The Joy of Christmas Present: Sweet Regency Romance (A Dickens of a Christmas Book 2)

by L G Rollins

  Helena took the slip of paper and read it over quickly.

  I need you to ready a small buggy for Miss Spencer. She has a quick errand to make. No one is to know of this. Speak of it to no one.

  “After you hide the silver,” Fredrick hurried on, “go for Mary and Jim. With both the horse and silver found, I’m hoping everyone will assume the children were runaways and not thieves.”

  Helena held the silver in one hand and the letter in the other. “There are a lot of ways this could go wrong.”

  “I know, but I’ll keep the other men away from the road.”

  “I can’t bring Mary and Jim back here. If they’re found, they would still face dire consequences.”

  His lips pulled to the side as his brow dropped. “I don’t have any acquaintances in the area and know of nowhere they might hide for the night.”

  It was moments like this when one needed family most. “My uncle,” Helena said. “He lives in Dunwell. That’s not too far.” She remembered the way. After picking up the children, she could head straight there.

  “Are you sure he would take them in, even just for one night?”

  He probably wouldn’t. No, the more she thought on it, the more certain she was that he absolutely would not take them in. “I shall have to stay and convince him.”

  Fredrick’s worried expression softened. “I pity the man who tries to defy you.”

  Helena nodded sagely. “I may have to put pepper in his tea.”

  Fredrick chuckled softly, then his expression softened. “Are you certain you’re strong enough for this? After last night?”

  “Strong enough to help two small children? I’m hurt you had to ask.”

  His smile returned and he hugged her to him. “I’ll see to the horse and make sure you have plenty of time to gather Mary and Jim and take them to your uncle’s. Then I’ll meet you there.”

  With a kiss to her forehead, he charged back into the cold, dark evening.

  Helena moved toward the stairs. She would speak with his valet first, get the man started on the horse and buggy, and then hide the silver someplace unexpected yet easily found tomorrow morning as the maids cleaned.

  Then she would brave the winter night herself.

  Fredrick’s valet seemed curious about the note Helena gave him and even more so when, after reading it, Helena asked to borrow a spare greatcoat and man’s hat. However, Fredrick was right to trust him. The man asked no questions and soon presented Helena with a well-hitched buggy just as soon as she had seen to the matter of the silver.

  Dressed in the greatcoat and hat, she stepped up into the buggy. Hopefully, she would appear as a man from a distance. She’d snagged a few things from the kitchen beneath the bench where they wouldn’t fly out during the ride—a little milk and a bit of cake. Then, she arranged the thick blanket over her lap and righted the man’s wide-brim hat. Thank goodness for the two hot stones at her feet. The long sleeves of Fredrick’s greatcoat hung down past her hands, making the handling of the reins a bit tricky. But she was determined to manage.

  It seemed the valet’s concern finally won out over his sense of propriety, for he said, “Please excuse me, miss, but a lady riding out alone in the middle of the night is highly unusual.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” Helena replied. “I shall be quite all right.”

  She knew how to handle horses and the buggy was small enough not to be overly difficult, despite her long sleeves.

  “I could accompany you myself if you desire it. Or have one of the footmen sent for.”

  Helena hesitated. It would be nice to have either the valet or a footman with her. Perhaps Willis? It would lend her propriety if she were seen and would be a strong hand if the buggy got caught in the snow. Nonetheless, there wouldn’t be room in the small conveyance for two adults and two children.

  “No thank you,” Helena said, picking up the reins. “I can manage quite well on my own.” She gave the reins a gentle snap and the horse started forward. Blessedly, the valet said no more. He merely bowed slightly and stepped aside. Still, Helena could feel his gaze on her as she rode out toward the main road.

  She hadn’t allowed herself to second guess the plan since the moment she and Fredrick had discussed it. But now that she was alone, with nothing but the cold and the snow clouds for company, she couldn’t help but wonder. Suppose she was caught? From a distance, she would look like a man out for a ride. That would offer her some anonymity. But if anyone drew near enough to see her face or the auburn curls that refused to stay tucked up inside the hat, she would be had. Suppose Lord Andrews saw her? He could easily misunderstand her actions as stealing his servants. Or what if another servant, or even another house guest, had seen her leave? They might very well come to the conclusion she was off to a wanton rendezvous. The past several months, Helena had done nothing but try to prove herself pure and above scrutiny. Yet, scandal seemed to follow her everywhere she went, no matter what she did. Well, if that was the price she paid for the safety of Mary and Jim, she would do it ten times over.

  She arrived at the turn-off to the main road without incident. She pulled the horse to a stop and listened. The night was perfectly still. Fredrick had said he’d keep the other gentlemen searching the opposite regions of Hedgewood Manor. She could only hope he kept them there for a bit longer.

  “Mary?” she called softly. “Jim?”

  No answer. There was a chance they had not had the opportunity to arrive yet. They were walking, after all, while she’d had the benefit of a buggy. Helena kept her gaze on the turn-off but snuggled under the blanket a bit more. She may be in for a long wait. Bless those two heated stones at her feet, else-wise she was libel to freeze to death waiting. It was a frigid night.

  A twig snapped somewhere to her left. Helena sat up straight, the cold air rushing in all around her. She shoved the blanket down closer around her lap as she leaned out of the buggy slightly.

  “Hello? It’s me, Miss Spencer.”

  In response to her name, a bush rustled, and out stepped two small forms she easily recognized.

  “Come, come.” She hurried them over.

  Mary and Jim scampered the rest of the way and climbed into the buggy. What a relief it was to finally see them both once more. Helena pulled the blanket off her own lap and tucked it around the two children. They were shivering, the dears. Helena pushed both heated stones underneath their feet.

  “Careful,” she said, “don’t burn your toes, but keep your feet just above them.”

  Both children nodded. Taking hold of the reins, Helena set them off toward Dunwell. The ride was made in silence. Driving in the dark of night was proving harder than Helena had expected, leaving her little time to think of things to say. Most likely, Mary and Jim were either too cold or too scared to speak themselves.

  They pulled up to Uncle Scrooge’s place of business and Helena sighed in relief. There were lights on and a sleigh parked out front. He was still up. She probably should have realized before now that the chances of him still being at work near midnight on Christmas Eve were small, at best. She’d been too wound up to properly consider it. She was lucky he was still there.

  Nonetheless, someone else was there as well. She didn’t recognize the sleigh. She was fairly sure everyone from Hedgewood Manor who was out searching for Mary and Jim had done so on horseback, not by sleigh, so she wasn’t overly worried. But she still couldn’t risk anyone seeing them. Clucking to the horses, Helena drove the buggy past Uncle Scrooge’s office and down to the first turn in the road. With the blanket and heated stone for the children and herself in a warm greatcoat and thick hat, they would be all right out in the cold for a minute longer. She’d wait for Uncle Scrooge’s guest to leave and then they’d go inside and speak with him. She just hoped it wouldn’t take all night.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Two individuals, a man and a woman, walked out of Uncle Scrooge’s place of business. They stopped for a moment, talking beneath the mo
onlight. Helena held both children close to her, hushing them softly whenever they opened their mouths or shifted about too much.

  The man and woman appeared as though they might kiss but didn’t. Then the man helped the woman into the waiting sleigh and climbed in himself before they rode off.

  Helena sighed out in relief. That was one difficulty avoided. Leaving the buggy pulled around the corner, she stepped down, snow crunching beneath her boots.

  “Come.” She beckoned to Mary and Jim, lifting them down, one by one. “Huddle close, under my coat. You’ll be warmer that way.”

  Neither child was dressed warmly enough, in her estimation. Thankfully, the overly large coat Fredrick’s valet had secured for her fit around her and both children and could still button without a problem. They shuffled up toward the hole-pocked door. There were footsteps coming from inside, as well as two deep voices. If she wasn’t mistaken, the voices were none other than Uncle Scrooge and his assistant, Mr. Cratchit.

  Either way, they couldn’t stay outside any longer. Helena struck the knocker against the metal plate. The sound echoed in the stillness.

  One of the voices said something—Uncle Scrooge grumbling most likely. Well, in this she couldn’t fault him. No doubt, he was as opposed to being interrupted in the middle of the night as she would be.

  The door swung open a small bit.

  “Good evening, Mr. Cratchit,” she said, recognizing the bit of white hair and wrinkled eyes that she could see.

  “Ah, the lovely Miss Spencer. Come inside. Come inside.”

  With Mary and Jim each hugging a leg, their heads coming up only to her waist, it was with an awkward shuffle that they moved inside. It was hardly warmer inside the dark and dank entryway. Disappointing, but she probably should have expected as much.

  “What was I just saying?” Uncle Scrooge said to Mr. Cratchit from behind his desk. “My niece seems insistent on allowing me no peace at all this Christmas.”

  “In that, you are wrong, sir,” Helena said, keeping an arm around each child beneath her coat. “You said that I have allowed you no peace this Christmas. I can assure you, now that we’ve met, I plan to allow you no peace any Christmas from here on out. That is, unless you’ve changed your mind and wish to join us for Christmas dinner tomorrow?”

  “Humbug,” he snarled, then sneezed, and then shivered.

  “Uncle Scrooge.” Helena hurried forward as quickly as the three of them could. “Are you ill?” Now that she drew closer and had a better view of him, his face was drawn and pale. Large red rings hung beneath his eyes, and she thought there was a bit of sweat clinging to his forehead.

  “I am perfectly healthy,” Uncle Scrooge said.

  “It’s no wonder,” she said, choosing to ignore his blatant lie, “with the room forever cold. Mr. Cratchit,” she said, turning around. The smiling man was waiting just behind her. “Go fetch a large heap of firewood. My uncle is far too cold.”

  “Mr. Cratchit,” Uncle Scrooge barked, “don’t you dare leave this room!” His eyes caught hold of something, and his head swung back to Helena as though jerked there by a rope.

  “I see something strange,” Uncle Scrooge said, pointing an accusatory finger toward Helena’s feet, “and not belonging to yourself, protruding from your coat.”

  There was nothing for it. She knew she would have to tell him who she’d brought with her eventually. Helena unbuttoned the coat and pulled it open. Mary and Jim both looked terrified.

  Uncle Scrooge responded far more expressively than she’d anticipated. He reeled back, his face going through a series of cringes as though he saw the children as wretched, hideous, or even frightful.

  “Are they yours?” he finally croaked out.

  “They are some man’s natural children, but I know not whose.”

  “Then what have you to do with them?”

  Anger that he would treat them so callously boiled up inside her. “Are there no prisons? Is that what you mean? Are there no workhouses?” If he chose to ignore and rebuff her, so be it. But that he was so abjectly against caring for two children who were alone in the world—it was nearly enough to make her want to scream. At the very least, it made her want to spin around and leave him to his icy room and fever.

  But no, her time here may prove to be short—she certainly hoped it would be—but until Fredrick came, she would make the most of this situation. Despite all her senses contradicting the notion, Helena still believed there was good in Uncle Scrooge. Somewhere. Deep, deep inside.

  “Jim,” she said, turning to the small boy, “you and Mary go help Mr. Cratchit fetch some firewood. This room needs warming up, no matter what my uncle says.”

  This time, Uncle Scrooge merely grumbled beneath his breath.

  “Come, children,” Mr. Cratchit said, happily showing them the way. “We will make a right proper Christmas Eve fire, after all.”

  The two children followed the old man. With them gone, Helena found she had little more to say to her uncle. She silently took the same chair she’d sat in before.

  Her mind, however, followed Mary and Jim from the room. She’d secreted them away from Hedgewood Manor, all right. But what now? And how soon would Fredrick return? She ached for his reassuring presence.

  Soon, she learned there was no cause to worry for the children. They’d left looking unsure but returned with arms full of wood and smiles on their faces.

  “And then, strangest of all,” Mr. Cratchit was saying as they entered the room, “my grandson, Tim, replied that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day he who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see.”

  “What a strange thing to say,” Mary replied.

  “Ah, yes,” Mr. Cratchit said. “He gets thoughtful sitting by himself so much. I suppose he can think up some strange things now and then. But his heart is as good as gold, it is.”

  Jim, appearing bored with the conversation, hurried over to Helena. “Look at all the wood!” He held his small share out toward her.

  “Excellent.” Helena smiled down at him. Then she directed them all on how to build a blazing fire, and soon the room was warming up.

  Still, Uncle Scrooge took to shivering.

  “Uncle,” Helena said once the fire was well in hand, “You ought to go lie down. You look terrible.”

  “Some familial love,” he scoffed. “Telling an old man he looks terrible.”

  Mr. Cratchit, however, moved up close to Helena and whispered. “That he’s allowed you to warm the room is a miracle. His bedchamber upstairs is even colder than this room was when you entered.”

  “Will he not permit us to light a fire in there as well?” she asked, equally as soft.

  Uncle Scrooge swayed gently in his chair. Though there were no other sounds in the room besides herself and Mr. Cratchit speaking, she still was not fully sure Uncle Scrooge was in a right enough mind to listen in.

  “I’ve tried every night this winter,” Mr. Cratchit said. “He hasn’t allowed it yet.”

  “Very well; it’s probably best if he stays down here then. Perhaps you could go fetch him some blankets, perhaps even a pillow from his room?”

  “At once, miss.” Mr. Cratchit gave her a shaking bow and then strode toward the door. He turned back before disappearing from the room. “And then, perhaps, you might sit with him for a while as I go fetch my granddaughter? She knows a thing or two about caring for a fever.”

  “Of course.”

  Mr. Cratchit nodded his gratitude and then left.

  Mary and Jim sat next to the fire, their little hands stretched out toward the heat. It wasn’t exactly a merry Christmas Eve. But Helena was determined to make the most of it.

  “How about we play some games?” she asked, loud enough for Mary and Jim, as well as her uncle, to hear.

  “Whatever for?” Uncle Scrooge argued.

  “Because it is Christmas Eve, and one ought to be jolly, tonig
ht of all nights.”

  “What should we play?” Mary asked.

  “How, When, Where!” yelled Jim.

  “All right, Jim. You go first,” Helena said.

  Uncle Scrooge only grumbled as Helena and Mary asked Jim the three questions: “How do you like it?”, to which Jim replied, “hot, but cold is good, too”; “When do you like it?”, to which he said, “all the time, but I’ve never had it for breakfast, so I’m only imagining it would be delicious then, too”; and finally, “Where do you like it?”

  “Anywhere I happen to be at the moment,” Jim said with a grin.

  Helena pursed her lips in thought, turning to Mary. “What do you think? It sounds like he’s thinking of something to eat.”

  “His favorite food is cake,” Mary replied.

  “Is it cake?” Uncle Scrooge asked Jim.

  Helena was shocked into momentary silence. Jim, bless the boy, didn’t so much as bat an eye that the grouchy old man was suddenly, unexpectedly, engaging in the game.

  “Yes!” Jim said with joy. “Specifically, honey cake while it’s still hot.”

  “Yum.” Mary sighed.

  Helena found her own mouth watering, too. She would have to be sure and have the dessert made up so these two could be given large slices as soon as she was able. Perhaps Mr. Baker would help her? He clearly had an affinity for sweets, after all.

  Mr. Cratchit returned, his arms full of soft fabrics. Helena directed him as they placed a pillow behind Uncle Scrooge’s back and two blankets over his lap. Another blanket was placed on the floor for the children.

  With a quick and wordless “thank you,” Mr. Cratchit slipped out the door.

  As he left, Helena turned back toward the room just in time to see Uncle Scrooge sigh, almost contentedly, as he settled. Helena smiled inwardly. Others might have thought her foolish to believe her uncle could be more than miserly, but tonight was proof that they were wrong.