The Captain's Christmas Bride

by Annie Burrows

  Instead of going to search for the treasure, Alec sank down onto the tree stump at Nellie’s feet, gazing up at her, apparently spellbound by the beauty of the witch and her mellifluous voice.

  She’d had no idea he was such a gifted actor. Although, perhaps he really didn’t care how much he was hurting her. Her hands curled into claws in her lap. How could he be so callous?

  But then why shouldn’t he be? Why should he care in the slightest for her, or her feelings, when she’d trapped him into a marriage he hadn’t even wanted? He’d reminded her tonight that he’d had his life all mapped out before he arrived at Ness Hall. And he’d also just told her, in front of everyone, that getting a new ship was still his heart’s desire. Was what he’d always wanted. Well, she knew that already. Did he have to ram the fact that their marriage was over, over, over, down her throat?

  Fortunately for Julia, the song had tragic associations—since there were rumours it was written for Lord Wellington’s wife, when she lost her looks due to smallpox—and Nellie’s performance was so moving that most of the ladies were reaching for their handkerchiefs before it came to an end. So she had the perfect excuse for dabbing at her own eyes.

  Trust Alec to pick a song that everyone associated with a miserable marriage, she sniffed, blowing her nose as Nellie graciously acknowledged the applause, and wafted off the stage.

  Then Alec shook his head, as though shaking off a dream, got to his feet, and went over to the lemon trees. He leaned over the pots, and from behind the larger one, pulled out—to the accompaniment of a duck call from one of the orchestra members—the stuffed duck she’d seen Winifred painting yellow. Only now it had sequins glued all over it, too, so that it glittered.

  Everyone in the audience roared with laughter as Alec regarded the duck in distaste.

  ‘Well,’ he said, once the hilarity had died down. ‘The good fairy said I could use this to gain my heart’s desire. So I suppose she meant I should sell it, and buy my ship. I’ll go to London and put my case—and my duck—to the Admiralty board.’

  The orchestra struck up a sea shanty as Alec set off, whistling cheerfully. The younger boys and girls came running out from behind various pieces of scenery singing along to his whistled sea shanty, and did a little dance she assumed was meant to be a hornpipe. Actually, given the fact that Alec had been so involved with the youngsters over the last few days, it was probably completely authentic.

  She was the only person present who didn’t appear to be enjoying the performance. Everyone else, even her father, was clapping, or tapping their feet in time to the jaunty music. And when it reached a rousing conclusion, everyone—particularly the proud parents of all those who’d taken part—applauded their performance.

  She alone kept her fists clenched in her lap. It was all she could do to hold herself together, never mind pretend she was enjoying a play that, so far as she could see, had been expressly written to hurt and humiliate her as much as possible. He’d isolated her, that was what he’d done, by charming first her family, and now the audience. Everyone was on his side.

  Alec stepped out from wherever he’d been lurking while the children performed their piece, and went to stand by the backdrop with the tavern painted on it.

  ‘The day is far spent,’ he said. ‘I may as well rest here for the night.’

  From that point on, the play stuck pretty close to the original story. The innkeeper’s daughters, played by Winifred, Electra, and Lizzie, crept into Alec’s room while he was sleeping, in an attempt to steal a feather from the golden duck. And became stuck fast, by magic, to its sequinned back. Uncle Henry, as the tavern keeper, berated them for being in a man’s room, and, as he tried to drag them out, became stuck, too. And then Aunt Constance came in, accusing him of taking part in an orgy with the tavern wenches, and got stuck to him.

  As they all shouted and struggled, Alec woke up and rubbed his eyes as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  While they all carried on arguing and struggling, he picked up his telescope.

  ‘I’m off to London, to make my fortune,’ he declared, tucking the sequinned duck under his arm. When he set off, the tavern wenches, the innkeeper, and his wife all trotted along behind him, making increasingly frantic efforts to get free.

  ‘I have to say they’re doing this remarkably well,’ her father leaned to murmur in her ear. ‘To look at them, anyone would think they really were caught in some spell and couldn’t break free.’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Especially considering they haven’t rehearsed it. Well, not Uncle Henry and Aunt Constance, anyway.’

  ‘Hmm...but then the tale of the Golden Goose is pretty well known. And your Aunt Constance has a fondness for charades and such like. Always shines at this sort of thing. But you have to hand it to your husband. The way he is strolling along, all unconcerned, as though he’s barely aware of them...’ He chuckled. ‘Capital entertainment the young ones have got up, this year. Capital.’

  Julia’s sense of isolation grew even worse as her father gave his seal of approval to the pantomime which was causing her such anguish. She felt mocked, too, by the servants’ gales of laughter at the sight of their betters apparently helpless under the force of the witch’s spell.

  Only her Uncle Algernon appeared to find the whole thing the least bit unsettling.

  ‘Young man,’ he said, from the chair where he was sitting on the sidelines. ‘Your behaviour is disgraceful. How could you lead these innocent, impressionable girls into such an escapade? Have you no shame? And as for you...’ he turned on Aunt Constance ‘...at your age you ought to know better.’

  For one moment, everyone tried to stifle their laughter. Uncle Algernon’s face had gone purple and his jowls were quivering ominously. He had never looked more like a bishop, ranting against the sinfulness of the younger generation than he did in that instant.

  ‘Leave off cavorting in the streets,’ he bellowed. ‘And return to your home!’

  He reached out to seize Aunt Constance, and compel her to do as he bid her. Only some force greater than him appeared to pluck him from his place and join the tail of people magically glued to Alec. The audience laughed even harder than before when they realised that far from condemning the jollity he was, actually, joining in. And Julia finally understood Uncle Maurice’s cryptic remarks about Uncle Algernon, in relation to Nellie’s ability to make a man do anything.

  Aunt Joan stood up next, wringing her hands. ‘Have you no thought to your position? What will the archbishop think if he hears you’ve taken part in a silly jest like this? Sit down, sit down!’

  ‘I only wish I could.’ He panted, pretend-struggling to get free.

  ‘Of course you could. Stop this play-acting nonsense at once!’

  ‘If you think I wouldn’t rather be sitting next to you,’ he said as Alec tugged him towards the fireplace, ‘then you are very much mistaken. Instead of acting like a shrew, why don’t you try helping me to get free?’

  ‘Oh, this is ridiculous,’ she snapped, grabbing his arm as he went past her chair for the second time. And then shrieking as she appeared to get stuck, too. The audience, seeing that Aunt Joan’s pious show of outrage was also part of the act, roared with appreciative laughter.

  ‘Frances, Frances,’ Aunt Joan wailed, as she was dragged past her sister-in-law’s seat. ‘Help!’

  ‘Me?’ Aunt Frances said, placing one elegant hand on her bony chest. ‘I don’t see what I could do. But, I suppose...’ she sighed with an air of resignation ‘...I must do what little I can.’ She set her face, rose elegantly to her feet, and took hold of the sleeve of Joan’s gown. And became part of Alec’s human tail, too.

  ‘Stephens,’ she cried, holding out her free hand imploringly. ‘You are the only one strong enough to help.’

  With an air of determination, the enormous footman surged
to his feet as the tail swept past his chair, stepped up behind Aunt Frances, and manfully seized her round the waist. With the inevitable result.

  ‘Take your hands off me,’ Aunt Frances protested, trying to swat at him with her fan over her shoulder.

  ‘Sorry, ma’am,’ replied Stephens, going rather red in the face, but remaining firmly glued to her back, with his meaty great arms wrapped round her waist.

  At that point, even Julia’s father burst out laughing.

  ‘Never knew the dried-up old stick had it in her.’ He chuckled.

  Only Julia sat stony-faced as Alec led his victims round the furniture, in and out of the pillars, and over various obstacles. Because it was clear to her that various members of the audience had been primed to join in, even though they weren’t in costume. Or, if not, then they were all just joining in what was swiftly descending into something rather like a cross between a child’s game of follow-my-leader, and a riotous, drunken sort of country dance. Everyone, it seemed, was thoroughly enjoying themselves.

  Except her.

  But at length, Alec came to a standstill in front of the thrones on which she and her father were sitting.

  ‘Your majesty,’ said Alec to Papa as he swept a low bow—causing incidental havoc amongst his human tail. ‘I have come to London to seek my fortune. Do you, perchance, have a ship I can command?’

  It was just as well he was keeping his eyes fixed doggedly on Papa. This was the closest she’d been to him for days. And that time he’d been shouting at her, red-faced and furious. Back then, it had been relatively easy to maintain a sort of dignified indifference. But oh, how hard it was tonight to resist the temptation to slap his face. Could she get away with it, as part of the performance? Probably not. Everyone, but her, seemed to know the part she was supposed to perform. And unless Freddie handed her a card with stage directions on, she couldn’t slap her husband without letting everyone know how deeply upset with him she was.

  Tremors started up in her stomach, and her knees. Tremors of hurt, and confusion, and thwarted rage. Ruthlessly, she slammed the lid on all her feelings. Reached for the ice she’d imagined flowing through her veins earlier. She would remain cold, and unmoving, no matter what he said or did. No matter how close he stood. No matter how much her hands longed to reach out and...touch him, move him, make him look at her, notice her.

  At this point Freddie handed her father a card with a few words written on it.

  ‘Oh. Do I have to say these lines?’

  Well at least Papa wasn’t in on the jest Alec seemed determined to play on her. Papa clearly hadn’t been to any rehearsals, nor had any idea what he was supposed to do or say next.

  Papa fished out his spectacles, hooked them over his ears, and peered at the wording on the card. ‘I see,’ he said, raising his eyebrows and giving Alec a cool, considering look.

  ‘“I do not have a ship for you to command,”’ he read aloud. ‘“Even though you appear to have mustered your crew already.”’ He eyed the trail of people who were apparently bound to him by some form of enchantment. ‘“But I have something far better for you. My daughter.”’ He waved his hand in her direction. ‘“She isn’t happy. In fact, she hasn’t smiled for a year and a day. And I have vowed to give her hand, and half my kingdom, to the man who can make her smile.”’

  Alec stepped back—causing all his magically stuck followers to stagger back like drunken shadows—and looked her up and down.

  Julia braced herself. So far he’d used the form of the play to make some very pointed statements. And now he’d got the perfect opportunity to tell everyone exactly what he thought of her. She wouldn’t be a bit surprised if this version of the Golden Goose ended with the sailor saying not even a princess and half the kingdom was worth sacrificing his happiness for, and going off to sea with her entire family stuck to the duck he held under his arm.

  ‘Well, it’s very kind of you to offer me the hand of your daughter, but—’

  No matter what he said next, she would not let anyone know he’d hurt her. She would not.

  ‘I don’t think I’m the proper sort of husband for her. For she’s a princess, and I’m just a poor sailor. Very poor. Too poor to really think about marrying anyone, let alone a princess.’

  Benjamin put another card into Papa’s hand.

  ‘“You will not be a poor man once you marry my daughter,”’ said Papa. ‘“I have told you, I will give you half of my kingdom.”’ Just as he’d been obliged to do in real life.

  ‘That’s all very well,’ repeated Alec with a stubborn glint in his eye. ‘But what sort of a man marries a woman just to get his hands on her money? A blackguard, that’s who!’

  ‘“Are you by any chance,”’ read Papa, ‘“reluctant to marry my daughter? Do you find some fault in her?”’

  Ah. That was a question he’d never asked before. They’d both been so determined, her father and Alec, to hush everything up and avoid scandal, that Alec’s feelings about what he had to do had never been taken into consideration. At last he was getting the chance to tell everyone what he really thought about being press-ganged into marrying her.

  She braced herself as Alec turned his head, and finally looked at her. Really looked at her.

  ‘No,’ he said stoutly. ‘I find no fault in her at all.’

  What? Julia blinked. That wasn’t at all the kind of thing she’d expected him to say.

  ‘She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’

  He said it with such sincerity she almost believed him. Except that she could hear a caveat in the tone of his voice.

  ‘It’s just that...’

  Ah. Here it came. The excuse for avoiding an entanglement with her. She stiffened her spine and gave him her coldest, hardest look.

  ‘Well, how could a simple sailor like me possibly make a princess happy? I wouldn’t know how. I’ve no experience with women, you see, having spent all my adult life at sea.’

  As excuses went, it was brilliant, she had to give him that. Just the sort of thing a sensible man would say to a monarch when he wished above all else to disobey a decree without suffering a painful penalty.

  Benjamin handed her father yet another card.

  ‘“Then this shall be your quest,”’ said Papa. ‘“You must discover what it takes to make my daughter happy. Or suffer banishment from my kingdom. And deliver up to me, as compensation for my disappointment, the golden goose.”’

  Alec turned to the tail of people following him. ‘Some of you are women,’ he said with an air of desperation. ‘What do you think would make her happy?’

  ‘Money,’ declared Uncle Henry, ignoring the fact that he wasn’t a woman.

  ‘Lots of stamina in the bedroom,’ declared Aunt Constance, shooting him a withering look.

  ‘No, no, it will be money,’ put in Electra, as one of the tavern wenches. ‘It was what we wanted, wasn’t it? Money to buy fine clothes.’

  ‘Yes, of course it’s money,’ said Uncle Henry impatiently. ‘Though my last mistress told me the only thing that would make her happy was a box at the opera, it was the position of it, which would show I’d opened my purse to her, she really wanted.’ Which inflammatory remark caused her Aunt Constance to reach over the tavern wenches and cuff him round the ear.

  ‘You are all idiots,’ snapped Aunt Frances. ‘Every woman wants to be loved, of course. Tell her you love her, young man, and give her a kiss, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if that doesn’t break the spell holding us here.’

  There was a murmur of agreement from his captives, which rippled through the audience, too.

  With a sinking heart, Julia foresaw the end of the play. As in the ways of many of these sorts of tales, the kiss of ‘true love’ would break all the spells, and they would all be supposed to live happily ever after.

&nb
sp; The trouble was, this wasn’t a story. Well, it was a story, but it was her life, too. And she didn’t think she could possibly play-act at the happy ending, when she was pretty certain that her own life was never going to have any such thing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Princess,’ said Alec, sweeping her a bow, and thereby compelling his human tail to do the same. ‘I love you.’

  Freddie handed her a card upon which one word was written.

  ‘“Stuff!”’

  ‘I knew you’d say that,’ said Alec.

  Freddie handed her another card.

  ‘Of course you did,’ she said waspishly—without bothering to even glance at the lines. ‘Since you have clearly written the script to suit yourself.’

  ‘Indeed I have. Nevertheless, it is true.’

  Freddie nudged her, silently urging her to read the words she was supposed to say once he’d had his turn.

  ‘“You cannot possibly love me,”’ she read woodenly. ‘“We have only just met. You know nothing about me.”’

  ‘I know you are beautiful,’ said Alec. ‘And that everyone here wants you to be happy again. Don’t you?’ he said over his shoulder to his train.

  Some called out ‘Oh, yes, your Highness.’ Others, ‘We do!’

  ‘See? They all love you, too. And not one of us would love you if you didn’t deserve to be loved.’

  In bewilderment, she reached for the next card Freddie was holding out to her. She could no longer work out what was real, and what was play-acting any more. And, as she looked at the words written there, her eyes began to sting. How could he expect her to speak these lines, in public?

  But Freddie was looking up at her expectantly, and her father was, too, and so were all the servants. She couldn’t simply break down in tears, or get up and run out, as though she had no more backbone than a serving maid.