A Christmas Keepsake

by Janice Bennett

She blinked back the moisture that stung her eyes. “Do you know what it is to be close to a family?”

  A long moment passed. “No,” he said at last. “I had only my uncle and cousin, and not by any stretch of the imagination could we have been considered close.”

  “I’m sorry. You missed out on a lot.” She strove for a lighter note. “Do you know, my oldest brother’s getting married next week, and I’m supposed to be one of the bridesmaids.”

  “Maybe you will be. That’s still at least seven days away—” He broke off.

  “Exactly. Seven days and almost two hundred years.” She managed a facsimile of her usually bright smile. “That ought to give me enough time.”

  They reached the house off Golden Lane, and James handed over a considerable number of bills. The jarvey promptly offered his services at any time in the future if they should need to follow anyone again.

  James’s lips twitched into a smile. “Thank you, but—” He broke off. “Will you wait for a few minutes?”

  “What are we doing next?” she asked as he came up the steps.

  “Flinging down my gauntlet.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “You’re going to send a message back with the driver?”

  James nodded. “It seems the easiest. I wouldn’t wish to risk sending a friend or someone in my employ, who might be taken hostage and held. A jarvey they would have no reason to treat as anything other than a messenger.”

  “Any idea how to word this?”

  “I’ll think of something, I feel quite certain.”

  Nancy opened the door, and her face broke into a wreath of smiles. “There you are, guv’nor. About to send the watch out after you, we was. Where ever’ve you been?”

  “On a slight side excursion.” He strode through the door.

  “The missus is that worried about you, Miss Christy.” Nancy shook her head.

  “I’ll go to her at once and apologize.” Christy ran lightly up the stairs. From the schoolroom, she could hear the boys’ voices raised in repetitions of the multiplication table. She winced, remembering her own struggles with that—and her failure to think of anything better.

  She opened the door and stuck in her head, and instantly the lesson came to a standstill. The boys gathered about her, demanding to know where she had been, and if she would take over in their studies. She shook her head, silenced them at last, then apologized to Mrs. Runcorn, for her absence.

  “It’s quite all right, my dear. As long as you both are safe.”

  “For a bit longer. I must go back down and keep James from doing anything too rash.”

  Elinor Runcorn’s eyebrows rose, and a slight smile touched her lips. “Of course, my dear. No,” she silenced the boys as they protested. “Miss Campbell will return when she is able. I suggest you continue with your lessons, so you may all surprise her with how much you have learned. Remember, later this afternoon you are to go out Thomassing.”

  “What?” That stopped Christy.

  “Thomassing. It is a very old custom, but one we still observe. Perhaps you have abandoned it in America. The children go from door to door, begging the ingredients for Christmas frumenty.”

  Christmas frumenty. Another tradition she would love to learn more about. But not now, not while James remained in such danger.

  She headed down the steps to the resumption of the chanting of the times tables. At least they were memorizing it, if not actually learning it.

  As she reached the hall, James entered the house once more. “Have you sent the message already?” she demanded. “Where are you to meet?”

  “A very public place, I assure you. I have no taste for assignations at midnight in the ruins of an old abbey.”

  “Well, you do like to take all the fun out of things, don’t you?” In a way, that was almost what she feared from him. “Where?”

  “The British Museum, in the Egyptian Room.”

  “You’re kidding. That sounds the perfect place for some intrigue.”

  “I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “When?”

  “I suggested four o’clock. Two hours from now. We shall wait and see.”

  Christy did wait, though with rapidly dwindling patience. She slipped up to her room and sought comfort from a chocolate chip, then returned to pace the study with James. Most of the allotted time passed before the jarvey returned, bearing Sir Dominic’s agreement. A thrill of nerves danced along Christy’s spine as she read the scribbled note. Whether or not they did the right thing, they were now committed.

  Again, James retained the services of the jarvey, whose open grin indicated he regarded James as a Father Christmas personified. Christy climbed into the vehicle and sat back against the now familiar cushions, and stared out the window as the snow increased. At last, they pulled up in Great Russell Street before the British Museum.

  She stared at it, startled. It bore little resemblance to the structure she had visited so very long ago, in the future.

  “Want me to wait, guv’nor?” the jarvey called as James climbed out. A note of complacency sounded in his voice. James actually smiled. “Please do.”

  He escorted Christy down the path and through the front doors. As they wended their way to the Egyptian Room, Christy clutched his arm, nerves dancing through her stomach. Desperately, she tried to keep at bay the “what ifs” that crowded her mind.

  “It will be all right, nothing can happen here,” James said softly.

  “Where have I heard that before? You’d just about fit into one of the mummy cases, if someone shoved you in. Look, shouldn’t we have gotten some help?”

  “We’re just here to talk. Maybe we can clear everything up.”

  “Oh, right. His trying to kill you is all a misunderstanding. Of course.”

  He shook his head. “We’ll find out in a moment.”

  They entered the rooms devoted to the Egyptian antiquities captured from the French. Christy sauntered at his side in what she hoped was a fair imitation of a tourist.

  “There,” James breathed.

  She looked up quickly. At the far end of the first room, a dapper little man sat on a bench, his hands folded over the rounded head of his walking stick.

  “That’s Sir Dominic?” she demanded. “He could never have been the man on the ice. He’s much too frail.”

  “We shall see.” James led her forward.

  Sir Dominic Kaye rose as they approached, and awarded James a deferential bow. James introduced Christy, and the elderly gentleman raised her fingers briefly to his lips.

  “A pleasure, Miss Campbell.”

  “I believe we have much to talk about,” James said, his voice steady.

  “More than you realize, Major. Very much more than you realize. I have a great deal to tell you of considerable importance.” A slight frown creased his brow. “I had hoped not to have to reveal this to you as yet, but we are agreed the time is now upon us when you must know all—”

  “About that, at least, I agree,” James said.

  Sir Dominic held up a fragile hand. “I fear you are under a misapprehension, and for that I am greatly to blame. What I must tell you involves the reason someone wishes to kill you—and why I have placed a guard on you for your protection.”

  “Protection? Is that what you call having someone fire at me?”

  Sir Dominic shook his grayed head. “Never would I order such a thing.”

  “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”

  Sir Dominic’s grip tightened on his cane. “I can understand your distrust. It saddens me, yet it doesn’t surprise me.”

  “I am willing to listen to explanations.”

  The man nodded. “Not here. I would be grateful if you would agree to join a house party at Briarly over Christmas.”

  “The house party!” Christy’s grip tightened on his arm. James silenced her. “Why should I?”

  “There will be a number of people there, all well known to you, who share in this secret we have kept for so
long. Your cousin Saint Ives will be of our number. And there, I promise, the whole will be disclosed to you.”

  “You’re not going without me!” Christy declared.

  Sir Dominic smiled. “To be sure, you will be most welcome, Miss Campbell.” He turned back to James. “Will you come, Major?”

  James glanced at Christy.

  “The house party,” she repeated. “I think we should.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Do you? Very well, then. We accept.”

  Sir Dominic let out the breath he had held in a long, relieved sigh. “On the Twenty-third, then? We will expect you in the early afternoon. Miss Campbell? Major?” He directed a bow to them both and, leaning heavily on his cane, exited the room. Christy turned to stare after his departing figure.

  “We’ve agreed to walk into the lion’s den,” James pointed out.

  Christy nodded. “It’s a Christmas house party. You’ve got to attend one—and record it, remember? But—”

  “But?” he prompted as she hesitated.

  “I don’t trust him. I don’t trust any of them. I don’t know what we’re getting into.”

  “No,” he agreed after a moment. “Neither do I. But it is certainly going to be interesting finding out.”

  James stood in the marble-tiled Great Hall of Briarly as his gaze traveled over the elegant house, with its oak-paneled walls hung with ancient tapestries. Behind him, Nancy and Wickes ordered the distribution of the luggage, and two footmen set forth to carry the various valises and portmanteaux to their destinations.

  He turned to watch Christy, who stared about, an expression of awe on her lovely face. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “That I’ll feel a lot better when you’ve written your forty pages and we can go,” she said bluntly. “Honestly, James, it gives me the creeps. What can he possibly say to you? What secret can they all be keeping?”

  A slight noise caught his attention, and he looked up to see Sir Dominic Kaye descending the grand staircase with the help of his cane. Behind him came a slight woman, whose short-cropped curls formed a silver halo about her lined face. She supported herself on the banister, then caught her husband’s arm as they reached the Great Hall.

  “Perhaps we shall now learn our answers,” James said.

  “He tells the truth. We probably shouldn’t have come.”

  “The house party, remember?” He stepped forward to greet his host and hostess, then introduced Christy to Lady Sophia Kaye.

  That lady took her hand, and a sad smile just touched her lips. “We are delighted you could join us,” she said, her voice soft and low. “This is a time we have long anticipated.”

  “But not with pleasure?” The note of regret in her voice had not escaped James.

  She shook her head. “Whether it is for good or ill we have yet to learn ... Major.”

  “It is for the good,” Sir Dominic asserted. “Come, would you care to be shown to your rooms, or will you join the others? They await your pleasure in the Green Salon.”

  “They have all arrived?” James’s eyes narrowed.

  Sir Dominic inclined his head. “I felt, under the circumstances, it would be best for you to be the last.”

  James’s fingers twitched. He had only his knife slipped inside his boot. His carriage pistol remained in his valise, and was even now en route to the chamber he would occupy. He straightened his shoulders. “Very well, then. Let us get this over with.”

  Sir Dominic nodded, as if pleased with James’s response, and led the way through one of the several doorways opening off the Great Hall.

  Christy stepped close to James; the warmth of her presence reached out to him, steadfast and loyal, no matter what dangers might lurk. The thought of having her once more under the same roof for the night sent a distracting surge of desire through him. Her hand crept into his, and he squeezed it with reassuring pressure.

  “Miss Campbell, you are an American, I understand?” Lady Sophia’s sweet voice broke the silence. “You must tell me all about life in our former colonies. How very long it has been since I have had news from there. My cousin went to live in Boston, you must know. Before that dreadful war ” The elegant little lady shook her head. “So very long as it takes to receive word.”

  James caught Christy’s mischievous glance and frowned at her. She was far too capable of telling her hostess that for her it had taken less than a day to cross the Atlantic—and that communications could be established in the winking of an eye through a collection of cables and wires. He still found that one hard to believe. Once started, he could well imagine the other tales of wonder Christy might divulge.

  To his infinite relief, she merely returned a noncommittal answer. One could never be quite certain with Christy what whimsy might seize her. It was part of her undeniable charm.

  Sir Dominic opened the door, and it swung wide. James stepped inside and came to a halt. Four gentlemen—the members of his cousin’s house party, in fact—sat within, gathered about the fireplace.

  Viscount Brockenhurst, an ingratiating smile on his handsome face, rose at once to his feet. Sir Oliver Paignton, whose unruly mane of graying hair appeared rumpled more than usual, followed suit. After a moment, Lord Farnham stood also. St. Ives joined them, and raised his quizzing glass in a pointed manner.

  Sir Dominic limped forward, leaning heavily on his cane. “As you see, Major, these men are all your friends.”

  “Acquaintances, at least,” James agreed smoothly.

  Sir Dominic inclined his head in acknowledgment of this correction. “Over the past months—or years—as our secret has been revealed to each of them, they have made it their concern to pursue this acquaintance with you.”

  “I am flattered,” James made no attempt to disguise the dryness in his tone.

  St. Ives crossed to the fireplace and leaned an elbow on the mantel. Idly, he swung his glass by its riband. “It has not, I assure you, been solely for the undeniable pleasure of your company.”

  James regarded him for a long, thoughtful minute. No love lay between them, but he would have sworn no open enmity existed, either. Yet since coming into the title—and possibly into this mysterious secret?—an added edge existed in everything his cousin said.

  Sir Dominic gestured toward one of the two chairs which had been unoccupied. “Will you not be seated?”

  “No, I thank you. I am quite comfortable where I stand.” He was also nearer the door, in case it became necessary to leave quickly. And, he judged, he had enough room to retrieve and throw his knife. He met and held Sir Dominic’s gaze. “I am, however, running very thin on patience. I should be glad to know what importance I hold for these gentlemen, what you know of these attempts that have been made on my life, and why you have felt it necessary, as you claim, to set a watch on me.”

  The men exchanged resigned glances—as if they did not relish the prospect of providing the answers.

  Sir Dominic folded both hands over the ball of his walking stick and leaned forward. “What do you know of Charles Edward Stuart?”

  James’s eyes narrowed. “The Young Pretender? I’m no Jacobite.”

  “Really, my dear—Major.” St. Ives shook his head. “A son should support his father, however little he agrees with his politics.”

  “His father?” James spun to face his cousin. “What the devil are you talking about, Saint Ives?”

  Sir Oliver nodded, setting his graying hair bouncing about his robust countenance. “It’s long since time he knew the truth, Dominic. I always said it should not be kept from him.”

  Sir Dominic shook his head, a sad, gentle smile on his aging features. “What we did, we did for the best. For his own protection.”

  With difficulty, James kept a hold on his temper. ‘‘Will someone please explain what is going on?”

  “It is really quite simple,” St. Ives drawled. “You are not my cousin.”

  “The devil I’m not. Who am I, then?”

  Sir Dominic answered. “Y
ou are the legitimate son of Louise von Stolberg and Charles Edward Stuart.”

  James looked from one to the other of them. Had they gone mad? Did they think he had, that he would believe such nonsense? “Their only child was stillborn.”

  “So the world was led to believe. I, however, hold the documented proof that this was not the case.”

  James drew a slow, deep breath, stilling his rising anger. “I don’t know what nonsense this is, but if you expect me to believe anything so absurd—”

  His gaze fell on Christy and he broke off. Absurd. Like a beautiful young lady falling through time and landing at his feet? What had happened to his life of late, that reason and logic no longer applied?

  Slowly, he advanced into the room. When Lord Farnham offered him a chair, he sank onto the edge. “There must be a fascinating reason why this child was declared to be stillborn. I am waiting to hear it.”

  Sir Dominic took the seat opposite him, and the others resumed theirs. “Your father was fifty-eight at the time of his marriage. Your mother was eighteen. Both were Catholic, and any child born to them would have been raised in the Catholic faith.”

  James returned the level regard and nodded. “And as such,” he said, “their child would not be acceptable for the British throne. I am well aware of that.”

  “You are not aware, perhaps, that a great number of people would be glad to see the Stuarts once more upon that throne. They went so far as to devise a plan to make it possible.”

  James drew a slow, deep breath. “I believe I begin to see.”

  Sir Dominic nodded. “The child was spirited away at its birth and replaced with a dead infant. Those involved in this conspiracy, including the midwife and attendants at the lying-in, all signed documents attesting to the identity of both children. You are the image of your father, in coloring,” he added.

  James stared at his clasped hands. “This child—me, you would claim—was then placed with a noble family to be raised in the Anglican Church?”

  Sir Dominic smiled. “You have a quick mind, Major. By this simple change in your religious upbringing, you are now an acceptable candidate for the British throne.”

  James surged to his feet. “This is absurd.”