One Foggy Christmas

by Barbara Miller

  "I have been turned away from both the front door and the back. They must think me a deserter begging for bread."

  Bossley stepped back to regard him. "You do look a bit ragged."

  "Any chance of some hot water?"

  "Aye and a razor. You can shave and wash up in my room while I heat some soup and tea in the grooms' common room."

  "Bossley, not a word to anyone that I am back."

  "It will be a surprise to some of them. Not a word. It would ease your mother's mind if you could let her know. I could carry a note to the house."

  So his mother was alive and apparently well. Stephen blew out a sigh of relief. "I'll think about it. Where are all the lads?"

  "Gone off home for the holiday," he grumbled, "leaving me to look after the teams and hunters. His lordship doesn't have to pay them if he gives them the holiday off."

  Stephen was not surprised by his father's behavior. The man had never cared if others struggled to survive. Stephen pulled a coin from his pocket and pressed it into the old man's hand. "Here's a sovereign for being faithful and letting me in when no one else would."

  "It does my heart good to see you here and well. Your brother said you was wounded."

  "Last year. Glad Henry did get some of my letters."

  "I do miss him. Wash up and shave, then tell me all."

  * * * * *

  An hour later Stephen had his feet on the stove in the groom's room telling tales of his adventures and feeling more at home than he ever had in the house those last years before he left. This was how it had been on campaign. This was his life now, not sleeping in a feather bed being waited on. Not hanging garlands of greenery and singing wassail songs in the orchard. If things did not go well here, he still had the army, but before he decided anything, he needed to find out about his mother and Jane.

  Bossley refilled his tankard with ale and pursed his lips. "Much as I enjoy your company, you do have to tell them you are back."

  Stephen sighed. "Perhaps tomorrow. I shall sleep in the loft tonight and it will be a better bed than I have had for many a day."

  "You can have my bed for all that, but why keep your presence a secret?"

  "With Henry gone there is no joy left here for me. I can't help feeling somehow guilty about his death."

  Bossley looked away. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

  "How did he die? You can tell me."

  "Kitchen gossip. It ought not to be spoken about by anyone."

  "Did someone shoot him?"

  "Nothing like that. He took a jump wrong on Belarus, a new horse he'd purchased. The horse stumbled and fell, and Henry was thrown. Your brother hit his head."

  "He was such a careful rider." Stephen was puzzling over this when the door to the stable creaked open and soft steps came down the row of stalls. Then the sound of someone weeping caused the men to stare at each other. Stephen's feet hit the floor and he put down his mug of ale. When he pushed open the grooms' door and stepped into the alley between the stalls, he saw a girl stroking one of the horses. He approached the small figure as she threw back the hood of her cloak and long brown ringlets trailed down her back. It was Jane.

  "Why so many tears on Christmas Eve?" Stephen whispered as he approached.

  "Oh," she gasped in surprise, "I thought I was alone. I'm sorry." She wiped her eyes with her gloved hands before turning toward him.

  "Who has hurt you?" He almost touched her but didn't know if he had the right.

  "I know that voice," she said as if trying to recall how, then a small sound escaped her lips as recognition sunk in. "Stephen!" She rushed into his arms and hugged him as though their lives depended on it. "I did not know you would be here." She pulled back to look at him. "It's truly you, not a ghost?"

  "It is really me. You have not changed a bit."

  "You have. You seem taller."

  Bossley appeared between the rows of stalls with a lantern. "'Tis because he lost so much weight. We'll have him fit in no time."

  "He's right." She stepped back to look at him in the light. "You are thin, but you're home." A sudden frown stole the relief from her face. "Do you have to go back?"

  "I'm on leave, but the army is marching through France. The war can't last much longer and I will be mustered out or put on half pay."

  "Home for good." She grasped his arm and stroked his cheek then stepped back as though she realized her imprudent behavior.

  "I hope so. Unless my father really has disowned me."

  "Don't joke. He may have done as you suggest. Bertram is here with his mother and he is acting like the heir. Or rather your aunt is acting like her son is the heir."

  "Bertram, my foolish cousin? So that's why you were crying."

  "Yes. He forced himself on me and very clumsily, I must say. It makes me want to weep."

  "So you are not married?"

  "Of course not. I promised you I would wait."

  Stephen breathed a sigh of relief and let his hand rest on her waist under the cloak. "I recall saying you were too young to make that decision, but since you have waited, what do you want to do now?"

  "Punch Bertram in the nose."

  "Well that too, but I meant with the rest of our lives. No vows were spoken between us. You were only sixteen, too young to make such a decision, but if your father is agreeable…"

  "Yes, yes I would marry you. I will marry only you."

  "I am happy you waited for me." He stroked her face with his rough hand and thought again about how much she had stayed the same and how much he had changed.

  "With difficulty. They tried to marry me to Henry."

  "I know about your parents' plans, but Henry never wrote anything about the future. Henry said he wanted to wait, not marry until it proved the right decision, and he had not felt it would be anytime soon."

  "He might have told me, so I would not have worried about how they were throwing us together. He was very attentive but never made any advances."

  "Could he have suspected my inclination?" Stephen asked. "I inquired about you in every letter."

  "And I asked about you every time I saw him. Don't you see? He was saving me for you."

  He sighed and pulled her to rest against his chest. "It's the kind of thing Henry would do."

  "Not to interrupt," Bossley croaked, "but I think you both should go to the house And Miss Faraday should go before they mount a search."

  Jane sighed and let go of Stephen. "It takes forever for them to have tea. I am safe from discovery. They will think I was fatigued from the trip and have gone to bed. We brought no servants with us so no one will even miss me."

  "Still, it is cold out here. Get on with the both of you. Mister Stephen, I'll bring your pack up to the house tomorrow."

  Stephen took her arm and the lantern and walked her across the stable yard to the back steps. He put his hand on the latch. "Locked for the night."

  "Oh, I had not thought of that."

  He smiled and set the lantern down. "Before we go in, there is one thing I want to do."

  She stared up at him, her breath making mist in the cold air. He leaned and kissed her, sharing his warmth with her. They stood like that for many minutes even after the kiss ended, embracing each other.

  "I don't know what my prospects are, but I will speak to your father."

  "No matter what he says I will marry no one but you. Now, shall I knock?"

  "No need. I have a key."

  After seeing Jane to her room, Stephen went down the hall to his quarters. He lit a branch of candles, then put the lantern out. He drew the dust covers off the furniture and stretched out on the bed. So much had changed in the last half hour. Jane loved him, had always loved him, and been faithful with no prospect of marriage. Whatever else the morning had in store he could count on that. Still he puzzled over Henry and why he apparently had shielded Jane from marriage with him or anyone else.

  Henry had written but never hinted at his plans. Perhaps he had been unsure of
Stephen's feelings. No letter ever reached him from his father or mother. When he thought back over their lives here, his father had been cold to him only those last few years. Probably why Henry had taken him under his wing. His mother had not shown a preference between her sons. He would never broach such a subject with his father but his mother he could ask. Stephen found a nightshirt in the drawer, and took off his uniform coat. For the first time in months he would sleep in a bed.

  Before he could change, his door cracked open and his mother slipped inside and ran to him. She was in a dark robe and slippers, her golden hair braided for the night. He could see silver threads in it but she still looked incredibly beautiful.

  "Jane told you," he said.

  His mother hugged him tightly.

  "She did not think I should spend Christmas Eve without having my only wish fulfilled. Jane came to say goodnight and broke the news. She is a caring girl."

  "I arrived late and did not want to disturb anyone. I found her in the stable."

  "She loves you and has held out against marriage to Henry or anyone else."

  "I am sorry I was not here for you when Henry died."

  Between her tears she kissed his face and finally let him seat her on his bed while he took the straight chair.

  "You are here now. That is what matters. I don't sleep much anymore, but I will sleep tonight knowing you are safe. Christmas has been empty without you."

  "Then I'm glad Jane told you. I did not want to shock you."

  "It is your father who will be shocked. He has had you dead and buried these many months."

  "He changed so much before I left, as though he wanted to be rid of me. Was it something I did?"

  "No, that wasn't it." She looked away as though the truth proved too gruesome to relate.

  "Why then? I confess after being turned away by old Foster at the front door and the larder girl at the back, I began to think I wasn't wanted."

  "I may as well tell you." She gave a profound sigh. "He doubts you are his son."

  The statement caught Stephen like a physical blow. He jerked in the chair and it creaked. "But that's ridiculous."

  "I know. I loved only him. That all seems dead to me now. The marriage that once seemed perfect crumbled before my eyes. I gave him two sons, and suddenly he decided he didn't want to own one of them." Her tears were flowing freely now and Stephen came to sit beside her and hold her. "It's your blue eyes and gold hair, like mine used to be, that he holds against you."

  "And you had to face this all alone," he said.

  "Henry knew and stood up for me. It's the thing they argued about the most."

  "Good old Henry. How bitter for you. How hard for you to have to face his loss without me."

  "Your father's temper worsened after Henry's death. I think it overset his reason. No one was as shocked as I when he invited the Faradays here as usual. I'm not sure how he will behave once he sees you are alive."

  "I wrote to you every week. I never knew if you were receiving the letters or not."

  She dropped her arms and stared at him. "I didn't receive your letters. So you received none of mine?"

  "None."

  "Henry heard from you on a regular basis and shared with me until... Then it ended."

  "I wrote every chance I could. They can't all have been lost."

  She looked up at him and tears began to flow again. "Your father must have thrown your letters to me away, and the ones I put on the hall table to go to you. I should have sent a servant to the village with them."

  Stephen held her as she wept. His father had accused his mother of infidelity, which proved a horrific accusation for a woman to bear, then cut her off from him.

  "You are home now and very authoritative looking. Perhaps you can convince him he was wrong."

  "I haven't changed that much, have I?"

  "Yes, your face is creased with care, your skin is burnt by the sun. Your hair looks much like mine did when I was younger, but he never accepted you favored my looks. Perhaps, he simply doesn't remember."

  "I'll make him believe you." Stephen was not quite sure how he would accomplish this, but he had to convince his father that his mother had not betrayed him.

  Chapter Five

  Christmas Day

  Jane woke before dawn as she always did on Christmas. When she glanced out the window the fog of the night before lingered in the yard and grounds, leaving the house surrounded by a milk-white sea where hillocks and trees were islands peeking through the surface. Then Stephen emerged from the whiteness and strode toward the house. He no longer wore his dark green uniform, but a black suit that hung on him in places but fit tightly across the shoulders, emphasizing how he had changed. Still she would know his sure stride anywhere.

  He looked up, and seeing her at the window, waved. The sun broke through for a second and glinted off his blond hair. He was so handsome he took her breath away, and he loved her. That's all that mattered. She did not wait for the house maid to attend her but slipped into her grey wool dress and ran down the stairs. Her sense of anticipation for the day was reawakened. Stephen was waiting for her at the door into the breakfast parlor.

  "Have you been up long?" she asked as she rushed into his arms. He gave her a kiss that felt warm and passionate without being possessive before he glanced around the hall. It was sweet how he cared for her reputation when they were not properly betrothed. She cared not a whit who saw them.

  "I've been awake for an hour. I helped old Bossley with the horses." He opened the door to the breakfast parlor and they entered. He chose a corner chair and seated her at the table so they could converse quietly.

  "Do the others know you've returned?" she asked.

  Stephen laughed. "Only the upstairs maid, whom I startled. She promised to have the kitchen staff make up tea and toast right away."

  "That means all the staff know by now. You still might surprise your father and the rest of the guests." Jane looked forward to witnessing the expression on all their faces when they realized Stephen was alive.

  "Lucky me."

  Two servers rushed in, the maid with a tea tray and old Foster with a rack of toast and dish of bacon. "So good to have you home, sir. I have informed all the staff," Foster said.

  "Thank you, Foster. It's good to be back even under such sad circumstances."

  Foster stiffened at the sound of his voice, then left.

  Stephen chuckled. "Apparently he finally made the connection to the rumpled traveler on the doorstep, the one he turned away."

  Jane smiled. "You won't tell on him."

  "No, it is so easy to get along with servants if you simply don't say anything, but that does not work with family. I should have talked to my parents a long time ago."

  Stephen served Jane breakfast while she poured the tea. It was as though they were already married. Jane recalled on Christmases past there had been greenery on the windowsills and adorning the mantel, both Stephen and Henry's doing. Then Stephen had left for the service, leaving Henry to decorate at Christmastime, but now he was gone, and Lady Summerhill had not bothered this year. Stephen's mother had suffered far more than she these past four years.

  She watched Stephen eat slowly and methodically as though the food came at a great price and must be savored. "Do you mind so much that I told your mother?" she asked.

  "Of course not. It was the right thing to do."

  "The times I have talked to her over the years, your mother expressed much sadness that you did not write. She had to live off the words you sent to Henry."

  He put down his fork and looked at her. "Mother and I figured out why she never received my letter telling her I was on my way home or apparently any of my other letters. When Henry retrieved the post and brought it to the table he'd already opened his letters, but Father went through the rest of the mail."

  "Surely he would not withhold news from you when he knew how desperate your mother was about your welfare."

  "I don't like to think he wo
uld, but there seems no other explanation."

  His mother came in smiling then, wearing a dark blue silk dress. She kissed his cheek, and then took a seat on the other side of Stephen. "Don't stand on ceremony, Jane. Please pour me some tea."

  Jane was startled into obeying. "Why does Lord Summerhill treat Bertram with so much favor?"

  "I—I cannot say." Lady Summerhill glanced toward Stephen.

  He smiled and patted his mother's hand. "I have negotiated a marriage with this young lady, so she is soon to be in my confidence."

  "Even if my father objects, I will marry no one but Stephen," Jane added.

  Lady Summerhill breathed a sigh of relief. "Then you may as well know. My husband does not think Stephen is his son."

  Jane choked on a sip of tea and took a moment to recover. "That's absurd."

  "My reaction exactly," his mother said.

  "And mine." Stephen pushed his plate aside.

  Jane thought over the implications of her hostess's revelation. "Will he take any action?"

  Lady Summerhill smiled bitterly. "You mean other than sending Stephen off to be killed?"

  "Let it rest, Mother. We don't know what he intended. At least I am back. I'm sorry I was not here when you lost Henry."

  His mother stared into her teacup. "It was not your fault."

  The door opened and Jane's father entered, but stopped at the sight of Stephen. "You are?" he asked.

  "Stephen." Her beloved rose and stepped forward to shake her father's hand. Her father seemed stunned but held his hand out anyway.

  "He has not changed that much, Father."

  "I have been gone a long time," Stephen said. "I'm not surprised you do not recognize me."

  Jane's mother pushed into the room and regarded Stephen with surprise and then calculation.

  "Mother, Stephen is home from the war. Surely you remember him."

  "Of course, but I must say, this is a surprise."

  "To all of us," Lady Summerhill said.

  Her mother seated herself across from Stephen and Jane poured her some tea. Her father stalked along the sideboard, putting bacon and toast on his plate. Jane was glad at least her mother welcomed Stephen, though she suspected her motives.