Canine Christmas

by Jeffrey Marks (Ed)

  “Do be quiet, Percival,” Lady Antonia cawed, fondly stroking her miniature defender. “These are our guests, and you must behave, pweshus.” Percival subsided, but the glare he offered promised that I hadn't seen the last of his sharp little teeth.

  “Dr. Kirby-Jones,” Lady Antonia continued in her peculiar voice, “we are delighted you could join us during this festive time of year.” She extended a languid claw, which I grasped carefully in my hand.

  “May I introduce my colleague, Dr. Hilda Mae Herlihy.” Hilda Mae stepped forward, attempted a curtsy, changed her mind at the last moment, and dipped her head instead. Her teeth flashed in a smugly satisfied smile as she surveyed the richly appointed room.

  Lady Antonia suddenly chortled with glee. “Looks like I should have had Foxwell prepare only one bedroom, eh? Not two. Save a bit of tripping to and fro during the night, what? Tasty bit of crumpet you've got there, Kirby-Jones. Some assistant, eh?”

  “Mother!” came the outraged cry from a woman sitting in a nearby chair.

  “Oh, do hush, Rosamond,” Lady Antonia said, waving a claw airily. “Dr. Kirby-Jones is a man of the world and far more sophisticated than a lump like you could ever be.” She sniffed. “May I present my daughter, Rosamond Anniston, and her husband, Piers.”

  Lump was rather an unfortunate, if accurate, word to describe Rosamond. Whatever avoirdupois shed by her mother, Rosamond seemed to have gained or at least shared with her husband Piers. Two round faces glared accusingly at Lady Antonia, and the male half of the duo struggled to shift his massive bottom out of his chair in order to shake hands with Hilda and me. Tweedledum and Tweedledee to the life. And playing attendance upon Jackleen Sprat, no less.

  “Two bedrooms are quite sufficient,” I informed Lady Antonia with a hint of frost in my voice. Now was hardly the time to announce that I was of an entirely different persuasion. I could feel the wave of embarrassment around the room beginning to subside. Vampires are sensitive to strong emotion, you see, and Lady Antonia and Percival were the only two living creatures in the room who hadn't been awash in it moments before.

  “Whatever you say.” Lady Antonia dismissed my polite rebuff. Then her attention centered upon someone behind us, and an unpleasantly calculating expression settled on her face. “Algernon, do come in and meet your guests properly.”

  Hilda Mae and I turned. Approaching us was one of the most homely young men I had ever seen. None of his facial features were quite in proportion. His nose was small, his chin jutted commandingly, and his ears might catch a stray tailwind at any moment and send him flying out the window. His hair, an exceedingly odd shade of red, zigged and zagged all over his head. For all that, however, he did have a pleasant smile and a striking physique.

  “At last,” Lady Antonia chirped, “my nephew, Algernon Pinchley-Fyggis, the eighteenth Earl of Wiggleton.” She finished the introductions, and we shook hands with the earl, who had a strong, firm grip. He seemed reluctant to release Hilda Mae's hand. She is rather attractive, if you like petite, dark women with beautiful smiles, that is. I'd have to tease her later about her new conquest.

  “Welcome to Wiggleton Priory,” the earl said warmly. “And do call me Algernon. No need to muck about with the title and all that.” His voice was deep and well modulated.

  He really was rather short—but he was still a couple of inches taller than Hilda Mae.

  “I am most grateful for your hospitality, and for your allowing me access to your copy of the Selsey chronicle.”

  “Not at all, Simon,” Algernon replied smoothly, casting his aunt a pointed glance. “I'm quite delighted to be of assistance to scholars such as yourselves. Now,” he said briskly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his expensively tailored suit, “let me show you to your rooms. No doubt you would like to see where you'll be staying for the coming week.”

  Hilda Mae and I inclined our heads in the direction of Lady Antonia, Rosamond, and Piers. Before we could get out of the room, Lady Antonia announced to Piers that it was his turn to take Percival out for his “walkies.”

  As we followed the earl upstairs, I heard Piers whispering to Percival on their way out the front door, “You just try to bite me again, you little shit, and I'll kick your arse to next Sunday. No matter what my sainted mother-in-law says!” I looked back down in time to see Piers jerk the leash and drag the resistant dog out the front door. Neither Hilda Mae nor the earl seemed to have noticed, so wrapped up in their vigorous flirtation were they. A vampire's hearing, you see, is much more acute than that of a human, even when they aren't billing and cooing.

  Putting aside for the moment Piers's dislike of the poor Yorkie, I speculated instead on something else. Why did the earl so dislike his aunt?

  While dressing for dinner that first evening at Wiggleton Priory, I reconsidered the events of the afternoon. After showing us to our second-floor rooms, two very well-appointed apartments with a connecting door, the earl had given us a tour of his home. I trailed along behind the earl and Hilda Mae, and it became obvious to me that the earl had little concern for my presence. Hilda Mae fluttered her eyelashes, gushed in her best Southern-belle voice, and pressed his arm at regular intervals. If I had to speculate, I'd say that Hilda Mae had her sights set on being the next Countess of Wiggleton. I shuddered.

  The only real item of interest to me during the tour was the priory's library, where the family kept its copy of the Selsey chronicle. The earl pointed out the case where it was kept, handed me a key, and offered a few brief instructions for the chronicle's use. After that, he went back to forgetting I was there.

  There was a knock at the connecting door, ending my recollections, and I called for Hilda Mae to enter. “Have you finished ordering the wedding invitations yet?” I asked her acidly.

  She giggled. “Now, Simon, don't be jealous!” Her lips pouted at me. She knows better, but with her it's completely automatic.

  “I must say, my dear,” I told her honestly as I took stock of her appearance, “you do look stunning. The earl will ravish you right there on the dining table, if you're not careful.” Hilda Mae's impressively compact figure had been squeezed into some sort of emerald green satin confection that lit up her eyes and showed off her dark hair and complexion to great advantage. Though Hilda Mae is a mere associate professor, Daddy Herlihy owns some huge conglomeration of chicken farms. Thus his little girl wants for nothing expensive.

  She giggled again. “Not until after dessert, Simon, at the very least! Then we'll see.”

  I fussed with the alignment of my jacket, and Hilda Mae made herself comfortable in a nearby chair, watching with a critical eye.

  “Rather an interesting family, don't you think?” I said, continuing to fiddle.

  “Fraught with all sorts of undercurrents, that's for sure.” Hilda Mae turned off the dithery act. “I looked them up, you know, after you told me I could come along on this little jaunt.”

  “What little tidbits did you dig up?” I prompted her, leaning back against a desk, abandoning my fussiness with my clothes.

  “The earldom goes back nearly to the Conquest—a notion that impresses the heck out of my little Southern heart, let me tell you!” She showed me her dimple, and I waved for her to continue.

  “The seventeenth earl died in a hunting accident about five years ago, having been predeceased by his son, the present earl's father, who died in a plane crash ten years ago. Lady Antonia is the elder sister of the seventeenth earl, and thus the great-aunt of the present earl. Her late husband, one Robert Dinglebury, father of Rosamond, was persuaded to take Lady Antonia's name, it being so much more august than his own.”

  “I had wondered about that,” I said, stroking my beard. “Does Lady Antonia control the purse strings, by any chance? There doesn't seem to be much love lost between her and the present earl.”

  “I believe so,” Hilda Mae said. “Rumor has it that the male line is pretty profligate with money, so the old earl, Lady Antonia's father, tied up the estate l
eaving her in control of most everything. At least until the present earl reaches the tender age of forty, or Lady Antonia dies before that day.”

  “Wherever did you get all this?” I asked, astonished.

  She smiled enigmatically. “I have my sources.”

  “You and your feminine wiles.” I laughed.

  “Let's go down to dinner, Simon,” she said, standing up and grinning mischievously. “Let's see what the earl is going to have for dinner.”

  Said meal, presided over by the lugubrious Foxwell and his minions, was an odd affair. Lady Antonia, garish in crimson velvet with a superabundance of lace and furbelows, dominated the conversation. With a fervor worthy of Mrs. Jellyby herself, she explained to me her interest in various good works, many of them having to do with unfortunates in Africa. I wondered wildly if, on our way downstairs, we had wandered by mistake into Bleak House. At first, I was laboring under the mistaken notion that these “unfortunates” were human, but, no, Lady Antonia expended her energies and her monies in the service of the starving animals of Africa. That explained the letter from Zimbabwe.

  Hilda Mae, seated on the earl's right, had no trouble keeping the earl amused. The one member of the family party we had not previously met, the earl's betrothed, seated on his left, was not in the least diverted by the situation, however.

  The Right Honorable Miss Ottoline Chance, a “charmin' gell” in Lady Antonia's parlance, seemed intent on relating to Hilda Mae every moment of her romance with the earl. Neither the earl nor Hilda Mae paid much attention. Miss Chance batted her heavily mascaraed eyelashes in the earl's direction at such a rapid pace I feared she would soon lift herself out of her chair. Which in itself would have been wondrous to behold, for Miss Chance must have stood six foot three in her stockinged feet, with a physique to match. She dwarfed the earl whenever she stood remotely near him.

  Tossing her mane of glossy raven hair over one shoulder in a manner reminiscent of the slightly cockeyed horse she most nearly resembled, Miss Chance erupted into laughter at some witticism of the earl's. Directed, of course, at Hilda Mae, not at her. With one ear, I listened to the droning of Lady Antonia; with the other, I kept tabs on the other end of the table. Frankly, I wasn't that keen on hearing all the intimate details of the earl's first weekend with Ottoline at Lyme Regis, nor did I care to hear anything more about her horse, Sultan. Miss Chance babbled on, while the earl and Hilda Mae feasted on each other with their eyes.

  Thankfully, Lady Antonia reclaimed my attention with yet another anecdote of her good works among the benighted quadrupeds in Africa. Oblivious to it all, Rosamond and Piers plowed through their meal with rarely a pause for breath—or mastication. Having had only this rather brief experience of dinner at Wiggleton Priory, I quite understood their taking refuge in massive quantities of food.

  A determined yip interrupted the flow of Lady Anto-nia's harrowing tale of abused gazelles and starving wildebeests. Her Yorkie, Percival, reclined near her on a small stool upholstered in a velvet matching her dinner gown. From time to time during dinner Lady Antonia would feed Percival with choice morsels from her own plate, but she had become so caught up in her horror stories that she had been neglecting her dog.

  “Oh, my widdle pweshus man, Mummy will feed you. After all, you are the one dearest to Mummy's heart in all the world.” She held out a bit of beef Wellington, and Percival nearly took off her fingernail in grabbing the meat.

  Lady Antonia turned to beam at me with pride in her darling's healthy appetite, while I did my best not to return my dinner to its plate in a rather disgusting manner. (By the way, vampires these days do eat and drink, lightly, of course. It's all thanks to these wonderful little pills we take. No more nasty bloodsucking for us, thank you very much. We can even go outside in the sunlight, but in moderation. It's all very civilized these days. The wonders of modern science!)

  But I digress. Lady Antonia might be enchanted with her widdle pweshus—I hoped to be able at some point to expunge those words warbled in that voice from my aural memory banks—but various members of the party cast a baleful glance in the Yorkie's direction every time Lady Antonia broke off conversation to attend to her pet.

  Over the dessert course, Lady Antonia cleared her throat, bringing the conversation between Hilda Mae and the earl finally and mercifully to a halt. While Ottoline glowered on, and Rosamond and Piers chewed, Lady Antonia announced, excitement bringing a near squeak to her voice, “As you know, my dears, in two days' time, it will be Christmas Eve. And, as is the tradition in this family, I will have some very important gifts to bestow upon the family after dinner that evening. I trust that our two distinguished guests will feel welcome to take part in our festivities, though you are of course not obliged to have brought presents for the family.” Her eyelashes fluttered in my direction.

  “We would be delighted, and most honored, dear lady,” I said. “Your generosity in allowing us to partake of your hospitality at this time of year is most gracious, and we will do our best not to impinge upon you and your family traditions.”

  I detected such a wave of anger at that moment that I nearly dropped my wineglass. There was no doubt about the source of the anger. The earl trembled with the effort to hold back his temper. But at whom was it directed? Lady Antonia seemed the most obvious target.

  The earl stood suddenly, almost sending his chair crashing back onto the floor. “You have not intruded in the least, Simon,” the earl said, biting off the words. “I'm delighted to extend hospitality to a scholar of your stature. As my dear aunt stated, you are most welcome to be a part of our holiday festivities. Now, if you will excuse me, there is some urgent estate business to which I must attend. Have Foxwell bring you port or brandy, cigars, whatever you wish.”

  He stalked out, totally ignoring a crestfallen Hilda Mae and a thoroughly dispirited Ottoline, while Lady Antonia filled the strained silence with more nauseating baby talk to Percival, anxiously awaiting more tidbits from the table. I looked across the table at Hilda Mae. What have we gotten ourselves into? I wondered. Hilda Mae wiggled her nose up and down a couple of times, and I was hard put not to laugh. This week would prove most interesting, one way or another.

  The next morning, the admonitions of Lady Antonia notwithstanding, I consulted Hilda Mae, who volunteered to drive to the nearest village to find gifts of some sort for the various members of the family. I walked with her out to the garage, and we discussed suitable items. Hoping that Hilda Mae wouldn't spend all her time lost in a roundabout, I detoured through the gardens on my way back to the house to enjoy the crisp, cold air of this gloriously cloudy morning. Vampires, as you might guess, thoroughly enjoy cold weather.

  Pausing behind a concealing arbor of evergreens, I heard Rosamond approaching with a whining Percival.

  “Boiling in oil isn't good enough for you, you little rat!‘Take Percival for his walkies, Rosamond!’ ” Her imitation of her mother was savage in its accuracy. “I'd like to take you to the lake, tie a stone around your neck, and throw you in, that's what I'd like to do. To think that I was the one who gave you to Mother in the first place, two Christmases ago.”

  Rosamond's litany of complaints continued as she and Percival passed by the other side of my hiding place. The poor Yorkie looked to be in no immediate danger, or I would have assayed a rescue. Instead, thinking over what I had heard, I made my way into the house and to the library where I settled down to the work for which I had come here.

  Hilda Mae returned from the village about two hours later, and I waved away her suggestion that I should inspect her choices. “Later, my dear, later.” I pointed her toward the other end of the table at which I labored. “You have work to do here. Time to earn your keep.”

  Hilda Mae groaned. “Sit!” I said sternly. “I know you'd rather be flirting with the earl, but you did promise to help me with this, if you came along.” She stuck out her tongue but set to work.

  We had been working steadily for nearly two hours when the earl sau
ntered in. “I do beg your pardon, Simon,” he began quietly. I had been so engrossed in a story of how the nuns of Selsey had managed to defend certain properties against the depredations of a local landholder that I quite started in my chair. “Oh, I do say, Simon, I hadn't meant to startle you,” the earl apologized.

  “Not at all, Algernon, not at all,” I said, relaxing in my chair. “I was rather engrossed in my work, that's all.”

  “I thought you might like to know that there is a light luncheon laid on in the dining room,” the earl said. His words were directed at me, but his eyes could see only Hilda Mae.

  I smothered a sigh. I sincerely hoped the situation wouldn't get out of hand before the end of our week here. Ottoline wouldn't take kindly at being nudged aside in the matrimonial stakes.

  “There you are, Algie darling,” boomed the hearty tones of Ottoline Chance, right on cue. We all looked around to see the earl's fiancée clumping into the room, Percival clutched tenderly in her arms. The earl tried desperately to control an involuntary shudder at the sound of her voice.

  “Good afternoon, Simon, Hannah Mae.” She beamed at us. Hilda Mae rolled her eyes at the deliberate mistake with her name.

  Ottoline hovered, staring goofily at the earl, while he in turn gazed at Hilda Mae. They stood, backs to me, mooning at their objects of desire. I rolled my eyes back at Hilda Mae; she saw me and had to suppress a smile.

  Percival barked. Miss Chance rubbed his head soothingly. “Yes, sweetums, Auntie Ottoline knows you're ready for your walkies.” She held him up and rubbed her nose to his, then she kissed him tenderly on the nose. “You little darling!

  “Isn't he just the most precious thing you ever saw?” She beamed at us again. “Dear Algie, I do so hate to tear you away, but Lady Antonia asked me to find you, so that you could take Percival for his walkies.” She thrust the dog at the earl. “I must go back and help her draft an appeal on behalf of the gnus.”

  Dear Algie accepted the cowering creature with ill grace. Percival looked back piteously at Ottoline Chance, but, evidently assured in her notion that her betrothed adored the little dog as much as she did, she paid no attention to Percival's subdued whimpering as she departed.