3 Charming Christmas Tales Set in Victorian England

by Michelle Griep

  Oh, Mother. What would it be like to have a soft shoulder to share her burdens with instead of a father who could think of nothing other than the upcoming Christmas Eve party or how to marry her off? She heaved a long, low breath. She’d never know, she supposed, and that was a perpetual ache.

  Effie threaded her arm through hers. “That’s the fifth time ye’ve sighed since we left the ribbon shop, love.”

  She matched her pace to Effie’s and glanced sideways at her friend. “Hmm?”

  “Have ye heard a word I’ve said?”

  “Of course. You were saying how Mrs. Lane’s new babe is the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.”

  Effie frowned. “That was before the ribbon shop.”

  “Then you remarked on how exceptionally attentive Mr. Lane is to his wife and new son.”

  “That was inside the ribbon shop.”

  “Then you said that baby Benjamin is the sweetest thing ever and … er … something more about your employer.” She released Effie’s arm and lifted her skirts to avoid the mud. Effie followed suit, and they parted ways to maneuver around a puddle.

  As soon as they drew together on the other side, Effie rummaged in her reticule and pulled out an old coin, then reached for Mina’s hand and dropped it into her palm.

  What on earth? Mina lifted the piece of gold to eye level. The edges were jagged in a few places. On one side, a big X—or maybe a cross—was embossed. Hard to tell for the wear. How many fingers had rubbed against this bit of metal? The other side sported foreign words, circling the perimeter, unlike any she’d ever seen. “What is this?”

  “A second-chance coin. ‘Twas once given to me by Mrs. Lane.”

  “A what?” She scrunched up her nose at her friend.

  “Why, I’m giving ye a second chance, love.”

  She studied her friend’s face. Brown eyes the colour of a stout cup of tea peered back at her. What was Effie going on about? Maybe she should have been paying closer attention. “For what exactly do I need a second chance?”

  “To tell me what’s really on yer mind.” A passing dray lumbered by, nearly drowning out Effie’s words with its grinding wheels. Her friend stepped nearer. “Ye’ve not been yourself the entire hour we’ve been together, and ye’ve very nicely danced around all my questions. I haven’t much time remaining a’fore I must return to Mrs. Lane with this new lace.” She patted her small parcel. “So, ye best talk fast, my friend.”

  The coin warmed against her skin, yet she wasn’t so sure she wanted a second chance to reveal the snarly mess inside her head and heart. Still … it would be a release of sorts. And she hadn’t a truer friend than Effie. She wrapped her fingers tight around the coin for strength. “Very well, but you mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Not to Miss Whymsy and especially not to Miss Minton, for she’d ‘hear, hear’ it all over town. Promise?”

  Effie nodded, more solemn than the Reverend Mr. Graves on a Sunday morning. “Upon my word.”

  Mina tugged her friend aside, pulling her close to the glass window of Truman’s Tinctures and Powders, well out of the path of pedestrians or curious ears. Even so, she lowered her voice so only Effie might hear. “You know that patron I’ve remarked on a few times over the past year?”

  “If ye’re speaking of the dashing Mr. Barlow, your figuring is way off. Few? Pah!” Effie chuckled. “If I only had a farthing for each time you sang the praises of the man, I’d be wealthy as a—”

  “You see?” Mina cut her off with a glower. “This is why I haven’t told you anything, for you can’t manage to keep from teasing.”

  “All right.” Effie’s mouth rippled as she tried to stifle her grin. “I promise. Not another word.”

  With a glance past Effie’s shoulder, she scanned the lane. Several men strode past on long legs, each carrying a paper-wrapped parcel. A stoop-shouldered lady in black shambled by, leaning heavily on a cane. Yet no one appeared to take an interest in her or Effie, so she faced her friend. “Mr. Barlow asked me to attend a tea with him and his uncle. That’s why I had to ask to change our society meeting time last week.”

  “Aha! When you slipped out o’ there like a wisp o’ the breeze, I knew something weren’t right.” Effie arched a brow. “Will you soon be going the way of Mary Bowman then?”

  “Of course not.” But the thought of such pulsed through her. Despite the shortcomings she’d started to detect in Will, to be his true wife instead of a faux was a dream she wasn’t yet willing to depart with.

  “His interest in me isn’t like that,” she continued. “Mr. Barlow is in line to receive an inheritance from his uncle, especially if his uncle Barlow believes him to be happily married and settled down.”

  “And you went”—Effie’s eyes widened—“as his bride?”

  “I did. And my! How grand it was.” She closed her eyes, reliving the magnificence of Purcell’s—until Will’s cousins’ faces surfaced, along with their threat against Uncle Barlow. Her eyelids popped open. “Well, it was mostly all grand, except for Will’s awful cousins. Oh, Effie, they are conspiring to commit the dear old man to an asylum.”

  Speaking the words aloud breathed life into the monstrous possibility, squeezing her heart. “And you know as well as I what might happen to him there—” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her lips tight.

  “There, there, love.” Effie patted her arm. “I know that’s a blow, considering yer mum—God rest her. But what can ye do?”

  “That’s just it. There is something I can do to help, but I’m not sure it’s the right thing.” She heaped another sigh onto her accumulating pile. “Uncle Barlow has invited us all to his town house for dinner next week. For the sake of William getting that inheritance, and thereby sparing his uncle from such a fate, I agreed to go. Apparently Uncle Barlow will only see fit to award his estate to an heir who’s firmly rooted in faith and family. I am Will’s family, of sorts, leastwise in Uncle Barlow’s eyes. But how shall I tell Father? He’ll never allow me to attend, especially if he discovers I am posing as Will’s bride. Yet if I don’t go, then Will’s cousin might very well become the heir … and Will’s uncle would be committed. It seems there is no good solution.”

  “Hmm,” Effie murmured. “That is a dilemma.”

  The door to Truman’s swung open, and both of them fell silent until the woman exiting strolled past them.

  “I’ve got it.” Effie beamed. “Why don’t ye and Mr. Barlow simply go to his uncle and tell him the truth? If ye reveal the cousins’ wicked plot, why, his uncle is sure to name your Will as heir and be glad of it.”

  Her Will? The idea of William Barlow belonging to her alone quickened her breath—but now was definitely not the time for fanciful dreaming. She shook her head. “I said as much to Mr. Barlow, but he thinks we need more evidence than a snippet of overheard conversation.”

  “He might be right, I suppose.” Effie pinched the bridge of her nose, and Mina desperately hoped the action would coax out some golden wisdom for her to follow. But Effie merely lowered her hand and angled her head. “Ye’ll just have to tell yer father the truth of things, love.”

  She sighed—again. If she kept this up, she’d have no air whatsoever left in her lungs. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “Mina.” Compassion infused her friend’s tone, far warmer than the November chill working its way into her bones. “Ye didn’t really need me to tell ye what to do, eh?”

  “Yes—I mean no. I mean … I suppose not.” Shoving back another sigh, she straightened her shoulders. Effie was right. Deep down in her gut she’d known the correct course of action but, until now, had been trying to ignore it. And that’s what she loved most about her friend. Effie had a magical way of giving her the courage to look within and dare to hold hands with what she knew to be right.

  She lifted her chin, then grabbed for her hat as a brisk breeze nearly lifted it off her head. “You’re right. I shall go to Father at once and explain the situation. If he allows me to atten
d the dinner for the sake of Mr. Barlow’s uncle, then I shall. If not, well, either way I must leave this in God’s hands.”

  Effie grinned. “I knew ye’d do the right thing. Shall I come along?”

  “No. I fear I’ve made you late enough as is. Thank you, my friend, and I’ll let you know how things turn out.” She whirled to go, then as suddenly turned back. “Oh, I nearly forgot.”

  With a heavy heart, she retrieved a small purse containing all her savings for Father’s watch fob. Though she tried to smile as she held it out, her lips didn’t quite cooperate. “Here is my donation to the Institute for the Care of Sick Gentlewomen. I thought you might add it along with yours and see that Miss Whymsy gets it.”

  Effie eyed her as she collected the offering. “I suspect this is costing you more than some coins.”

  “It is.” She nodded toward the pouch. “That was my sole funding to purchase Father a new fob for Christmas.”

  “Ahh, love.” Effie shoved the purse back toward her. “Surely betwixt the two of us, we can come up with some other way to help the institute.”

  “I have thought of another way, for the fob, that is. Would you stop over when you’ve some free time and help me cut my hair? As inconspicuously as possible. I plan to fashion a braided twist for Father to use. It won’t be as dashing as a gold chain, but it will be better than none.”

  Tucking the pouch into her pocket, Effie then straightened her shoulders and saluted. “My scissors are at yer command.”

  “Oh! One more thing.” She held out her other hand, offering back Effie’s second-chance coin on her open palm. “Here is your coin.”

  Effie curled Mina’s fingers back around the gold piece. “I’ll see yer contribution gets to Miss Whymsy, but you keep that coin. Tuck it in a pocket and carry it with you every day. When the right situation happens along, I’m sure ye’ll know just when to use it. And in the meantime, when ere yer fingers rub against the metal, think on more than just the second chance I gave you. Think on the second chance God gives us all, eh love? Now, off with ye.”

  “Thank you, my friend. I shall see you next week.” Turning on her heel, Mina tucked the coin into her reticule, then dashed down the lane faster than decorum allowed. But it was not to be helped. If she didn’t get this over with soon, she might lose the pluck to tell her father.

  At this time of the afternoon, only a few patrons sat with mugs in hand inside the taproom. It was the off-hour, the lull she would’ve taken advantage of to sneak off with her book if Father hadn’t confiscated it again. At this rate, she’d never finish David Copperfield.

  She strode directly to his office and rapped on the door before pushing it open. “Father?”

  Behind his paper-strewn desk, Father’s chair sat empty. Neither did the sweet scent of Cavendish tobacco waft in the air.

  Shutting the door behind her, she dashed to the kitchen. Perhaps he indulged in a bite of one of Martha’s meat pies.

  “Father?” She swung into the kitchen and stopped inches in front of Martha.

  “Peas and honey!” The cook retreated a step, a sprinkling of flour taking flight from her collar at the sudden movement. “Take a care, child.”

  “My apologies.” She offered the woman a sheepish smile, all the while knowing it was a poor show of contrition. “I am looking for my father. Have you seen him?”

  Martha swiped the back of her hand across her cheek, leaving behind a dusty smear. “He’s gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  “La, child!” Cook’s lower lip folded. “Don’t tell me ye’ve forgotten what day it is. Yer father left not an hour ago for his annual trip to Colchester to find this year’s best oyster seller. Can’t rightly have his famous stew for the Christmas Eve party if he don’t have the best oysters.”

  “Oh, dear,” she breathed out. She’d been so caught up in her own worries she hadn’t given a second thought to the date—or Father’s party preparations.

  “Now, now. ‘Tain’t all that bad. He’ll be back in little over a fortnight.” A stray hair escaped from Martha’s cap, and she blew the rogue away. She edged a step nearer, lowering her voice. “I suppose you should know, though, that your father arranged for Mr. Grimlock to come by on the morrow to manage things while he’s absent.”

  Mr. Grimlock? She stiffened.

  “Thank you, Martha,” she forced out, then spun away before the cook could read the disgust that surely coloured her cheeks. Now not only would she not be able to tell Father about the dinner at Uncle Barlow’s, but she’d have to dodge Gilbert Grimlock’s perpetual advances. The man had proposed to her twice already. Of all the men Father could have chosen to tend the inn for him, it had to be Gilbert Grimlock? She narrowed her eyes.

  Or had Father chosen the man on purpose as part of his never-ending scheme to marry her off?

  CHAPTER TEN

  The civility which money will purchase is rarely extended to those who have none.

  Sketches by Boz

  Mina pressed her back against the corridor wall before she reached the kitchen, shrinking farther into the shadows as Gilbert Grimlock strode out the door. Please don’t come this way. Please don’t even look.

  She’d spent the better part of the past week dodging the fellow. Despite her efforts, he’d occasionally caught her off guard. Such had been the case earlier today. After suffering a morning of the man’s ego and innuendoes, she’d begged off with a headache. Which was no lie. His thinly veiled talk of marriage and continual boasting of his accomplishments never failed to throb in her temples.

  Just past the threshold, Mr. Grimlock paused, the great hulk of him a dark, unmoving blob. She froze. What would she say if he turned back around and found her skulking about in her finest dress when he thought her abed? Think. Think!

  But as unexplainably as he stopped, he once again set off, creeping toward the taproom like a giant spider.

  She waited until he disappeared, and her crazed heartbeat slowed. Pushing away from the wall, she padded the rest of the way down the passage and slipped into the kitchen. Thankfully, Martha bent over a pot on the hearth, humming a folk tune and stirring up a frenzy. Mina shot toward the back door and eased it open and shut before Cook noticed.

  Outside, brisk evening air slapped her cheeks, and she shivered as she dashed to the back gate of the small courtyard. She yanked it open, and when Will turned toward her at the creak of the hinges, the night lost its chill.

  “Good evening, Mina. Though I can’t say I like this stealthy business, I am happy you came.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.” She smiled. How could she not? The gleam in Will’s eyes pulled her into the adventure of the evening, erasing the smudge of Gilbert Grimlock on her day and easing the tension of trying to slip out unnoticed.

  Together, they stepped into the evening throng of London’s streets. The aged thoroughfares never slept. Gas lamps glowed like miniature suns, lighting their way. They strolled past shift workers going to and from factory jobs, washerwomen scurrying home to feed their families, and even a few children peddling matches or candle stubs.

  Down at the next corner, William hailed a cab, twice the size of the one they’d ridden in when they’d gone to tea, with four wheels instead of only two.

  She grasped Will’s hand and climbed into the carriage. But this time when he shut the door, sealing them in shadowy possibilities, her high spirits faltered. If Father knew what she was about, his wrath would be unbearable. And well deserved. This was scandalous. She was scandalous. But was not man’s life worth a ruined reputation?

  Will sank onto the seat across from her, and she edged into the corner, as far from him as possible. What a sorry tale this might turn out to be were William Barlow not a man of integrity, which he was. Wasn’t he? She swallowed. What did she really know of him other than her inflated imaginary image?

  “Mina, I …” Spare light crept in as they passed near a streetlamp, highlighting a strange look on his fa
ce. He worked his jaw as if he struggled for words. Did he feel the gravity of their charade as much as she?

  But then half a smile quirked his lips, and a familiar twinkle reignited in his eyes. “What I mean to say is that I appreciate you coming along for the sake of my uncle. I realize I’ve put you in somewhat of a compromising situation, and I will strive to protect your reputation. I vow I shall have you home at a decent hour.”

  So, he did understand. Warmth flared in her chest. Will was gallant after all, a true hero, and she chided herself for having doubted him. “Thank you. And yes, if you don’t mind, as soon as your uncle names his heir, I really must return to the inn.”

  “Understood.” He nodded. “Let’s hope it’s not a fourteen-course meal, hmm?”

  Fourteen courses? How long would that take? She sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh! Do you think—?”

  “It was only a jest, Mina, and a poor one at that. Forgive me?” A lopsided grin played across his face. “You shall return to your regular life in no time and not be bothered with mine.”

  She turned her face to the window. His words echoed like a death knell, clanging loud and deep in her soul. Once this night was over, they’d go back to their lives. He stopping by for a pint now and then, and she pressing her nose to the glass each time he left. Endless hours of serving customers and dodging pinches. Helping Martha shell peas or Father manage deliveries. A regular life? How dismal.

  But there was no sense dwelling on such melancholy thoughts now, especially when some good may come of this evening, if Will were named heir. And if nothing else, she’d have gotten to share a cab with a handsome gentleman and attend a fancy dinner, just like in one of her novels. As the wheels of the carriage bumped over cobblestones, she straightened in her seat and determined to enjoy the ride, no matter what the next hours might bring.