Lady Charlotte's Christmas Vigil

by Caroline Warfield

  Salvo offered his arm again to walk to the docks, but he remained lost in thought.

  “I’m sorry for the loss of your uncle,” she said.

  “Vicente was old. It was time. For others, it may not be so,” he replied.

  They came upon a stone bench near what might have been flowers earlier in the year. He stopped and looked at her, his eyes fixing on hers. “You may find it more comfortable to sit and answer my questions here, rather than on the ride back to Venice.”

  Charlotte drew a deep breath and let it out. She glanced around. The bench looked cold, but no other spot looked better for what she needed to say. “I prefer to stand,” she said tartly.

  He nodded and gestured to Paolo to move on to the boat. “Let me repeat the question. How is it—“

  “I remember the question! You needn’t involve yourself, Dr. Caresini. I have my brother’s protection, and I’ve managed fine.”

  “The brother who is as callow as he is foolish? The one who delights in the company of a known libertine? You are a guest in my home, Lady Charlotte. That makes your welfare my concern. You supervise my children, also, and their well-being is very much my responsibility. Answer my question, please.”

  Damn it. The horrid man is laughing at me. She wanted to hate him for it, but she couldn’t resist the kindness in his eyes. He just wants to protect his children, she mused.

  She took a deep breath. “Lottie.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Call me Lottie. I am a guest in your home. All this formality wears on my nerves.”

  He shook his head, making his impatience clear with the wave of a hand. “Answer my question, Lady Charlotte.”

  When she pushed out her chin and gave him her most mulish expression, he put both hands on his forehead in exasperation. He relented. “Lottie then. Answer my question.”

  Nothing for it, but to spit it out. “I left home with a companion, of course. My guardians insisted on it when I convinced them—” First mistake, Lottie. Choose your words with care.

  “You convinced them,” he prodded.

  She looked up into implacable, black eyes. “You may as well know the whole. You won’t give up.”

  He smiled and the plains of his face adjusted in ways that made him even more attractive and yet softened his determination not one whit.

  “I never considered it fair that men should have a Grand Tour, while their sisters languish at home,” she went on. “We’re supposed to be satisfied with parading through the marriage mart, except some of us don’t take. A spinster is left with a grey half-life, while our brothers see the great treasures of art and antiquity. It is supposed to cap their classical education, but most of the fools don’t even care.”

  “Like your brother.”

  “Yes, like David.” She darted a glance at him and away to stare across the water. “Don’t judge him too harshly. He is very young. His responsibilities will fall on him with full force next year. The guardians know all that. I convinced them my presence would serve as a steadying influence.”

  “But your motive is to see the art.” She heard his voice next to her as if far away.

  “Art. Great churches. Mountains. The sea. Venice. And Rome. Above all, Rome. I think if I can see Rome, I will go back to England and settle into whatever life gives me. I will be maiden aunt to David’s children, in time. I’ve already been asked to serve as unpaid governess for my cousin’s daughter. I just need Rome. I need the memories.” Does my voice sound as desperate to him as it does to me? I’m pathetic. She met his eyes.

  Compassion looked back, compassion and something she couldn’t interpret. Not pity. Please, not pity.

  “And so you left on your grand adventure with your brother, the worthless tutor, and a companion.”

  “My Aunt Florence, yes.” The man is relentless. “She traveled to Paris cheerfully enough, but complained all the way to Amsterdam, and spent her time there in her room with the vapors.”

  “She left you on your own?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “I suspect ‘vapors’ is how she finds privacy, although what she does with it, I do not know. She never married.” And I will not turn out like her. I won’t.

  She rushed forward, eager to put an end to the conversation before she became maudlin. “In Geneva, we encountered the Duchess of Horsham, who stayed at the same hotel. Her Grace was Aunt Florence’s closest friend during their first Season, and the two of them were overjoyed to reconnect. The duchess was off to Baden to take the waters. She convinced Aunt Florence the experience would cure any number of ills, and insisted my aunt accompany her. I was, of course, invited.”

  “Baden isn’t Rome,” he murmured.

  “It most certainly is not. I declined the honor.” He doesn’t need to hear what the duchess said, or about Aunt Florence’s tantrum.

  “And. . .” he prodded.

  “The Duchess of Horsham reigns as the ton’s greatest gossip. I’ve ruined my reputation with no hope of redemption, but I don’t care. I have no prospects, so what difference does it make?”

  “Your guardians will be unhappy,” he said.

  “She will have informed them by now. I expect a letter demanding my return any day. I thought that if we could just get to Rome before it came, I would be happy.”

  “But your brother complicated your plans.”

  She searched his face. His grim expression didn’t soften. “If you want me to leave your house for Juliana’s sake, I will,” she said. The thought depressed her.

  “Rome mattered that much to you?” he asked.

  She nodded, tears thick in her throat.

  “Thank you for telling me the truth.” He offered his arm, but did not smile.

  “There’s one more thing.” Tell him all of it Lottie. Now is the time.

  He paused.

  “I have money for a room; I wasn’t completely honest about that. We have just enough left for a few weeks in Rome, if we’re careful. I can’t ask the guardians for more, and I don’t want to spend it.”

  “That’s why you agreed to work for your keep?”

  She nodded.

  This time, she took his arm when he offered it. “Very well, Lady Charlotte, earn it you shall.”

  His arm, always rock hard, felt tense under hers. ‘Earn it you shall?’ Of course I will. I have been. What else can I do?

  Foolish woman.

  Salvo watched Lottie endure Juliana’s tantrums, keep his sons occupied and out of trouble, and work as his mother’s drudge for four more days. Why on earth doesn’t she give in and find a room, he thought, more than once. He knew the answer. Rome.

  He spent most days going house to house, caring for the sick, tracking the contagion, haranguing city officials about sanitation, organizing burials and coordinating with other physicians. No matter what time of day he stopped in his home, he found Lottie on her feet, elbow-deep in work. When Juliana attempted to voice her demands about the Christmas pageant, Lottie distracted her with details of costume and song. When the boys ran through the house, a rampaging horde, Lottie channeled them to some imagined game that always involved use of their math skills to build some fantastical fort or bridge or castle. She never failed asked after her brother, but she stopped demanding to see him.

  Six days after the funeral, he came in long after dinner, when streetlights were lit and those of the houses going out, one by one. He brought Judah Ottolenghi with him. The two of them had been treating a boardinghouse full of foreign mariners near the arsenal. Two died, in spite of their efforts. Though the ghetto no longer closed at dark, Salvo’s house lay close and common sense dictated he offer respite.

  Salvo lit a lantern kept by the door and brought his friend through the sleeping house, toward the kitchen, in silence.

  “Let me see what I can find in the larder,” Salvo said, lifting the lantern to a hook inside the kitchen, and lighting another near the fireplace where embers burned low. Light flooded the room. They were not alone.


  “Salvo.” Lottie. Why isn’t she in bed?

  She had been sleeping with her head on her arms on the rough kitchen table. Her hair had slipped from its pins, and a crease from her sleeve marred her check. When she blinked up at him, Salvo thought she looked adorable. And too damned exhausted.

  “What are you doing up?” he demanded. He cringed at the harshness of his own voice.

  Lottie pushed herself up with both hands flat on the table. “I waited to talk to you, but it is much later than I expected. You must be starving, let me fetch something.” She noticed his guest at that point.

  “Lady Charlotte Tyree, may I present Doctor Judah Ottolenghi, my esteemed colleague.”

  Judah smiled, sadness in his weary eyes. “Not so esteemed, but colleague, yes, and proud of it.” He bowed to Lottie. “I am honored, my lady.”

  She looked down at her wrinkled gown ruefully, and attempted to tuck her errant lock of hair back where it belonged. “We aren’t so formal here, Dr. Ottolenghi. I am Lottie, the Caresinis’ guest. Now sit, both of you.”

  Salvo collapsed into a chair, and Judah sat across from him, leaning on one hand. His dark eyes closed, and Salvo suspected he had fallen asleep, leaving Salvo free to watch Lottie move about his kitchen. The sway of her hips entranced him, even exhausted as he was.

  In short order, she brought cheeses from the larder and bread baked that morning.

  “Tea or wine?” she asked.

  “Wine, of course. Does this look like an English household?”

  “Healthier than water,” Judah mumbled, without opening his eyes.

  Miracle of miracles! He speaks!

  She brought two peaches and began to slice them. Salvo reached out for a slice, but jerked his hand back when he remembered.

  “Are these from the market?” he growled.

  “Of course not! I’ve kept your mother busy all week, so she had no time to go there. These came in the shipment. I believe they are late season, from Calabria.”

  Salvo popped a slice into his mouth. He closed his eyes, bit into it, and allowed the juice to settle on his tongue before swallowing. Ambrosia. He opened his eyes, and bliss engulfed him until he looked at Lottie’s face. Is that guilt?

  “What is it?”

  “I stayed up to tell you. Its about the market.”

  “What about it?” His heart began to race, sure what came next.

  “The boys.”

  “I told you to keep them away, no matter what else you did.”

  “I know. I tried. The first time—”

  “First time?” Salvo exploded. “They’ve been there more than once? I ordered you to keep them busy!”

  “The first time, your mother had me stirring a pot. She insisted it was a delicate operation and then—”

  “You aren’t here to cater to Mama’s baking fantasies. You are here to keep my boys safe!” he roared.

  “Let the lady speak, Salvo,” said a soft voice across from him. Judah eyed Lottie with sympathy.

  “Be that as it may, I found them today, under one of the vendor's tables, eating grapes.”

  Salvo closed his eyes. Sanitation in the market left everything to be desired. He and Judah believed half the cases of fever in Venice could trace to the market. If the boys fell ill, he would go mad. They were too young.

  Lottie hung her head. “I’m sorry, Salvo. I tried. You must know I tried.” He watched her square her shoulders and take a deep breath. “Obviously, I am of no use here. I will move back to Signora Rossi’s.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” Salvo said, shaking his head and waving his hand to dismiss her threat.

  Lottie regretted her foolish promise at San Christoforo, and her failure to protect the boys lay heavy on her heart. After a week of coaching Juliana, assisting with baking, and herding two boys with the slippery instincts of a pair of lagoon eels, Charlotte questioned her decision to take on responsibility for them.

  Tears thickened in her throat. Her efforts may have been useless, but they cost her great effort. He must see that. “I tried to keep them busy,” she insisted.

  Salvo’s eyes narrowed, and his shoulders tensed, anger radiating from his entire body. “Tried?”

  She had. She had tried her best. So many baked goods filled every closet, cranny, and armoire that the boys couldn’t make a dent in the total, even if they ate all they found. Juliana was kept distracted cutting out silver stars. A cunningly designed set of shelves had been brought down from the attic that afternoon.

  “For the presepe,” Mama Caresini had said. Lottie looked forward to seeing it fill up with the figures of the nativity crib that Juliana described in great detail.

  That much kept Juliana happy; the boys had been tougher.

  “I set them to making decorations. They made four stars, one camel out of pastry dough, and a foot or two of paper chains. I made them work on their lessons, and I had them carry your mother’s boxes of Christmas ornaments down from the attic. I had them dusting the family parlor. As soon as my back is turned, they run off.” Should I tell him I found them sailing paper boats in the canal? She decided not.

  Salvo looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “The market?”

  “I told them that to celebrate Christmas, they needed to be givers of gifts. We talked about things they could contribute, things they can make. When I pulled them out from under the table today, all they would say was that they needed to get honeyed almonds for their grandmother and a hair comb for Juliana.” Tears began to spill over.

  “The holiday be damned! Do you think we’ll celebrate if the fever visits this house? Do you think there will be cakes if we have funerals? Do you think—”

  “Salvo . . .” Judah whispered, reaching out to cover the white knuckles of Salvo’s left hand. Salvo shook it off and turned his head to the wall, as if trying to get control.

  When he turned back, Lottie drew herself up taller. “If I have failed to do what you expect, I will go back to Signora Rossi. It has been two weeks. The danger must have passed by now.”

  An odd look passed over Salvo’s face. Guilt? Surely not, she thought.

  “Salvo? What is it? Is David improving or not?”

  He bit his lip.

  She stared at his face. It is guilt!

  “David is well, is he not?” she said, with perfect diction, biting out each word.

  “Not entirely,” he murmured, anger gone.

  “Not entirely, but well enough. I could be there. Giacomo could be assisting you.” Her anger rose with every word.

  “Giacomo? Your assistant who helped us today?” Judah asked.

  Lottie gasped. “Who is taking care of my brother?”

  Salvo looked at Judah in desperation. His friend bit back a smile. “Judah’s daughter.”

  Outrage and exhaustion overwhelmed her. “Do you mean he is well enough that I could care for him? You neglected to tell me, did you?”

  “I meant to tell you, eventually. I haven’t seen you. I—”

  “You deceived me! You, you—”

  The sound of the door creaking open cut off her words. All three of them turned to find Toto standing there, barefoot and shivering.

  “Papa, Carlo looks funny. He’s all hot and rolling around.”

  Chapter 6

  Salvo woke with a start. Panic filled him, and he rose from his seat, needing to get to a patient, before he remembered. He sank back into the chair wedged between the twin beds of his sons. His shoulder ached, and his neck protested in stiffness when he moved. He picked up the book that slid from his lap. The candle on the dresser sputtered, not quite out, but almost. He padded over in his stocking feet and put a fresh taper in the holder.

  He examined the still forms on the beds, each nestled under a coverlet, each clutching a beloved stuffed toy. Toto’s lamb lacked an ear, and Carlo’s rabbit had been rubbed until its back was thin and shiny. They rested peacefully, at least. Cold compresses and willow bark tea had done their job. He ran his hand over Toto’s
head. Still too warm. Carlo felt little better.

  Fear clawed his heart. Visions of Catrina gasping her last churned his stomach; putrid fever could still turn and drag them down. He closed his eyes and offered one more desperate prayer that his boys be spared. Fear and guilt, his constant companions, made hope difficult. Please God—

  His other source of guilt lay down the hall. Lottie cared for his boys night and day for two days. She insisted he see patients in his surgery, and accompany Judah on his rounds. She had refused to leave his house, now that it was a place of contagion.

  “Too late. I’m already here,” she insisted. “And who else will care for Carlo and Toto? Juliana?”

  Juliana had gone pale as a sheet. The thought of his precious girl nursing her brothers was enough to silence his protests.

  He did what he could for Lottie. He had her feckless brother moved into the attics, where she could tend to him, also, although the blighter needed little now. Lord Ambler whined and complained at first, but he quieted after his sister gave him a dressing down, such as Salvo suspected no English earl had ever heard. When Mama took over his feeding, and Juliana brought him books, the lordling actually thanked them.

  The boys looked peaceful, for now. Salvo slipped out the door and padded on stocking clad feet down the hall. He opened Lottie’s door to check on her. The shadows under her eyes earlier that night worried him; he had allowed her to overdo. Moonlight fell across her bed, and showed him the slow, steady breathing of a healthy, young woman. She curled to one side, away from the moonlight, and her hair streamed behind her, across the covers. He could see that she had begun to brush it out but had been so tired, she left it unbound and fell asleep. He regretted the exhaustion, but he took guilty pleasure in watching the play of moonlight over her hair. It wasn’t quite blond, but golden, nonetheless. Glorious!

  Perhaps, when this was over, he should tell her so. Don’t be a fool, Salvo. When this is over, you will make sure she gets to Rome. You owe her that much. You owe her more.