A Hero for Christmas

by Jo Ann Brown

  Rising when the rest of the congregation did for the final hymn and the benediction, Cat could not keep herself from glancing at Jonathan. He was busy with Michael and Gemma. The children called him uncle and adored him as much as he did them. Before the service began, they had chattered about the games they had played in the nursery with Alice, the nursery maid, and asked Jonathan to join them. He agreed. What a good father he would be!

  She sighed. A good father would expect his wife to run an excellent household, overseeing small details, so he was not burdened with them. That was not her. She could not even plan a wedding breakfast without Jonathan’s assistance. If she became immersed in her sketching, a whole day could go by without her noticing. That was fine for a younger sister with limited responsibilities, but not for a wife in charge of the household.

  Cat hung back as the others went out. She thanked Mr. Fenwick for an excellent sermon, though she had scarcely heard two words. He held her hand a second longer than usual, and she looked up at his kind face. He said nothing, and she guessed he was waiting for her to speak. She simply wished him a good morning and walked toward where the carriages had been parked.

  One had already left, and the coachee was on his back beneath the other one. Beside it, Jonathan squatted with Michael copying his motion.

  “What is wrong?” Cat asked as she came to stand beside them.

  “Something with the brake,” Jonathan replied. “It seems to be sticking. With the steep hills around the bay, we don’t want to risk it.”

  “How long will it take?”

  The coachee shrugged as he kept toying with the brake on the front wheel.

  “Maybe you should go over to the vicarage,” Jonathan said. “It’s bone-chewing cold today.”

  “I don’t want to intrude on a Sunday because the Fenwicks often have parishioners in.”

  He lowered his eyes and nodded.

  She wondered if he was thinking of his own conversation with the vicar. “We could walk.”

  “It’s a long one.”

  “Not if we go down to the shore and around the bay. It’s much shorter than the road.”

  Michael popped up and grinned. “See the sea?”

  “Most definitely.” She held out her hand, and the little boy took it. “Do you want to come with us, Jonathan?”

  She made her invitation sound casual, but she held her breath as she waited for his answer. He had a good reason to excuse himself from the long walk to Meriweather Hall...and to avoid spending time with her.

  When he nodded, she longed to jump up and down with excitement as Michael did. She simply smiled.

  Jonathan paused only long enough to ask the coachee to let Lord Meriweather know their plans. If they reached Meriweather Hall before the carriage did, Jonathan would send someone to help the coachee with the repairs.

  The road leading to the village was empty, because the villagers had sought their comfortable homes. Cat swung Michael’s hand in rhythm with their steps. When the little boy wanted to run ahead to the top of the steep street, she agreed after he promised to wait there for them.

  As soon as Michael was out of earshot, Cat wasted no time telling Jonathan about the odd incident with Sir Nigel and Lord Ashland in the church.

  “An organ for the church?” Jonathan buttoned his greatcoat under his chin as the cold wind swirled around them. “I could have sworn I heard Meriweather say something about a new building because the old one’s roof will not be safe much longer.”

  “That was what I thought, too, but...” She shrugged. “I should know by now not to listen to Sir Nigel. He views the world as he thinks it should be, whether it is that way or not.”

  “I wouldn’t want to live like that. I like to see things as they truly are.” He gazed across the headland beyond the village. It mirrored the one near Meriweather Hall. “The problem with insisting that the world conform to one’s view is to believe that anyone who disagrees with that delusion is wrong. God created this world, and we should appreciate it as He made it and us.” He looked at her and smiled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a sermon.”

  “You speak with the same fervor as Mr. Fenwick.”

  “But not with his eloquence.” He laughed. “A solicitor is not called to the bar for court trials, so I don’t need to be so well-spoken.”

  She gladly put her hand on the arm he offered. Only now when she stood beside him again did she realize what a void his absence had created. A rush of tears burned in her eyes. Once the Christmas Eve ball was over, he would leave. When would she see him again? Surely he planned to come back to Meriweather Hall to visit his friend, but seeing him on rare occasions would not be often enough.

  Michael ran to meet them when Cat and Jonathan reached the sheer drop through the village. Snow drifted from the dim sky, wafting on the wind that curled around the buildings. A few village children ran around, holding out their tongues to catch snowflakes. Michael joined them, as eager as if the snow were made of spun sugar. When a woman called for the children to be careful on the steep street, they went more slowly, but only for a moment or two. Then they began chasing snowflakes along one of the comparatively flat streets that broke off from the main one.

  Cat called Michael back. He reluctantly obeyed, though he kept looking at the children playing along the side streets. With a smile, she told him that he could go back with them if he promised to come as soon as she called him. With a cheer, he ran to join the other youngsters.

  “I hope Charles won’t be upset with me that I’m letting him catch snowflakes with the other children,” Cat said.

  “He wants them to be adventurous.”

  “Even after we had to hunt them down after they decided to play hide-and-seek?”

  He chuckled. “Adventurous but within sight.”

  She tightened her hold on his arm as they walked carefully down the most precipitous section of the street. “It is so delightful to see the children playing.”

  “It is nothing but an illusion of happy families.” His smile vanished.

  “No, you are wrong.”

  “Am I?” He pointed through the snow at the houses higher along the cliff. “All these people act as if they are busy earning a living by fishing when you know as well as I that—”

  “We cannot talk about that here.” She pulled away from him and called up the street to Michael.

  Jonathan clamped his lips closed, stung by Cat’s reminder that he and his friends were not the only ones listening. The smugglers would be glad to gather any information that they could use in their deceptions.

  When Michael slid down the street to where they stood, Cat took Michael’s hand and kept going. She did not look back to see if Jonathan had followed. That, as much as anything, showed her vexation with him.

  He trotted behind them down the street. Fresh snow covered the dirty cobbles, but could not diminish the odor of gutted fish. As he crossed the stream, he looked at where the water disappeared beneath the houses. That tunnel led down the cliff, but where did it come out? Was it the trickle down by the fishermen’s cobles, or did the smugglers’ tunnel branch off from this one? He wished he could look for it but not when he was accompanying Cat and Northbridge’s boy. He could not put them in danger.

  At the foot of the street where the boats were pulled up on the sand, Cat steered Michael along the beach. She paused and pointed at the beach. Was she searching for mermaid tears in a snow flurry?

  “Look out,” she called as Michael picked up something and flung it toward the sea.

  Or Jonathan assumed that was its intended direction, but the rock curved and landed only a few feet to his left.

  Going to the little boy, Jonathan said, “Let’s find something softer to throw. Like some driftwood.” He picked up a piece and held it out to Michael. When the little boy hauled back
his arm, Jonathan gave him a gentle push toward the edge of the wet sand. “If you get a little closer, you’ll have better luck hitting the water.”

  Michael chortled and took several steps toward the sea. He flung the wood and cheered when it hit the water. Before it had sunk, the little boy was already looking for another chunk to throw.

  “Keep up with us, Michael,” Cat called. “I want to be able to see you at all times.”

  Excited with his chance to play on the beach, the little boy obeyed. He did not let them get more than a few feet ahead of him before he raced forward to a spot where he found something else to throw.

  “I owe you an apology,” Cat said suddenly.

  “No. I owe you one,” Jonathan replied. “I know better than to speak so unthinkingly in the village.”

  “And I should not have walked away in a huff.”

  “It sounds as if we are even in being mutton-heads.”

  She laughed as she put her hand on his arm again. “I shall endeavor to do better, especially when I get to Town. I know that if I get into a peal in London, I will embarrass my whole family by being labeled a termagant.”

  London? Why was she talking about Town now? Each time she spoke of the Season, anger roiled in Jonathan. To have this sweet young woman altered as others had been seemed like a crime.

  “You may find the Season isn’t what you anticipate,” he said.

  “I am sure it is quite different from what a girl from the country could imagine.” She bent and brushed away some sand, but found only a broken shell, and he realized she had been looking for mermaid tears all along. “But I am eager to see things I have not had a chance to see here.”

  “Oh, I am sure you will.” He chided himself for the bitterness in his voice, but that vexation became shock when Cat looked up at him and nodded her agreement.

  Maybe, a small voice within him whispered, you should go to London, too. You could protect her, if you have already proved that you are really a hero.

  That thought brought him to a complete stop. Cat stared at him as if he had lost his mind.

  If he listened to that small voice, then he would be insane. To chase after her to Town would be an announcement of his intentions to marry her, and she would be humiliated in front of the Polite World when he did not offer for her. He could not entangle his life with another young woman who was eager to participate in a London Season. He had endured a harsh lesson from Augusta Williams. He had hoped to give her his heart, and she had thrown his affections in his face. He could not imagine Cat treating him the same way, but neither had he anticipated Augusta changing so much.

  Michael rushed to them to show off a shell he had found, and Jonathan watched as Cat spoke with the little boy, her voice as excited as his. Had she and her late hero Roland talked about having children? Did she still mourn him as deeply as she had when the news of his death had arrived at Meriweather Hall?

  Lord, I need Your guidance. There must have been a reason for You to bring me to Sanctuary Bay and to Cat. Is it so that I may become the hero everyone believes me to be? Am I supposed to prove that so I can help her when she embarks upon the Season in London? Help me see why You brought me here, I pray.

  Jonathan murmured a fervent “Amen” as Michael ran to the water’s edge again. They had almost reached the middle of the great arc of Sanctuary Bay. Ahead of them, the cliff was broken by a wide stream. Was this the same one as in the village? If the stream had been routed so far from the village, it would allow the smugglers to do their illicit deeds without even their neighbors seeing.

  Excitement bubbled up within him. He might, even today, strike a blow against the smugglers. If he discovered where they stashed their goods, he could cripple them. At least temporarily.

  “I want to look in here,” he said, as he came around the edge of the cliff. He was amazed how wide the opening was. It was large enough to hold the stables at Meriweather Hall.

  Or a ship and smugglers and their cargo of contraband.

  “Why?” Cat asked as she motioned to Michael to catch up with them.

  “This would be an excellent place for the smugglers to hide.”

  “All the more reason to stay away.”

  He continued to scan the cliffs. “Are there caves back there?”

  “Probably. There are several caves along the shore. Some are natural, and others were built to channel water down from the meadows.”

  He put his hand on the rough stone. “This is so different from the shore in Norfolk. The land is as flat as a table and barely above the sea. The water is drained there by the levels.”

  “Levels?”

  “A series of canals and ditches used to drain The Fens. When they were built in the seventeenth century, more farmland became available, and mills were built to grind corn. Some of the mills have been converted to wind pumps to control the water in the canals and sluices.” He gave her a wry grin. “Forgive me. A solicitor must learn a lot about property and its history in order to better serve his clients.”

  “You like your work, don’t you?”

  “Very much. I enjoy bringing structure out of the chaos of old land records, some that go back to William the Conqueror’s Domesday Book.”

  “That must make the land in The Fens much easier to deal with, because it appeared less than two hundred years ago.”

  He laughed. “So one would think, but someone has always owned that land since before the Romans. Even if it was submerged for eons.”

  “But you enjoy the challenge.”

  “That I do.”

  “Was that why you decided to live in East Anglia?”

  “No, but it was the reason I stayed after my father arranged for me to read the law with a friend of his, after I finished my studies at Cambridge.”

  She looked across the waves. The breeze lifted the wisps of hair around her face and set them to dancing. “Look at the sun. We need to hurry if we wish to get home in time for the midday meal.”

  “But if there are smugglers here—”

  “There are smugglers, Jonathan, in every seaside town around England. Even in East Anglia, I am sure. If the people here stop smuggling, someone else will begin.”

  “So that’s it? You are going to give up?”

  “I think we should,” she said, startling him. “The message from that effigy was clear, and Sir Nigel is worried enough to insist Lillian return to his house.”

  He grimaced. “So now you are going to base your decisions on what Sir Nigel does?”

  “Don’t be absurd, but we would be foolish to ignore the warning.”

  “I have not ignored it, and I can assure you that neither your cousin nor Northbridge has.”

  “I know that, Jonathan.” She walked to the stream that had dug grooves in the sand. “Charles told my sister that you are gathering information, and you will put it to good use as soon as you can.”

  “That is what I want to do here. Gather information. I would appreciate your help, but if you want to continue to Meriweather Hall, go ahead.”

  * * *

  Cat found Jonathan’s zeal unsettling, and she was tempted to tell him so. Angry words would gain her nothing, because it was clear that he had made up his mind. So had she. Holding out her hand out to Michael, she drew the little boy close.

  Michael looked up at her. “Are we staying or going?”

  She forced a smile and said loud enough for Jonathan to hear her, “Let’s keep going. Your father will be worried if we take longer than we should getting home.”

  As Jonathan waded through the water that was only a few inches deep, he said, “This will take only a moment.” The beach was wide and low enough for a ship to sail up it at high tide. He squatted to seek any signs of such activity.

  “We are leaving,” Cat said. “Right now.�
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  “If that is what you wish, then go. I will be there as soon as I look around a little bit.” His voice echoed oddly against the cliff walls.

  Cat started to walk away and then paused. Jonathan could be stepping into a wasp’s nest. If the smugglers really used this area, they might have posted someone to guard their stolen goods. She could not risk the child, but the thought of leaving Jonathan here alone twisted her stomach into knots.

  “Cat!”

  At the shout, she ran across the shallow stream as fast as Michael could go. Jonathan pointed to a pile of wood.

  Michael pulled away from Cat. Racing over to it, he picked up a long piece of wood and threw it into the waves. He giggled as it was swept by the current out to sea.

  Saying nothing, Jonathan pulled a square piece out and held it up to her. Stenciled words identified it as a part of a crate of brandy.

  “No sign of stamps to show that British tax was paid,” he said as he tossed the wood on the other pieces. “So we know that the smugglers have been here.”

  Cat looked at the narrow path leading directly up the cliff. Walking it would be difficult. To do so carrying a heavy crate would be almost impossible.

  “They wouldn’t have gone that way,” Jonathan said. “One of the caves in these cliffs must be connected to a way to take the goods from here to the top of the cliff. We are not that far from Meriweather Hall’s dower cottage which they used for storage until your sister discovered it.”

  Every instinct told her to leave this place as fast as they could. “Let’s go! Now!”

  “All right.” He took a single step, then halted with a frown. “Look up there!” He pointed to the southern rim of the cliffs.

  “That is Meriweather Hall.” She gasped and stared at the roof and the chimneys. “I can see the highest floors. Doesn’t that prove the smugglers would not come here? If someone looked out and saw them—”

  “The only ones who might look out of those windows are children or your servants. The children wouldn’t know what they were seeing, and none of your servants would be foolish enough to speak of their suspicions. Especially after the threats to your gamekeeper and his mother.”