Carols and Chaos

by Cindy Anstey

  “Indeed. A justice would not look kindly upon such an act. Nor would he be happy if Johnny was in this lane with a young lady in a state of … romantic bliss. So caught up in his emotions, he did not notice the rent in his coat. Or perhaps having had too much to drink, Johnny stumbled. So there we have it. We rush to the justice, magistrate, or sheriff—”

  “Most legal matters here are put before the squire,” Kate clarified.

  “Indeed? The squire, then … finds Johnny but has him arrested for theft or indecency or public nuisance. So you see, we’d better have some idea what Johnny was up to before we hie off to the law.”

  Kate sighed very deeply. “But what if he is in trouble and our delay causes him further harm?”

  She looked ready to weep, and Matt understood her fear—it was similar to his own, one that he needed to keep on a tight rein, lest it affect their decisions. “Let us away,” he said breezily. “We have others to speak with first. No need to worry. Where shall we start?”

  “Mr. Cryer mentioned Mr. Belcher and Mr. MacDonald … but then, he also said that many others spoke to Johnny last night. It might be faster to ring the church bell and ask everyone who comes running.”

  “Indeed. An excellent notion. However, it might be best to try Mr. Belcher and Mr. MacDonald before involving the entire town.” Matt tried to keep the panic out of his voice. Kate glanced at him one last time, concern still written on her face. He lifted his elbow toward Kate as if they were going on an afternoon promenade with no disquiet … certainly, no worries.

  * * *

  KATE WAS AS tense as a twisted corset. She was not at all surprised when the blacksmith and grocer could offer them no further information about Johnny, and silently railed at the streak of red in the sky that forced them back to Shackleford Park. It would not be wise to delay; returning in full dark was the very condition that had done Johnny no favor.

  “He might have returned in our absence,” Matt said with a lift of his cheeks that could not be described as a smile. It was clear he did not believe his own words.

  They were rushing down the road, all sense of playfulness shattered by their concern. There were no clever attempts to hold hands, and Kate found the ruts easy enough to traverse without the help of the handsome valet. Their discourse was sparse and repetitive.

  “We should speak to someone,” Kate stated for the umpteenth time. She was trying to find the right words, the ones that would make Matt understand that he had no choice—to ask for help was not throwing his friend under the wheels of a carriage but … the words, the sentiments all sounded the same. “We should speak to someone.”

  “Indeed,” Matt replied.

  Kate tried to concentrate on the road, the ice, the process of putting one foot in front of the other without tripping over her skirts. She was stymied; her mind had hit a wall of confusion. Everything Matt had said was true; there were plenty of benign reasons for Johnny to have disappeared—though selfish in the extreme—and yet there were a few that cried out for intervention. A bloody button could be fashioned into any one of those circumstances, but—

  “Yes, I agree. We should inform the family. Mr. Ben at least, since he is the one who sent me on this fool’s errand.”

  Kate stopped abruptly, turning to face him. “You agree?” She recalled her words; they were unchanged—no added weight to her reasonable summation of the situation.

  “Yes, indeed. I have never been one to come to a conclusion without due consideration—”

  “I noticed that.”

  “Thank you,” Matt said, mistakenly thinking Kate approved. “And after this due consideration, I can see that our best course forward is to enlist some assistance. I am not yet convinced Johnny is in dire circumstances—unsavory most likely, but not necessarily dire.”

  “Oh, excellent. I am so relieved.” Kate was relieved that she was not going to have to talk to Mrs. Lundy without Matt’s endorsement—for she had had every intention of doing just that.

  “We’ll see if Johnny has returned first…” Matt tipped his head in the direction of Shackleford Park. “What is that?” he asked.

  They were standing at the head of the service lane, the color in the sky gone entirely. Kate could see candle lights flickering through the windows of the manor, and drifting on the wind was a sound … clashing with their desperation. Music. Cheerful, happy music. A fiddle, if Kate was to hazard a guess—and if that were so, it would be in Mr. Murray’s hands. The head gardener was a wizard with a bow.

  “There’s often a gathering when everyone starts to return on the half day. With no duties to speak of and the sun gone, what better time to hold a dance? All very informal, of course … but plenty of fun and frolic.”

  “Excellent,” Matt said, and then surprised Kate by grabbing her hand and leading her in a half run down the rest of the lane. She was starting to think he had taken leave of his senses when he turned to look over his shoulder. “Music is like a siren’s call to Johnny. If he is in the manor, he will be at the dance.” And then he smiled his charming, gentle smile, and despite knowing otherwise, Kate thought everything was going to be just fine.

  * * *

  THE TABLES OF the servants’ hall had been pushed to the walls; the chairs were a haphazard collection in the corners. In the center, most, if not all, of the household staff was leaping and twirling in the loose squares of a country dance. Nothing like an elegant ball of the gentry, this dance was a riot of movement, laughter, and missteps.

  As Kate and Matt watched from the threshold, carefully avoiding the mistletoe overhead, the constant movement and confusion made it difficult to determine who was who. Faces leapt out of the throng, only to be swallowed again by the writhing mass.

  Finally, Mrs. Lundy made her way through the crowd. “There you be,” she said with a broad smile. “Get rid of your coats and cloaks. Quickly now. Mr. Murray is about to play an Irish jig. Don’t forget to start on your right foot; it’s bad luck to begin a dance on your left foot.”

  Neither moved.

  “Is Johnny here, Mrs. Lundy?” Kate tried to focus on the housekeeper, but her eyes were pulled back to the crowd of dancers. “Johnny, is he here?” she shouted, realizing that her question had been swallowed by the din.

  “Don’t know, dear.” The good woman shrugged, unaware of the importance of her answer, and then she smiled. “I’m sure he’s about somewhere. I’m going to help Cook with the cider, make sure that it is stirred clockwise and … well, it wouldn’t do for anything of an alcoholic nature to find its way into the bowl.” Mrs. Lundy winked and then nudged Kate as she left.

  Righting herself, Kate found that she was now under great scrutiny from the staff. Loud, boisterous laughter accompanied finger pointing. They were gesturing toward the mistletoe that was now nearly overhead. Quickly, Matt and Kate turned, bowed to the clapping audience, and moved away in opposite directions. Neither was in the mood for frivolity, even one as enticing as a kiss.

  Pulling her mittens off as she threaded her way to the back, Kate searched the faces around her. By the time she had slipped off her cloak, she was fairly certain that Johnny was not present. She pivoted to say as much to Matt when she saw that he was talking to Pippa across the room.

  The maid’s stance was flirtatious—hair twirling, leaning forward, touching Matt on the arm—for no apparent reason whatsoever. However, it was the look on Matt’s face that captured Kate’s attention. She could see the tension in his jaw ease, even as he leaned back from Pippa’s grabby hands. He glanced Kate’s way and grinned, and then protested when Pippa latched on to his arm and tried to pull him in among the dancers. Matt turned back to Kate, gesturing to his coat and the door. She met him in the hallway.

  “Pippa believes Johnny is behind the stables, spitting tobacco with the grooms. A most unsavory pastime,” Matt said with no true criticism in his voice. He was grinning, his eyes full of relief. “I’ll go speak to him.” And so saying, Matt raced to the door. He disappeared with a qu
ick backward wave.

  Glancing once more into the servants’ hall, Kate met Pippa’s gaze. Sour gaze. Hateful gaze. Kate nodded and turned, making her way upstairs to deposit her outerwear in her wardrobe.

  * * *

  “WHY WOULD SHE say such a thing if it was not true?” Matt was masking his concern with anger … or at least that was what Kate believed to be his emotional state. He was not as easy to read as she had previously thought.

  Kate had returned to the service hallway to find Matt storming down the corridor. It would seem that Johnny was not with the grooms; they had not seen him since the day before.

  “She was trying to get you to dance with her and likely could see that you were preoccupied with Johnny. It was self-serving, not diabolical.”

  “No. That label is reserved for Mr. Walker.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Clearly, she had taken too long changing into her party gown and primping in front of the looking glass. “What has happened?”

  “I requested that Mr. Murray stop fiddling long enough for me to ascertain that no one, no one, has seen Johnny since church yesterday. So I asked Walker to tell Mr. Ben that I wish to speak with him, but he refused. Refused. The family is ensconced, and he will not disturb them for something as insignificant as a shirking footman. Said the fool, meaning Johnny, was likely passed out under a chair somewhere, feeling the effects of too much punch.” Matt snorted and clenched his fists. “I can hardly burst into the drawing room demanding an audience.”

  “No, no, you can’t … but they will retire in a few more hours, and you can speak to Mr. Ben then.”

  “True enough, but I find it very difficult to wait.”

  Lifting her hand, Kate touched Matt’s coat lapel. She wanted to stroke his face, offer creature comfort, and tell him all would be well. But they were empty platitudes, and it would be most unseemly to offer such an intimacy.

  “It will be soon enough,” she said with a certainty she did not feel.

  Matt jerked a nod and stepped past Kate, heading for the back stairs. “You can find me in my room if Johnny suddenly puts in an appearance.”

  Kate spent the rest of her half day turning down invitations to dance, sipping the spiked cider, and watching the door for either Matt or Johnny to return.

  Neither did.

  * * *

  SITTING AND STEWING, Matt waited. Mr. Ben and Mr. Ernest could have tiptoed to their rooms and still Matt would have heard them in the hallway. As it was, the young gentlemen felt no need to contain their jocularity, and so Matt was not put to the test. Rather than knock on Mr. Ernest’s door first, as was his routine, Matt made straight for Mr. Ben’s room. Unfortunately, Mr. Ben was in a chatty mood, not noticing Matt’s pointed silence until after he had been divested of his coat and waistcoat.

  “All right, let’s have it. Was your half day disappointing? You seem sullen.”

  “Sullen? Interesting interpretation, Mr. Ben. It was a busy day what with running all around town.” He pulled Mr. Ben’s boots off and set them aside to be shined later.

  “That seems an odd thing to do on a day off.”

  Matt turned, giving the gentleman a look of chastisement. “You have, I see, forgotten your heated words of last night.”

  “Heated words?” Mr. Ernest asked, walking into the room after a quick knock. “Why were you yelling at poor Matt, Ben?”

  Matt sighed with relief, glad to have the attention of both brothers. “Not at me per se, Mr. Ernest. It was regarding Johnny.”

  “Oh yes.” Ben nodded, still more absorbed in untangling his neckcloth than in the conversation. “Did you read him the riot act?”

  “I couldn’t find him, Mr. Ben. Johnny is missing.”

  “Really?” Mr. Ernest’s question was hard-edged.

  As concisely as possible, Matt described the whys and wherefores of Johnny’s disappearance, starting with the stag ring and ending in the mews.

  “Blood? You believe the button to be covered in … Can I see it, Matt?” Mr. Ernest asked.

  Matt retrieved his handkerchief from his room and passed it to the older brother, but it was snatched away by Mr. Ben before Mr. Ernest could examine it properly.

  “Lawks, it does look like blood. And it does resemble the family crest. And the cloth is definitely our shade of livery, I believe.” Mr. Ben returned the button to Matt, grabbed his boots, and dropped onto the window seat. “We should let the sheriff know.”

  “I was told such matters are handled by the squire here.” Matt did not expound on who had said as much. There was no need to bring Kate’s name into this mess.

  Mr. Ben paused, his left leg in the air, his boot partially on. “The squire?” He turned to his brother. “Isn’t … Aren’t they coming to dinner tomorrow?” He sat back, one boot on, and his neckcloth hanging limp across his chest. “Yes. And … how opportune. He is bringing Lord Bobbington and his bride; I believe Mr. Beeswanger said he’s with the Home Office.” Without waiting for his brother to answer, Mr. Ben continued. “This is most excellent. Squire Fleming and Lord Bobbington will know—”

  “We have not met them yet, Ben. We can hardly ask strangers to rush over at this time of night.”

  “Oh lawks, that’s true. Perhaps … I’ll go over, then. I’ll have to borrow a carriage … and a guide.”

  “Has Johnny ever done this before?” Mr. Ernest asked calmly, an antithesis to his brother’s sudden energy.

  “Which part, sir? The reckless behavior, the gambling, or the disappearing?”

  “The reckless behavior.”

  “Not since he joined the household three months ago, Mr. Ernest.”

  “I see. But he was a little wild … if I recall the story correctly.” With a deep sigh, indicating how uncomfortable he was with the situation, Mr. Ernest lifted his palm to his brother. “Settle, Ben. Let’s see if Johnny returns by morning. If he doesn’t, the squire and his guests are coming for an early dinner tomorrow.”

  “But the blood?” Mr. Ben argued, not unlike Kate had hours earlier.

  “Might mean anything,” Mr. Ernest explained. “He could simply have stumbled, cut his hand, and caught his button. There are many, many possibilities.”

  Hearing an echo of his own sentiments in Mr. Ernest’s reassurances, Matt understood why Kate had been incensed. They sounded like a plea for nothing to be wrong rather than an assurance that all was well.

  But try as he might, Matt could not convince either brother—for Ben now saw the wisdom of waiting to shout an alarm. Had they been in Chotsdown, Matt was certain a message would have gone out to the sheriff immediately. But the Steeples and their servants were guests at Shackleford Park. Bringing trouble and great inconvenience to their hosts was a most uncomfortable prospect. It would be made worse if it were found that Johnny was simply truant and the young gentlemen had turned Shackleford Park and Tishdale topsy-turvy for nothing.

  And so it was that Matt had to assist his young gentlemen into their nightclothes, wish them pleasant dreams, and then lie awake all night hoping and praying that Johnny was being an idiot and that Matt could give his friend a proper dressing-down in the morning.

  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 20, 1817

  KATE WAS ON her way to Mrs. Lundy’s sitting room to break her fast when Livy pulled at her skirts to let her know that Colby Jordan was at the service door. With a mind full of anxiety about Johnny and Matt, Kate wanted to ask Livy to send Colby away. She knew that he would only be here at her Mam’s behest. Kate was about to be informed about another terrible occurrence that required her to drop everything and rush to her mother’s cottage.

  “Come right away, miss,” Colby finished after telling Kate exactly that.

  “Is she sick? Hurt? Is the cottage on fire? Has a herd of cows invaded her kitchen?”

  Colby chuckled. “No, miss.”

  With a great sigh, Kate shook her head. “Then, could you please inform my mam that I cannot come right away? I have much to do what with company coming. I will get to V
yse-on-Hill when I can, but I cannot say when that will be.”

  Colby nodded and raced away. Watching him disappear, Kate shook her head and pivoted. Mrs. Lundy stood behind her.

  “She will understand, my dear.” The housekeeper offered a sympathetic look that hardened Kate’s resolve.

  “No, not likely. But I’m tired of being called away for no purpose. Mam is going to have to come to terms with being alone. I’m not helping her by rushing hither and yon at her bidding.”

  “Probably not, my dear. As a dutiful daughter, though, it must be difficult to draw that line.” She patted Kate’s arm. “Come, let us eat before we are worked off our feet.”

  And with that, Mrs. Lundy disappeared through her sitting room doorway. Kate was about to join her when she saw Matt coming toward her. She waited, needing to hear what was going to be done about Johnny.

  Matt’s expression was grim.

  “No Johnny as yet,” she said without preamble. She had asked Bernie and Charles as soon as she had come downstairs.

  “No,” Matt said. “And we are to await the squire this afternoon before shouting the alarm.”

  “But … but…”

  Matt nodded solemnly. “Exactly.”

  chapter 11

  In which Lord Bobbington pays a call

  Kate found it hard to concentrate that morning. Glancing out every window as often as she could, she prayed to see Johnny sauntering up the lane … or Squire Fleming racing up the drive. Again, she waited in vain.

  The girls were all atwitter about the arrival of Lady Bobbington, full of curiosity about the young bride who was only a few years older than they. There was much to discuss regarding ribbons, gloves, and which shoe roses would make the best impression. Still, despite their distraction, Kate’s woolgathering became apparent.

  “Kate?” Gauging by Miss Emily’s tone, Kate thought her name might have been called more than once.

  With a shake of her head, Kate brought her thoughts back into the room and the process of readying the girls for the day. Blinking, Kate frowned into the looking glass of the vanity. She had been working on Miss Emily’s upsweep—an elegant style that swirled artfully in the back with tendrils of brown curls on the sides and a dusting of hair across her forehead.