Christmas Belles

by Susan Carroll

  "You surprise me, Captain. You seem to know your Bible so well. I would have thought Sunday another one of those days forgotten in the navy. Is it marked down on your tide tables, then?"

  "It is part of my duty to read out services to the men," Trent replied. "There are too many storm-ridden nights when faith in God is all a sailor has left to sustain him. "

  Chloe flushed a little at this grave response, feeling ashamed of her ill-natured question. But she still avoided being handed into the carriage by the captain.

  Trent grimaced. Any doubts he had had that his talk with Chloe had been other than a dismal failure were speedily put to rest. Not that he had entertained many. It had been obvious all of last evening that Chloe had determined not to accept him into her family.

  And it was all because of her childish fancy that he was ruining Emma's life, separating her from her one true love. Chloe's conviction on this point was so strong, it began to give Trent pause himself.

  He had spent much of his Christmas Eve narrowly observing his intended, looking for any sign her heart was breaking. But he had never known any lady in his life more placid or cheerful than Emma Waverly. Any desperate longings on her part had to be attributed to Chloe's romantic imagination.

  But there seemed no way of convincing Chloe of that. She continued to treat Trent to a degree of coldness all the more marked when contrasted to the warmth with which she greeted Mr. Henry when he joined them for Christmas Day dinner.

  Chloe persisted in singing the man's praises to the entire company, deeply embarrassing the clergyman. Mr. Henry was so valiant, so generous, and so scholarly. Apparently, Trent thought irritably, the man was Aristotle, Francis of Assisi, and Saint George all rolled into one.

  By the time they all sat down to dine, Trent began to entertain the unwelcome suspicion that Chloe was infatuated with the young man. As her guardian, Trent would be obliged to inform her that he found Mr. Henry a most unsuitable match. Although at first Trent had though the vicar quite likable, he now began to detect numerous flaws in the man. Mr. Henry had a weak chin. He was too modest, too self-effacing. He blushed like a woman during the main course of roast beef and pudding while Chloe continued to rattle on about his nobleness of spirit.

  "I daresay you are quite tired, Mr. Henry." She directed a particularly sweet smile at Trent. "Dear Mr. Henry visits every poor parishioner at Christmas, makes sure they all have a log for their fire and a kettle of warm soup."

  "Very creditable, I'm sure," Trent said, taking a sip of his wine.

  "Only my duty," the vicar mumbled.

  "I do hope you found Sukey Green and little Peggety well?" Emma inquired anxiously. "I have been quite worried about them."

  "They are as well as can be expected. I did wonder if a certain blessed event might take place today on Christmas and instructed the midwife to keep herself at the ready."

  "Poor Mrs. Green," Lucy cooed. "It must be so hard to be in an interesting condition with one's husband so far away."

  "Very imprudent of her, I call it," Agnes said, beckoning for her third helping of plum pudding. "I wonder why people that poor will persist in having so many children."

  Chloe flushed with indignation. "Poor people have as much right to---to be as interested as anyone else."

  This ingenuous remark set Lathrop off into a choking fit, and Trent himself was obliged to snatch up his napkin to hide his smile.

  Chloe leveled an accusing stare down the length of the table at him. "I see no occasion for amusement, Captain. I fear Mrs. Green's problem is all the fault of your precious Admiralty."

  "Is it, by Jove?" the irrepressible Lathrop called out. "To think I always fancied the Admiralty such a bunch of stuffy old men."

  Lucy giggled, rapping Lathrop's wrist and crying fie upon him. Seeing both Emma and Mr. Henry appear much shocked, Trent frowned reprovingly at his friend.

  As for Chloe, she had turned a bright red. "What I meant was, the Admiralty is responsible for the Greens' poverty. Tom Green has sailed upon naval warships for nearly six years, yet he hardly ever receives his proper pay."

  Trent frowned. "I will admit the navy is frequently lax in that regard. It is a difficulty I have experienced aboard my own ship."

  Lathrop said warmly, "And a difficulty you have dealt with out of your own pocket. It is often Trent's custom, Miss Chloe, to pay his sailors' wages himself."

  "Oh." Chloe looked momentarily nonplussed.

  Trent was far too proud to allow her to strain herself, being obliged to think well of him on some score.

  "It is only a matter of good policy to keep one's crew content. Mutiny must be avoided at all costs."

  The cold speech would have served its purpose except unfortunately, at that moment, Mr. Doughty was passing through the dining room, helping Polly serve up the meal.

  "Oh, aye, Cap'n." Doughty grinned. "I 'spect that's why you sent a deal of money to the bosun and gunners' widows and children. They be a fierce pack o' mutineers, them orphans."

  "That will do, Mr. Doughty," Trent growled. He was mortified to discover that he became embarrassed as easily as Mr. Henry did.

  "There must be a great deal of hardship involved in being a sailor," Emma remarked in her gentle accent.

  "Amen to that," Doughty mumbled as he backed out of the room, his arms laden with empty plates.

  Trent glowered at him before conceding, "It is not always pleasant aboard ship. One frequently contends with seasickness, storms and contaminated water supplies."

  "How Papa must have hated it," Chloe said sadly.

  "Perhaps," Trent said. "But I never knew Sir Phineas to make any complaint. After he gained his sea legs, he took quite an interest in the operation of the ship. Given time, I believe he could have—" Trent broke off, wanting to curse his own tongue. Time was obviously the one thing that had not been granted Sir Phineas. Trent's unfortunate remark seemed to have a sobering effect on the whole table. Even Agnes shoved away her trifle, untasted.

  "The letter you wrote informing us about Papa was so brief, Captain Trent." Chloe raised troubled eyes to his. "Can you not explain anything more about what happened?"

  What had happened? Trent thought bleakly. A musket ball had happened. He avoided her gaze, taking refuge in his wineglass instead. As though caught in the sparkling liquid, painful images flickered before Trent's eyes—Sir Phineas lurching forward, the bright crimson stain pooling over the old man's chest.

  Trent could never remember losing his sense of calm during battle until that moment. He had dropped to the deck, catching Sir Phineas in his arms, threatening him and cursing. Yet not one of his oaths could stay the old man's course a moment longer. There was nothing more humbling than death to remind a captain that he wasn't God, not even on the deck of his own ship.

  Thrusting the memory away, Trent set down his wineglass with a sharp click. "This is hardly anything to talk about on Christmas Day."

  Chloe started to protest, but she was shushed by Emma. Though she appeared far from satisfied, Chloe was obliged to subside. The meal was finished in an awkward silence.

  Before long, the ladies retired to the drawing room. Although Trent managed to shrug off the lowering of spirits that discussing Sir Phineas had produced, he was not tempted to linger long over his port. He found it difficult to enjoy Mr. Henry's company, and Lathrop made his eagerness to rejoin Miss Lucy all too apparent.

  As Trent followed the other two men into the drawing room, he felt in little humor for another evening spent in merrymaking, especially if he was obliged to watch Chloe fawn over Mr. Henry.

  She was making such a fool of herself over the man, Trent longed to give her a brisk shake—that is, until something occurred to shed new light upon her motives.

  Lathrop most charmingly begged the ladies for a little music.

  "I am seized with the most uncontrollable desire to dance," he said, smiling at Lucy.

  But Chloe darted between them, dragging Lucy to the pianoforte. "Lucy must play fo
r us," she said. "She does it so beautifully."

  "Nonsense, Chloe," Lucy cried, tugging her hand free, looking by no means pleased. "You know Emma plays far better than I."

  "But Mr. Henry wants Emma to stand up with him, don't you, sir?" Chloe appealed to the young clergyman.

  "Well, I---I---" Mr. Henry stammered.

  And in that instant, comprehension flashed through Trent's mind.

  Chloe had not been throwing herself at the vicar's head all afternoon. Rather, she was endeavoring to toss the hapless fellow at Emma. Mr. Henry must be the man Chloe believed Emma adored, and she was desperately trying to thrust them together.

  Yet all her innocent machinations were to no avail. Far from looking like star-crossed lovers, Emma and Mr. Henry merely seemed disconcerted by these tactics.

  Chloe all but wrung her hands as Emma lost no time in slipping behind the pianoforte and Mr. Henry asked Agnes to dance. Lucy paired off with Lathrop, and as the two couples began moving through the paces of a simple country dance, Chloe was obliged to retreat to one side, looking disconsolate.

  Now that he perceived the truth of the matter, Trent could regard her disappointment with a kind of tender amusement. He even sympathized a little with her desire to secure Mr. Henry as a brother-in-law. Trent did not know how he had failed to do so before, but he now saw that Mr. Henry was a very likable fellow, possessed of great strength of character.

  Chloe appeared so woebegone, Trent could not help making his way to her side.

  "Come, Chloe," he said, offering her his hand with a smile. "I would deem it a great honor if you would stand up with me."

  "No, thank you," she bit out, the rejection sharp and unmistakably final. There remained nothing for bent to do but withdraw. With a stiff bow, he retreated, her rebuff paining him more than he cared to admit.

  Even the short time he had spent at Windhaven had been enough to make him aware of the role Chloe played in her family. She was the warmth, the bright spirit that spread sunshine on the bleakest day. To everyone but him, that is, Trent thought bitterly.

  Even Mr. Doughty basked in the rays of her approval. When the burly seaman entered the parlor, bringing in more logs, Chloe skipped to his side immediately. Soon she and Doughty were lost in conversation, Chloe appearing to have completely forgotten Trent's existence.

  In this the captain was quite mistaken, for Chloe remained very much aware of where Trent stood, alone, his arms folded, distanced from the laughter, the dancing, the music, the circle of light spilling from the hearth.

  She felt a stab of remorse. Something akin to hurt had flashed in Trent's eyes when she had refused his offer to dance, and she did so hate hurting anyone. Maybe she should have explained that she never danced if she could help it. Not only was she tone-deaf to the lilt of music, but she had a very poor sense of rhythm.

  Yet when did Captain Trent ever trouble himself offering explanations? It distressed her, the way he had refused to discuss what had happened to her father aboard his ship. That, coupled with the captain's blind obstinacy about Emma, made Chloe feel as though she would never be able to like the man.

  She thought she had been so clever in getting Mr. Henry to Windhaven, certain that having him so near would bring Emma to her senses. But all her plotting had come to nothing. There Emma sat at the pianoforte while Mr. Henry danced with the wrong sister. Both of them looked so determinedly cheerful, while Chloe knew they had to be absolutely miserable. It made her miserable just to watch them.

  She forced her attention back to Mr. Doughty, taking refuge in the genial steward's company as he stoked the fire. He was so full of salty tales and marvelous lore. She drew up a stool, coaxing him to tell her once again how it was possible to raise up a strong wind from the depths of the ocean by having all the cabin boys whistle on deck. Chloe wagered that Captain Trent didn't know such things.

  "'Course one needs to be careful, miss, that the wind don't become a squall," Doughty said with a sage nod of his head. "There can be a deal of danger, stirring up spirits from the deep."

  Chloe listened, entranced, until she noticed that Trent had moved closer. Although he seemed to be absorbed in watching the dancing, she could tell he had heard what Doughty was saying to her. The captain rolled his eyes in scornful fashion.

  Perhaps she would give the man a sharp lesson in eavesdropping.

  "Of course," she said. "We have always had our own spirits here at Windhaven."

  "You never say so, miss." Doughty paused in his exertions with the fire to wipe beads of sweat from his brow. His eyes gleamed with interest.

  "Oh yes, the ghosts of two sisters." Chloe watched the captain out of the corner of her eye to be sure that he was also listening. "They were the daughters of the cavalier who first built Windhaven Manor, sweet, lovely girls despite their poverty. Legend has it that they were twins who loved each other dearly and never wanted to be separated. But one day a knight came to marry the elder and take her away."

  "Sounds in the natural course o' things, miss."

  "It might have been, except that the knight was a very wicked, coldhearted man who did not love the elder daughter at all."

  To Chloe's satisfaction, the crease of a frown appeared upon Trent's brow.

  Doughty scratched his head. "Beggin' yer pardon, miss, but that don't rightly make sense. If this lady was so poor, why else would that knight 'a wanted to marry her but out o' affection?"

  "I daresay he had his own nefarious reasons. In any event, the wedding never took place, for rather than be so cruelly separated, the twin sisters went out to a cliff near here. Holding hands, they leapt into the sea."

  "Seems a little drastic, miss. Wouldn't it have been a deal more prudent for the older girl just to have refused that knight?"

  "They were desperate young women, Mr. Doughty," Chloe said solemnly, determined to ignore this gaping hole in her tale "The two ladies vanished into the sea foam, but not forever."

  Doughty leaned forward eagerly as Chloe dropped her voice in dramatic fashion. "On bleak winter nights, their spirits still walk this house, seaweed tangled in their blond tresses, their eyes burning fire, their pale lips moaning reproach, to drive out all unwelcome strangers from this house."

  Chloe thought she heard Trent mutter a soft oath, but Doughty swallowed, his eyes fairly starting from their sockets, his side-whiskers seeming to bristle on end. "Sometimes," Chloe continued, "You can even feel the brush of cold, silken fingers along the back of your neck—"

  "That will do, Chloe!" Trent rapped out. His sharp tone startled Doughty so badly, he nearly tumbled over into Chloe's lap.

  "Aieee, Cap'n," the steward said reproachfully. "What a turn ye gave me, bellowing out that way."

  "I shall give you a turn worse than that if you don't take yourself off. I think you would be better employed elsewhere, Mr. Doughty."

  "Aye, aye, sir." Still looking a little shaken, Doughty managed a salute. As he beat a hasty retreat, Chloe glanced up to where Trent loomed over her. She protested, "There was no need for you to be so short with him, Captain. We were only—"

  "I know full well what you were doing," Trent said. "And I'll have no more of it. Mr. Doughty is superstitious enough. You don't need to frighten him out of what few wits he possesses with a pack of fabricated ghost stories."

  "What makes you so sure I was making it all up?" Chloe asked sweetly. "Don't you believe in ghosts, Captain?"

  "I certainly do not, and I would appreciate your not encouraging my steward to do so either."

  Chloe found it more than a little annoying, Trent's manner of speaking to her as though she were a child. Entirely forgetting herself that she had completely made up the story of the two sisters, she eyed Trent with challenge.

  "It just so happens I once saw the ghosts of those twin sisters myself. Does that surprise you?"

  To her astonishment, Trent laughed. It was the first time Chloe recollected ever hearing him do so. The sound was deep, masculine, and thoroughly delightful.
Or it would have been if Chloe had not felt so vexed with him.

  "No, my dear," he said, his eyes alight with amusement. "Somehow your seeing ghosts doesn't surprise me at all."

  At that moment, Trent's attention was claimed by Mr. Lathrop. The interest in dancing had palled, and the captain's help was required in setting up tables for whist.

  After one final injunction against any more ghostly tales, Trent sauntered off, looking so unbearably smug, Chloe longed to heave the bolster from the settee at his head.

  The man was always so insufferably sure of himself. He did not believe in fairies or love or spirits. Just what the blazes did he put faith in, then?

  She shifted upon her stool and snatched up the poker, taking over Mr. Doughty's task of tending the fire. As she took several sharp pokes at the blazing logs, she set up a shower of sparks, and one flame leapt up in an eerie vapor of blue, red, and gold. Somehow the sight inspired a vague idea in her mind. Gradually the thought became clearer, a notion so dreadful she should not have entertained it, not even for a second. But she felt her lips curve into a mischievous smile.

  Maybe there was nothing she could do about Trent's lack of faith in the wee folk or the magic of love. Chloe suppressed a soft laugh. But after tonight, maybe Captain William Trent would not be so infernally sure about the nonexistence of ghosts.

  Chapter Five

  The mantel clock chimed one minute past midnight, and another Christmas was gone. Trent felt a twinge of melancholy at its passing as though something precious had just slipped through his hands. Which was a deuced odd notion, for what he had told Chloe was perfectly true. Until this year, he had ignored the existence of the day.

  So why, then, should he feel saddened as this particular one was about to fade into memory? Maybe because he had never spent a Christmas in the midst of such warmth and gaiety before. The Waverly ladies were an affectionate family, given to much hugging and kissing beneath the mistletoe that spilled over to include anyone in their midst. Charles handled it with great aplomb, Mr. Henry also appearing solemnly accustomed. Since Trent had never had sisters, he found it a little embarrassing.