by Amy Corwin
Christmas Spirit
By Amy Corwin
Summary
A blizzard envelopes the English countryside five days before Christmas, stranding Eve Tomlin and her mother when their carriage shatters a wheel. The women struggle through the snow, forced onward by a wraith-like figure gliding through the trees. Exhausted, they find an apparently abandoned house and stumble inside. They are confronted by Giles Danby, a guest at Folkestone Manor. Danby ruthlessly tells the women they must go.
Their host has just been murdered. A killer is on the loose.
Or a vengeful specter, if they believe Danby’s father. A specter Eve may have glimpsed in the woods.
Desperate to solve the mystery and remain alive, they can only hope the Christmas Spirit isn’t searching for another victim.
Chapter One
Five days before Christmas, 1815
A sharp crack echoed through the carriage. The vehicle tilted abruptly to the left, throwing Evelynola Tomlin against her mother. Before she could straighten, their maid fell on top of her with a sharp gasp. With the leather shades drawn down and fastened against the blizzard’s fierce wind, the three women struggled to right themselves in frigid darkness.
“Are you hurt?” Eve searched through the tangle of skirts and lap rugs for her mother’s gloved hand. “Mother?” Why did I think this trip was precisely what my mother needed? I must have been mad to suggest it.
“Sorry, Miss.” The maid’s elbow struck her in the ribs. The maid, Sarah, hastily pushed herself back to perch on the precipitously angled seat. She gripped a leather strap in a determined effort to stay upright.
“Have we arrived?” Lady Weston, Eve’s mother, asked in a travel-weary voice. She gently pushed her daughter away and attempted to right herself. The tilt of the compartment forced her to brace her hands against the sides of the carriage to avoid slipping to the floor.
Eve fumbled with a stiff curtain. “No.” She stared through the window. Nothing was visible except swirling darkness. Mad, indeed. Her plans had now put them all at risk of perishing from the cold. “We must have had an accident.”
“Accident!” her mother echoed. “We can’t have had an accident!”
The carriage door flew open. A burst of freezing air, laden with ice crystals sharp as crushed glass, blew inside.
“Beg pardon, ladies. Anyone hurt?” Their coachman peered inside, his features hidden under a huge hat and muffler. What they could see of his beard was stiff and encrusted with snow.
“We’re unharmed,” Eve answered. “What happened?”
“Hit something—wheel broke.” He coughed wetly and spit into the snow at his feet. “Can’t see a thing in this muck,” he added by way of an apology puffed out in a cloud of alcohol vapor.
“How soon can you fix it?” Lady Weston leaned away from the open door and pulled her elegant, fur-trimmed cloak more tightly around her shoulders.
Eve sat forward to block the worst of the wind from her mother.
Shaking his head, the coachman stepped away. Bitter cold seeped through the soles of Eve’s stout walking boots even before she pushed her way through the door and climbed down into the drifting snow. The driving storm scoured her cheeks. She could see nothing but darkness and the swirling clouds of sparkling ice. Even the road had disappeared under a huge drift.
The carriage leaned against the thick, black trunk of an oak. Above them, bare limbs twisted, disappearing in the darkness. Eve bit her lip to keep from scolding the driver. Most likely, he’d be as upset and frightened as she was if he weren’t in such dire danger of staggering off in his drunken stupor and falling asleep in a drift.
Perhaps he’d simply lost his way in the darkness and driven too close to the tree, cracking the wheel against one of the thick roots.
“Where are we?” she asked.
He shook his head and stumbled off toward the horses. Speaking in low tones, he stroked the trembling flank of the nearest horse. The gray animals blended into the flurries of snow, flickering like specters in the rapidly fading light.
“Don’t know, Miss. No way to tell. Not in this weather. Never should’ve left Hawkinge. Not on a day like this.” His slurred words were dark with frustration and resentment.
He’s right! This is my fault.
Eve glanced around, trying not to panic. Night was falling. The snow fell faster and thicker as she watched, sweeping around them in glittering white curtains. Her feet had already passed from biting cold to numb.
Despite the coachman’s inebriation, the situation was of her own making. She’d suggested they visit their cousins in Hythe for Christmas. It seemed reasonable, and she’d had the best of intentions. But like so many such intentions, everything had gone awry.
It all started when Lady Weston’s latest beau had chosen this festive season to abandon her for fresher, greener fields. Lady Weston had proceeded to lock herself in her bedchamber for three days. Desperate for a way to lift her mother out of her despondency, Eve had suggested the trip.
After all, there were no single men unrelated to the Tomlins in Hythe. Eve’s overly susceptible and lonely mother would be safe from the disappointment of another crushing affair for an entire month. Of course, that assumed they survived the trip.
Eve shivered violently and crossed her arms over her chest, holding her cloak more tightly against the wind. “We can’t stay here.” She felt like a fool stating the obvious to the coachman.
“Them horses’ll go no farther.”
Apparently, their situation wasn’t quite as obvious as she thought. “Then we’ll have to walk.”
“Walk!” he scoffed. “Where?”
Turning slowly, her gaze searched the gray, swirling darkness. Twisted, black trees crowded around them. Wind and snow blew with rustling, eerie whispers through the gnarled limbs, rattling the brittle wood.
There had to be shelter somewhere. They couldn’t survive an hour in this intense cold. Her heart stuttered as she strained to see through the gloom.
There! A glimmer, faint as a golden whisper, shone between the trunks. She took a step forward. The glow disappeared behind a fresh burst of snow.
Slitting her eyes against the stinging flakes, she moved to see beyond the menacing, thick tree trunks. She might yet redeem herself and save them all. “I saw a light!”
The coachman stumbled through a drift. “Where?” Hopelessness dimmed his red-rimmed eyes, and he thumped his ice-encrusted sleeves to beat warmth back into his arms.
She’d seen it, hadn’t she?
“Evelynola!” her mother called. “What are you doing out there? It’s freezing. Tell Mr. Symes to drive on. Immediately!”
Eve forced her way back through the snow and clutched the doorframe with stiff fingers. “We can’t drive any farther.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to walk—”
“Walk ? Walk to where, pray tell?”
“I saw a light—”
“I don’t see nuffin’,” the coachman interrupted. “Like as not, you’re seeing things. Ghosts in the snow. Or fairies awaitin’ to lead us astray.”
No self-respecting fairy would be out in this weather. He’d freeze his wings off.
Eve turned on him with sudden anger born from fear and increasing desperation. “I saw a light. We must head toward it. If we stay here, we’ll perish from the cold.” She waved at the horses. The animals leaned against each other, heads down against the whipping sheets of ice and snow. “You said yourself the horses cannot go forward.”
“None of us can. We’ll die before we go a yard.”
“We can, and we will. Now unhitch the horses. Loop the reins around them. We must keep them together.”
�
��What for?” He turned his back on her and leaned against the carriage, facing away from the wind.
“You may be ready to lie down and die, but I’m not. Now, do as I say.”
“Evelynola,” her mother said. “Get back in this carriage at once!”
“No. Sarah, bundle up what you can carry. We must walk.” She held up her hand. “Please, Mother. It won’t be far. I promise.”
To her surprise, Mr. Symes obeyed her, even if he moved so slowly that he appeared, at times, to be frozen in place. It took a great deal of coaxing and a gentle tug on her mother’s arm before Lady Weston left the confines of the carriage.
As soon as she set foot on the ground, she pettishly lifted her feet, one after the other, with birdlike, hopping movements. “I can’t walk in this. My feet are frozen already.”
Eve glanced at the maid and then back at her mother’s beautiful, but obstinate, face. Eve felt horrible doing it, but she couldn’t let her freeze. She leaned closer to whisper into her ear. “Please, Mother. We must make the attempt. I don’t want to be found here, frozen. I’ve heard that when a person freezes to death, their face distorts into a horrible, ugly mask. I don’t want to be found like that.”
Her mother stared at her, blinking, her long eyelashes covered with sparkling crystals of snow. Even wreathed in ice and snow she looked beautiful. “Well….”
“You’re so brave.” Eve kissed her frozen cheek, determined to prevent her from escaping back into the carriage. “I admire you so much, Mother.”
“Yes, well…. I don’t know how far I can walk in this. It’s dreadful!”
Mr. Symes led the horses toward them. He stared belligerently at Eve. “What now?”
“I can ride,” Lady Weston said hopefully, placing her slim, gloved hand on the neck of the closest horse.
“No, I’m sorry.” Eve gently moved her mother away. “We need them to break the path for us. No one can ride them. If they fall from exhaustion, we shall perish along with them. Let them lead us. Can you guide them, Mr. Symes?”
“Where?”
Eve spun, momentarily confused. She’d been looking to the right when she saw the light. She pointed in that direction, sending a prayer into the storm. “That way.”
“And if there’s nothing?” Mr. Symes asked, although he did as he was bid and brought the team around to face the direction she indicated.
“There’s nothing here, so we can hardly be worse off.” She tried to sound confident. In her ears, she sounded like a frightened mouse.
“Oh, Miss,” Sarah said in a quiet voice. “I…I’m not sure….”
“We’re none of us sure, Sarah,” Eve replied briskly, quelling another burst of uncertainty. She had to at least pretend to know.
She grabbed the halter of the nearest horse and guided them to face a narrow lane, if it was really a path and not just a gap between the trees. She couldn’t see the warm, golden flicker any longer. The blizzard wailed as if taunting them for thinking they could escape its wrath. She prayed she wasn’t leading them off to die.
“Lead on, Mr. Symes,” she said.
She put an arm around her mother’s waist and urged her forward. Sarah took a position immediately behind the horses. Gripping a small bundle with one hand, she pulled her thin cloak around her shoulders with the other. The maid struggled a few steps, beating down the drifts of snow to smooth out the path for Eve and her mother. When Sarah glanced over her shoulder, Eve smiled with encouragement.
Eve couldn’t let the fear seeping through her show. The others were following her lead. If she panicked, they’d all be lost.
After a few hundred yards, they lost sight of the carriage. All they could see were black trees and snow—wave after wave of stinging, freezing snow.
Had it been a mistake to abandon the frail haven of the vehicle?
“I don’t know how much farther I can go.” Lady Weston leaned heavily against Eve.
Eve struggled to catch her breath, her throat raw from cold. “It’s not much farther. The light couldn’t have been more than a half mile away.”
“Half a mile! We can’t walk that distance in this.”
“Them horses, they’re that near to dead,” Mr. Symes grumbled. “Can’t go much farther. Not in this.”
“They can. We can,” Eve said in a determined voice, although she could feel her own strength fading. Her feet and lower limbs had lost all sensation and could no longer feel the bitter cold. She staggered on the uneven path as one foot sunk into a deep hole. They’d find a house soon and a cheery fire.
Ahead, one of the horses stumbled, caught in a drift. The animal whinnied and struggled desperately to regain its feet. Eve watched with increasing fear. If the horses failed, they’d never be able to force their way through the snow. It already rose to cover the lower half of her limbs.
Mr. Symes used his shoulder to assist the horse. When it regained its feet, Symes ran his hand over its legs before leading it on another step. The animals sagged tiredly, their noses brushing the drifts of snow, snorting clouds of misty breath.
“Let me ride—what harm can it do?” her mother asked plaintively, her voice shaking.
“Lean on me.” Eve’s own strength was flagging. Her legs trembled as she strained to see through the trees.
A dark shape stood a few yards away, staring at them. A man… suddenly he flickered out of sight.
A ghost! Her chest constricted. She looked around, clutching a sapling for support. The cold, rough bark bit through her glove. Nothing. There was not a sign of it anywhere. Not even footprints in the snow.
A man—or a spirit? A phantom lost in the storm? Doomed to wander in bitter weather as an omen to other stranded travelers about to die….
She cleared her mind. Fear served no purpose.
“Evelynola? What is it?” Her mother draped an arm around her daughter’s shoulder and huddled against her as another gust of wind battered them.
“Nothing, I….” There was no sign of the man, or ghost, or whatever she’d seen. Perhaps it was just a swirl of snow. She shivered and glanced around. “There!” She pointed a shaking hand. “There’s a light.”
Clearly, through the gusting snow, the steady golden glow of lights from a house shone. Shelter and warmth beckoned.
Eve released her grip on the sapling and hugged her mother’s shivering form. “We’ll be all right.”
“I can’t feel my feet,” Lady Weston complained softly.
“I can’t either. And maybe that’s for the best.” She tried to laugh, but the sound froze in her throat. “We won’t know if we’re developing blisters from our fashionable new boots until tomorrow.”
Her mother didn’t smile. She compressed her pale lips and strained forward, peering ahead. If there really was a house, its dark outline was smudged and hidden by the Stygian gloom.
However, there was an ephemeral, flickering light beckoning.
They struggled through the drifts for another half-hour before they finally stumbled up the front steps. Or at least Eve assumed there were steps, although they seemed like one solid sheet of icy snow that curved up to the door.
The brass knocker was frozen when she tried to lift it. An invective froze on her lips.
She pounded her fists against the barrier. Then she leaned against the thick wood, listening. Her mother pressed against her, while Mr. Symes and Sarah stood next to the horses, watching with pale, anxious faces.
Through the heavy door, she heard nothing but silence. Tears welled in her eyes and stuck to her lashes. They had walked all this way, in desperate need, and for what? To freeze on the doorstep because no one heard them? No one could bestir themselves to open the door?
Was the house deserted, the lights but an illusion?
Slumping against the door, she stared hopelessly at her mother’s pale, ice-frosted features. Then, to her dull surprise, her mother reached out a shaking hand and grasped the doorknob.
When she caught Eve’s astonished look, she smiled grim
ly. “We’ve come all this way. I’m exhausted. And I most assuredly do not want to be found, frozen, on this doorstep, with my eyes bulging and tongue sticking out between blue lips. It’s simply too sordid for words.”
She turned the knob. The door protested and stuck. Eve lent her strength to her mother’s, and between the two of them, they pushed the door open.
Howling wind sent a blast of snow past them. It swirled across the flagstone hallway, ice crystals sparkling in the dim light. The women stumbled inside on numb, frozen feet, grateful for the embracing warmth.
Eve was tempted to order Mr. Symes to bring the horses inside, as well, but it was bad enough that they’d entered without invitation. She stood in the doorway and motioned for Sarah to enter. The maid complied with alacrity, casting nervous glances around the entryway.
“Mr. Symes,” Eve said. “There must be a stable. See to the horses and then come inside.”
“I’ll stay with them.”
She was too tired to argue. “Do as you see fit, Mr. Symes.”
She shut the door to avoid letting in any more snow and letting out the whirls of lovely, heated air. The three ladies crowded together in the center of the entryway, staring first at each other and then at their surroundings, shy and afraid to trespass any further.
Where were the inhabitants? Surely they weren’t the only ones here. Someone had to have lit the candles and the fire. Eve shuddered, remembering the ghost-like form in the woods.
Perhaps they really were the only ones who had survived the terrible storm.
Chapter Two
At the sound of the front door creaking, Giles Danby lifted his head. His first reaction was a shiver of fear.
And the bloody specter of the murdered man walked the icy hallway….
His host stared up at him, an expression of surprise frozen on his dead face. Giles groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to concentrate on the ordinary inconveniences of life. He couldn’t do anything for Eric Lane now, and downstairs, the wind tore through the house.
The blizzard must have forced open the door. He’d have to see to it. The servants seemed far too intelligent to leave their warm beds long enough to shut it. He couldn’t blame them. If he’d been smarter, he’d have gone to bed, too, and left the discovering of dead bodies to someone else.
