Barton nodded pedantically. "Much more appropriate for a young lady."
When Miss Goodrich and Matthias turned on him with narrowed gazes, Barton stepped back, bobbed a quick bow that encompassed them both, and strode away.
Matthias thought he heard Miss Goodrich mutter, "It had best be a large piece of cake."
Lord Matthias leaned down closer. "Your aunt and uncle, I presume?"
Bernie turned to follow his gesture to where an older couple stood with the innkeeper and his wife. "Yes, that is Uncle Isaiah and Aunt Sarah."
They looked just a bit thunderstruck by the elegance of their surroundings.
"Your cake, Bernie."
Matthias turned to see John Barton at his elbow. Back so soon? How conscientious. The young vicar handed a plate with a sliver of pastry upon it to Miss Goodrich. He then gave Matthias a strange, slightly victorious look.
"My lord, might I beg a moment of your time? We have a surprise for you!"
At that same moment, Mrs. Goodrich appeared at Bernadette's elbow. "Bernie dear, I've found some people I would like you to meet. Such a lovely village, so very friendly!"
Matthias could only stand there as Bernadette was led away. She glanced over her shoulder at him, gave a rueful shrug, and obediently trotted after her aunt.
Matthias turned back to John. "I suspect collusion."
John Barton beamed at him innocently. "I'm sorry, my lord, but I don't understand."
"No? Well then, let us go view this surprise."
John Barton led the way to the base of the staircase to the mezzanine. Ranged upon the first half-dozen steps were a varied group of children. They looked quite ordinary to Matthias, although one assumed their parents felt differently. Some were plump and some plain, and at least one child had a very unfortunate ratio of ears to skull. Matthias didn't actually recognize any of them, but then he had hardly spoken to anyone in the village for years. For all their motley size and appearance, they all looked well scrubbed and eager. Something was going to happen, for the guests standing around the staircase were beaming with pride and expectance at Matthias, clearly hoping for his attention and appreciation.
John Barton gave a quick double-clap and the children, who had been nudging and elbowing each other and generally behaving like children, immediately stopped and stood still. Matthias watched as John Barton raised both hands and begin to wave them in the air like a conjurer.
And, just like such a magic, sweet choral music came from the throats of the children. Their high voices rang like bells in the grand ballroom.
Matthias held very still as the children's chorus wound through an ancient carol, singing of the holly and the ivy with breathtaking purity in their piping voices. Matthias was spellbound at the sheer unlikely crystalline sound emerging from such everyday beings.
And he waited for it to hurt.
It did, a little. He thought of his own little Simon, and wondered if his son would've stood on the steps right this moment with these carol-singers at the Christmas ball. He thought of Marianna and how much she would've enjoyed this performance. He also thought of skinny little Simon Goodrich and how the children before him all looked much more well fed and prosperous.
By the time the song ended, Matthias's thoughts had completed a harrowing circle from the past back around to the present. It was somewhat tiring, to tell the truth, this need to exist in the present. Would it ever become easier?
Nonetheless, he applauded most assiduously and as the children filed down the stairs he bent over and shook each small, perspiring hand. He did it fully aware that the entire village watched him. He also did it because the little carol-singers had clearly worked very hard on their astonishing performance and they all watched him with eyes hungry for his approval.
He was not so far gone from this world that he would ignore such a trusting gaze.
They were all so small to be so accomplished. Matthias shook his head in wonder. Clearly, John Barton was some sort of champion vicar, the sort of fellow who never settled for "good enough." A man like that must always be looking for the next obstacle, simply for the joy of overcoming it.
The children clearly obeyed Barton out of respect and affection, for they were not as subdued as they might have been had they walked in fear of their instructor. As they filed from the room a few of the boys began a cheerful shoving match, clearly energized by their success.
Matthias watched them, his sadness swimming slowly deep below his surface, like a trout beneath the ice. What sort of boy would his little Simon have been? Would he have been like the scrappy little one who gave as good as he got? Or like the older boy who was aware of the eyes upon them and quickly dragged the scrappers apart? Simon would never sing, or play, or scrap, or dash off to one side and sneak a seed cake from the refreshment table the way one little girl did on her way out.
The pain welled. The memories swirled within him. He drew himself up, suddenly tightly aware of the crowd around him.
Then his gaze found the amused and sympathetic eyes of Miss Bernadette Goodrich, where she stood on the other side of the semicircle of spectators.
Matthias felt the tension begin to drain away as he watched her smile grow. Then he noticed that Ms. Goodrich stood now only with her uncle, the Vicar Goodrich. John Barton and his co-conspirator Mrs. Goodrich were nowhere in sight.
Seize the moment, yes, I will. Matthias was not about to let Miss Goodrich slip away from him again.
He dashed across the crowd so quickly that he granted himself fortunate that his boots did not skid on the marble floor when he bowed before Miss Goodrich.
"Miss Goodrich. Vicar Goodrich." He crooked one arm in her direction and indicated the dance floor with a nod of his head. "Did I not reserve a waltz for this evening?"
Miss Goodrich tilted her head. "Well, my lord, you did ask. However, I do not actually recall replying with consent."
Mathias blinked. Um. He had suddenly run out of words. It was certainly presumptuous to assume that a lady wished to dance simply because he'd asked. I’m no good at this sort of thing anymore.
Not that he ever truly had been.
Just as he was about to utter a curt apology and flee, she wrinkled her nose at him and tucked her arm into his. "So, my lord, my belated response is 'yes'."
Chapter 11
As they made their way through the crowd to the center of the ballroom, Bernie reminded herself of her manners, but she couldn't help teasing Lord Matthias a little. He was so endearing.
It must be so for everyone who knew him. How odd now, to thing she'd imagined she knew his secret self from reading all those letters. She'd been privy, however clandestinely, to his steadfast heart, his sincerity, his abiding loyalty. She had imagined those admirable traits might be hidden, somehow, sheltered behind some aloof and imposing facade.
Now she wondered if he only had a single self. An integrated, true interior that matched his exterior, the man that everyone here had seen and known for many years. How very authentic.
Oh, she liked this man. She wanted to do something for him, as he had done for her, giving her and everyone else this beautiful night. She had nothing to offer in return, did she? All she had in the world was herself. There was little someone in her position could do for such a man.
She wanted to make him laugh. So far she had only succeeded in amusing herself, but that was something of a start, was it not?
With her arm on his, he continued to ease her through the crowd, who all seemed incredibly happy to see her, which was a little odd considering she'd never met most of them.
Lord Matthias's deep voice interrupted her galloping thoughts. "And where is Simon tonight?"
"Snug in his bed, under the watchful eye of Mr. Cranston's elderly mother." Bernie pursed her lips slightly. "At least, he'd better be!"
"Is he troublesome, then?"
Bernie shook her head. "Heavens, no! Just lively-minded. That's what my mother used to say. He is so curious about everything. Why does
the river run down and not up? If the cows eat the grass and the people eat the cows -- " She stopped and shook her head ruefully. "Sorry, my lord. My aunt claims I can run on for days if no one remembers to shut off the sluice."
He looked down at her. "Tell me. I want to know what Simon wonders."
She bit her lip. "He asked, if the cows eat the grass and the people eat the cows, does the grass eat the people?"
Matthias surprised them both with a gruff sound that was not quite a chuckle.
Bernie hid a small gratified smile and went on. "I didn't know what to tell him. I mean to say, he is quite correct in his own way, but the thought of him ever repeating it in front of Aunt Sarah doesn't bear thinking about!"
There. She had lightened him, even if only for a moment.
And then the ballroom floor was before them. Bernie let out a sigh of admiration. Even though she knew that it was a crowd of blacksmiths and butchers, the view of the men in fine dark surcoats and their ladies in their brightest and best seemed the finest, most glittering company she could have imagined.
Lord Matthias waved his hand and the sprightly country dance tune eased to a finish. He turned to Bernie and releasing her arm, bowed deeply and offered her his hand. "Will you waltz with me, Miss Goodrich?"
Breathlessly, she put her gloved hand in his large one. When he wrapped her fingers in his, she bit her lip against the jolt of heat that jumped from the contact. Touching him was so much more than nice, or fine, or pleasant, more than merely the warmth of his hand. She felt a strange sort of familiarity twanging within her, like a bowstring released. That sense of recognition mingled with perfectly understandable attraction. Not to mention whatever it was that he bathed with that made him smell so good! The combination dizzied her very blood as it rushed through her.
Then the musicians began a waltz tune. Bernie's chest felt tight, so profound was her exhilaration. Lord Matthias lifted her hand in his and guided her onto the floor.
In the ballroom, Jasper circled the crowd with his silver tray until he spotted his quarry. He dove through the mob of villagers and popped up next to the elder vicar's wife.
He bowed deeply. "A fortifying drink for a chilly night, ma'am?" he offered.
Mrs. Sarah Goodrich sniffed at him. "I do not partake of spirit."
Jasper drew himself up. "And I should never offer such to a lady of irreproachable respectability. But surely a small draft of sensible sherry? 'Tis good for the blood and warming in winter."
The vicar's wife glanced down at the ladylike decanter and small, delicate glass on his tray, presented on a circle of lace. He'd outdone himself really, making it look as innocuous and feminine and respectable as possible. If he were a lady, he imagined he would find it nigh irresistible.
Mrs. Sarah Goodrich paused a little too long before shaking her head again in refusal.
Got you.
Jasper put on a heartbroken face. "Pray, do not force me to tell his lordship that his offering did not meet your standards."
Mrs. Vicar, as Jasper decided to call her in that moment, turned to him with her eyes wide. "Lord Matthias requested this? For me? Specifically?"
"But, of course!" Jasper lied, all in good cause. Besides, the gloved hand behind his back had his fingers firmly crossed. "His lordship knows perfectly well that a woman of your standing would never partake of champagne or any other decadent refreshment. That's why he sent for this particular sherry, as it is, er, fortified." Fortified by his lordship's smoothest whisky, that is. Jasper fluttered his eyelashes and try to look as innocent as possible.
Yielding to temptation, Mrs. Vicar reached out for the tiny thimble-sized class full of rich red liquid. "Well, I suppose it would be quite rude to turn down such a…"
"Respectable?"
"And generous offering." Mrs. Vicar took a glass and sipped the merest drop onto her lips to taste cautiously.
"I fear, like most medicinal drinks, it is best tossed back swiftly." Jasper delivered his entirely untrue advice with a note of deep regret. Surely he would be forgiven someday, after his plan came to fruition.
Mrs. Vicar took his advice and tossed back the whisky, ah, sherry, with swift determination.
Smoothly, Jasper took the tiny glass for her hand, refilled it and slipped it back between her gloved fingers before she had even a moment to analyze the taste.
"There now. Must drink up. It is good for you."
Mrs. Vicar looked down at her little glass enterprise. "Oh dear. Didn't I? Well."
Again the little red drink disappeared with surprising alacrity. Jasper was beginning to wonder if this was indeed Mrs. Vicar's first whisky.
Certainly she was nicely warmed up by now? He kept his tray still and shifted himself into a more intimately conversant position. "Truly, the staff here at Havensbeck is thrilled to have persons of your and your husband's stature as our guests this evening. Tell me, how does Haven's celebration compare to Green Dell's?"
"Well…"
After several minutes of highly informative comparison, Jasper realized he'd been quite correct. Behind Mrs. Vicar's chilly reserve lurked a good old-fashioned gossip. All she needed was a drop or three of sherry/whisky and an encouraging ear.
"And Miss Goodrich? How did you and the vicar come to be caretakers of the young lady and her brother? It is most admirable of you."
And she was off again.
Oh, yes. Mrs. Vicar was like a squirrel's winter cache, filled to bursting with excellent nuggets of information.
"Tell me more about young Simon."
Simon Goodrich was very good at not being noticed. When Bernie had a mind to give him a soaking in the bath, or when the Ladies League felet the need to grill him on his knowledge of the Good Book, he'd learned how to slip through rooms and doorways like a shadow. So when a well-intentioned adult had some improving activity in mind, Simon was always "just here a moment ago."
Tonight, he'd slipped past his departing family members to stow away in the boot space of the John Barton's carriage. He'd never done such a thing before but it seemed like a good notion at the time. Eventually he'd wished he'd thought to bring a blanket to pad the hard wooden surface over the bumps, and maybe to snuggle in when the chill began to creep into the little box. However, all in all he was proud of his solution to his problem.
It wasn't fair that he couldn't attend the ball simply because he was eight. That was like a punishment just for not being big enough!
He hadn't had much trouble getting into the grand house either, for although the place was bustling with activity, the servants and guests were far too occupied to spot a silent child in the shadows. He even managed to slip into the dining room and filch a giant slice of cake to take into hiding with him.
Bernie had told him all about her tour of the house, especially when he'd pretended to have hurt feelings over not being included. Well, mostly pretended. So he knew that there was a place to sit up high and look down over the ballroom. He thought he might like that view, like a hawk watching the field.
He found it rather quickly, which was surely further proof that his mission was a righteous one. It was like a long, curved room in the shape of a new moon, with one wall missing, just a fancy railing there instead. He found himself all alone up there, with only a few rows of empty chairs facing outward. The expanded balcony was a darkened half-arc around the brilliant ballroom, opposite the grand entry stair. It was a grand view of the dance floor and although the shadows around him were a little spooky, the dimness made sure no one could see him peering between the railings of the balustrade, even if they looked up.
He settled in with his cake on his lap preparing to dig in, when a hustle and bustle on the far end of the mezzanine made him duck away from the railing around the grand ballroom into what seem to be a bit of a blind alley. Hidden in the shadows, he watched the sudden flurry of activity on the mezzanine with dismay.
A bunch of men in fancy suits entered by the same doorway Simon had used. They carried strange boxes
into the open space of the mezzanine. That was when Simon realized what all those chairs were for. Oh, dash it all.
The men took musician's musical instruments out and began to plink and plunk at them. It didn't sound very nice at all, in Simon's opinion. A bit rickety-rackety and all over the place. He wouldn't want to dance to it, that was for certain!
He might as well sit down. It certainly looked as though the intruders were going to stay.
Simon grumbled in his dark corner and nibbled on his cake. The explosion of pastry and sugar and dried fruit in his mouth barely made up for his disappointment at losing his superior vantage point.
But after a while the strange discordant sounds became very nice. The music was really pretty. The chatter and bustle from below proved too much for his curiosity.
Hoping that the musicians were far too busy to look his way, since their eyes were fixed on their papers before them, Simon scooted out of his shadow and eased his way up to the balcony railing once more. He comforted himself that he was small and his clothes were dark and there were no candles at his end of the mezzanine. He knew that when one was right next to a candle, it was really hard to see the darkness beyond.
And then the sight below caught his attention. The chandeliers were all glowy with light and the dangling glassy bits made little shimmery lights dance all over the ballroom like fairies. Down below him, people sat or stood all around the edges, like a pie crust surrounding the swirling colorful dancers in the middle. It was pretty.
Simon had to force himself to finish his magnificent cake, but he drew on his strong character and his fortitude and persevered. Then he was terribly full. His belly stuck out and he felt like a stick that had eaten a pumpkin. He curled up on his side and pillowed his head on his arm and watched the marvelous whirling, glittering ballroom until his heavy eyelids fell shut.
When his lordship led Bernie to an empty spot on the dance floor, which didn’t take long because he was Lord Matthias and the seas parted before him, and pulled her closer, she went to him as if he were a magnet and she, nothing but a helpless lump of iron.
Sleepless in Staffordshire Page 9