Carols and Chaos

by Cindy Anstey

  “Oh, no need, miss. They’ll be right as rain in the morning,” the scullery maid said with the confidence of experience. And then she, too, closed her eyes.

  It was peaceful, tranquil. Kate thought she might stay and sleep right there—for a few hours at least—before the early risers arrived to start the process all over again.

  “It were a busy day, miss.”

  “Mmmm. It was indeed.”

  “Glad Mr. Niven is going to find Johnny. Bernie and Charles need the help, what with all them guests.”

  Kate sighed, eyes still closed. “Yes, extra hands are always appreciated. But it is Mr. Coombs who will be looking for Johnny, not Mr. Niven.”

  “No, no, miss. It were Mr. Niven asking all the questions.”

  Kate opened her eyes, staring sightless at the ceiling for a moment, and then she sat up to look over at the scullery maid. “Mr. Niven was asking questions about Johnny?”

  “Yes, miss.” Livy seemed unaware of Kate’s disquiet.

  “About Johnny?”

  “Yes, miss. When he brought in the wine with Charles.”

  “Before the squire and Lord Bobbington arrived this morning?”

  Livy opened her eyes and sat up straight; she looked over at Kate. “Is something wrong?”

  “What did Mr. Niven ask?”

  “Just wanted to know if Johnny had come back. Offered to check Johnny’s room for clues. Gwen an’ I had a giggle over that—clues, like it were a mystery, or some such. He asked everyone where they thought Johnny might go. Did he have family? Finally stopped jawing when he asked who would be enjoyin’ his wine this evenin’. He hightailed it away then … must not like the squire, I suppose. I thought he were just bein’ rude ’til I heard that there was going to be a search … but you say it be Mr. Coombs who’ll find Johnny.” With a nod, Livy relaxed back against the chair again. “Now, that makes better sense, him bein’ the night watchman an’ all.”

  “Yes, yes … it does. Well, I think I will bid you good night.” And so saying, Kate rushed out of the kitchen and down the hall. Lost in thought, she reached the bottom of the stairs barely aware of her surroundings. Her mind was a whirl and a muddle at the same time.

  Why would Mr. Niven care about Johnny? Could his questions be simply classified as curiosity? It was, without a doubt, odd. Why would he offer to search Johnny’s room? Odder still!

  When Kate reached the first floor, she took a tentative step toward the family wing and then glanced over her shoulder. The hallway was empty; the manor was quiet … peacefully quiet … deceivingly quiet, as if all were well—when it wasn’t. Kate swallowed, pivoted slowly as if drawn in the opposite direction, and walked with deliberate soft steps toward the guest wing. She needed to talk to someone, and not just anyone. Marie would not do. Miss Emily nor Miss Imogene … Mrs. Lundy … No, none of them. She needed to talk to Matt. But it was late and so very, very improper … and yet her feet still carried her in the wrong direction. Toward Matt.

  And then she was there, standing in front of his door—the hidden panel that she knew so well. Her hand lifted. With a deep breath, Kate tightened her fist, but she did not knock. This was a mistake. She might need Matt’s calm thoughts and his soothing presence, but it was near on midnight. It was imprudent, rash, foolish, impulsive, and ill considered.

  Kate knocked.

  chapter 12

  In which Kate is very glad that she disturbed a certain valet

  Kate’s knuckles barely touched the hard wood; it was more of a caress. The sound it produced was muffled, faint, nothing to draw attention. She sighed, knowing that she had made the right choice but regretting it nonetheless. Matt might not think well of her, arriving at this hour of the night, no matter what the reason. She could talk to him about Mr. Niven before their morning meal, certainly before the Sunday service. That would suffice. The greatest difficulty now would be to sleep away the night; she had left her brick in the kitchen oven.

  Leaning her forehead against the panel door, Kate half smiled and wondered how long it would take after the Steeples had gone before her thoughts would stop turning to Matt whenever something felt wrong … or strange … or ridiculous … or nonsensical … or silly … or pleasant … or funny. All would be dull without the shine of his eyes to brighten her day.

  Pushing away from the door, Kate shook her head. It was time for bed, even if it meant a sleepless night. And with that thought, the panel began to move. Startled, Kate jumped back to allow for the door to swing open.

  “Matt?” she croaked, trying to think clearly, but clearly it was impossible … because it was obvious that Matt had been preparing for bed … clearly. She swallowed, trying not to notice how very fine he looked with tousled hair, his shirt open at the neck, no coat, and no waistcoat. All thoughts of Mr. Niven and his odd questions flew out of her brain and took every word that she had ever learned away with them.

  “Kate. Is all well?” He made the mistake of reaching out for her as he spoke.

  Kate stared mutely at his hand as it rested on hers and blinked several times in succession. Then, after giving her head a little shake, she frowned, pursed her lips, and tried to recall why she had disturbed the poor young man. “Mr. Niven was asking peculiar questions,” she finally said in a voice that sounded almost normal.

  “Peculiar?” he asked very softly, then stepped closer so that he might whisper. “In what way?”

  His breath caressed her cheek, lifting a few strands of hair that had come free of her chignon and hung over her ears. It tickled and tingled.

  “According to Livy, he was asking about Johnny. If he had family in the area. Even suggested that he could help by looking for clues in Johnny’s room.”

  “Clues? Clues of what?” Then he snorted softly and shook his head. “Must think that Johnny disappeared on purpose, too.”

  “Pardon?”

  “That’s Squire Fleming’s theory.”

  “But that’s nonsense!” In her indignation, Kate shifted closer to offer solidarity, but in doing so, they were now touching—bodice to chest. She could feel his radiating heat through the fabric of their clothes and she tried to think over the clamorous pounding in her ears. It was difficult to form a pertinent, intelligent question.

  “Why?” she whispered. It was the best she could devise. She could feel the quickening of his breath and his sudden tension.

  His gaze kept dropping to her mouth until, suddenly, he leaned forward, placing his lips on hers. It was not a gentle kiss; it was full of passion and longing, and Kate thought she might melt right then and there. All thoughts, all logic disappeared—the only thing that existed was the sensation of his mouth, his arms now wrapped around her, and her need to get closer. Leaning, pressing, she gulped at the air one moment, held her breath the next. As his mouth trailed down her neck and started back up again, she might have moaned … for she was in heaven.

  “Oh Lud, this is not wise,” she whispered, as she pressed even tighter, tilting her head up.

  And then, just as suddenly, Matt stopped.

  Kate opened an eye. “Is something wrong?” She had wanted to scream Keep going, but that might have been a tad too brazen.

  Matt straightened, unwound his arms, and put some distance between them—a terrible six inches. Kate was bereft; she stared at him, bewildered.

  “You are right.”

  “I am? About what?”

  Laughing softly, Matt shrugged with little conviction. “It is not wise.”

  “Wisdom is overrated.”

  “Not in this instance.”

  “We are too young to be wise. Let’s wait another decade or so.” Lifting her arms, Kate tried to wrap them around his neck, but he stepped back. She frowned. “But I was quite enjoying myself.”

  Matt chortled with too much gusto, glancing quickly up and down the hallway. He shook his head even as he reassured. “I was as well.”

  “Are you being prudent again? I must say, I’m starting to find it a trifle an
noying.”

  “Perhaps we should call it cautious or sensible.”

  “I don’t think I like those words, either.” A loud thump from within one of the chambers nearby, however, served as a reminder of how precarious their situation was, should they be discovered. “I’d best retire,” she said with a deep sigh.

  “It might be wise.”

  Kate pursed her lips, trying not to smile … and then she recalled the purpose of her nocturnal visit. “Shall we speak to Squire Fleming about Mr. Niven? Though to do so … well, it seems wrong, as if we are making an accusation when, in fact, I merely want to know … to understand why he was interested in Johnny, beyond what is seemly. Perhaps, yes, perhaps it would be better to speak to him ourselves first, at church.”

  “Yes, indeed. That might be best.” Matt nodded.

  Pivoting, Kate turned her head to offer Matt a rueful smile and then tiptoed down the hall to the family wing. She felt better about the decision, their next steps toward finding Johnny. It was only after closing the door of her own chamber that Kate realized that Matt had not contributed to that decision, that she had not needed to disturb him, that she had put her position as a lady’s maid in peril for no reason.

  And then she smiled.

  But she was so glad, so very glad that she had.

  SUNDAY, DECEMBER 21, 1817

  THE CHURCH WAS crowded, though not as crowded as the Yuletide service would be. It meant there was space for the male staff of Shackleford to sit together … which was somewhat unfortunate, as Kate was with the female staff two pews ahead. It was probably just as well; every time their eyes met, a longing Matt had never experienced before overwhelmed him.

  Pulling away from Kate the previous night had been far more difficult than he had revealed. Far more. Wisdom was highly overrated. Concern about Johnny kept his mind focused on non-Kate issues—allowing Matt to regain his composure. Otherwise … otherwise … yes, otherwise he would be looking at Kate instead of glancing around for Mr. Niven.

  Though Mr. Niven did not seem to be attending the service. Matt wondered if this was the man’s norm and asked Kate just that when the final hymn was sung and the congregation filed outside. Instead of joining the exodus, they walked over to the crèche set up near the baptismal font by a side altar. They pointed at the various statues, nodding and smiling and giving every impression of being caught up in the nativity scene … and amused by the portrayed wild eyes of the braying donkey. Their conversation, however, had nothing to do with Christmas.

  “Mr. Niven is ordinarily at church … though I must own to not paying much attention to his presence. A rather intense but quite forgettable man. I’m not sure we need be worried.”

  “We will be going right by the wine shop and his apartment on our way back to Shackleford Park; perhaps we should pay him a visit.”

  “Yes, excellent suggestion. I will let Miss Emily know…” She smiled at Matt in an enigmatic manner. “But I know she will not mind, and Marie has already professed a preference to return by coach with the family. Too bitter for her. And the beautiful falling snow? A disaster—she finds winter intolerable. I, on the other hand, believe that in the right company the wind is not as biting, the snow makes everything fresh, and the crunch of ice underfoot can be almost musical.”

  Matt laughed. “I would like to live in your world.”

  Staring at him rather intently, taking his words seriously—not the way they were intended—Kate’s expression became rather glum. “I wish you did, too.”

  Matt nodded; he took her meaning.

  Outside, Miss Emily made no fuss about Kate walking back to the manor in Matt’s company, although Miss Imogene frowned and glanced his way. When Matt doffed his cap, she looked startled, almost as if she hadn’t realized she had been staring. The poor girl turned a bright shade of red, and Matt regretted drawing her attention. Miss Imogene was a bashful young lady. However, all was mended when Mr. Ben stepped to her side; a comment brought back her smile. Piling into the carriages, the family and their guests were soon covered with blankets and on their way. The staff huddled together on the outside seats.

  Marie was not the only one unimpressed with the bitter chill of the day; the street quickly emptied as the post-service chats were shortened to nods and waves. Within moments, Kate and Matt were left to make their way past the green and onto the main deserted road.

  The wind swirled around them, catching at their breath, making conversation difficult. It was just as well; Matt was finding it challenging to think of much more than Johnny and Kate. Of Johnny, there was nothing more to say until they talked to Mr. Niven. Of Kate, there was too much to say … but it would all be futile.

  Rather than turn down the street leading to the mews behind the shops right away, they stepped in the lee of the building. They stamped the feeling back into their feet, blew warm breath into their gloves—well, mitts in Kate’s case—and were about to step back into the wind when Kate glanced from the sweets store in front of them to Mr. Niven’s wine dispensary next door. She paused, frowned, and, despite the cold, pushed back her hood. She walked over to the window and cupped her face, pressing her nose to the glass, trying to see past the shelves in the storefront.

  “What is it, Kate?” Matt asked.

  “There has been … well, I’m not sure what I am seeing.”

  Matt was beside her before she finished her sentence, with his face pressed to the glass as well.

  The shelves in the window, which eight days earlier had displayed port, claret, and various other wines, were empty. Glass littered the floor. A broken bottle sat in the middle of a red puddle—and no attempt had been made to clean it up. Squinting through the shelf slats, Matt could see into the office. All order was gone—everything was gone. The tasting table and chairs no longer sat near the front of the store. The barrels of wine that had been precisely positioned and labeled in the center of the room were missing, and the desk where Mr. Niven had taken and then recorded the Beeswanger order was no longer there. Even the lists that had papered the walls were missing—light spots on dark wood were the only evidence of their placement. Except for one that had been ripped; it curled away from the wall, looking limp and ruined.

  “This couldn’t be a robbery … everything is gone,” Matt said. “Right down to the stool that Mr. Niven was sitting on the day I placed the Beeswanger order.”

  Kate stood straight again, staring at Matt with a puckered brow. “I’m confused. No one moves their shop in the Yuletide season and … and I saw Mr. Niven yesterday. He said nothing about closing up his business. No. In fact, he talked about his personal service to his best customers. That’s not usually the conversation of a man intending to move away.”

  “Did he relocate? Perhaps … maybe?” He glanced at the door. There was no notice. “This is highly suspicious. Of what, I don’t know … I’m almost afraid to know. Because if this has to do with Johnny’s disappearance … only something terrible would…” Matt swallowed and tried not to show the horror that he was feeling.

  Kate stepped closer, placing her hands in his. “Let us not jump to conclusions. Let us check Mr. Niven’s apartment above the store and his warehouse. It’s accessed from the mews. No, stop, Matt, stop thinking. Let us just go look.”

  A strange sort of numbness settled into Matt’s mind; not thinking became easier. He needed to act and react. Considering Johnny and his possible demise was not prudent. No. Act and react.

  Letting go of Kate’s hands, he acted; he pulled her hood up and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. She reacted by smiling, albeit weakly and with tears welling in her eyes. “It will be all right,” she said softly, and then swallowed visibly.

  “Of course,” Matt said without conviction—glad, so very glad that he was feeling rather numb.

  * * *

  THE WIND HIT full force as they slipped around the corner of the Candy Bowl. Temporarily blinded, Kate pulled her hood down farther and followed the side of the building until they re
ached the back. Then, looking up at the staircase leading to Mr. Niven’s apartment, she stood for a moment undecided.

  “Do we check his apartment or his warehouse first?” she asked. “Or divide up and see to both?” Though, even as she suggested it, the idea of separating made her uncomfortable.

  But before Matt could answer, a whinny and thump grabbed their attention. They turned to stare past the back fences where the mews ran behind them. They could see two horses and a wagon through the blowing snow. As they watched, a figure standing on the wagon bed jumped down on the far side and started toward a dark smudge—likely the stable or warehouse door. It was difficult to see from where they were which door the figure was walking toward.

  “Mr. Niven?” Kate called; she lifted her hand to wave.

  The figure stopped and turned, but rather than acknowledge the hail, he rushed to the wagon. By the time he had clamored aboard, Kate had lifted her skirts and was running pell-mell with Matt down the lane to the mews.

  Just as they reached the corner, the reins cracked and the horses jerked forward. Matt rushed across the lane to the far side. They would trap the man between them; the wagon was too close to have any momentum. But the driver must have known their intent, for no sooner had the horses started to walk when he flicked the reins again, startling them into a trot even though they were too close to the wall. Dancing sideways, hooves sliced through the air; neither Kate nor Matt could approach until the horses calmed. And they could no longer turn down the mews or reach the wagon.

  Looking up, Kate met the eyes of the man standing precariously in front of the bench. The driver was not Mr. Niven; he was a young man with broad, muscled shoulders, freckled cheeks, and a Grecian nose. Kate watched as his thin lips curled up in a sardonic smile, and then he dropped the reins and jumped over the bench and off the back of the bouncing wagon. He landed hard, spilling onto the road, and knocked his tartan cap off. A shock of red hair was exposed, looking bright against the fallen snow.

  Kate gasped, causing the young man to turn and look at her over his shoulder. He snickered or chortled. Kate could not hear the sound, but she saw his mouth open and his shoulders move and then he reached, almost lazily, for his cap. Placed it back on his head, nodded in an overly solicitous way and then turned, and ran.