A Victorian Christmas

by Catherine Palmer

  What if Grey simply eloped with the woman? If he declared his affection—his love, for that is what he knew he felt—she might willingly follow him away from Brackenhurst to build a new life far from the confines of English society. But could Grey show such blatant disregard of his avowed determination to do right? If he ran off with Star, everything he had told his family would be meaningless. He would estrange himself forever from his father and brother. His mother would be heartbroken. And his testimony of a changed life in Christ would be as hollow as the corridors of Brackenhurst Manor.

  Blast, blast, blast! He slammed his fist against the cedar hedge. As a shower of snow tumbled to the ground, a startled gasp drifted through the maze.

  “Who’s there?” a woman cried.

  Grey frowned at the unexpected intrusion. “It’s Stratton.”

  “Oh, thank goodness! I’ve been racing around in this maze like a hen on a hot griddle. I’ll bet I’ve been tracking my own footprints for nearly two hours, and I haven’t found the path out yet. Are you lost, too?”

  His frown transforming instantly into a grin, Grey slipped his hands into his pockets. “I say, Miss Ellis, is that you?”

  “Who did you think it was, buckaroo? Listen, my toes are so cold they’re about to chip off inside my boots, and I’ve got to get dressed for the party. Do you know the way out?”

  “It would help to know where you are, first.”

  “A pile of snow just fell on my head. Does that tell you anything?”

  Grey laughed and thrust his hand through the three-foot-thick cedar. “Can you see my fingers?”

  A small hand closed around his own. “Oh, Grey, I’ve felt so lost. So confused. I’m scared.”

  “Don’t be frightened. The maze has a pattern. It’s very simple, really. What you need is a good guide. . . .” Grey paused and shut his eyes. A pattern through the maze. Wasn’t that exactly what he’d been seeking when he wandered in here? And who was the guide in whose hands he had placed his life?

  Oh, God, can You help me? he prayed as he clutched Star’s hand through the hedge. Can You show me the way out of this maze?

  “Grey?” she called softly. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m here. I’m going to help you.” He straightened. “Stay where you are, and wait for me. I’ll lead you to safety.”

  He drew his hand from hers and started down the familiar path. The maze was no mystery to him, nor was it frightening in the least. In fact, he often had sought the comfort of its shadows. He knew the plan.

  As he turned left, then right, then right again, he spotted Star standing alone, her hands clenched tightly as she peered through the high green hedges for some sign of rescue. The hem of her dark coat carried a crust of snow, and a sugaring of flakes dusted her shoulders. Her cheeks glowed bright pink, and her green eyes shone as if with an inner light.

  Star of Bethlehem, he thought.

  “Grey!” Seeing him, she threw open her arms and ran down the pathway. “Oh, Grey, thank God!”

  He caught her up and held her tightly. “It’s all right now. I’ve got you.”

  “I didn’t think I’d ever find my way out. I came in here to escape all the fuss over the Christmas fandango—Massey squeaking around in those confounded shoes, Rupert and the Smythe gals chasing each other through the drawing rooms, Betsy and Nell scurrying around like a pair of hornets in a summer bonnet. I wanted some time to myself, time to sort everything out, and then—”

  “You’re very cold.”

  “I’m half-frozen.”

  He cupped her gloved hands inside his and warmed them with his breath. “Star, I need to talk to you—”

  “Don’t talk, Grey.” Her green eyes clouded with sudden tears. “There’s nothing to say. I’ve had a good two hours out here to pray, and every time I’ve said amen, I realize I’ve come up with the same two-word answer to all my troubles.”

  “And what words are those?”

  “Follow Me. Just follow the Lord. That’s all I know to do, Grey. I have to trust Him with my life. Every time I’ve chosen my own path, I’ve tripped right over my two big feet. Oh, the good Lord picks me up and dusts me off. He makes the best of my mistakes. But I don’t want to make any more mistakes, Grey. I can’t understand why God would yoke me up to an unbeliever. After listening to Rupert scoff the other night when you talked of surrendering to Christ, I was filled with doubts about the state of his soul. But it’s not my place to judge—just follow. And the only way I know to do that is to complete the mission I was sent here on. I’ve got to honor my daddy’s promise—and marry Rupert.”

  As tears trickled down her cheeks, Grey pulled the woman to his chest and held her as firmly as if she were a part of him. He’d done all he could to keep from loving Star, but he’d failed. He did love her, and if he chose to forge his own way in this world, he would sweep her up and carry her off in his arms.

  “I could speak to my father,” he began. “I could tell him—”

  “He would never trust you again. If you ruined his plans for Rupert, he would disown you. Your mother was watching me quilt yesterday, and she said the earl has chosen a young woman for you. She’s very well off, a London beauty. She’s coming to the party tonight, and—”

  “No. I won’t go that far.” Breathing hard, he drew her closer. “If I can’t have you, I’ll leave this place. To live here at Brackenhurst with another woman while you and Rupert . . .” He clenched his jaw. “No, I’ll go back to India. Right now. That’s where I’m meant to be, anyway. I’ve known that much all along. The tea estate is the answer to the earldom’s financial difficulties, and I’m the man to run it. I’ve done all I came to do here—I’ve told my family about the change in my life, and I’ve made peace with my father. But I won’t stay here and watch the woman I love . . .”

  “I love you, too,” Star whispered, her words muffled by the wool fabric of his greatcoat as she pressed her face against his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to love you, and I’ve done all I could to keep from it. But somehow you and I match . . . we fit together like a pair of patches in a quilt, seam for seam and point for point. Knowing that you love me fills my heart to the brim. And at the same time, it’s killing me.”

  “I won’t cause you pain, Star.”

  “Then you’d better go, and don’t ever come back. Because every time I see you . . . every time I hear your voice . . .”

  Grey could hardly contain the urge to lift this woman into his arms and claim her as his own. All that was in him demanded it. And yet he had already made his decision—made it in a hospital bed in India.

  He took her arms, set her away from him, and looked into her eyes. “What I love most about you, Star, is the shining light of faith in your life. Don’t lose that. Don’t let me dim your brilliance. You are the Star of Bethlehem, and I want you to go on shining. Shine for my father and my mother. Shine for Rupert, blast him. Shine for Betsy and Nell and everyone in the village. And follow the Truth, who holds you in His hands.”

  As she wept, he turned her around. “Walk straight to the end of this corridor,” he said. “Turn left, and you’ll see the opening in the maze. Go forward, Star Ellis. Shine.”

  As she stumbled away from him, Grey turned and ran deeper into the twists and turns of the maze. God, he cried as his feet beat against the snow. God, show me the way!

  Star’s toes were just beginning to thaw as she hurried into the crowded ballroom. She had jerked on an emerald gown, swept her hair into a rough tumble of curls, and jammed her damp feet into a pair of silk slippers. As she tied a ribbon in her hair, she had prayed she could survive the ordeal of this evening.

  Across the room, the countess spotted her immediately. A wave of relief washed over the older woman’s face as she moved toward her guest past the towering Christmas tree with its hundred tiny candles. The cavernous chamber was awash in bright silk gowns, flashing jewels, and fluttering fans. Long tables garlanded in swags of holly, pine, and ivy groaned under the weight o
f silver trays filled with sweets and chilled meats. A gigantic marzipan cake studded with currants and sultanas towered over bowls of bright red punch.

  “Thank goodness you’re here!” the countess said. Fanning her flushed cheeks and sending out a cloud of heliotrope perfume, she took Star’s hand.“You cannot imagine the kerfuffle, my dear! Do you know what my son has gone and done? He’s left us! The viscount has gone back to India this very night. Wouldn’t hear of waiting until the New Year. Wouldn’t wait for Christmas morning. Wouldn’t even stay for the party. And Grey always adored parties!”

  Star gave the countess a hug, as much to bolster herself as the other woman. “I know the viscount has a lot of plans for that tea estate in Darjeeling.”

  “Where? Oh, you see, I never believed he was serious. I’ve been in such a stew about Rupert’s wedding, and now Grey has gone off to India.”

  “Hortense, are you weeping again?” The earl held out a silk handkerchief. “Buck up, darling, we’ve had a jolly good visit with the boy. He quite convinced me of the value of his tea enterprise, and I have great faith it will be good for the earldom.”

  “But India! It’s so far away.”

  “Don’t look at it like that, my dear.” The earl gave Star a broad smile. “We’ll have a tea plantation in India and a share in a cattle ranch in Texas. What could be better? The earldom on its feet again, the cottagers happy and healthy, everything as it should be. Think of the little ones running through the corridors, Hortense. Grandchildren! A marvelous notion!”

  Star tugged her own handkerchief out of her sleeve in fear that she might start sobbing right then and there. The earl adjusted the tails of his frock coat and gave a loud harrumph. “Time for the announcement,” he intoned. “Then we shall have the charity auction. And dinner, charades, and more dancing. Oh my, I do believe I’m having a splendid evening.”

  Chuckling, he escorted his wife and their guest to the low dais at one end of the ballroom. Star felt like she was climbing up to a gallows as she lifted her skirts and stepped onto the platform. Rupert gave a wave from the far end of the ballroom, left his bevy of companions, and sprinted up to the dais.

  “Time for the announcement, my lord?” he asked. “Righty-ho. Let’s put a good face on it, Miss Ellis.”

  He took her hand as Massey squeaked across the dais and signaled the orchestra for silence. Star could almost hear the hands of the clock, ticking away her freedom. Massey presented the family, and then the earl stepped forward.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “a delightful evening. Welcome one and all.”

  Amid polite clapping, he gave a little bow and continued. “The countess and I have had the distinct pleasure of an unexpected visit from our elder son, the viscount Stratton. I regret to report that he has been compelled to return to India, where he is establishing a vast tea estate.” More clapping. “Our second unexpected guest arrived a little more than a fortnight ago from Texas, in America. And now, I should be most pleased to announce that this delightful young lady, Miss Star Ellis, is engaged to marry my younger son, Rupert, Lord Cholmondeley.”

  Over the round of applause, a shriek of despair arose. The crowd murmured as both the Misses Smythe raced out of the ballroom, followed close behind by a stream of Rupert’s friends and colleagues. Taking no notice, the earl gave his son a firm handshake and welcomed Star into the family with a peck on the cheek.

  “Well done, Cholmondeley,” he said. “Do accept my wishes for your continued happiness.”

  Surrounded instantly by a cluster of elderly ladies who peered at her through their monocles, Star felt Rupert give her hand a tug. He motioned toward the dance floor as the small orchestra began a waltz. As if in a bad dream, Star drifted out into the sea of partygoers and was caught up by her betrothed.

  “Good show, Miss Ellis,” Rupert said, attempting a smile. “It won’t be so bad, this marriage business. I imagine you and I will learn to get along. At any rate, I’m afraid I won’t be about much. I’ve been looking into ventures in both Leeds and London. Traveling, you know.”

  Star nodded, fighting the stinging tears that danced before her vision. “I suppose I’ll stay here at the manor.”

  “Indeed. Well, I’m sure there’ll be children after a bit. You won’t want to go out much.” He gave her a smile as the music ended. “Buck up, Miss Ellis.”

  Giving her a quick pat on the arm, he set off for the double doors through which his friends had exited. Star knotted her hands together and sank back against one of the velvet-flocked walls. Around her, the couples swirled and bowed, pranced and turned. She tried her best to pray, but all she could think about was Grey riding away through the falling snow toward London. As despair threatened to choke her, she turned her thoughts toward the future.

  Children. Yes, they would be fulfilling. Star could find joy in children of her own. In the Cholmondeley family, too. The countess was a dear, and perhaps in time she would become a warm companion. Besides that, the village was nearby. There lived the common people who enjoyed simple things. She could help them and maybe even become a friend.

  As Star pondered her future, the countess began to announce the charity auction. Displayed across the length of the dais were gold-framed oil paintings, Chinese vases, a new saddle, and several jeweled necklaces. The first item up for bid was the new quilt.

  A chorus of gasps greeted the presentation of the large, multicolored spread. To her dismay, Star realized that clusters of the women in the crowd were tittering behind their fans in subtle ridicule of her handiwork. Men stared at the quilt as though examining a painting they couldn’t quite comprehend.

  “This is a quilt,” the countess explained. “You will find lengths of quilted fabric here in England, but they are rarely patched in such clever patterns. This one was crafted by our own dear Miss Ellis. Quilts, I am given to understand, are used in America as blankets. Though I have never made a quilt myself, I can see that the needlework in this sample is superb. I have been told that this particular quilt employs more than a thousand pieces of cotton fabric from the city of Calicut, in India.”

  Star felt a smile tug at her lips. Okay, you win, buckaroo, she thought. Calicut it is.

  “And the name of this quilt,” the countess announced, “is Star of Bethlehem. Such a lovely accessory for the season, don’t you think? On that note, you may begin the bidding.”

  Star of Bethlehem. Star shook her head as memories flooded her thoughts. Shine, Star. Shine.

  How could she shine, when her life had all but ended? No, she realized as the crowd began to grow restless, this must not be an end but a beginning. It was not the life she would have chosen for herself, but it would be a good one all the same. Her future was in the hands of the Father, and she trusted Him to fill her with his abundance.

  “Come along,” the countess called into the silence. “Who will cast the first bid?”

  After more quiet, awkward seconds, the earl whispered to his wife, “Where is our deuced son? By all rights Cholmondeley should have a go at this. Massey, find him for me, my good man.” He cleared his throat as the butler squeaked off to do his master’s bidding. “Right then, ten pounds for the American quilt.”

  “Twenty pounds,” a young man called from the back of the room.

  Star peered at the bidder. He was a blond string bean of a fellow, someone she’d never seen before in her life. What would a man like that want with her quilt?

  “Mr. Davies bids twenty pounds,” the countess said. “That’s the Christmas spirit. Who will top him?”

  The room fell silent.

  “Thirty,” the earl shouted.

  “Forty,” Mr. Davies countered.

  The other guests turned to peer at him. He gave everyone a broad smile. “Come on, blokes. It’s for charity. Have a heart.”

  “Right you are,” someone said. “Forty-five pounds.”

  “Fifty-five!” Mr. Davies cried.

  Star could have kissed his skinny feet, whoever he w
as. The string bean kept the bids going up and up until anyone would have thought her quilt was a rare work of art. Delighted, she pictured vials of medicine for Betsy’s sick daughter, stacks of warm blankets, cartloads of potatoes and bread.

  “One hundred thirty-five pounds,” the countess said finally. “Sold to Mr. Davies. Good show, young man! You’ve a fine piece of American needlework, and the cottagers will enjoy a more comfortable winter, thanks to your generosity.”

  As the string bean strode toward the dais, a wave of astonished gasps rippled suddenly across the crowd. What was it now? Star lifted her focus from her quilt to the double doors beside which Massey stood quaking, his face as pale as the snow outside the window.

  Framed like an opulent masterpiece stood Rupert Cholmondeley, his arms wrapped around Polly Smythe as they engaged in a kiss that would have made ice sizzle. Unaware they had become the center of attention, the couple went on kissing— Polly’s fingers exploring Rupert’s hair as his impassioned murmuring drifted across the astonished crowd.

  As swiftly as the onlookers assessed the situation, their attention swiveled to Rupert’s bride-to-be. The countess grabbed Star around the shoulders as she took two steps backward. She needed to sit down. Had to have air.

  “Rupert!” the earl barked. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

  The young man jumped as if he’d been jabbed with a cattle prod. His weepy-eyed paramour let out a squeal of horror. “Father . . . sir,” Rupert fumbled. “I was . . . ah . . . receiving congratulations from . . . from Miss Smythe.”

  The crowd burst out laughing, and Star sank into a chair at the edge of the dais. Why had she been so blind? She’d known all along that her intended husband was enthralled with the Smythe girls. But she had wanted to believe he would find Star attractive, leave his other female interests, forge a bond with her like the one her own parents had. Foolish dreams! Now, publicly humiliated, she would be forced to marry a man everyone knew intended to be unfaithful.