Silent Night

by DEANNA RAYBOURN

  Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out behind me.

  “Do not turn around, Julia,” my husband ordered. “And close your eyes.”

  I did as I was told. “What on earth are you up to?”

  “Do. Not. Ask.” His voice was strained and there was a series of strange sounds, scraping and straining, and under it all a fluent if subdued litany of modest swear words.

  “There. Now turn around, wife.”

  I did and nearly tripped over a felled tree lying in the middle of the great hall. Brisbane stood next to it, his usually pristine clothing deeply soiled and torn, his ebony hair tumbled wildly. Leaves clung to him, and he looked like an exceedingly handsome pagan god, the Green Man come gloriously to life.

  “Brisbane, what—”

  “It is a Yule log. For burning,” he explained helpfully.

  “Yes, I know what a Yule log is for, but—”

  I noticed then the cluster of men at the door—most of the male staff, my brothers Benedick and Plum, and even Aquinas.

  “You wanted a traditional Christmas. And it is not a traditional Christmas without a Yule log.”

  He opened his arms and I went into them, absurdly, wholly delighted with this enigmatic man that I had married.

  “But you do not like tradition,” I murmured into his ear.

  “I like you,” he replied. His arms tightened about me, and I went on tiptoe to thank him with a kiss. My brothers made appropriately appalled noises and Aquinas shepherded the staff out with promises of warm punch in the kitchen.

  “If we are burning a Yule log, we really ought to hang the holly and the ivy,” I mused.

  “Julia.” Brisbane’s voice held a warning edge.

  “It is also tradition,” I protested.

  “It is your father’s house and we are already trespassing upon his good-will by burning this monstrosity against his wishes.”

  “I think Father will be inclined to holiday mirth by and by. And if we are putting up the decorations, we must have mistletoe,” I said, giving him my most innocent look.

  He canted his head, very like Grim, I observed. “Mistletoe?”

  “Mistletoe.”

  “Lots of it?”

  “Piles of it.”

  “Where do you plan to hang it?” he asked, much more interested in the subject suddenly.

  “Oh, everywhere.”

  * * *

  That evening, Father said nothing about the Yule log that had been pushed into the fireplace and prepared for kindling into a holiday fire. Aunt Hermia had merely shrugged when I told her I intended to hang the greenery, and the appearance of Jane the Younger after dinner lightened the mood a little. Father smiled once or twice at her shrieks before retiring to bed early, and Brisbane and I passed a thoroughly satisfactory and entirely private evening in the solitude of our room.

  “Thank God for stout stone walls,” he said at one point, and I heartily agreed.

  The next morning was Christmas Eve, and even the discovery that another pretty bauble had gone missing was not enough to dampen my rising spirits.

  “But it is Jane the Younger’s favourite teething ring,” Portia protested. The thief had absconded with the pretty mother-of-pearl piece I had bought Jane the Younger, and the loss of it had not settled well with either mother or child. “I am afraid without it, she might get fretful.”

  “Get?” Brisbane said under his breath.

  “I heard that, brother,” she retorted. I hurried to smooth the moment.

  “I’m sure it will turn up. After all, Christmas is full of surprises.”

  “Julia,” she said narrowly, “you’re wearing an enigmatic face.”

  “Don’t be feeble. This is the face I was born with.”

  We fell to quarrelling gently then, and the day passed with agonizing slowness. I spoke to Aquinas, organising what was necessary, and starting each time I heard something in the entry hall. At length it was time for tea and we all gathered in the great hall, with the exception of Portia and Jane the Younger. The room had been hung with long boughs of evergreen and the spicy scent of it filled the air with wintry promise. Great bowls of Rose’s clove-studded oranges sat on each tables, and the footmen had carried in tall jars of the damp potpourri, placing them carefully upon the hearth so the warmth of the kindled Yule log would send their scented vapours through the room. As a special treat, Aquinas served wassail with the tea. It had been ladled into the traditional bowl, an enormous affair of ancient wood mounted in silver. Roasted apples bobbed merrily on the surface, and I murmured a warning to Brisbane about the strength of the stuff. It was sweetly spiced and a single glass could fell an unwary soul.

  “What is this?” Father grumbled. “It looks like some sort of celebration.”

  “It is Christmas Eve,” I said hurriedly. “Reason enough to celebrate.”

  He made a harrumphing noise and I went to the window, pulling back the heavy velvet that screened the darkness outside. “It is snowing!” I cried.

  The others crowded around the window overlooking the garden. All was quiet and peaceful, with the brilliant long light of a winter moon rising over the slumbering garden. And in that silver peace, clouds drifted, shaking soft petals of snow upon the ground.

  “Just like every Christmas,” Aunt Hermia said, her voice thick with awe.

  “Like every Christmas,” I breathed. She lifted her hand to touch me on the shoulder, but pulled away at the last moment, giving me a sad smile instead. I pressed a quick kiss to her papery cheek and looked over her shoulder.

  “Father,” I said. I motioned for him to turn around.

  In the doorway, still as a marble angel and powdered with fresh snow, stood Hortense de Bellefleur.

  “Hortense! But how—”

  She came forward, dressed in dark green velvet, her hands tucked into the white fur of her muff. She was smiling.

  “I came because Julia invited me.”

  “Julia.” Every pair of eyes swung to me. Brisbane’s were amused, but Plum’s were wary and even Aunt Hermia seemed slightly taken aback.

  But Father was immobile, seemingly gripped by a disbelief that stilled his muscles. I took his arm.

  “Father, would you not like to welcome our guest properly? Perhaps a private chat in your study?”

  He nodded, but did not move forward until I shoved him lightly. He walked slowly to where Hortense stood and as he approached, she put out her hands. “Hector,” she murmured, her eyes sparkling as brightly as her smile.

  He took her hands in his and led her from the room as the rest of the family turned to me expectantly.

  “It is very simple,” I said, my voice unnaturally loud. “I had the box from which the ring disappeared. I instructed Monk to make enquiries in London and it seems Father did have a jewel stolen from his study—an emerald ring of considerable value. It had been ordered as a betrothal ring for Hortense.”

  Aunt Hermia’s hand was at her throat. “Hector said nothing.”

  “He wouldn’t, would he? Not unless she accepted him. Father must have known there would be difficulties in a marriage with Hortense. And until the lady herself agreed to the betrothal, there was no point in upsetting everyone, particularly you.”

  “Me?” Aunt Hermia’s eyes were wide. “Why particularly me?

  “Perhaps because you have been mistress of the Abbey since Mother died,” I offered gently. “If Father marries again, your position must be altered.”

  “I would not care,” she said slowly. “Not if he were truly happy.”

  “But Father would not know that. He is only a man.”

  We exchanged fond glances as Brisbane stared quietly into the fire and held himself out of our family discussion.

  “But why lie when the ring went missing and claim it was never there?” Plum demanded.

  I shrugged. “She refused him. He was shattered. He certainly did not wish to discuss it with us. So he did the only thing he could think to do in the moment. He pretended the ring ha
d never existed.”

  Aunt Hermia fell silent, her complexion ashen. I knew she was thinking of the ring and what had become of it, but Plum shook his head. “So he decided to keep the whole thing a bloody great secret and tell no one.”

  “Language, Plum,” said Aunt Hermia automatically.

  “But he had told someone. He took one person into his confidence and swore him to secrecy,” I corrected, levelling my gaze at Brisbane. “Isn’t that right, my dearest?”

  He stirred, looking up from the fire to meet my eyes. “It is.”

  Plum goggled at him. “You knew Father meant to do this and told no one?”

  “It was not mine to tell. He asked for my word I would keep silent.”

  “I think you might have broken it upon this occasion,” Plum returned hotly.

  “Then I think you know me not at all,” Brisbane countered, his tone deceptively bland. He would put up with Plum’s barbs only so long before he took the quarrel further, and that was not an eventuality I cared to see.

  “Calm yourself, Plum. If I am not upset, you have no call to be.” I turned to Brisbane. “I understand why you did not tell me. You are a man of your word. And you know precisely when it is necessary to break it. This was not that time.”

  The look he gave me was mingled gratitude and promise of a significant dose of his attentions later. I shivered a little as Portia entered.

  “If that child doesn’t cut those teeth soon, I may go deaf. Sorry I am late, everyone. What did I miss?”

  The Ninth Chapter

  So stick up Ivie and the Bays,

  And then restore the heathen ways.

  “The True Christmas” Henry Vaughan

  After we had caught Portia up with the recent developments, we five sat up until the fire fell to ash. Still Father did not emerge from his study, and there were no noises from within. Eventually we made our way up to bed with no forthcoming announcement, wishing each other a happy Christmas as we went. Much later, when Brisbane had exhausted himself admirably in his marital attentions, I lay wakeful in the silent, snowy night.

  “Brisbane?” I whispered into the darkness. I do not know why I whispered. We had proven quite thoroughly that our room was thoroughly incapable of communicating noise to the rest of the household.

  He made no answer and I poked him firmly.

  “For God’s sake, Julia, give me another hour at least. I am only human.”

  “Where is the betrothal ring?”

  “Hmm?”

  I poked him again. “Where is the betrothal ring? It disappeared from Father’s desk. What became of it? I think Aunt Hermia is worried it might have been Rose. I believe Mary when she said she did not take it.”

  He shrugged one heavy shoulder. “We can make a search for it tomorrow. I shall make enquiries in London as well. Whoever has it will want to dispose of it quickly enough. Monk can ask at the usual places and perhaps it will turn up.”

  “It is Christmas Day tomorrow,” I observed. “We always play games. You and I can make a search for the ring and Aunt Hermia’s little jewel while we pretend to play sardines. Now, we shall need a plan—”

  Brisbane rolled over swiftly, stopping my mouth with his own. I pulled my head back and gave him an appreciative look. “I thought you said an hour.”

  * * *

  The next morning dawned like something from a Christmas wish. The snow had stopped, piling itself gently in drifts about the Abbey, christening everything in newborn white. William IV arrived with a tray and threw back the curtains to let in the brilliance of the morning. Brisbane and I fortified ourselves with tea and toast and plans before bathing and dressing for the day. First breakfast, then church in the village where Brisbane held a few quiet conversations with local folk, betraying nothing of what was said except a single brisk nod to me as we slid into our box. Confirmation, then, of what we had theorised in bed. I gave a deep sigh of thankfulness and turned my face up to Uncle Fly, the vicar of Blessingstoke, restored to robust enough health to deliver the Christmas homily but not so much that it lasted above quarter of an hour. The vegetarian curate led the singing, and over it all, Jane the Younger kept up a dull roar of protest at being forced to wear a bonnet bedecked with silken holly leaves.

  We returned to the Abbey, those of us come from London, the residents of the Abbey, and those who lived at the Home Farm. It was a modest Christmas by March standards, but a happy one. Father was jolly as I had seldom seen him, jesting loudly with Hortense at his side—as honoured guest and no more, for no announcement had been made, but clearly some understanding had been reached. After luncheon, presents were opened, and the children ran wild, trailing ribbons and wrappings after them as they capered about the Abbey. Then they withdrew, claiming they had a Christmas surprise for us all and informing us strictly that we must not enter the dining room until they were ready.

  Father waved them off merrily and the staff entered for the presentation of their gifts. Hampers of food and coal had been sent to all the cottages in the village, but these gifts were chosen particularly for the servants who lived in. They filed by in order of rank, Hoots thrusting himself firmly ahead of Aquinas in a Bath chair so old it might have carried the Regent himself. Father and Aunt Hermia handed the gifts to the staff, but when Rose came forward, I gave her the parcel bearing her name.

  “Happy Christmas, Rose.”

  She opened the box, staring into it for a long minute. She put out a tentative hand, then all pretence of hauteur was gone. She was a child again, fairly dancing as she tore away the last of the glittery tinsel I had affixed to the parcel. Inside was a hat, the grandest, gaudiest hat I could find, festooned with enormous velvet roses of luscious pink. She put it on and twirled.

  “It is lovely on you, Rose. I hope you will wear it on your next day out.”

  “I will, my lady, and all the village will be agog, they will.”

  “So you mean to stay in Blessingstoke?”

  She flicked a quick glance to where William IV, stood in his livery, his powdered wig striking a rather elegant note. “I think there’s something to be said for the local scenery, my lady. Although you are mighty kind to offer me a place and I don’t forget it.”

  She bobbed a curtsey and withdrew, no doubt to find a looking glass with which to admire herself. The footmen had opened their presents and were preparing to quit the room when I motioned for William IV to come near.

  “My lady?”

  I handed him a small box. “This is not for you, William. It is for Rose.”

  He opened it and lifted out a plain, slender gold ring. “I do not understand, my lady.”

  Nin appeared then, rubbing thoughtfully against my ankles as I talked to William. “You cannot marry the girl without a ring. I know she is with child, and furthermore, I know you have been playing at being a ghost in order to visit her chamber at night.” I had initially suspected that a small woman might have found it difficult to master pattens, but later it occurred to me a man would find it equally challenging to walk gracefully in them. As part of his enquiries at church, Brisbane had questioned the maid who witnessed the apparition. She claimed the spectre was frightfully tall, something quite over eight feet, but allowing for exaggeration her description confirmed my suspicions. I smothered a smile at the notion of poor, besotted William cloaking himself in phantom draperies to visit his ladylove. “My husband has made enquiries in the village and has learned you come from a family of farmers. As it happens, Lady Hermia says Wee Ned is ready to leave work, and Whittle will need someone with a strong back to replace him. Wee Ned is above seventy, you know, and his rheumatism is playing up. He means to go and live at the seaside with his sister which means his cottage will be empty. None of the other gardeners have need of it, so it is yours if you want the position.”

  “A cottage?”

  “Not a large one, but big enough to keep a wife and child. You will not be rich, but I think you could be happy.”

  His mouth worked, but no soun
d came out for a long moment. “My lady, I do not know how to repay you—” He broke off. Nin stared up at him adoringly then gave a pretty little yowl.

  I was not so kind “Well, to begin, you can tell me what you did with the rings,” I said softly.

  His brows flew up. “What rings?”

  “The two rings that have gone missing from the Abbey. One was a sentimental coral piece of Lady Hermia’s, but the other was an emerald belonging to his lordship and quite valuable. If you give them to me, I will return them and nothing further need be said. I know you have been in difficulties because of the situation with Rose, but so long as the property is restored, there is no reason what you have done cannot be overlooked as a youthful peccadillo.”

  “But I have stolen nothing!” His face had gone so white his freckles stood out starkly against the pale skin.

  I stared at him. “But if you did not take them, who did?”

  Just then, Nin pounced upon a piece of tinsel, clamping it firmly in her jaws. She trotted off, her tail waving sinuously. And I knew.

  “Hell and damnation,” I muttered.

  William flushed the colour of holly berries.

  “My apologies, William. A lady should not swear, but I am provoked.”

  “I heard nothing,” he said loyally.

  I smiled. “Come with me.”

  We followed Nin to the little alcove tucked behind the fireplace. As we watched, Nin slid between the stones, bearing her tinsel away in triumph. I looked to William.

  “We must retrieve what she has lodged there,” I instructed. To his credit, William did not flinch. He contorted himself in exceedingly painful ways, but he had fished out all of her trophies while she paced and protested. It made for an interesting collection. There was Father’s emerald and Aunt Hermia’s coral ring, a pile of tinsel, a pocketwatch, a pen, and Jane the Younger’s teething ring.