you since. He was drinking even more than usual while you were lying in your sickbed. I’m sure he knew not what he was saying.”
“Sister—enough. I don’t think he has much love in his heart for either of us. You know as well as I do that he’s sitting on a small fortune, and it would be nothing to him to lay out a good dowry for you. If he were to do that, both you and Aidan would be much more comfortably off. We shouldn’t have to scrimp and save to keep you in good gowns, and make you look your best for your suitor—that’s Father’s job. But did he beg you to stay when you threatened to leave if he didn’t give up drinking? Nay. I think he was glad to spare himself the expense of your keep. Now—let us say no more on the subject.”
He could never make peace with his father—there was too much bitterness between them. Besides, he and Helena were managing—after a fashion. And if Julia agreed to Helena’s scheme about sharing the goose, Christmas dinner could be saved, and Helena would be able to impress her suitor. An offer of marriage might soon be in the wind.
Now all he had to do was convince a reticent, belligerent, and proud Julia Wentworth to trust him. That shouldn’t be so difficult.
Should it?
Chapter Five
The sky was dark with the threat of snow, and though the wind had dropped, the bitter chill had forced many people indoors. Julia had stayed at the street corner to sell her decorations for as long as she could bear it. But when her fingers were so numb with cold that she could no longer count out change, she gave up and went home for an early dinner.
Hal was trotting around the yard with their goose waddling along behind him, leashed to his wrist.
She dropped her basket and caught up with him. “Hal, you addlepate! You’ll strangle the poor thing.”
“I thought it might need exercise.”
“Not if we want to fatten it up for Christmas.” She had a handful of grain in the bottom of her basket, which she’d gleaned from a heap of street sweepings. “It needs to be kept still and fed well.”
Hal stared up at her, his mouth drooping. The goose tilted its head and gave her a hopeful look.
“To the Devil with both of you,” she grumbled. She collected her basket, fished out the grain, and held her hand hesitatingly toward the goose. It waddled closer and nimbly pecked the food from her hand. Its beak was hard and ribbed at the edges—the creature could doubtless inflict dire injury if it wanted to. She could remember the viciousness of her father’s geese back home—she’d never wanted anything to do with those.
But this goose wasn’t menacing. It actually looked—grateful.
Suddenly, a pair of strong arms caught her around the waist and set her to one side. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Will Langley, who worked at—and therefore stank of—the local tannery, was eyeing the goose with considerable interest.
“Well—what have we here, Mistress? A skinny whippet of a boy and a fine, fat goose. I’ll warrant the latter was not honestly come by.”
�
�Get you gone, Master Langley. This has naught to do with you.”
She strongly disliked her fellow lodger. He had an unpleasant habit of taking great pleasure from teasing or propositioning her.
“What say I have a share in your ill-gotten gains? I’ll kill it for you. You don’t look as if you have the stomach for wringing a goose’s neck.”
“You will not. It’s our bird.” Hal launched himself at Will and kicked the man’s shins. But the boy’s shoes were so thin, they were likely to cause little hurt. Will reached over and hauled Hal up by his shirt collar.
“Take your stinking hands off Hal, Will Langley.”
The man smirked at her. “Or what, Mistress? What have you to threaten me with?”
“She has me.”
Julia gasped. Myall Farrar! Before she knew what was happening, both Hal and the goose were released, and Will was backing toward the open side of the yard, Myall’s sword at his throat.
“You’d not slay a man for making a jest?” Will queried, looking Myall up and down.
“You wouldn’t think so, would you?” Myall’s voice was ice-cold but calm. “You might look at me and think I have too much to lose by killing you. But that’s where you’d be wrong. I have very little to lose. Would you care to try me?”
Will’s head tipped back as Myall drew himself up to his full height and pushed out his chest. “The fact that I work behind a desk every day doesn’t mean I neglect the archery butts or sword practice. I could skewer you neatly, or break your neck. Which would you prefer?”
Will went white, turned abruptly, and cantered off down the street.
Myall’s triumphant smile was so delicious, it was all Julia could do not to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him until she swooned for lack of breath.
“I dislike that fellow,” he remarked, sheathing his blade. “I’d advise you to keep away from him.”
“That isn’t easy when he’s a boarder in the same house. I hope you haven’t stirred up trouble for me.”
O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales Page 59