‘Did she enjoy it?’
‘I expect that Eve enjoyed her taste of the apple. But that hardly made hers a wise decision.’
The coachman laughed all the harder. ‘You think yourself the devil?’
‘They do.’
‘Let us see, shall we?’
Just in case, Joseph huddled inside the brassy glow of Old Tom’s shadow, thinking that the light would render him invisible if nothing else could. Perhaps this Barbara was too sensible for ghosts. But she could see through him easily enough if she chose to do so—just as he could see more of her heart than he wished to.
More of her life as well. He should not want to spy upon her. Her life, her family, her thoughts and words when she was not with him should be no concern of his. But there was a dark undercurrent growing in the curiosity he felt tonight—a possessiveness that was stronger than anything he felt for Anne, or even for his business. Suddenly he was hungry for any detail he might learn of her. Secretly he was glad that the spirit had brought him to her again. Once he had married there would be little chance for any conversation with her. For now, he would rather hear a bitter truth from her lips than the silence he deserved.
To hide his confusion, he examined his surroundings. The Lampett house was nicely though simply kept, and too small to need a servant. There was no sign of strife or need except for the worried look in the eyes of the pretty girl as she stood at the shoulder of the man sitting at a desk by the window.
‘Please, Father, take some stew. It is supper, and you must not go without eating.’ She set the dinner on his desk, nudging it in the direction of the paper he had been writing upon. Unlike in the last house, there was meat in the bowl she offered, and Joseph could smell fresh bread and mince pies cooling in the kitchen. His mouth watered.
But her father seemed unaffected by the sight and smell of the food. ‘Don’t want it. There is work to be done. I must stop Stratford before this goes any further.’ The man pushed the bowl to the side, and his daughter shot a worried glance in the direction of her mother, who sat by the fire, stitching a piece of blond lace on to a blue muslin gown.
Joseph wished he could offer some reassurance—prove that they had nothing to fear from him, or his mill. When it had opened, and the men were back to work, he might be able to sit at their table as a guest, talking about books with her father and offering polite compliments about the housekeeping of the mother and the prettiness of the daughter. Despite the tension in the air there was a feeling of love and family that was lacking in the manor, just as it had been missing from his childhood.
Then he remembered that he was in the last house in Fiddleton where he might be welcomed as a friend. The disappointment he felt was sharpest when he looked at Barbara. While he was used to hearing her father rail against him, she had much more personal reasons to despise him and he deserved every scornful word.
‘Go on, then,’ Joseph said, bracing himself. ‘Give your opinion of me. When I am with you, you do not have a word of kindness for me other than the few thank-yous I have forced out of you. What do you say when we are apart?’ It would hardly be a surprise. She was quite plain about it when they were together. She did not like him in the least. But all the same he tensed, waiting for her words.
‘While many of the things he has been doing are wrong, they are not so much evil as they are misguided,’ she said, as slowly and carefully as possible. ‘I am sure, with time, he will come closer to your way of thinking.’
‘Defending him, are you now?’ Her father was staring at her, hurt, betrayed and sullen. She was clearly torn by the sight of his agitation.
‘Go ahead,’ Joseph said softly to her, putting aside his bitterness at the sight of her distress. ‘Say what makes this the easiest. It is not as if one more harsh word will hurt me. His mood upsets you. Agreeing with him will calm him down.’
‘Yes,’ she said suddenly. ‘I will defend him against your more unreasonable charges. The men in the district need work, Father. You must see that. There must be a mill of some sort, and Mr Stratford has built one where there was nothing. He has done it at great expense and risk to himself. Do the papers not say that it is a bad time to be doing business? He could just as easily have tried his hand at something more profitable. He could have stayed in London. Or built elsewhere.’
‘So he brings a few jobs to the Riding?’ her father said dismissively. ‘He will find another way to make the men starve once it is opened.’
‘Perhaps,’ Barbara admitted. ‘But perhaps not. If we show him reason and kindness and make him feel welcome here he might respond in kind. He does not have to be like Mr Mackay. He might provide a safe and clean work place, and be a benefit to the community. He is an extremely clever man. In talking to him, I find that he is well read and ingenious. If there is anyone who can help the people here, I believe it might be him. You will like him when you know him better. Do you remember the books he sent to you?’
‘Yes,’ her father said grudgingly, like a child forced to be mannerly.
‘They are his favourites, and you like them as well. Might that not be a sign of a kindred spirit? But he must be given a chance to prove it to you.’
Joseph sank to the bench in the corner, quite taken aback by the flood of warmth he heard from her. ‘You listened to me, didn’t you?’ He grinned at the ghost, his own spirit much lighter than it had been. ‘It was not all anger on her part. Her chiding had some bluster in it. Perhaps there is some hope for me, after all.’
Old Tom laughed. ‘I wonder how your wife will feel about your success with this girl. Since she does not care for you, she will likely be relieved that you seek the affections of another. And you will have this one talked around in no time. If you wished to get her into bed—’
Joseph jumped to his feet, fists balled. ‘Do not say another word, sir, about the honour of that lady, or you will answer to me at dawn.’
The ghost observed him with a deathly expression. And, coming from one with such an intimate experience with that state, it was a truly fearsome thing. ‘You are a year too late to threaten me, Mr Stratford. Being from beyond the grave gives one the ability to say what one likes without fear of repercussion. So I will tell you that you’re only pretending to be a gentleman towards her. You care little enough for people unless they can be of benefit to you. You would bed this girl in a heartbeat if you saw the chance to do it. You would do it even faster if you thought it would give you an advantage over her father.’
Joseph opened his mouth to defend himself, and then closed it again as he realised he had considered doing just that. The fact that he had not acted on the impulse was hardly a point in his favour. As the ghost pointed out, he’d had no opportunity.
Old Tom held up a hand to silence him, for the Lampetts were speaking again.
‘Let us talk of something more pleasant.’ Her mother interrupted the argument between father and daughter. ‘It is almost Christmas, after all.’
‘And a time for gifts,’ said Barbara, seizing upon the subject. ‘Although I do not know how I shall surprise you, Mama, if you keep rummaging through my sewing basket and stealing the contents for other purposes.’
‘Never mind what we want. What are we to get for you, my dear?’ her father asked, turning back into the doting parent that Joseph had seen the other day. ‘You still have not said. And it is too late to send to London for anything special.’
‘You know that is not necessary,’ the girl said, dropping her head.
‘We wish to get you something,’ her mother insisted. ‘It gives us pleasure to know that you are happy.’
‘You should know by now that I am happy just to have the days pass,’ Barbara said, staring into the fire. ‘It is never an easy time for me.’
‘But by now it should be. It has been years, Barbara,’ her mother said firmly.
‘Almost six,’ Barbara said absently.
‘It is not as if we expect you to forget.’
‘Very good. Because I shall not.’
‘There are still those that blame me,’ she said, without looking up.
‘Fools,’ her father grumbled.
‘Let us not talk of them, or of the past,’ Barbara said quickly, as though eager to avert another dark mood. ‘Let us simply say that I am not overly fond of Christmas. I would prefer to celebrate it by knowing that those I love are safe and happy, and not by focusing on my own wants and needs.’
The scene seemed to fade from view again. Joseph could see the players in it, but could no longer hear their words, though he strained to catch some whisper of them. He turned back to Old Tom, frustrated. ‘Very well, then. You are right. I have been base and callous in regard to the people of Fiddleton, and this family in particular. But it would help me to understand them better if they were more open about the truth. Six years,’ Joseph said, counting on his fingers. ‘She would have been eighteen then.’ He stared at the ghost of the coachman. ‘You were still alive. What happened?’
‘I am here to show you the present, not explain the past to you,’ the ghost said, a little impatiently. ‘If the information is important to you, then you should talk to the girl before you.’
‘Did you not just hear her?’ Joseph retorted. ‘Whatever it is, she will not speak of in front of her own family. How likely is it that she will reveal all when I question her?’
The ghost gave him another sidelong glance. ‘I expect it will depend on how you ask her.’
‘Stop tormenting me with the idea that I will seduce her,’ Joseph said, setting his jaw against the idea. ‘It is clear that she has unhappy memories associated with Christmas time. I do not mean to be another of them. If that is what you wished me to learn this night, then let me go.’
In the blink of an eye he was in his bedroom again, standing alone and fully dressed before the fire, and lecturing the mantel clock as it struck three.
‘I will not forget,’ he said, just in case some wisp of the spirit remained. ‘I will be better. You will see. Let this be the last of these nightly visits. For I have had quite enough of them.’
He changed for bed, then—cautiously, as though at any moment he might be interrupted and dragged away again. It was nearly dawn before he closed his eyes.
Chapter Nine
The next evening found Barbara packed as an unwelcome fourth into the Clairemont carriage, trundling through the sodden streets towards the road that led to the manor. The drizzle had continued for most of the day, as though trying to decide minute to minute whether it would be rain or snow. Barbara felt in sympathy with it. Her own heart was as changeable as the weather, still unsure whether it wished to run towards this evening and its host, or away from it.
But Anne seemed unbothered. ‘I am sure it will be a delightful time,’ she said, with a wan smile. ‘There is to be dancing. And cases of champagne. Cook is preparing a fine buffet, and a cold supper at midnight. Joseph has promised a celebration to rival anything in London.’
‘Hmmmf,’ said her father, and scowled out of the window.
Her mother said nothing at all, unwilling to acknowledge either their destination or the extra passenger they had accrued for the short journey. The Clairemont family had moved to the largest house in Fiddleton proper, with five servants and room enough to keep both a carriage and horses, but it was nothing compared to the manor. Returning to it as guests was obviously a source of irritation that they would conceal only when absolutely necessary.
But Anne seemed to feel less of it, looking from one to the other of them with a kind of desperate enthusiasm, as though she could imagine nothing better than visiting her old home only to leave it again at the end of the evening. ‘Joseph says the chestnuts are particularly good this year. He has sampled them already.’
‘I imagine he would have,’ her father retorted. ‘He goes to excess in all other things. If he is not careful he will be prone to gluttony.’
‘I doubt it will come to that,’ Anne assured him. ‘He will not sit still long enough to grow soft. It is more likely that when he is in the throes of work he will need to be reminded to eat.’
Her father muttered something barely audible beyond the word ‘trade’.
Anne fell to silence again, and Barbara could almost hear her thoughts. She was wishing that she had not brought up the subject of her prospective fiancé having an occupation at all. It was clearly another sore spot in the conversation.
She looked desperately to Barbara, who said gamely, ‘He seems a most solicitous gentleman. When I was struggling in the shop yesterday he offered to transport myself and my basket in his carriage.’
Anne gave an approving nod, as if to say she would not have thought any less of him.
Her mother responded, ‘That might just as easily show a fickle nature. What is he doing, offering courtesies to others when he is promised elsewhere?’ She narrowed her eyes at Barbara. ‘Unless you were angling after a ride?’
Anne sucked in her breath, but Barbara managed to keep her reaction invisible to the other passengers. She knew Lady Clairemont’s opinion of her. But she’d hoped to see no obvious demonstration of it tonight.
‘Mother,’ Anne said quickly, ‘I am sure it was nothing of the kind. Though you might not think it so, Joseph has a kind and generous heart. I am not the least bit surprised that he should offer to aid Miss Lampett.’
‘Until his ring is on your finger you had best be less generous and more sensible,’ her mother informed her. ‘This party would be an excellent time to finalise the arrangement between you.’
‘I cannot very well demand that he make the announcement,’ Anne said, obviously embarrassed by her mother’s bluntness.
‘But his inviting other young ladies to this ball does not bode well.’
‘I think there is someone he wishes me to meet,’ Barbara said hurriedly. ‘He was quite clear about there being eligible gentlemen in attendance.’
‘Probably that Breton fellow,’ Anne’s father grunted. ‘He’s a bit high in the instep for you, my dear. But a bit low… Second son…’ His comment trailed off into inaudibility again.
‘You have not even met him, Father.’ Anne gave Barbara another silent apology. ‘He is really very nice. A true gentleman—neither too high nor too low.’
‘And no concern of yours, no matter what his birth. He will do for Barbara, here, if that is what Stratford intends for them. But he cannot be much of a man if he lets a business associate make such decisions for him.’
Anne stared out of the window, as though searching for another topic of conversation. ‘I hope the weather favours us this evening. It seems likely that the rain will turn to snow.’
‘Then we shall be forced to remain at the manor,’ her mother said, showing the first signs of cheerfulness. ‘I assume that Stratford has taken the master bedroom. But we shall make do in the next best suite, and you shall have your old room back, Anne.’
‘Then I hope that travel is not made difficult,’ Barbara said, considering the awkwardness of the situation. ‘I am quite unprepared to stay the night.’
‘Oh.’ Lady Clairemont gave a sad little moue that ended in a smile. ‘Do not worry upon it, my dear. I am sure there is a maid that can lend you a nightdress, should we be stranded.’
When they had arrived at the manor, the Clairemonts’ behaviour grew no warmer. Lord and Lady Clairemont swept into the ballroom as if they still owned it, greeting other guests as though they were old friends. Anne trailed along in their wake, polite and silent.
When Barbara made to follow, Lady Clairemont turned, giving her a cold and very deliberate look. The direct stare seemed to change as she held it, to look past Barbara and then through her, as though she did not exist at all. The cut was so beautifully made that for a moment Barbara longed for a mirror, convinced that it was she who had faded to transparency. With a single look, Lady Clairemont had made it clear to her that, whatever Joseph
Stratford might think, Barbara Lampett was an unwelcome guest here. If there were introductions to be made, he had best appear and make them himself, for the Clairemonts planned to pretend she did not exist.
She had to admire the perfection of the revenge Lady Clairemont had devised. The room was full of strangers. And, if she wished to be thought a well-mannered young lady, Barbara could hardly introduce herself to any of them. She would spend her first night in ages as a sort of social ghost, separated by a glass wall of propriety from the merrymaking.
Nor would Anne come to her aid. Though she did not hold the deep animosity for Barbara that her parents did, she lacked the spine to stand against them.
She was sure that Joseph Stratford would help her, if she could find him. But there was no sign of him, and she assumed that he must be in a card room somewhere, talking business. She could expect little else. To him, that was the only purpose for the gathering. Even if he had meant to be a proper host, it should be Anne standing at his side and not her.
But it was just as well Mr Stratford did not see her. Having taken a moment to admire the other women, she could see that she did not belong amongst them. While her dress had seemed quite nice in the cheval glass at home, it looked dowdy compared to the pale silks and fine embroidered shawls she saw tonight. And the loveliest amongst them was Anne Clairemont. Her net gown was trimmed with tiny pearls, her hair held in place with diamond pins. She glided through the room like a swan: pure white, slender and graceful.
In comparison, Barbara’s retrimmed blue gown managed to be both too bright and too plain. Her neck was bare. Her hair was dressed simply, with no jewels to ornament it. Even if Joseph were to see her he would look on her with pity rather than desire. She was little better than a charity case here—just as she had been the last time she saw him. She must learn to face the reality of it and not let the disappointment show. Invited or not, she did not belong here.
She must remember not to call him Joseph—to his face or to others. Anne Clairemont had that right of intimacy. She did not. But she quite liked the sound of the name in her head. After receiving a secret kiss from him, and being alone with him on two occasions, in the privacy of her thoughts she did not need to think of him as Mr Stratford.
A Regency Christmas Carol Page 11
