Mistletoe and Mischief

by Patricia Wynn

  “Now, yor lordship—” Of them all, only Sammy seemed to feel that, perhaps, there was room for discussion. “Tha’ mustn't go blaming t’ lad. He did what tha’ said, but tha’ wouldn't expect him ta go against law, I hope?"

  Charles bit back his anger, but his heart was still beating queerly. He could only think of Louisa in trouble—serious trouble this time, it seemed—and he wanted to bash someone.

  “No, of course not,” he said, gaining control of himself. “It couldn't be Jim's fault. But you must tell me quickly what happened and where I can find her!"

  “She wor took for thieving!” Nan cried, dismay in every word.

  Jim said sullenly, “She did say as how tha’ might want to go along ta London wi'out her."

  Suspicion hung in the air. Charles could feel it and see it in their eyes, even as a million thoughts flitted inside his head. How well did he know her? Just because she had told him she was General Davenport's niece, did he know it to be true? What if...?

  A warm passion took hold of him, and he spoke sharply, “That's ridiculous! To say anything of the kind, she must have been quite upset. Louisa is heedless at times and ... a little impulsive. But you all know very well she is no common criminal!"

  The relief in his heart as he said this was like a spring bursting from beneath a rock. Of course he knew Louisa. She was a beautiful, infuriating nitwit, and it would give him great pleasure to strangle her. But she was no thief.

  The thought of her sitting in a gaol somewhere tore at his chest; but he would see her out of this scandal if it was the last thing he did—before he resigned from the government.

  Charles said more calmly, “There has been a mistake. Jim, you must tell me at once what the bailiff said."

  Jim shrugged and scratched his head; but it was plain Charles's calmness had lightened his sense of ill use. “I can't say that I knows, yor lordship. Sommat abowt her bein’ a thief. But I wor that flummoxed-"

  “Did he say what she had taken?"

  Jim shook his head. Charles could see the episode had rattled the boy. But he was rattled now himself.

  “Think, lad. He must have said something about it—he couldn't have just taken her without more reason than that."

  A memory flickered across Jim's face, but he remained silent. Charles thought he must know something, but for whatever reason was hesitant to say.

  “It's all right, lad. We've nothing to hide."

  Embarrassed, Jim rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and said, “Bailiff Hoggins did say sommat abowt Miss Conisbrough an’ how her-"

  “Miss Conisbrough!” Charles's hope soared. “But my cousin has never met Miss Conisbrough."

  But Jim was nodding. “Aye, she did that, sir. Out in t’ road, wi’ t’ carolling, she did. Miss Conisbrough stopped her carriage."

  “Did my cousin present herself?"

  “No, sir. It wor his lordship's sister what talked to her. Sommat about her pelisse."

  Jim blushed when he spoke of the lady's garment, and Nan interjected, “For all that his lordship's no better than he should be, his sister's no a liar then, i’ she?"

  But Charles knew the answer now, and with relief washing through him, he broke into a smile.

  “Damn Ned!” he said through his teeth, surprising all the Spadgers. But the patent ease of his anxiety cheered them and was quickly reflected in their faces.

  “This is all his lordship's fault,” he said, and then improvised slightly, “He lent my cousin his sister's pelisse and sent it along with her baggage. Then he clearly left home without informing Miss Conisbrough. She must have seen it on a stranger and jumped to a faulty conclusion.

  “But, enough of that. Where is my cousin, Jim? Where have they taken her?"

  The Spadgers’ relief was evident. The report that they had harboured a criminal had overset them. But now that they knew it to be false, they were eager to help.

  “Bailiff Hoggins'll have her o'er at t’ gaol in Selby, sir,” Nan volunteered.

  “I did say as how I couldn't believe it of her, sir,” Sammy added. “T’ lass has a good heart."

  Charles felt a deep warmth spreading inside him, but his urgency to be off overcame all other feelings.

  “Jim, tell my coachman I shall need him at once. And give him directions to Selby, will you?"

  “Yessir. Does tha’ want ta take t’ dog, yor lordship?"

  Charles noticed Eliza for the first time in many minutes. Louisa's plight had driven her from his mind. But now she was struggling in Jim's arms to reach him, and he patted her head absently.

  “No, keep her here for us, please. I'm not certain how long it will take to clear this mess up.

  “And, Mrs. Spadger, prepare something special for our dinner, will you? I'm afraid that if I succeed, my cousin will be in need of a little sustenance."

  Chapter Eight

  An hour's drive brought him to Selby, and after a few inquiries, Charles found himself at the door of the gaol.

  The warden, he found, was a man who took his calling seriously. None of Charles's representations could persuade him to free Louisa immediately. It appeared that unless Miss Conisbrough could be brought to drop her charges, and the magistrate's approval could be obtained, Louisa would spend Christmas in gaol.

  The warden would, however, permit Charles to see her; so, after a futile and heated argument, Charles followed him through the heavy portal to the cell where she had been placed.

  When the door opened, he saw her-sitting primly on the edge of a bed.

  Two other women shared her quarters: a dark, filthy room with no more furniture than the cot on which she sat. A foul odour testified to the fact that no consideration had been given to the conveniences.

  The sight of Louisa amidst such squalour brought a lump to Charles's throat.

  She glanced up, and in that moment, their eyes met. Charles was almost certain he saw a flash of deep relief. She rose slowly and came to greet him.

  “Hello, Charles,” she said contritely.

  For one minute, he was robbed of speech. He wanted to take her hand in his and kiss it, apologize to her for letting this terrible thing happen. But the presence of the warden and the other prisoners made words impossible. He clasped her hand and pressed it.

  Then his pent-up feelings found relief in rage.

  “Warden-” he felt like punching the fellow “-this is intolerable! What do you mean by placing a lady in here?"

  “Do not blame him, Charles,” Louisa said gently. “When he brought me here, I had no money and could not promise to pay my room and board. He had no choice but to place me with these women."

  “You should have told him-"

  Louisa's smile cut him off. “Yes, I should have known you would come as soon as possible.” Her eyes filled with grateful tears that wrung his heart. But she blinked them away, saying determinedly, “But this unfortunate experience has been quite educational! I shall have much to say about the condition of our prisons!"

  “Yes, I am certain you will. But that can wait. Warden, you will show us to a private cell! And please arrange to have refreshment brought to my cousin."

  He took Louisa by the arm and started to lead her from the cell, but she stopped him. “But, Charles, what about my companions?"

  “What about them?"

  “Should we not invite them to join us?"

  Charles gave a startled laugh and then smothered it. Her two companions were more than likely women of the night. But he was glad to see that Louisa had not been grievously altered by her experience.

  “No, Louisa, we cannot ask them to join us, but I shall be happy to have tea sent in to them."

  She spoke softly into his ear, “And cannot they each have a bed? If you had not come today, I should have had to share one with the two women. And now that I am to be gone, they will still have but one between them."

  Charles smiled and lightly touched her cheek. “As you wish."

  Then he was obliged to cut short her lea
ve-taking from the other women, doing so with the information that she was not to be released yet.

  “I am afraid,” he said, when they were alone, “that I shall have to ride back to Snaithby and make Miss Conisbrough drop her charges, then find the magistrate and get him to sign for your release."

  Louisa took the news with great composure. “That is quite all right, Charles. If it takes no more than today, I cannot really complain.” She smiled, but he fancied it was somewhat forced. “That is much less than I might have waited. The warden informed me that the next assizes will not take place for six months."

  Charles took her hands and held them to his chest. Louisa's eyes fell.

  “Did you think I would not come to get you out?"

  She looked up, startled. “Oh, no, it wasn't you! It was just that I was so ashamed for having caused you more trouble! You told me I should wait inside and you were right! Can you forgive me?"

  “But this wasn't your fault, after all, now was it?"

  Her expression turned hopeful. “Don't you think so?"

  Charles felt a surge of remorse. “Damn Ned!” he said again, and then, “And damn myself! No, this time, Louisa, you will not take the blame! I should have known not to rely on Ned. He left his manor without ever confiding in his sister-probably meant to serve her some trick and did not think of all the possible consequences."

  Louisa smiled, and Charles felt her hand tremble in his. He released it slowly and reluctantly.

  “Why didn't you send a message for me?” he said when he had found his voice.

  “But I did! I told Jim to tell you, you must go on!"

  “That-” Charles frowned at her. “I disregarded that, of course. But why didn't you send for me, or give the bailiff my name? Something to delay his taking you until I arrived?"

  Louisa coloured. He could see he had injured her pride.

  “Did you think I would use your name and risk embarrassing you?"

  Charles was touched. That she should consider both him and his name so much as to endure imprisonment alone made him admire her beyond belief. Her selfless actions made him begin to question his own worth-and not for the first time since he had met her. He was relieved, at least, that his suspicions about her had resolved themselves before he knew the whole story. In doubting her at all, even for a moment, he had grotesquely wronged her. He felt ashamed.

  “You place too high a value upon my reputation,” he said, “and not enough on your own safety."

  But Louisa's spirits had lifted. The knowledge that she was not to pass six months, or even one night, in this gaol seemed to have cleared them, and she no longer needed his comfort. Charles had found her subdued, but now she was ready to take advantage of her experience to further her knowledge.

  He prepared to start the long drive back to Snaithby to make his explanations to Miss Conisbrough. By the time he had left, lost in his own sober reflections, Louisa, with pen and paper borrowed from the warden, had started writing down her ideas for reform of prison life.

  * * * *

  Because of the season, it took all day for Charles to complete his mission. Miss Conisbrough was at home, and after listening to his carefully edited story, was eager to be of assistance. She thought the whole episode a great joke, however, and delayed Charles needlessly with all her teasing. Knowing Ned and his propensity for inappropriate hilarity, Charles could not have been surprised. But he chafed inwardly throughout what seemed an interminable time for Ned's sister to write a letter to the magistrate withdrawing her charges.

  Next, he was obliged to wait for the magistrate, a local squire, to return from his round of afternoon calls. After Charles explained the misunderstanding, however, the man still hesitated. He seemed to think some impropriety must have been attached to the affair, and he questioned Charles in an uncomfortable manner. Only Charles's rank, and the indisputable evidence of Miss Conisbrough's letter, finally persuaded him to issue a release.

  Charles hastened from there to the gaol in Selby and presented the warden with the signed papers. But, by now, it was far past dinnertime and growing dark.

  Somehow, after he had handed Louisa into the carriage, he so far forgot himself that he sat beside her on the bench.

  Louisa regaled him with all her observations on prison life, and Charles listened, conscious all the while of her presence next to him, of her delicate scent, and of her leg brushing lightly against his.

  As she chatted on, stopping only to yawn, he smiled to himself in the dark, thinking that only Louisa would come away from such an experience eager to challenge the world. But even she eventually felt the toll of such an emotional day. When he said little in response to her ideas, she soon fell silent, as well. After a while, her head began to bob, and Charles gently put one arm about her and drew her nearer to rest against his shoulder.

  They came to the inn, and after all the bustle and confusion of their arrival, he did not see her again. Nan and Sammy seemed to have erased all memory of the suspicions they had harboured. Nan swept Louisa up to her room with promises of warming pans and a hot dinner sent up if she wished.

  Knowing she was tired, feeling wrung out himself, and perhaps seeing the wisdom of these arrangements after their recent intimacy, Charles made no attempt to change them. He ate a lonely meal beside the fire in his room with only Eliza for company. But in spite of his dog's most hearty efforts, she could draw little from him other than a few absent-minded strokes.

  He went to bed to the sound of the Old Lad's Passing Bell, the tenor bell in the parish church, tolling once for every year since Christ was born. Its final knell was timed to ring in Christmas Day, to keep Satan away from the Snaithby fold for one more year.

  Charles fell asleep, relaxed and comforted by the knowledge that Louisa was safe.

  * * * *

  The next day, Charles slept late and then came down the stairs with an anticipation he had not known in years. It was Christmas morning. Nothing for him to do today, when all travel was forbidden, except to enjoy the warmth of the inn, the embellishments he and Louisa had made to their own parlour, Mrs. Spadger's good food and her family's high spirits, and ... Louisa.

  Eliza tumbled head over heels down the steps in front of him. Charles reached the ground floor, then he peered into their private parlour and received a shock.

  Louisa was standing on her tiptoes, fully square under the mistletoe, her hand in Jim Spadger's, his eyes open and eager.

  An angry “Louisa!” escaped Charles's lips.

  She jerked her hand from Jim's with a startled glance. The boy, too, looked anxious. Jim bowed himself quickly from the room.

  Charles closed the door after him, his blood churning heatedly, and to a degree he had never known.

  “Whatever's the matter, Charles?"

  He whirled on her. “What's the matter! I lecture you over and over again about propriety, and you ask me what's wrong? Louisa-how could you encourage that boy? Have you no proper feelings?"

  She went pale. “I am afraid,” she said quietly, “I do not know your meaning."

  Charles took a hasty turn about the room and then stopped in front of her. “Louisa,” he said, taking her by the shoulders to shake her, “has it entirely missed your notice that that boy is nursing a tendre for you? You were standing here, right under the mistletoe! If that is not an open invitation, I do not know what is!"

  Louisa flushed. Her fair skin was infused with a rosy colour, whether from anger or embarrassment, he did not know.

  “Do you think that Jim-” She could hardly go on. Tears formed in her eyes, and disgusted with himself, Charles drew back his hands.

  He stared at the floor and growled, “Heathen custom! Why it should be observed, I cannot imagine!"

  Louisa was silent. Charles refused to look at her. As he stood there, not saying a word, his anger quickly ebbed.

  When it had passed, he began to wonder at himself. What could have possessed him to react so strongly? He attributed it to-he had to attrib
ute it to-all the grief she had caused him. But still, that gave him no right to lay hands upon her.

  With painful courage, he ventured one look at her face. Louisa appeared collected, but the red rims of her eyes belied her composure.

  “You blame me,” she said quietly.

  Charles started to open his mouth to apologize, but she surprised him and said, “Perhaps you should."

  He stared at her intently. “Louisa, I didn't mean-"

  “You thought that I was shamelessly encouraging Jim. Well, perhaps you should when you consider my elopement. After all, I certainly encouraged Geoffrey. If he had ever attempted to kiss me, I am certain I should not have shied away. But he did not, and so I discovered he did not love me. And how are you to know that I would not encourage anyone, when the truth of the matter is that it distresses me to think that perhaps I am incapable of inspiring affection in a gentleman."

  Charles gaped at her. “Do you mean to say you think you are undesirable?"

  She raised her chin. “It is possible, is it not?

  “No, it's not possible."

  They were still standing under the kissing bough, but Charles was completely unaware of that when he took her in his arms. He knew only a deep longing to prove her wrong, a desire that had built up inside him until it begged to be released.

  He lowered his lips to hers. He could feel them respond beneath his gentle touch. Louisa wrapped her arms about his neck and clung to him.

  Lost and floating ... yet somehow vividly conscious of every inch of her.... Charles discovered the curve of her waist beneath his hands, the taste of her sweet mouth-like berries with sugar-the satisfying warmth of soft breasts pressed to his chest.

  He gave in to temptation and explored deeply inside her mouth. Louisa gasped, and they fell apart.

  They stared at each other for a split second, and then Charles said huskily, “You are damnably desirable, if that answers you!"

  Louisa nodded, open-mouthed, her eyes as round as pools. “Damn!” Charles said. He had fought the attraction as hard as he could, but he blamed himself for giving in. And still-he had to fight it. It would be harder now, he knew, to keep his hands off her.