Joseph felt a hint of dread. How had it come to this? Just this morning she had left him with her pride intact. Lying with her had been a mistake. But he had intended something different by it. Surely it meant more than this?
The older Stratford scowled. ‘I do not like it.’
At last he was showing some compassion, and Joseph looked on anxiously.
‘It reflects poorly on me. I will build you a house—a fine one—with servants and proper receiving rooms. I will place it closer to the mill so that it will be more convenient.’
Joseph winced, for he could guess the sharp rejoinder he would receive. Barbara would put him in his place, right enough. Then he would apologise for his foolishness.
‘But it would not be as convenient for me,’ Barbara said softly, with a lying smile that was close to the one he’d seen most often on Anne Clairemont. ‘It would cost you nothing if I remained here and you came more often, rather than staying so long at the mill.’
‘You know I cannot put aside my work for you.’ His own voice was deeper, rougher and annoyed. ‘If I leave the floor even for a minute there is mischief. Thieves and ruffians, the lot of them.’
‘You work too hard,’ she chided gently. ‘And you are hard on those who work for you. Perhaps if you showed compassion…’
‘There is no place for compassion in business,’ he barked. ‘Since you know nothing about it, it would be better if you learned to keep silent, instead of parading your ignorance.’
Her smile faltered. ‘Of course. But if I speak it is only because I care too much for you.’
Why do you bother? This man was hardly worthy of her affection. Suddenly, Joseph realised that he was thinking of himself as a stranger, and feeling jealous of and angered by the way that individual had squandered the trust that he was working so hard to earn. Apparently he had not even the courtesy to come to her in the night, to conceal what they did from the eyes of her neighbours.
And Barbara accepted it from him. She allowed him to treat her so after all the things he had done to hurt her, soaking up his cruelty like a sponge.
The other him looked down at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion, as though he had no reason to take her kindness for what it was. ‘I give you no reason to care. But thank you.’ He reached into his pocket and withdrew a jewel case. ‘For you. A tiara to complete your parure.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, with a misery that the older Joseph Stratford did not seem to notice. She did not bother to open the box, merely set it on a table at the side of the bed.
‘You idiot,’ he said to his other self. ‘I have no taste to speak of. But even I know that she would have no use for a crown. How could you? You are treating her…’
Like a whore.
‘You’re welcome,’ said the other Stratford, and his response was as false as her thanks. ‘And good day.’ He turned to go.
Barbara’s shoulders slumped in defeat, but she did not rise to see him out.
Joseph stepped forwards, unable to stand it any longer. He tried to catch the arm of the man at the door and his fingers passed through it. He swung again, in frustration, with enough force to bruise, and yet felt nothing but the passing of the air.
‘Stay with her,’ he demanded. ‘Hear me, you bastard. I know you can. I am the sound of your own voice in your head. Listen to me.’
There was the slightest flinch in the shoulders of the man, as though he had felt a slap.
‘Stay with her, damn you. Or at least take back that jewellery. You cheapen her with such a gift.’
The man he would become twitched again, as though he were throwing off a lead, and strode through the door and out of the cottage, letting the door slam behind him.
Slowly Barbara leaned back into the bed, as though it were an effort to stay upright and maintain the pretence of happiness when he was not there to see it. Without a word, or so much as a whimper, her tears began to fall. He knew the meaning of tears like that, shed in such utter silence. He had cried like that as a boy, when he had been convinced that there was no future for him.
He could bear it no longer, and reached out to touch her. But when his hand touched her face it seemed to glide through, leaving only a momentary warmth on his fingertips. There would be no comfort in this for either of them. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, so close that he should have been able to feel the warmth of her body against his leg.
Apparently she felt the cold in him, for she shivered. ‘It will be all right,’ he said softly, hearing the trembling in his own voice. ‘I will make it better. It will never come to this. I swear to you. You will not cry, damn me for each tear. You will not cry.’
He leaned closer, letting the shadow of himself fall onto the shadow of her until they were as one body. He felt the fear and pain and confusion that was in her as though it were his own. Worst of all, he felt her despair. She knew with certainty that it would never be better than it was at this moment, and would most likely be worse. He was slipping away a little more with each visit. She could sell the jewellery. She did not need it. She would never know want. But she would never know love. How had it come to this? He had sworn to take care of her.
He felt her own guilt at her weakness, and her shame at betraying her parents’ memories each time she touched him. But she had loved him from the first. She still loved him. It had never meant more than money to him, but she had wanted to believe otherwise.
And Joseph realised with a shock that there was no blame here for anyone but him. He had done this to her—had changed every element of her life, had taken her family from her. And what he had put in the empty place was nothing more than cold comfort.
He could feel the increasing impatience of the silent spirit at his back, tugging him free. He fought, trying to stay with her, wishing she could feel some bit of him and take comfort in it, or that he could take away with him some small part of the burden she carried.
But he was gone with a wrench, being dragged back down the street towards the manor. He looked back at the haze of the spirit, feeling tears wet his own cheeks, and he said, ‘I can change. Let me change.’ He reached out to grab at the hood of the spirit, forcing it to face him as he had been afraid to before.
It turned to him then, reaching a thin, pale hand to uncover its face and stare at him.
It was his own face staring back. Not the one he saw in the mirror each morning, nor even the hardened man that was stalking through this unhappy future. This was him as he would be fifty years hence—still breathing, but near the end. He would be strong and healthy, but nearer to a century than to fifty.
And his eyes. At first he thought them soulless. But there was a flickering of pain, like a tormented thing racing about in his head, and a twitch at the corner of his mouth that he could not seem to control.
Joseph stared at him, into those familiar gray eyes, into the darkest part of his own soul. ‘I have seen enough. Take me back. It will be different. As it should be. I promise.’
The ghost’s shoulders slumped, as though relieved of a weight. The tension in his mouth relaxed. His eyes closed. And an empty cloak dropped to the floor.
It was a blanket. Nothing more than that. It had slipped from his own bed, in his own room. He had chased it to the rug and was sitting upon the floor and staring at it in the light of Christmas dawn as though he had never seen the thing before.
Joseph gave a nervous laugh and shook it, as though he expected to see some remnant of his vision. ‘All over. Merry Christmas.’ He said it almost as an oath more than a greeting. ‘It is over, and I live to tell the tale.’ Not that he could, lest he be thought mad. But he was indeed alive.
To the open and empty air, he said, ‘And I will remember it all, whether it be dream or no.’
He reached for the bell-pull and rang for butler as well as valet, thinking it would be easier to rouse the housekeeper through an intermediary rather than directly. It would take more than one hand to set his plan in motion. The whole house might be ne
eded, even though it was just past dawn on Christmas Day.
Chapter Seventeen
Joseph stumbled down the stairs one step ahead of his valet, who was still holding his coat. The shave Hobson had given him had been haphazard at best. But there was much to do, and he could not wait any longer for the butler to deliver his message.
‘Mrs Davy!’ He stood in the centre of the main hall and shouted for the housekeeper. It felt as though he were taking his first deep breath in an age, after being deep underwater.
The poor woman hustled into the room, hurriedly tying her apron, a look of alarm on her rosy face.
He gasped again and grinned at her, amazed at the elation that seemed to rush in along with the plan. It made him feel as he had on the day he had first thought of the new loom—full of bright promise. Only this was better.
‘Mrs Davy,’ he said again. ‘My dear Mrs Davy!’ And then he laughed at the look on her face.
She took a step back. ‘Sir?’
He had worried her now. Though he was not a cruel master, when had he ever taken the time to call anyone dear?
‘I have more work for you. I take it the larders are still full, and ready to feed my non-existent guests?’
She gave a hesitant nod. ‘There was much more than was needed, sir.’
‘Then we need to do something with the bounty. Baskets. Baskets and boxes—and bags. Bowls, if you must. I want you to search the house and fill every container available with the excess. Enough to feed every family in the village. While you are about it make enough for a box for every servant here. Make sure that you and your helpers take enough for yourselves as well. Empty the pantry. I wish to give it away.’
‘Sir?’
Had he really become so ungenerous as to cause this look of surprise? If so, it was all the more reason to change his ways—with or without the intervention of ghosts.
‘I want,’ he said, more slowly and with emphasis, ‘everyone in the village to have as happy a New Year as I am likely to. It will not happen for any of us if I sit alone in a house that is barely half full, and they sit in the village with empty cupboards and fears for the future. I have broken a tradition. I mean to mend it now. As quickly as possible.’
‘Oh, sir.’ She was grinning at him now, as though he had fulfilled her fondest wish by forcing her to labour on Christmas Day.
‘If you can fill the baskets, I will take the carriage into the village. And a wagon as well. I will see to it that they are delivered. And with them I will send an invitation for this evening. All who wish to come must dance and drink and be merry.’
‘Yes, sir!’ She was already bustling back towards the kitchen, disappearing as quickly as she had appeared, as though borne on a cloud of enthusiasm.
‘What the devil is going on?’ Breton was approaching from the stairs, still wiping the sleep from his eyes. ‘Stop making such a racket, Stratford, or you will wake the whole house.’
Joseph grinned at him. Good old Robert. Loyal Bob, who must be sorely conflicted by his feelings of late. ‘A Merry Christmas to you, Breton.’ He seized the man’s hand and shook it vigorously. ‘And may I take this moment to say I never had a truer friend, nor a better partner?’
‘I might say the same of you,’ Breton said, looking quite miserable. Then he took a deep breath. ‘That is why I must speak. I know it is not the time or place, but there is something I wish to discuss. I did not get a wink of sleep last night, and I do not think I can stand…’
‘Not another word.’ Joseph held up his hand to stop the confession that he suspected was coming. ‘I wish nothing more for this Christmas than that you save any difficult revelations for after New Year’s Eve. If you feel the same way—’
‘I doubt a few days will change my mind on what I wish to tell you,’ the man interrupted. ‘For I wish—’
‘…after I break my engagement with Anne.’
‘…to go back to London. I…’ They’d spoken on top of each other. And now Breton looked as if he wished to suck his last words back into his mouth. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I am going to speak to Anne. We both know that she does not love me. I am quite sure I will not make her happy. No matter how much business sense it might make, it is wrong to catch her up in it and force a union which might be disagreeable to her.’
‘There are certain expectations…’ Breton said cautiously.
‘And they are all about this house. Well, damn the house. I do not want it,’ Joseph said firmly. ‘I would be quite content with something smaller. With fewer rooms, and not so many ghosts.’ He laughed again. ‘Her father can have it off me for a breach of promise settlement. That is what he wants, after all. Unless…’ He grinned at Breton. ‘Unless you would be willing to take the thing off my hands? I expect you would be troubled endlessly by Clairemont, of course. He seems to have the daft idea that his daughter shall be mistress, no matter what she wants. You’ll be in his sights for a husband then, I am sure. You’ll likely have to take her with the deal.’
‘How dare you speak of her in that way? As though she were property to be traded!’ Breton was simmering with rage and quite missing the point.
‘I cannot trade a thing I never possessed, Bob.’ He gave his friend a significant look. ‘I doubt that my leaving will create much heartache for Miss Anne Clairemont. But can there be any doubt that such a lovely girl will be married by spring? I should think there is some gentleman who would wish to fill the void I leave. If I knew of him, I would urge him to act quickly—use the disarray I’m likely to leave in the Clairemont household to good advantage and whatever bait might come to hand to clinch the deal.’
‘I see.’ But he did not seem to. Breton’s face was still wary.
‘If there is a man who loves her as she deserves, I would wish him well.’ To finish, he gave Bob a hearty clap upon the back, as though to jolt the man out of his lethargy.
‘I see. Yes, I think I do.’ The grin spread slowly across his friend’s face as his plans for the future came clear.
‘I think you do.’ Joseph grinned back at him. ‘And a Merry Christmas to you, sir.’
‘I think it shall be.’
‘Now, what was it that you wished to say to me earlier? For I do not think I quite heard it.’
‘Nothing,’ Bob said, waving a hand to scrub the air of his words. ‘Nothing at all other than to wish you well.’
‘That is good. For this might be a trying day for you. What do you think our London friends are likely to say if I bring the whole of the village back with me for Christmas dinner?’
Breton thought for a moment. ‘I expect they will be horrified.’
‘Well, apparently, it is the custom in these parts. I cannot keep alienating the workers, or there shall be hell to pay.’
‘You might lose some investors,’ Breton warned. ‘Feathers are likely to be ruffled on your fat pigeons.’
‘Then I shall have to win them back another way. Or I shall find others. But let us see, shall we? I mean to visit Anne next. Perhaps I can enlist the aid of her father in smoothing the way with the Londoners. If he does not throw me bodily from his house first.’
Joseph’s carriage pulled up to the door of the Clairemonts’ new home and he wondered why he had not taken the place for himself. He had deemed it too far from the mill and rejected it out of hand. But, even with the addition of a wife and children, twelve rooms and a modest staff would be much closer to his needs than the monstrosity he now owned. How had he been so foolish?
He was admitted, and waited patiently in the parlour for Miss Anne, who was preparing for church, relieved that their current bond would make his appearance seem somewhat less alarming to the household. How they would feel about him in a quarter-hour was likely to be a different story. He wondered with a smile if he should have instructed his coachman to keep in his seat, whip in hand, for the hasty escape they would need to make.
There was a wild scrambling in the hall, followed by a sudden pause and the sed
ate entrance of Miss Anne Clairemont. The single curl out of place on her beautiful head and the lopsided bow of her sash were the only evidence that he had caught her unawares. She gave a graceful curtsey, as though allowing him the moment to admire her, and then asked sweetly, ‘Did you want me, Mr Stratford?’
‘I have come to ask you the same thing, Miss Clairemont.’ It was a bold question, but his morning was a busy one, and there was no point in beating around the bush. He watched as her pretty face registered confusion. ‘Come, let us sit down and talk awhile.’ He sat. Bob would have been horrified, and reminded him that he could not go ordering young ladies about in their own homes, nor sitting when they stood.
But this one did not seem to notice his lapse, and perched nervously on the couch at his side, waiting for him to speak.
He took her hand. ‘Before we go another step on life’s road, Anne, I must know the truth. Do you want me?’
‘I…I don’t understand,’ Anne said firmly. But the truth of it was plain on her face—if only he could get her to admit it. ‘In what way? Your visit is unexpected, of course, but not unwelcome.’
‘I do not mean to ask if you want me now—this instant. I mean as a husband, and for life. Do you desire my company? I wish to know the reason for our upcoming union.’
‘You wish to cry off?’ Now her face was a mix of hope and dread, and a trembling that was the probable beginning of tears.
‘I have asked and you have answered,’ he said, as gently as possible. ‘And that is how it will remain, if you truly wish it. Do not think I will cry off and leave you.’ He paused and looked her clearly in the eye. ‘If to have me is the thing that will truly make you happy.’
‘Of course I am happy.’ Her face fell.
If she persisted in this way he would have no choice but to marry her. Or perhaps he should arrange a match between her and the Aubusson. As she was making her heartfelt declaration she could not seem to take her eyes from the rug at their feet.
A Regency Christmas Carol Page 19
