The Captain's Christmas Bride

by Annie Burrows

  ‘Isn’t it past his bedtime?’

  ‘It is already past most of their bedtimes, I should think.’ Nellie chortled. ‘That is part of the fun for them. That and feeling that for once they are in charge of the adults.’

  ‘I see. All part of the spirit of misrule you seem determined to foster tonight,’ she said, as Nellie settled a bright-red cloak, trimmed with what looked like ermine, but couldn’t possibly be, round her shoulders. As Julia looked around the room she could see the other costumes were of a similar sort. Hats or headgear, coupled with a cloak, or some kind of prop to carry. Gradually, all her aunts were being transformed into clearly recognisable pantomime characters. Aunt Constance had become a tavern wench with the simple addition of a stained apron, a mobcap, and a pair of pewter tankards. Aunt Frances was a peasant woman with a cloak of sacking and a hoe. And as for Aunt Joan—well, with the plain collar and steeple hat, she looked nothing so much as a Quaker woman.

  ‘What is the pantomime we are to perform?’

  It was what everyone wanted to know.

  ‘All in good time,’ said Nellie, who’d donned a very ugly false nose, glued on a wart and some hair to her chin, and clapped a large-brimmed, pointy hat on her head. To denote a witch, Julia would guess.

  ‘Can you hear that?’ Winifred was practically bouncing up and down on the hearth in excitement as the strains of a boisterous folk tune, played on fiddle and flute, sounded from just beyond the door. ‘It’s the band!’

  Somebody banged three times on the door, then flung it open.

  Benjamin, who was all dressed up to look like a town crier, stepped inside, and unrolled a scroll with a flourish.

  ‘Come all you fair ladies who stay at Ness Hall. You’ve feasted, you’ve drunk and you’ve danced at a ball. Once more don your costumes—this time for the play. In which magic abounds and true love...’ at this point his face went bright red ‘...wins the day.’

  True love? Julia clenched her teeth. If the play was to be a sickly love story, she didn’t know how she would bear it.

  Aunt Frances rolled her eyes. ‘Amateur theatricals,’ she said waspishly. ‘We shall all end up looking ridiculous.’

  Julia was rather horrified to realise she’d started to think like her Aunt Frances. And wondered if it was Aunt Frances’s natural disposition to be waspish, or whether a series of disappointments in her youth had made her that way.

  ‘This evening is about the young people,’ said Julia, with renewed determination to nip the slide into Aunt Francesism in the bud. ‘They’ve been remarkably well behaved this year. They deserve that we play along with them. After all, it is our last night all together.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, for the sake of family harmony,’ Aunt Frances grumbled. Then twitched her sacking cloak so that somehow it fell into positively elegant folds, before wafting across the room to the doorway.

  In the corridor, the flautist and fiddler struck up a new tune, and Nellie beckoned them to follow in procession to the ballroom. As they passed the dining room, they were joined by the gentlemen—got up in equally quaint costumes—as well as a second fiddler, and the percussion player from their hired orchestra, who was beating a little drum.

  She tried not to look at Alec, the way she always tried not to look at him whenever he was in the vicinity. But she couldn’t help darting him little glances. He was got up like a sailor. Not an officer with gold braid and a cocked hat, either, but a common sailor in a stocking cap and calico trousers. He was carrying his battered telescope tucked under one arm. And looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Which was why she tried not to look at him again. Because it hurt so much to see him carrying on as though nothing was amiss, when she felt as if she was dying inside.

  As the family entered the ballroom, the servants who’d gathered there to watch the play burst into a round of applause. Julia blinked at the transformation the room had undergone yet again. Since she’d last been in here, the actors—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say Alec’s crew—had transformed it into a series of theatrical sets. There was a woodland on what had been the raised dais used by the orchestra. The dais was covered with some kind of green floor covering, a painted backdrop had been suspended somehow from the ceiling, and even half-a-dozen lemon trees had been brought in from the orangery. Who on earth had approached Gatley and persuaded him to have them brought indoors? It must have been someone with nerves of steel. Or perhaps Nellie had worked her usual mixture of feminine charm and ruthless determination on him. Uncle Maurice was of the opinion she could coax any male to do whatever she wanted.

  Perhaps she should consult Nellie on the best way to win her husband back. It would certainly be worth a try. Perhaps she could approach him after the play. If it went well, and he was in a good mood, she could...but there her mind went blank. She couldn’t begin to think how to persuade him to relent towards her, not without betraying Lizzie. Which she simply couldn’t do.

  Over where she usually had the buffet tables set out was an area done up to look like the outside of a village tavern. And by the chaperons’ benches was the throne room of a palace. She recognised the handiwork of her younger cousins in the backdrops, though she could tell the outlines had been sketched by a professional.

  The junior members of the acting troupe, all with little stocking caps the same as Alec’s, which marked them out as members of his ‘crew’, guided the somewhat bewildered family to their places.

  As she sat down on one of the thrones, and her father—who had a cardboard crown on his head—took the other, her little cousin Freddie trotted over and knelt at her side. He looked very solemn. He was also shaking a little with nerves. Once again, Julia squashed her own feelings. Though it was hard to be in the same room as Alec, though it made her want to weep to see him enjoying himself, and not caring whether she was hurt, or angry, or upset, she couldn’t spoil the evening for the children by letting anyone know.

  She sat up straight, lifted her chin, and watched Benjamin, who was taking up a position to one side of the audience, tugging at the lace collar round his neck, and clearing his throat.

  The little band struck up a chord, the audience hushed, and Benjamin held up his script.

  ‘Tonight, my lords, ladies and gentlemen,’ he declaimed. ‘The Ness Hall Players bring you the tale of the Golden Goose.’

  The Golden Goose? Well that explained why Winifred had been painting the stuffed duck yellow.

  Hurt stabbed a chill blade to her midriff as she saw why they’d picked her to play the part of the princess, too. For in the story of the Golden Goose, the king promised to give her hand in marriage to anyone who could make her laugh.

  No wonder Nick and Herbert had taken to slapping Alec on the back and going into huddles with him in corners. They’d been planning the ultimate way to hurt and humiliate her. Making her perform the part of a princess who was cold and humourless, who ended up married to a peasant simply because he made her laugh, was just typical of them. Just the nasty kind of thing they would do.

  But—and her breath stuck in her throat, which felt as if it was closing over—how could Alec be a party to this? How could he deliberately hold her up to the world as a pathetic, miserable, stiff and starchy pampered princess with no fellow feeling for other people? Yet who was so shallow, she needed only the performance of a farce to make her laugh?

  The answer was obvious.

  He despised her.

  And tonight was only the start. If she knew men, this would be just the first of many humiliations he would inflict on her.

  He was clearly planning to make the rest of her life as miserable as he could.

  The coldness at her core shimmered for a moment. And then, like a blizzard, swept to every last bit of her being. Turning her blood to ice in her veins.

  So—this was how it was going to be? Fine! She shrugged one
shoulder as she pouted her displeasure. She’d show him stiff and haughty. She’d show him cold and humourless.

  Let the performance begin.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Once upon a time,’ said Benjamin. ‘A young nobleman was riding through the woods...’

  A young nobleman? That wasn’t how the story started. But then Nick—of all people—strode onto the woodland area. Which explained why they’d had to change it. There was no way Nick would demean himself by dressing up—or rather down—as a peasant. The same thing must have occurred to one or two of the servants, to judge from the odd faces they were pulling—just as though they were trying their hardest not to laugh out loud at the sight of him walking onto a stage, carrying one of the children’s hobbyhorses.

  ‘Good sir, have pity on a poor old beggar woman,’ cried Nellie, who had perched on a stool disguised as a tree stump, and was holding out a begging bowl in Nick’s direction.

  ‘Take yourself off.’ Nick scowled. ‘Trespassers will be prosecuted.’

  ‘Trespassers against the laws of humanity,’ cried Nellie, rising to her feet, ‘shall be punished by a higher power.’

  There was a bright flash and a clash of cymbals that made everyone jump, and half the maids scream. You had to hand it to Nellie’s colleagues. They’d certainly got everyone’s attention with that display of pyrotechnics. She just hoped they hadn’t inadvertently set fire to anything.

  When the smoke cleared, Nick had disappeared. From the spot where she was sitting, Julia had seen him use the distraction to nip behind the woodland backdrop. But to everyone else, it must look as though all that was left of him was a little pile of ash—no doubt plundered from one of the grates—which Nellie had dropped on the floor where he’d been standing. It had certainly convinced the housemaids, who were all clinging to one another in a state of delighted terror.

  ‘Not so amateurish after all,’ she heard Aunt Frances observe, through the background noise of gibbering housemaids. Though what she had expected, when Papa had paid a small fortune to have Nellie’s company provide support to any entertainment that was got up over Christmas, Julia couldn’t think.

  Nellie cackled with laughter, pointing to the pile of soot and ashes. ‘So perish all my enemies!’

  One of the kitchen maids burst into tears.

  ‘Don’t be such a nodcock,’ said Mrs Dawson, sharply. ‘His lordship isn’t hurt. Look, he’s sitting right over there.’

  Indeed he was. By this time Nick had made his way to the back of the semicircle of chairs in which the servants sat. He’d ditched the hobbyhorse, and acquired a glass of brandy and a supercilious sneer.

  Next to stride onto the stage area was Herbert—who had put on a peasant costume. Herbert had never been as high in the instep as Nick, who wouldn’t have been seen dead in clothing that didn’t mould to his athletic form.

  ‘Good sir, have pity on a poor old beggar woman,’ said Nellie again.

  Herbert gave a mocking laugh. ‘Good God, woman, even when the dibs are in tune I don’t waste my blunt on tradesmen, let alone beggars.’

  A moment of stunned silence followed his statement. Julia herself could hardly suppress a gasp. Because it was so shocking to hear him admit, during the course of a play, what everyone knew anyway. Herbert generally lived well beyond his means.

  ‘Now, get out of my way,’ he said, hefting a cardboard axe. ‘I’ve heard that there’s a fortune to be made in timber.’

  This time Nellie didn’t reduce him to a pile of ashes on the spot. She never got the chance. As Herbert made for the potted lemon trees, swinging his axe in a purposeful manner, there came a bellow of fury from out of the audience. Gatley, who’d been sitting with the other outdoor servants, ran onto the set and tried to wrest the axe from Herbert’s hands.

  ‘It’s only pretend, you old fool,’ Herbert snapped, refusing to let go. ‘I wasn’t really going to chop down any of your precious plants.’

  And then all of a sudden—and it happened so fast that even Julia couldn’t see quite how it was done—the axe was in Gatley’s hands, and what appeared to be a severed human arm was flying across the stage area. Herbert let out a blood-curdling scream and dropped to his knees, clapping his hand to his shoulder, at which point a fountain of blood went spurting into the air.

  This time, all the housemaids screamed. But a couple of the footmen, and one of the under gardeners, cheered. When Herbert leaped to his feet and took a bow, a ripple of applause broke out from footmen, family, and outdoor staff alike. The cheering and clapping increased when he bent down to pick up his ‘severed’ arm, and flourished it triumphantly, before sauntering off to the back of the room.

  ‘I always suspected that boy had a talent for acting,’ said her father with disdain as Herbert ran back to the fake woodland and took another bow, since the footmen were still whistling, and clapping, and stamping their feet. ‘But never realised he enjoyed it so much. Perhaps I should have done, considering the relish with which he used to invent stories as to why his allowance wouldn’t stretch till next quarter day. If ever he manages to run through his wife’s fortune,’ he said drily, eyeing Herbert’s second retreat to the back row of seats, ‘I foresee him running off and taking to the stage.’

  But Julia was scarcely listening. Because Alec was making his entrance. Her eyes fixed on the jaunty way he was swinging his telescope as he sauntered up to the ‘witch’. She wouldn’t react. She wouldn’t let anyone guess by the merest flicker of an eyelid what was going on in her mind, in her heart.

  The audience was still a little overexcited by the stunning opening sequence, so that Alec had to wait a while for them to quieten down before saying his lines. It gave Julia the chance to make her face freeze into a mask of indifference.

  ‘Good sir, won’t you take pity on a poor old beggar woman?’ said Nellie, finally, in such ringing tones that it made everyone start nudging each other, and saying Hush so they could see what was going to happen next.

  ‘I wish I could help you,’ said Alec, shaking his head ruefully. ‘But you see, I’m just a poor sailor, cast ashore now that the navy has defeated all England’s enemies. I’ve been walking the length and breadth of the land looking for work, but none is to be had for a man who has spent all his life at sea. I just don’t have any skills that are of any use ashore. All I have is this telescope, and half a loaf of bread.’ He sighed, a touch melodramatically. ‘If I don’t find work soon, I will be obliged to sell this...’ he cradled his telescope to his breast ‘...which will be a bitter blow. My captain and crew presented it to me, you see, when I passed the exam which made me a lieutenant. It is my most prized possession.’

  He looked so sorrowful as he regarded his battered telescope that she wondered if it was true. And if so, was he trying to make her sorry she’d damaged it?

  Well she wasn’t! She was angry. Angry that he’d taken advantage of getting involved in the production to say whatever he liked, while at the same time effectively silencing her.

  She lifted her chin and gave him a cold stare.

  Onstage, he was reaching inside his baggy shirt and drawing out a half loaf of bread. ‘Times are hard,’ he said. ‘And if it is hard for me, with youth and strength on my side, I can only imagine how hard it must be for you. I only wish I had more to give you than a share of my last crust,’ he said, tearing the bread in two and holding out a portion to Nellie.

  ‘Isn’t it clever,’ she heard Benson remark to Simson, ‘the way the young ones have adapted the story to fit present company?’

  Very clever. Each of the three to perform so far had used the play to show an aspect of themselves. But at least her brothers hadn’t attempted to make themselves out to be heroes. At least they’d had the ability to laugh at themselves.

  Stephens, who was sitting immediately behind the upper servants, tapped Benson on
the shoulder. ‘Hush up,’ he growled. ‘Or we’ll miss what’s coming next.’

  Benson went red in the face at the temerity of the footman’s remark. But he hushed up anyway. Nobody argued with Stephens when he got that look on his face.

  Because Julia had been distracted by the altercation between Benson and Stephens, she was as startled as anyone else by the flash of flame, and the plume of smoke which suddenly enveloped the two actors on the woodland set. But she did see what went on behind its cover. Winifred and Electra dashed up, threw a spangled shawl over Nellie’s shoulders and clipped on a pair of gossamer wings, while she tore off her fake nose and wart. When the smoke cleared, everyone applauded Nellie’s transformation from hideous witch to beautiful fairy creature.

  Nellie waited for the applause to die away before speaking.

  ‘Because you were willing to share what little you have,’ she said, ‘I shall give you the reward you deserve. What is your heart’s desire?’

  Julia’s heart thumped thickly in her chest.

  Alec scratched his chin. Looked pensive. ‘Well, all I’ve ever wanted is a ship of my own.’

  Julia flinched. She couldn’t help it. He was clearly using the play to convey the message that he couldn’t wait to get back to sea. He’d warned her it would happen, and that when he went they would be glad to see the back of each other.

  And she’d said she would be far more relieved to see him go than he would be to leave.

  She had been wrong. While he clearly couldn’t wait to shake the dust of Ness Hall from his shoes, she was going to miss him terribly. Miss what they’d had to start with anyway. Miss what they could have had if only things hadn’t gone so horribly wrong.

  ‘Go,’ said Nellie, ‘to the forest, and dig about the roots of the lemon trees. It is amongst them that you will find the means to obtain your heart’s desire.’

  The orchestra stuck up a chord, Nellie threw back her head, and launched into a rendition of the song which she managed to get into every production in which she’d appeared that year. At first, Julia couldn’t see that it had anything to do with the current play. But then she grudgingly admitted that it was about staying true when appearances changed, and Nellie had appeared first in the guise of an old crone, and then a beautiful fairy princess, and that only Alec hadn’t treated her any differently whatever she’d looked like.