A Tale of Two Hearts

by Michelle Griep

  She shot her gaze to her father, unwilling to see one more dot of sweat pop out on Mr. Grimlock’s forehead. “There, Father, you have my decision.”

  “No! Impossible.” Mr. Grimlock stamped his foot like a petulant tot. “My offer is rescinded. I will have nothing more to do with this inn or you people.”

  Before anyone could say anything further, Mr. Grimlock whirled and stalked out the door, leaving behind nothing but his ringing voice and a blackened scuff on the wooden floor where his shoe had left a mark.

  “Well,” Father murmured. “I didn’t expect to return home to this.”

  Mina stiffened. Was he cross that she’d ruined his chances of expanding the inn with Mr. Grimlock as his manager?

  Almost imperceptibly at first, a slow smile lifted her father’s lips, growing in size until it squinted his eyes a bit. “But…I couldn’t be happier.”

  She let out a breath, and her shoulders sagged with the relief of it all.

  “Nor could I, sir.” William grinned down at her, the gleam in his eyes so pure and brilliant, her knees weakened.

  Still…she bit her lip. Something wasn’t right. While everything in her yearned for this to be real, for William Barlow to be her beau, did he truly yearn to be hers? Or was he courting her merely to save his uncle? A good reason, noble and compassionate, but one that left her feeling a bit melancholy. Like a child who received a gift-wrapped box, the exact shape and size of a longed for treasure, yet after untying the ribbons and peeling back the paper, finding the box to be empty.

  “Sir.” William stepped forward. “I know this is all still new to you, but I request to bring your daughter to my uncle’s estate for Christmas.”

  “Meeting the family, eh?” Father scratched his jaw, his fingers rasping on the whiskers sprouted during his travels. “But not yet. Christmas is a moneymaker for the Golden Egg. I cannot possibly spare the time to play chaperone with you two when there’ll be patrons aplenty for me to see to. No, no…after the holidays is best.”

  She exchanged a worried glance with Will. After Christmas would be too late. But if father couldn’t travel with her, then who? She’d need someone discreet. Someone available. Someone…

  She clenched her hands to keep from snapping her fingers. “What about Miss Whymsy? The old dear has no one besides us to make merry with during the holiday. Could she not travel with me, if she is agreeable?”

  For a moment, her father said nothing, just narrowed his eyes as if studying her suggestion beneath a magnifying glass. “Aye,” he drawled. “If she is agreeable.”

  Finally he doffed his hat and hung it on a peg, then turned and faced Will. “But ye’ll have my daughter back here for the Christmas Eve party. It’s tradition, and I will not be moved on it.”

  Will nodded. “I shall have her returned for your famous oyster stew, sir.”

  She peeked at Will. He’d made the promise with such ease, but how on earth would he keep it?

  “Very well. Off with the two o’ ye then.” Her father swept his hand toward the door. “I’ve a handsome amount of paperwork to tend to before dinner. Between the three of us,” Father lowered his voice and tucked his chin. “Mr. Grimlock weren’t all that skilled at innkeeping.”

  She couldn’t help but grin.

  “Thank you, sir.” William bowed his head.

  “Don’t be thanking me. Mina’s the one that chose ye.” He hitched his thumb at her over his shoulder as he strode back to his desk.

  Stunned at the whole turn of the afternoon, Mina padded out of the office and into the corridor, Will on her heels.

  “He’s right, you know.”

  Will’s voice turned her around, and she lifted one brow. “About?”

  “I ought to be thanking you, and I do.” The dimples on his cheeks deepened as his grin grew. “This may turn out to be the best Christmas ever.”

  She smiled at his enthusiasm. Indeed, it could be the best Christmas ever—if Will truly cared for her. But her smile waned as she searched his face. Did he really want to court her? Or was this all just a ruse?

  Tired of half-truths and outright deception, her smile faded altogether. A heroine wouldn’t waste away with such doubts but would take a bold stand. She swallowed. Could she be a heroine? Did she even have it in her?

  Only one way to find out.

  She lifted her chin. “While I hope for your sake, and your uncle’s, that this Christmas will turn out for the best, I feel that cannot happen without the truth being spoken. I insist you tell your uncle that we are not married, yet are moving toward such, as soon as possible after we arrive. I cannot stay beneath his roof under such pretense, and in fact, I will not.”

  She clamped her mouth shut. My, but that had been a bold thing to say. Truly heroic. But what would Will think of her outburst? Would he turn around and march back into Father’s office, rescinding his offer as thoroughly as had Mr. Grimlock?

  His eyes widened, and for an eternity, he said nothing. Just stared. Eventually, his head dipped an acknowledgement. “You’re right of course. I will tell my uncle as soon as I’m able.”

  “Promise?” she pressed.

  “Promise.” He bent, and his lips brushed against her forehead.

  What he said after that was a mystery. Probably some kind of goodbye, for he strode off and left her standing in the corridor, her knees weak. She lifted her fingertips to her brow, wishing, hoping, needing his words to be true.

  All of them.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  She was truest…in the season of trial, as all the quietly loyal and good will always be.

  A Tale of Two Cities

  Are ye sure about this?”

  Mina met Effie’s gaze in the mirror, purposely avoiding eye contact with the large shears gripped in her friend’s hand. Despite Effie’s skill with scissors, there would still be patches of shorter hair to have to cover up until it all grew back to the same length. But it was only hair, after all—a trifling thing compared to Mina’s other worries. Though she tried not to think on it, she couldn’t help but wonder how Will would talk his uncle into allowing them to leave the estate before Christmas. Would it be a long enough visit to expose Percy’s wicked intentions? And the question that really niggled…was Will courting her only as a means to an end, or was he truly fond of her?

  “Mina?”

  “Hmm? Oh, sorry.” Shoring herself up by gripping the edge of her chair, she nodded. “Yes, I am certain. Proceed.”

  “All right then. ’Ere goes.”

  The scissors snipped, and she shivered.

  “Hold still, love. Be bricky for me. Don’t want to cut too much.”

  Long locks of reddish-brown hair landed on the floorboards, and with each one, the world turned more and more watery. Don’t think it. Don’t do it. But despite her mental admonition, the last memory of her mother rose like a spectre, pushing tears overboard and dampening her cheeks. Oh, mama. The thin woman in a mouse-coloured gown had sat on the cold flagstones of the asylum floor, arms curled about her knees, rocking and rocking and rocking…the shorn hairs on her head sticking out like pins in a cushion. Had her mother even noticed when her hair had been cut?

  Mina sucked in a shaky breath. How different might life have been if Mother hadn’t lost the baby, hadn’t grieved so hard that both her heart and head had broken?

  “There we be. How do ye—Mina?” The shears landed with a clatter on the vanity and Effie lowered to her knees, taking both of Mina’s hands in her own. “Are ye all right?”

  “Of course.” She forced a smile and squeezed Effie’s fingers before pulling back, then dabbed away the gruesome memory and the dampness on her face with the back of her hand. “I am fine. Just a bit melancholy, though I’ve no right to be. This hair will make a beautiful fob for Father’s watch, and I am grateful you took the time today to help me snip it. I can’t wait to see the smile on his face when we exchange gifts on Christmas Eve.”

  Effie cocked her head, studying her. Apparently s
atisfied, she bent and collected the locks from the floor. “So, when are ye goin’ to tell me?”

  Frowning, Mina angled her head one way then another, studying Effie’s trimming. “Tell you what?”

  “About your plans for Christmas in the country.”

  Her hands dropped. So did her jaw. “You know? How?”

  Setting the hair on the vanity, Effie lifted a brow at her in the mirror. “I ran into Miss Whymsy late yesterday at the milliner’s. She were buying a bit o’ lace to dress up her hat. Ain’t no call for such fanciness just to be volunteering at the institute, so I got it out of her that she’s attending you on a little jaunt to the country for Christmas.”

  She shook her head. The woman was a wonder. “Effie, you could get a marble statue to spill its secrets.”

  “Ha! I ain’t that good. That’s all what she told me. I don’t know where yer goin’ or why, or how you even managed to talk Miss Whymsy into taking a leave from her volunteering. She just said, and I quote, ‘Miss Scott and I are venturing out on a small excursion to the countryside. Do be a dear and check on Miss Minton for me in the meantime.’” Effie picked up a brush and tapped it against one palm.

  Mina smirked. “I suppose you won’t leave here today without me filling you in?”

  A brilliant grin brightened Effie’s plain face. “Well, it’ll take me a good few minutes to style yer hair, and ye’ve nothing better to do while ye sit there.”

  “Very well.” She sighed as Effie began brushing. “Remember that dinner I told you about, the one at Will’s Uncle Barlow’s?”

  “Aye.”

  “I thought that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t. Now Uncle Barlow has invited us to share Christmas with him in the country.”

  The brush stopped midstroke next to her ear, and Effie’s wide-eyed gaze met hers in the mirror. “But what of the Christmas Eve celebration here at the Golden Egg? It’s tradition! Ye can’t miss that.”

  “You sound just like Father. But not to worry, for I shall return by then. Father insisted, and Will said he’d figure out a way to explain it to his uncle.”

  “Hmm.” Effie ran the brush through the rest of her hair, then set it down and picked up a few pins. “Well, at least you’re done with the pretend bride business, eh?”

  She bit her lip.

  “Mina?”

  “Sort of,” she mumbled.

  “How can ye be a ‘sort of’ bride?” Effie tugged a hank of hair into place and shoved in a pin. “What has your father to say about that?”

  Guilt scraped her soul every bit as much as the jab of Effie’s next hairpin. Neither she nor Will had mentioned anything about the charade to Father. She couldn’t imagine what he’d say. It had been hard enough trying to convince Miss Whymsy to go along with the sham-marriage story until Will had a chance to speak with his uncle. Once the gravity of Uncle Barlow’s situation had been explained—plus the fact that Will had asked her father for permission to court her, moving them in the general direction of matrimony—Miss Whymsy had grudgingly agreed. The old lady had vowed, however, that she’d not lie outright. And neither would Mina.

  She sat taller and tilted her head, giving Effie a better reach to finish pinning up her hair. “William promised he’d tell his uncle the truth of things soon after we arrive…and he asked my father last Saturday if he might court me. So maybe, perhaps, I might be a real bride in the near future.”

  “Oh, love! How wonderful.”

  It was. She kept telling herself that. But she couldn’t stop the frown weighting her brow.

  Effie stooped, staring face-to-face in the mirror with her. “Why do ye look as if it’s not so wonderful?”

  A sigh to rip a hole in the universe gushed out of her. Would voicing her doubts make them real? Oh, God, please no. But the determined gleam in Effie’s brown eyes would not be denied.

  “I don’t know if it’s real, Effie. Does William truly care for me, or is this just an act to save his uncle? Not that I mind saving his uncle, but…oh, I don’t know. I suppose I feel like a character in a book, not knowing how the plot will twist—and am unable to flip to the last page to find out.”

  Effie shook her head. “But your story is already written, and it does have a happy ending. Are we not promised heaven when we die?”

  “It’s not the dying part that concerns me. It’s the in-between now and then.”

  “Ahh, love…if we knew how things would turn out, then there’d be no need for faith, aye? My mother—God rest her—always told me to think of eternity, then live backward from that. Such a view has a way o’ whittlin’ down our current troubles to a size we can crumple up into a ball and toss aside.”

  The words sank in deep, convicting and healing. Her friend was right. What had become of her faith? Oh, Lord, forgive me.

  Reaching up, she patted Effie’s arm. “Thank you for the reminder. What would I do without you?”

  “Well, for one, you might have more hair on yer head.” With a purse of her lips, Effie straightened and finished with the last of her pins. “There. What do ye think?”

  Tipping her head, she narrowed her eyes and studied every angle. Not one bit of shorter hair remained uncovered. “You are a miracle worker.”

  “Not really, but I happen to know the Giver of all miracles, and ye can bet I’ll be on my knees every mornin’ praying for ye while ye’re gone.”

  “Thank you. I have a feeling I’ll be needing a miracle or two, especially if I’m going to get this watch fob finished before I leave. That’s only a little over a week and a half, and it’s not like I can devote all my time to such a project.”

  “Knowing yer nimble fingers, ye’ll have it done in a trice.” Effie swiped up the old coin she’d given her weeks ago from where it sat on the vanity. She held the bit of gold out on an open palm. “And for heaven’s sake, tuck this coin into yer pocket and carry it with ye at all times. Ye just might need to give someone a second chance at that estate, especially if Mr. Barlow’s cousins are to be there as well.”

  Indeed. She wrapped her fingers around the coin. Taking courage from her friend’s words of faith and the piece of gold in her hand, she did feel ready for her upcoming adventure. Mostly.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The light snowfall, which had feathered his schoolroom windows on the Thursday, still lingered in the air, and was falling white.

  Our Mutual Friend

  Outside the carriage window, snowflakes floated. Some seemed to hang suspended. Others languished to the ground. Mina huffed on the glass, then rubbed away the condensation for a clearer view. She’d never been to Essex, nor witnessed such a magical sight. The road to Uncle Barlow’s estate wound through a wooded countryside, slowly being tucked in beneath a light counterpane of white.

  Would this be the best Christmas ever?

  Will rode on horseback, trotting ahead of the carriage, his words of a fortnight ago yet echoed in her mind as she settled back against the seat. Judging by the fairyland outside, his “best Christmas” was off to a good start.

  She slipped a sideways glance at Miss Whymsy, who peered out the window on her side of the carriage. The older lady seemed as mesmerized by the wonderland outside as she.

  “God’s artistry never ceases to amaze me.” Her friend turned from the window. “Though my bones don’t appreciate the chill, I can’t help but revel in the beauty. Oh, how I’ve missed this.”

  “You’ve been to Essex?”

  A curious smile lifted Miss Whymsy’s lips, as if she savored the aftertaste of a treasured secret. “I served in a country home not far from here. A bit more north though, I should think. Ahh, but those were happy memories.”

  Yet as the carriage rolled along, the woman’s smile faded to a shadow.

  Mina patted her friend’s leg, hoping to impart some kind of comfort. “Pardon my noticing, but you don’t seem happy, thinking of those times.”

  “I suppose I should have said bittersweet.” The blue-green in Miss Whymsy’s ey
es deepened to a shade of hopeful despair, a contradiction that raised hundreds of questions.

  And Mina couldn’t keep from letting one slip out. “In what respect? That is, if you don’t mind talking about it.”

  “Not at all, for therein does Mr. Hargrave yet live.”

  The carriage wheels dipped into a rut, giving her a good excuse for the sudden gasp and grasp of the seat. Had Miss Whymsy a past lover?

  “Mr. Hargrave?” Mina rolled the name out like an invitation, hoping the woman would share more. “I’ve never heard you make mention of him.”

  “There’s never been an occasion, I suppose, until now. Believe it or not, I was young once, like you, and thoroughly taken with a Mr. Roger Hargrave—not unlike your affection for the dashing Mr. Barlow.”

  Mina shifted on the seat, stifling the urge to fan her face though the air was chill. By faith! Why could she never master the flush that always accompanied the mention of Will?

  “But as I was saying,” Miss Whymsy continued, “Roger Hargrave was the most dashing gentleman I’d ever met. So handsome. So upstanding. He was the younger brother of the earl in whose home I served.”

  The older lady leaned closer, eyes twinkling, her trademark lavender scent wafting like summer on this wintry day. “We were engaged to be married.”

  This time her jaw did drop. “You were married?”

  “No. You see…” For a moment, Miss Whymsy’s gaze drifted back to the window, but Mina got the distinct impression the older lady didn’t see the snow-laced trees or wintry landscape. She likely wandered in a far-off land of memory—until the woman drew in a deep breath and once again faced her. “My Roger was a military man, called off for one last stint in the Indies where he succumbed to a fever…a week before he was to return.”

  “Oh!” Mina recoiled, her hat bumping against the back of the carriage. “How dreadful.”

  “It was, but don’t fret on my account.” Miss Whymsy lifted her chin, her breath coming out in little white puffs. “Though Roger’s been gone these thirty years, I have learned to cherish the pain of his absence.”