A Christmas Promise

by Joanna Barker

  He took the tray from her, setting it on the table where she directed. “Miss Breckenridge, if you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing?”

  “Mrs. Crenshaw is making gingerbread cakes and biscuits for the mummers’ play this evening,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  “And have you known Mrs. Crenshaw long?” he asked. Based on how comfortable Miss Breckenridge was helping in the woman’s kitchen, the two must be old friends.

  “Oh no.” She smiled, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead with the back of her wrist. “We only arrived a few hours before you did. I’ve never been to Bradstock before, but it is a lovely village. Everyone has been so agreeable.” She pushed open the kitchen door. “Come along; there is plenty of work to do.”

  Not knowing what else to do, he followed her back into the kitchen.

  Seeing Matthews there, James froze, blinking and wondering if he was actually dreaming. The man was in his shirtsleeves with an apron tied around his waist, scooping spoonfuls of batter into pans with Miss Riley.

  The red-haired young lady was chatting happily, and though Matthews didn’t talk back, a shadow of a smile played over his face.

  James leaned back on the counter, hardly noticing when Miss Breckenridge handed him a dish towel and a wet pan. He stared at his friend, seeing a hint of the man he’d known years ago, and something constricted inside his chest.

  He wiped the towel absently over the pan as he tried to make sense of the odd moment. Perhaps coming after the colonel’s daughter was not a waste of time after all.

  Chapter 3

  The final gingerbread cakes were baked, biscuits sprinkled with sugar, and dishes cleaned and dried. At last, the time had come for the mummers’ play.

  Lucy put on warm stockings and her heaviest coat. She wrapped a scarf around her neck and pulled on mittens as she exited her room. The idea of attending an outdoor play in the darkness thrilled her to no end.

  Meg waited in the inn’s upstairs hall. When she saw Lucy, she flapped her hand, waving her forward. “Come along, miss. We don’t want to be late.”

  Lucy didn’t need to be told twice.

  With quick steps, the pair descended the narrow staircase and hurried outside, crossing the road and joining a small crowd that was gathering at the village green.

  Torches and lanterns illuminated a circle of light, creating a stage on the frozen grass in which the actors strolled about, telling jokes and singing songs to welcome the audience. The brightness of the firelight made the night outside the circle seem even darker, which made the entire event seem all the more exciting. Lucy and Meg found a spot in the crowd where they had a good view of the performers.

  “I’ve not seen Mr. Owens since we arrived,” Lucy said, glancing at the unfamiliar faces around them and wondering if he might be among them. “Do you think he’s sleeping?”

  Meg smirked. “I’d guess he’s enjoying himself at a pub, now that he’s away from Mrs. Fraser’s watchful eye. Grows tired o’ being scolded when he’d just like a drink.”

  One of the actors, a tall man dressed in a costume representing a suit of armor, stood in the center of the stage and, with a loud voice, welcomed the audience to the performance.

  “It would be a pity if he were to miss the play,” Lucy whispered.

  Meg didn’t respond. She was scanning the crowd. After a moment, she started. “Oh, look. There is Mr. Matthews and Captain Stewart. Perhaps we should invite them to come watch with us.”

  The men apparently had the same thought. Seeing them, Captain Stewart waved, and the two moved through the crowd to join the women.

  The actors in their comical costumes began introducing themselves, using clever rhymes that elicited laughs from the crowd. Parents lifted small children onto shoulders, and other children pushed their way to the front of the audience for a better view.

  Lucy motioned for a group of children to stand in front of her, and she stepped back to let them squeeze past. When she did, she stepped directly onto Captain Stewart’s foot, throwing her off-balance.

  He caught her elbow, steadying her. “Careful, Miss Breckenridge.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She looked down at his foot, and then up at him, grimacing.

  “I hardly noticed it,” he said, though she was certain he was not telling the truth. She had stepped down hard, and he’d likely have a bruise in the shape of her boot heel tomorrow.

  She turned back around to watch.

  Two of the actors fought with swords, and the audience pressed closer, excited by the action taking place before them. A group of men who smelled very much like they had been joining Mr. Owens at the pub jostled one another to Lucy’s right, growing louder as the fighting continued on stage.

  One of the men shoved another, making him stumble toward Lucy.

  Captain Stewart took her by the arms, moving her away from the men and settling her directly in front of him.

  Lucy’s heart beat fast. The crowd was rowdier than she’d expected. Men and women yelled and cheered at the performance, and the actors seemed to be encouraging it. She’d not expected a Christmas play to be such a rambunctious event. She glanced back, but Captain Stewart did not seem nervous at all, apparently perfectly happy to watch the play over her head.

  Looking to the side, she saw that Meg had taken Mr. Matthews’s arm and stood close to him to avoid the press of the crowd. Lucy studied the pair for a moment in the torchlight. Mr. Matthews stood quietly, watching the play with his sad eyes. When Meg said something, he glanced at her and appeared to want to smile, though the expression didn’t quite manifest. Mr. Matthews did seem more at peace when he was with Meg. That wasn’t difficult to understand at all. Meg was kind and warm, and her smile was pure joy.

  Hearing a loud cheer, Lucy turned back to the performance. The knight had slain his enemy. The vanquished man lay on the ground with a wooden sword poking up from between his arm and torso.

  The crowd grew louder, yelling at the stage, and Captain Stewart put a protective hand on Lucy’s arm. The simple gesture made her feel safe, even though she suspected it was done out of a desire to keep her from being bumped and stepping on his foot again.

  The rowdy group called out, boisterous, and she moved closer to the captain, his chest warming her back comfortably.

  On the stage, a doctor came forward with a magical potion, and the crowd cheered when he brought the knight’s dead opponent back to life. The play continued, and the crowd seemed to calm somewhat, but Lucy didn’t move away, and Captain Stewart didn’t take his hand from her arm.

  She’d felt resentful and a bit angry when the captain had come to Bradstock after her and insisted that she should return home, but right now she was immensely grateful that he was here. His calm confidence set her at ease. She knew he wouldn’t let any harm come to her.

  She sighed, feeling a tinge of disappointment. All of Captain Stewart’s behavior toward her, from the delivery of his message the day before to the way he protected her from the crowd now, was done out of duty and respect for her father, his commander. And she would do well to remember it. But a part of her—a foolish, romantic part—wished his actions were directed by desires of his own.

  ***

  Hours later, Lucy sat alone in The Fox and Fern’s dining room. She turned to a blank page in the Christmas album and wrote about the mummers’ play, telling of the humorous costumes and the cakes and wassail they’d enjoyed after. She attempted to draw a picture of Father Christmas with his red beard and green robe lined with fur. His appearance had been the climax of the performance, eliciting cheers from old and young as he led the crowd back to The Fox and Fern for Mrs. Crenshaw’s sweet treats.

  Hearing a footstep on the stairs, she looked up.

  Captain Stewart came down the steps and sat beside her. He rested one arm on the table. “Miss Breckenridge, you’re very early for breakfast.”

  “I didn’t want to wake up Meg,” she explained, nodding toward the lantern.
>
  He glanced at the album. “Surely this can wait until morning. You must be tired after traveling all day and celebrating late into the night.”

  In spite of herself, she yawned. She was tired, but she wanted the album to be perfect—and up-to-date—when she presented it to her father. “I could say the same to you, Captain,” she said. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

  He rubbed his eyes and shrugged. “I suppose I should.” He tilted his head to the side to get a better view of the page she was drawing on. “What is so important that it keeps you up into the wee hours of the morning?”

  For an instant, Lucy was tempted to hide the book. The album belonged to herself and her father alone, and sharing it with an outsider felt like letting a stranger into a private conversation. But she decided that he meant no harm, and besides, she hoped he would stay longer and talk with her.

  “It is a Christmas album,” she said. “It is how Father and I share our Christmases, even when we aren’t together.”

  “May I?”

  Lucy pushed the book toward him and put her quill in the inkpot. Captain Stewart turned through the pages slowly, studying the entries.

  “I’m bringing it to Father,” she explained. “We will read it together and add to it this year, to remember our Christmas in London.”

  The edges of his eyes tightened, but he didn’t say anything, turning another page.

  Lucy did not understand what bothered him about her taking the journey. But she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to see her father just because a person she’d only met the day before told her to.

  Captain Stewart studied an invitation to a Christmas dance that she’d glued to one of the pages. She’d attended with the family of a second cousin three years earlier when she’d spent Christmas with them in Northallerton.

  “Father’s letters are much more interesting than my own entries,” she said, feeling as though the silence had become too uncomfortable. “He spent one December in Calcutta.” She scooted her chair closer so she sat directly beside him, and then turned the pages to a particular letter with an illustration. “The English officers threw a grand Christmas party, riding down the river in a barge lit with colored lanterns.” Lucy smoothed down her father’s drawing of the boat on a tree-lined river.

  Captain Stewart stopped at the lottery handbill, running his finger over the cartoon in the corner. “I remember this,” he said softly. He looked at her entry on the facing page where she described church with Aunt Prudence followed by a Christmas dinner at the parsonage. Lucy had drawn the parson’s wife’s spiced apple centerpiece.

  “You have had a variety in your celebrations as well,” he said.

  Lucy frowned. His words left her feeling completely misunderstood. “In all the time Father has been gone, I’ve not celebrated Christmas at all. Not truly. I’ve been an addition to other people’s celebrations, but none were my own.” She turned the pages back to the last entry, indicating the blank page beside it. “This year was to be different.” She let her fingers trail over the page. “Father and I were going to have Christmas together in our own house like a regular family. Neither of us would be a guest or a visitor or a stranger.” She felt a lump in her throat at the reminder of her disappointment. “We’d have roast goose and dumplings and black currant jam on our bread just like we used to, because they are our favorite foods, not somebody else’s. We would play the games we love, sing the songs we choose . . . and we could even have a dog.”

  “A dog?” Captain Stewart’s brow furrowed, and he gave her a confused look. “What has a dog to do with Christmas?”

  “We had a dog before Father went away,” Lucy told him, embarrassed to feel tears coming to her eyes. “A black terrier named Donald.” She swallowed and blinked quickly. “But one cannot have a dog when she is moving from one relation’s house to the next every few months. In my own home, I can have a dog.”

  “I suppose that’s what we all want,” he said. His voice sounded softer than it had before. “A home and a family”—he glanced at her—“and a dog.”

  Lucy felt silly for sharing something so personal. She could blame her outspokenness on the late hour. She was very tired.

  “Do you have family in Edinburgh?” she asked, wanting to deflect the attention from herself.

  “Aye. A large one.”

  “Then why are you here and not with them? I’d think you’d want to be home after being away for so long.”

  “I should,” he said. “But home isn’t really home anymore, if that makes any sense.”

  Lucy shook her head. It made no sense at all.

  “I left home when I was eleven to attend school,” Captain Stewart said. “I returned on some holidays, but not every one. Edinburgh is a long way from London.” He clasped his hands together on the table. “I attended Sandhurst and left directly to fight in Naples.” He let out a sigh. “The house—it hasn’t really been my home in nearly twenty years. It belongs to my brother now. And his family.” He kept his gaze on the Christmas album. “He is pleased that I am returning, and he will be happy to have me stay. But I’d be a visitor there, and . . .” He shrugged and gave a small smile. “I couldn’t have a dog.”

  “I’m sorry, Captain Stewart,” Lucy said in a low voice. Her hand twitched, and for a second she imagined reaching to touch him.

  “I think you are one of the few people who understands, Miss Breckenridge.”

  She looked up, and his gaze captured hers. His head tipped the slightest bit as he studied her. Lucy’s pulse quickened, and her cheeks flushed. She pulled her eyes away and made herself busy wiping ink off her quill.

  “You could be in Edinburgh by Christmas morning,” she said. “Or do you still think to stop me from going to London?”

  “I have no intention of stopping you, Miss Breckenridge.”

  She nodded, satisfied that he’d at last seen reason.

  “On the contrary. I plan to join you.”

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, or rather a few hours later, James dressed and came downstairs before the sun rose. Miss Breckenridge had said she’d meet him in the inn’s dining room for breakfast, but the young lady had evaded him once, and he’d be a fool if he let her get away from him again. He did not care to spend the entire day searching through coaching houses in Cambridgeshire and Rutland.

  Miss Breckenridge hadn’t seemed pleased by his intention to accompany her to London—which, truth be told, wounded his pride. Instead, she’d acted suspicious, as if he would somehow sabotage the journey or even kidnap her and return her to Pinnock Hill.

  Both thoughts had occurred to him yesterday—however briefly as his frustration with the situation had compounded with each coaching inn he’d stopped at—but last night, his motives had taken a complete reversal. Christmas with her father meant more to Miss Breckenridge than James could have imagined. Probably more than even the colonel knew. She’d built up her expectation into something that would never possibly be realized, no matter how desperately she wanted it.

  Seeing how she’d treasured her Christmas book—how she’d painstakingly documented the holiday for thirteen years—had touched a place deeply buried in his heart. And it hurt. He knew exactly how it was to feel lonely, to miss family, and the thought of the young girl alone, shuffled from relative to relative . . . without even a blasted dog. It was the last straw. He would make certain that she had Christmas with her father. Even though . . . His stomach felt sick as he came again to the point, the reason Christmas as she’d imagined with her father wasn’t possible.

  The truth would hurt her, but she’d discover it eventually. And he didn’t want her to confront it alone.

  Besides, he was disobeying a direct order. He needed to face the colonel and accept the blame for his actions in person.

  Perhaps he would think of something on the way—something to make the truth more bearable to a young lady who ached for her father. If nothing else, James would find a village with another mummers
’ play. Or a church choir concert. Or a group of carolers singing house to house and drinking wassail. He’d find something to distract Miss Breckenridge, something she could write about in her book.

  As he contemplated, customers filled up the dining room. Many were travelers, some soldiers on their journey home. Others were villagers whom he recognized from the night before.

  Matthews joined him at the table.

  “Sleep well?” James acknowledged his friend with the same greeting he’d said each morning since leaving France.

  Matthews’s mouth pulled to the side.

  James stared. The expression was nearly a smirk, and the closest to an actual smile that James had seen on his friend in over a year. If Matthews had jumped on the table and begun juggling hams, James would not have been more surprised.

  “Well then,” he said, lifting his brows. “I’m glad to hear it.” He was tempted to ask if a particular red-haired young lady’s company at the play last night had anything to do with his friend waking well rested and cheerful, but he did not want to pry.

  A few moments later, Miss Breckenridge and Miss Riley entered the dining room. They waved to an older man sitting at a table on the far side of the room, motioning for him to join them as they sat at the table with James and Matthews.

  Miss Breckenridge introduced the older man as Mr. Owens.

  Mr. Owens regarded the men through squinty eyes, as if trying to take their measure. But before he could do more than give a suspicious greeting, Mrs. Crenshaw came to the table and inquired after their accommodations. Once she was assured that they’d all spent a comfortable night, she left to fetch breakfast.

  “Now that you’ve had a chance to consider, Captain Stewart,” Miss Breckenridge began, “do you still intend to come with us to London?”

  “We do indeed.” James nodded. “And it would be expedient, not to mention much more enjoyable, for both of our parties to travel together.”