Spirits of the Season: Eight Haunting Holiday Romances

by Amanda DeWees

  “A devilish strange thing to do,” Sir James muttered. To my surprise, he had hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest as if a chill had touched him. “I feel as though we’re trespassing,” he said shortly. “We ought to leave.”

  “In a moment.” I crossed the room to the bed, which was situated close to the window—so close that it would have seemed strange in any other room, but I knew it had been placed there so that the invalid could see the front drive and all the way down the approach to the house. She would have been able to see comings and goings, a great deal of activity. A mixed blessing.

  I realized now that this must have been the unlighted window that had struck such unease into me when I had first arrived at Tatham. Perhaps it had been a portent after all, connected as it was with this scene of an antique tragedy.

  Stepping closer to the window, I rested my hand on one of the bedposts and felt an almost physical shock of emotion break upon me like an ocean wave. Grief and anger and betrayal—that was what she had felt, lying here during all the weeks before death claimed her, looking out of this window at life continuing without her. Pain struck into my breast as if my heart were being clenched in a fist of stone.

  Shaken, I snatched my hand away from the bedpost and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to regain my equilibrium. Behind me I heard footsteps approach.

  “Miss Reginald? Are you unwell?” He actually sounded as if he cared.

  “I am well enough,” I said with an effort. “But you are right—we are trespassers here.” The room felt like a raw wound. There was so much misery here, a lingering malaise of frustration and grief and futility. Turning, I noticed a tall object covered with a sheet a few yards away. It was about the height and breadth of a person, which startled me. “What is that?” I asked involuntarily, and Sir James took hold of the cloth and drew it away to reveal a standing mirror.

  In the reflection, somehow I did look more like Lady Garnet’s portrait than myself. In the cold illumination of the moon, my eyes were darker, and the shape of my face seemed altered. A peculiar illusion caused by the shadows, no doubt.

  And then the reflection smiled.

  Cold fear gushed through my veins, and I was frozen to the spot. In the mirror, Lady Garnet’s eyes swept me up and down, and her smile widened. An avid smile. A hungry smile.

  “Sir James,” I managed to whisper, though my lips had gone numb. “Do you see this?”

  I reached out an unsteady hand toward him, but the motion made the brooch I wore catch the moonlight so that a bright light shone for a moment from its faceted gems. Its reflected counterpart in the mirror likewise darted a gleam toward me—but that spark of light did not vanish. It grew stronger and brighter, filling the room, hurting my eyes, and I cried out and threw my hand up as if I could ward it off. But when I fell back a pace, the room tilted beneath my feet, and for a sickening instant I was falling.

  Sir James was instantly at my side to catch me and help me find my feet. Grateful for the support, I rested against him a moment to steady myself.

  “In God’s name, what was that?” he exclaimed. “Are you all right?”

  “I—I believe so.” My heart was racing as if I had been running from a pursuer, and there was a peculiar ringing in my ears. In other respects, though, I seemed to be unharmed.

  “It looked as though…” He swallowed. “It looked as though we were not alone.”

  His use of the past tense gave me the courage to peep at the mirror again. Now it was docile, showing only our own reflections. Had we imagined what we saw? The only thing at all out of the ordinary about our reflected selves was that Sir James was holding me in his arms, and I was leaning against his chest.

  We became aware of this at the same moment. He released me from his grasp, and I stepped back, smoothing down my skirt self-consciously.

  “That mirror seems to have a mind of its own,” I said, trying to speak lightly. “I think it’s time we were on our way.”

  Although he still looked unsettled, he was tactful enough not to remind me that this had been his opinion from the start. He offered me his arm, but I felt steady enough to walk unsupported—or so I told him. In truth, I was a little shy after having been held in his arms.

  To my enormous relief, as soon as we stepped back into the corridor and shut Lady Garnet’s door behind us, the faint outline of the sitting-room door became visible at the far end of the passage. Amelia had not shut the door behind me after all—although why we had not seen it earlier was a mystery. Fortunately when we reached the little sitting room and crossed it to peer into the main corridor, we found that no one was about. It looked as though I might be able to make my way back to my room unobserved.

  “I’ll be happy to see you to your room, if you like,” said my unlikely partner in adventure.

  I gave a shiver that was only half exaggeration. “And risk someone observing the two of us together? That would smash my reputation to smithereens. Thank you all the same, but I shall be perfectly fine.”

  “Just as you wish, of course.” Still he lingered in the sitting-room doorway, his fine dark eyebrows drawn together in a troubled expression.

  “Is there something further you wished to say?” Now that sanctuary was practically in sight I was eager to escape to it at once, to shut myself safely inside my room and climb into the safety of my bed. I might even pull the bedclothes over my head.

  He seemed to shake off whatever thoughts were disturbing him. “It can wait until morning,” he said.

  “Very well. Good night, then.” The usual politenesses seemed inadequate after what we had experienced together. On impulse I added, “You’ll not return through the secret passage, will you? I should hate to think…”

  I did not even know what I feared on his behalf, so I fell silent. But he replied, “If it will make you easier in your mind, I’ll gladly take a more conventional route back to my room.” Stepping out of the sitting room, he closed the door behind himself, and I felt a degree of tension ease.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Not just for that, I mean, but—well—everything.”

  “I am happy to have been of service,” he said, and in his deep voice the conventional words sounded sincere. “May the remainder of the night be uneventful for you, Miss Reginald.”

  “And for you as well, Sir James.”

  Then I returned with undignified haste to my room, where I struggled out of the ill-fated robe à la française as fast as I could. Never again would I make the mistake of impersonating a ghost. As far as I was concerned, Lady Garnet would walk no more.

  Chapter 4

  My sleep was troubled with strange dreams in which Lady Garnet and I tussled over my salmon-pink dress, each of us trying to wrest it from the other’s grasp. “You aren’t using it,” she told me accusingly, in a voice that was beautiful but cold. “Why should you not let me have it?”

  “But it is mine,” I told her, my voice weak and plaintive. “You have no right to it.”

  At that, she gave the fabric a particularly vigorous yank, tearing it from my grasp. Strangely desolated, I could only look on helplessly as she gave a gloating laugh and darted out of my sight, holding the dress triumphantly aloft like a banner.

  When I woke, my head was muddled and woolly, perhaps as a result of my violent dreams. I rang for tea, but it was lukewarm by the time the maid brought it to my room. This further evidence that I was an unwelcome guest brought my quarrel with Amelia rushing to mind with a force that cleared my head at once. With the maid’s help I dressed quickly and went in search of my Nemesis.

  But that was an imperfect metaphor. Rather, I was the vengeful Fury about to force the foolish mortal to face the consequences of her own hubris.

  I found said mortal in the morning room, whispering with Marian as two of the gentlemen filled plates for them from the chafing dishes on the sideboard. When she caught sight of me her expression changed from petulant to defiant.

  I gave her no opportunity to take the
upper hand. “Do you have any notion how ashamed of you Lady Garnet and the rest of your ancestors would be?” I demanded.

  Taken aback, she blinked at me. “Why, what are you talking about, Felicity?”

  “You used your relative’s heartbreak and suffering to serve your own contemptible ends—to humiliate someone who has never meant you harm.” My own eloquence surprised me. I had only planned to accuse her of being a conniving cat, but almost without my own volition the words came pouring out of me. “If you are going to use your own family members as weapons, at least have the decency to choose one who is still alive and can defend herself. You aren’t worthy of the Tregonne name; you’re a childish, spiteful, selfish little chit who thinks of others only as whether they are useful to you or not.”

  “Felicity!” she said feebly. Her face had gone red. “Pray don’t be angry. It—it was only a friendly jest—”

  “Your idea of friendship is so peculiar that I am astonished you have any friends at all. You will soon find your invitations being refused if you persist in trying to ruin your friends—or trying to ruin their Brussels lace dresses by spilling lamp oil on them.”

  Marian turned wide, indignant eyes to Amelia. “You did that on purpose?” she demanded. “That was my best gown! I had to wear my second best to all the June balls because of you.”

  Amelia gulped and stared from Marian to me as if cornered. Now her face was changing from red to sickly white. “How could you possibly know that?” she whispered.

  “Never mind that,” I said sternly. “If you continue in this fashion, your friends will not remain your friends for much longer. You will end up like Lady Garnet—an outcast, shunned by society. But her isolation was forced upon her, and you will have brought your doom upon you by your own vanity and spite.”

  I fell silent, almost alarmed at the passionate conviction that had fueled my words. Marian pushed back her chair and flounced out of the room without another glance at her friend, and Amelia shrank back in her chair as if she was afraid I would leap at her and chop off her head.

  At the sideboard, where he was serving himself, Freddie gave a shrill whistle and said pertly, “There’s some sauce for your breakfast kippers, if you please!”

  “That’s enough from you, Freddie, you little blighter,” said a voice behind me, and I found that Sir James had entered unnoticed. He, too, was staring at me, but his deep blue eyes were solemn rather than shocked. “Will you permit me to serve you some breakfast, Miss Reginald?”

  “Thank you,” I said, taking a seat at the table. Suddenly I was ravenous, and I felt that I had never smelled such delicious food as that which was sending tendrils of fragrance toward me from the sideboard. “I don’t think I have ever been so hungry.”

  In a small voice that was most unusual for her, Amelia asked, “Did you pass a pleasant night, Felicity? That is to say, you were not… disturbed at all?”

  “Not a bit,” I said pleasantly. “Did you have some particular disturbance in mind?”

  “I certainly had my fill of disturbance,” Sir James said, since Amelia seemed unable to form a response. “Freddie here deserves a thrashing for waking me and everyone within earshot with some nonsense about a nonexistent fire. You are fortunate, Miss Reginald, if you were situated far enough away to have been spared that young man’s perverse sense of humor.”

  “Indeed,” I said, slanting a look at Amelia, “my room is so high up in the rafters that the only summons I am likely to hear is angels’ trumpets. Would that be your doing, dear Amelia? To think that when I arrived I was shortsighted enough to be dismayed at having to climb so many stairs! I see now it was a kindness to stow me so far away from all activity.”

  At that, Amelia rose, murmuring some excuse, and hastened from the room. She was almost running by the time she reached the door.

  Sir James placed a plate heaped with food before me. “That was rather an extraordinary speech of yours as I came in,” he said in a low voice. “How did you know about the dress?”

  “I’ve no idea,” I said absently, pouring my tea. “It just came to me.”

  His left eyebrow arched in that distinctive way that gave him such a dashing air. “Well, your little homily certainly seemed to strike home. Does it make me less of a gentleman to admit that I rather enjoyed witnessing it?”

  Laughing, I took up a pot of jam. “I cannot imagine you ever being less than a gentleman, Sir James. Indeed, you are a preeminent example of the breed.”

  My words seemed to freeze him to the spot. With the oddest expression, he said after a moment, “Then your opinion of me must have undergone a transformation.”

  “Perhaps it has,” I said. Last night, despite some minor lapses, he had showed an impressive degree of chivalry. Right now, however, the savory aromas of bacon and deviled kidneys and toast were more compelling than conversation. I fell to as if I had not tasted food in a century.

  Since it was Christmas Eve, all of the young people were going out in a body to select a tree to be cut down. Just after luncheon we set out for the wooded area of the grounds. All of the other young ladies and many of the gentlemen were packed into two sleighs, cozy under lap rugs, but some of the gentlemen had elected to go by horseback, as did I. Fortunately I had had the foresight to pack my riding habit with me. Conversation in the sleighs died down when I trotted up.

  “That is my mare,” said Amelia, staring at my mount.

  “Indeed it is. The groom says you scarcely ever ride Pomona, and she shall grow fat from lack of exercise.” I stroked her glossy chestnut neck with affection. “Neglected as she is, she must be quite restless and eager for a good run.” I felt oddly restless myself, in fact, which moved me to say impulsively, “Let us have a race, gentlemen! See if you can get to the woods faster than I can!”

  With that, I urged the mare forward, and we were off. What more glorious feeling could there be? The wind rushed invigoratingly against my cheeks, and the sun dazzled on the snow-covered ground as Pomona’s hooves thudded a blood-quickening rhythm. Behind us I could hear shouts and laughter, and when I glanced back over my shoulder I could see a few riders drawing closer.

  I leaned over Pomona’s neck and whispered encouragement to her, and she obligingly quickened her pace until we seemed almost to fly across the crystalline landscape. Out of pure euphoria I gave a whoop and a cry of “Tantivy!”

  The masculine voices had died away. Only one other set of hoofbeats pursued us now, but we were almost upon the woods. The white-topped peaks of evergreens rose up before us, and in mere moments I was pulling at the reins to bring Pomona down to a walk. Laughing with exhilaration, I patted her on the neck. As frosty breath streamed from her nostrils, she almost seemed to be smiling.

  “Sweet girl,” I told her, “you deserve a more attentive mistress.” When I turned her to see whether any of our pursuers had caught us up, I found Sir James reining up mere yards away. I had almost forgotten just how fine a figure he cut on horseback, and I was pleased to be reminded. Atop a splendid bay Arabian, he sat as straight and tall as a king. But his handsome face was stern.

  “It is too fine a day for you to take the part of a thundercloud,” I hailed him. “What has happened that warrants so glowering a look?”

  “I thought you were in distress,” he exclaimed. “Weren’t you shouting for help?”

  Oh, dear. “It was just high spirits, I’m afraid.”

  “I thought Pomona had bolted, and—” He did not finish the thought, but drew a hand down over his beard as if to smooth down his agitation. If this was his intent, he was not successful. “I don’t know when I’ve seen anything so foolish,” he snapped. “Riding off at speed over unknown terrain, in the snow, on an unfamiliar mount—were you deliberately trying to break your neck, or the mare’s?” His own mount, sensing his agitation, pawed the ground restlessly, and Sir James was forced to moderate his tone. “I can think of no other reason for such a display,” he finished, but less vehemently.

  I laughed.
“I knew where I was going. Be lenient, Sir James. No harm has come to me or Pomona.”

  “But it might easily have,” he said stubbornly. “My heart practically stopped when you went haring off like that.”

  He was cross because he had been worried on my behalf. A little rush of pleasure attended this realization, and I bowed my head to examine the button on my glove so that my face would not reveal my feelings. “Truly, I didn’t mean to cause you concern.”

  “I didn’t realize that you had visited Tatham before,” he remarked in a milder manner.

  “I haven’t.”

  “Why did you say you knew where you were going, then?” His fine dark eyebrows were drawing together again, and I could not blame him for being frustrated. I could not explain it, but somehow I had known the way exactly. Not just the general direction but the precise route, even down to where the frozen stream was narrow enough to jump and where ha-has were lurking hidden beneath the snow. I had not been conscious as I rode that I was navigating with such complete and even instinctual knowledge.

  The realization troubled me, but I pushed it aside. No doubt I had once seen a topographical drawing of the grounds, and that long-buried memory had come to my aid. “Pomona knew the way, I meant. If it will make you easier in your mind,” I added, both to placate him and to close the subject, “I promise never to be so reckless again.”

  “I should hope not,” he said, in a slightly mollified tone. “Whatever else may be said of you, you always used to be an intelligent horsewoman.”

  At that, the last remnants of my euphoric mood evaporated. “And you know better than anyone else what is said of me,” I said coolly, “seeing as you are the one doing most of the saying.”

  He had the gall to look puzzled. “Am I supposed to understand that remark?”