by S. G. Rogers
Cover
Title Page
A Gift for Lara
A Victorian Christmas Short Story
...
S.G. Rogers
...
Idunn Court Publishing
Copyright Information
A Gift for Lara, Copyright © 2013 by S.G. Rogers
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
...
This book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
...
Idunn Court Publishing
7 Ramshorn Court
Savannah, GA 31411
...
Published by Idunn Court Publishing, December 2013
...
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
...
Published in the United States of America
Editor: Kathryn Riley Miller
Cover Design: Lex Valentine
Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the angels who walk among us,
keeping the spirit of Christmas alive every day of the year.
Chapter One
The Invitation
December, 1875. London.
ANGELICA GREYSTOKE WAS EMBROIDERING a screen in the drawing room after dinner while her husband sorted through the day’s correspondence. When she glanced up, she noticed William had a perplexed expression on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve just heard from my brother Miles. He has some strange notion that he wishes to study veterinary medicine.”
“Not everyone wishes to be a barrister like you.”
“I can’t think why not.” He paused. “Perhaps if we could get him interested in marriage, he’d abandon the idea of a career.”
“He’s only eighteen. Besides which, you have a career and it’s done you no harm.”
“A barrister is still considered a gentleman, but a practitioner of veterinary medicine is not. Furthermore, Papa is counting on Miles to manage the family estates after he graduates from Cambridge. He can’t do that if he’s gallivanting all over the countryside, ministering to cows.”
Angelica laughed. “I have an idea. Papa has invited us to Blythe Manor for Christmas. I’ll write back and ask if the invitation could be extended to Miles.” She slid her husband a mischievous glance. “Mistletoe can be quite inspirational to a young man if he’s in good company.”
William lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not suggesting he should consider marriage to one of the twins, are you?”
“Why not? He got along particularly well with Lara at our wedding, as I recall.”
“That was four years ago. The lad has changed a great deal since then.”
“For the better, in many ways. Miles used to be shorter than either Lara or Fiona, and a great deal thicker ’round the middle. At any rate, perhaps he and Lara will reestablish their relationship.”
“I think it’s an excellent plan,” William said. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t interfere. In this case, however, a little intervention is warranted.”
“Our eldest daughter and her husband have accepted our invitation to visit Blythe Manor for the Christmas holiday,” Mr. Robinson announced at dinner. “I received the letter today.”
“Oh, how marvelous!” exclaimed Mrs. Robinson.
Lara exchanged an excited look with her sister. “I can’t wait to see Angelica!”
“Nor can I. It’s been far too long,” Fiona said.
“Will they bring the baby?” Mrs. Robinson asked. “I long to have little children in the house again.”
“Indeed they shall. Angelica has also asked to bring William’s brother, Miles.”
At the mention of Miles Greystoke, Lara’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. Not him.”
“He was an insufferable little lump at Angelica’s wedding, wasn’t he?” Fiona giggled.
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” Lara murmured.
“We’ll throw a reception while they’re here,” Mrs. Robinson said. “I haven’t hosted a Christmas party in ages.”
“Let’s have dancing,” Fiona suggested. “I must buy a new dress for the occasion.”
Lara gave her father a pleading glance. “Can’t you dissuade Angelica from bringing Mr. Greystoke? Tell her we don’t have room for an extra guest.”
“Do no such thing, Papa!” Fiona said. “Mr. Greystoke may be an insufferable little lump, but he’s of marriageable age now. Lara can afford to turn her nose up since she’s prettier than I am. As for me, I’d like to have another look.”
A flash of annoyance ran down Lara’s spine. “If you think he’s such a lump, why would you consider marrying him?”
“I’ve little choice,” Fiona retorted. “Papa never lets us go to London.”
Mr. Robinson rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Not this again.”
Fiona pressed on without missing a beat. “Out here in the country, we never meet any eligible prospects.”
“That’s not entirely so,” Mrs. Robinson said. “I heard a rumor Sir Harry is considering making an offer for one of you. I believe he’s not yet decided which.”
Fiona pulled a face. “Let it be Lara. Sir Harry is older than Papa, and he smells musty.”
“Thank you for your generosity, but if my choice is between an insufferable lump and a smelly old man, I shall end a spinster,” Lara said.
“I shall not dissuade Angelica from bringing William’s brother,” Mr. Robinson said. “On the contrary, we shall show Miles every courtesy.”
“I should think so,” Mrs. Robinson said. “All the Greystokes are welcome here.”
Mr. Robinson spread his napkin on his lap. “Let’s eat before the soup grows cold.”
Although Lara picked up her spoon, she took only a sip or two of the butternut squash soup. For some reason, she’d suddenly lost her appetite.
Tinsel in hand, Lara and her mother cast an appraising eye at the Christmas tree in the corner of the drawing room.
“This tree must have fewer branches than the one we had last year. I can’t see where to put the rest of these decorations,” Mrs. Robinson said.
“Nevertheless, it’s perfectly beautiful. I love the Nuremberg angel on top.”
“Thank goodness we finished decorating in time for our guests’ arrival tomorrow. I was beginning to worry.”
“Why didn’t Fiona help?”
“She’s working on Christmas presents, or so she said.”
Lara sighed. “I’m not finished either, and Christmas is less than a week away.”
As Mrs. Robinson hastened off to finish a few last minute mistletoe garlands, Lara wrapped the remaining blown-glass ornaments and icicles in tissue paper for storage. Thereafter, she went to her bedroom and resumed work on the muffler she was knitting. A half-hour later, Fiona danced into view, waving a handkerchief.
“I just finished Mr. Greystoke’s Christmas gift. Isn’t it pretty? I hemmed a square of fine linen and embroidered it with his initials, MRG. Miles Reginald Greystoke.”
“Lovely workmanship.” Lara peered at the reddish letters. “Is that your hair?”
“Of course! It wouldn’t be very personal otherwise.”
“Isn’t embroidering a man’s handkerchief with your hair a bit…presumptuous?”
Fiona smirked at the project in Lara’s lap. “No more so than knitting him a muffler in Cambridge Blue.”
“There’s nothing overly intimate about knitting Mr. Greystoke a muffler in his university color. You’re just envious I thought of it.”
Fiona shrugged. “I couldn’t care less.”
“If you say so.”
“Lara, you’re not to monopolize Mr. Greystoke like you did last time.”
“I did no such thing!”
“You did so. He was here two whole weeks before the Angelica’s wedding, and I scarcely got a word in edgewise.”
“We were little more than children, and I daresay we’ve grown up since then.” Lara averted her eyes. “I’m sure Mr. Greystoke will show nothing more than politeness toward me.” Truth be told, he will undoubtedly avoid me altogether and I’ll return the favor.
“He’ll warm up when you start talking about books and such. After I heard he was coming to visit, I started reading War and Peace. Mr. Greystoke and I will have a great deal to talk about during his stay.”
“What with embroidering handkerchiefs and such, I can’t imagine when you found the opportunity to read,” Lara said dryly. “Besides which, you’re wasting your time. Mr. Greystoke enjoys adventure stories best.”
Fiona’s eyebrows drew together in dismay. “Now you tell me!”
While Lara’s maid was brushing her mistress’s hair before bed, a gust of wind rattled the windowpanes. Lara shivered and tightened the shawl around her shoulders. “Snow began falling in earnest this afternoon. We’re to have a white Christmas this year.” Elsie’s brush caught a snarl, and Lara winced. “Ouch!”
“Beg pardon, Miss Lara. My mind was wandering.”
The young woman finished her task, painfully snagging several more snarls in the process. Each time, Elsie was very apologetic. “I’m so terribly sorry,” she said finally. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.”
“What’s troubling you?”
“You’re very kind to ask, but I don’t wish to be a burden.”
“It’s no burden at all.”
“Well…it’s Mum. She’s in the family way again and not doing well. The midwife told her to stay in bed, but she has to care for my younger brother and two sisters. Since I came to live at Blythe Manor, I can’t help her.”
“Where is your papa in all this turmoil?”
“Working in Barnsley to keep food on the table. After that big explosion at the Swaithe Main coal pit, there were good wages to be had repairing the damage.” Elsie’s smile was forced. “It’ll be fine, miss. Thank you for asking.”
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll visit your mother and see if I can render her assistance. The least I can do is to bring food so she won’t have to cook.”
“But the Greystokes are expected!”
“Not until closer to noon, and I’ll be back before then.”
“Your kindness does you credit.”
“Nonsense. What are neighbors for, except to be useful to one another?” Lara rubbed her sore scalp. “Besides which, if you don’t cheer up I may go bald before long.”
Mr. Robinson was reading his paper when Lara entered the breakfast room the following morning. Mrs. Robinson was engrossed in a series of menus, and Fiona was staring out the window as if in a daydream.
“Good morning.” Lara reached for a biscuit, sliced it open, and heaped a tablespoon of warm cinnamon apples on top. “Papa, may I have the carriage after breakfast? I must call on Mrs. Coogan.”
“I can’t spare the carriage today, my dear. Ned is picking Angelica and the Greystokes up at the train station.”
“Oh, bother, that’s right.” At the reminder she would soon be seeing Miles again, a feeling of dread shot through her. “The carriage isn’t important, I suppose. I can walk.” If only I could run far, far away from Blythe Manor and never look back!
“There are several inches of snow on the ground already, and more expected later,” Mrs. Robinson said. “Can’t you postpone your outing until tomorrow?”
“Mrs. Coogan is unwell, Mama. I can wait, but she and her children cannot. Fiona, why don’t you come with me? It’s only half mile, and I daresay Mrs. Coogan would appreciate the extra help.”
“I’m not going out of doors for anything!” Fiona exclaimed. “The cold makes my nose red and runny, and I’m not greeting Mr. Greystoke looking less than my best.”
Annoyed, Lara bit her tongue. “I’ll go alone, then. I’ve given my word.”
“Be sure to bundle up,” Mrs. Robinson said. “And be home well before eleven o’clock. This will be Angelica’s first visit since the wedding, and I want to receive her and her family properly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After breakfast, Lara asked Cook to pack a basket with freshly baked biscuits, a small sliced ham, a jar of preserves, and a pound cake. As she carried the basket outside, she realized it was heavier than she had anticipated. This would have been so much easier in the carriage! Her resolve wavered, but the vision of poor Mrs. Coogan surrounded by three hungry children swam before Lara’s eyes. Elsie no doubt sent word I would be coming. I can’t let them down.
A small handcart parked next to a stacked pile of wood gave Lara a good idea. I can use the cart to carry the basket, and bring some firewood to the Coogans as well. She positioned the basket in the cart, stacked a few pieces of firewood next to it, and pulled the cart down the driveway behind her. When she reached the road, she was relieved to discover the passage of carriages and wagons wheels had cleared the snow. Nevertheless, cold wind bit into her skin as she walked. Although she tugged her hat down to cover her ears and wrapped her muffler around her nose and mouth, she was chilled thoroughly by the time she arrived at her destination.
A five-year old child answered the door, bobbing up and down in a curtsy. “Morning, Miss Lara.”
“Morning, Helen. I’ve come to see how your mama is doing.”
As Lara stepped inside, she realized the tiny three-room cottage was very little warmer than outside. Two older children huddling next to the fireplace mumbled their greetings.
“Good morning, Colleen and Jack,” she replied. “It’s awfully cold in here. Jack, please put your coat on and fetch in the wood stacked in the cart outside. We need to get a good blaze going.”
Lara glanced around, dismayed at the disheveled and dreary condition of the place. No Christmas tree brightened the corner of the room, no merry garland was draped across the rough-hewn mantle, and there was not so much as a Christmas cracker to bring holiday cheer. Blythe Manor was not nearly as grand as some estates, perhaps, but when compared to the Coogans’ cottage, it was a palace. I cannot begin to count my blessings.
When Mrs. Coogan emerged from her bedroom, Lara was shocked at her appearance. Although the woman was swollen with child, her arms were stick-thin and she had dark circles under her eyes.
“Thank you for coming, Miss Lara.”
“I’m happy to help.” Lara left the basket of food on the kitchen table and helped the woman back to bed. “I’ll make you tea and something to eat, Mrs. Coogan.”
“Bless you, lass.”
On the way from the Blythe Village train station, Miles rode in the Robinsons’ brougham with his brother and sister-in-law. In a hansom cab following behind were the luggage, the baby, and the baby’s nanny. When he left Cambridge at the end of term to spend the holidays with William and his family in London, he discovered he was expected to accompany them to Blythe Manor instead. His argument with his brother had been short-lived when he’d learned their father took William’s view of the matter. With little other choice, he’d tried to accept the situation gracefully and had even feigned enthusiasm—for Angelica’s sake. As Blythe Mano
r drew closer, however, Miles found it increasingly difficult to keep up the pretense. Perhaps Lara will have forgotten what happened between us. I certainly wish I could; the memory has haunted me these past four years.
On the outskirts of town, he noticed a well-dressed woman darting from a rude cottage with a wooden bucket in her hand. Her head was wrapped in a colorful scarf, but her slender waist and rising curves caught his eye. As she dashed toward a water pump, the wind caught the fabric of the scarf and blew it back from her face—revealing her chiseled, delicate features and honey-colored hair. Struck by her beauty, Miles leaned forward to stare. What an exquisite creature! How odd a woman like her would live in such lowly circumstances.
“Whose cottage did we just pass?” he asked Angelica. “The one on the end?”
“Mmm…the Coogans, I believe. Why do you ask?”
Because I just saw an angel. “Oh, no reason.”
When the carriage rolled up the driveway to Blythe Manor, snow had begun to fall in earnest. Miles hastened to escort Angelica indoors while his brother made sure the baby and nanny were brought in from the cold. His stomach taut with nerves, Miles braced himself at the prospect of meeting Lara again, face to face. If I must see her, I wish it could be without our families looking on. Although he didn’t want to admit it, a very small part of him hoped she would find some pleasure in his company. I’m not such bumbling fool as I was before. Perhaps she will see me differently.
Mr. and Mrs. Robinson had assembled in the entryway with one of the twins. From her auburn hair, Miles knew immediately the girl was Fiona. Although his reprieve was only temporary, he felt his shoulders relax. As the Robinsons greeted Angelica and William and met baby Billy, servants took Miles’s coat, hat, and gloves.
“But where is Lara?” Angelica said, looking around. “She’s not ill, is she?”
Mrs. Robinson frowned. “She went off to help Mrs. Coogan in Blythe Village. I asked her to be back in time for your arrival, and now there’s a snowstorm bearing down.”