3 Charming Christmas Tales Set in Victorian England Page 29

  Slowly, she nodded. “Of course, but I am still leaving.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of stopping you—”

  “A very pretty time to propose now.” Footsteps thudded on the floor as Percy rounded the other side of the stairs and stopped in front of them. A smile spread across his face like gangrene, sick and deadly.

  Will shot to his feet, but before he could utter a word of defense, Percy continued, “I wonder what Uncle will say when he discovers your deceit.”

  He threw out his hands. It was either that or throttle the man. “I am not propos—”

  “What is this?” Uncle Barlow’s voice shook from above, and they all pivoted to see him descending the stairs.

  “These two are a fraud, Uncle Barlow.” With a fierce sweep of his hand, Percy aimed his finger at him and Mina, casting them both into destruction. “William and Mina are not married.”

  Uncle Barlow’s footsteps fell heavy on the stairs, and he looked down upon them as God Himself. “I know.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  To conceal anything from those to whom I am attached is not in my nature. I can never close my lips where I have opened my heart.

  Master Humphrey’s Clock

  Uncle Barlow’s revelation echoed from wall to wall, hanging a pall in the air, thick as cream, and smothering the breath from Mina’s lungs. He knew? She didn’t dare look at Will. The devastation on his face would surely match hers, and it was hard enough to maintain her own composure without having to witness his.

  Uncle Barlow descended the last stair, his feet landing on the foyer’s tiled floor like a crack of thunder. He stood there for a moment, saying nothing, staring at each one in turn, the disappointment in his eyes nearly driving her to her knees.

  “I would have a word with all of you. In my study.” He turned and strode off, his steps echoing in the stunned silence left behind.

  Percy flashed them a wicked smile, then immediately fell into step behind Uncle Barlow. And no wonder he was so eager, for he renewed his tirade slandering her and Will, devoting them to ruin as they trailed him. Percy’s words were awful—because they were true. Oh, that she’d never gone along with this scheme to begin with. Her step faltered, and Will reached for her hand.

  They entered a wood-paneled room with books lining two of the walls. Directly behind a desk at center, Uncle Barlow sat as judge and jury. Will led her to stand in front of the desk, with him as a buffer between her and Percy. But that left nothing between her and the snarling head of a skinned tiger, lying inches from her feet. The flattened carcass made for a fine rug except for its head, which had been left intact. The fangs gleamed ivory and sharp at the pointed ends and, at the roots nearest the lips, darkened to a brownish, dried-blood colour. How much flesh had those teeth torn into?

  “I demand you cast these two sinners out into the cold.” Percy’s voice snarled, and she jerked her gaze away from the dead danger to the one very much alive. “William has besmirched the Barlow name by taking a woman who’s not legally his wife.”

  “I have not!” Will splayed his fingers, dropping her hand and daring a step closer to his uncle’s desk. “Mina’s virtue is—and never has been—violated. She is innocent, and I take full blame for the deceit in which I convinced her to partake.”

  Percy tipped his chin to a pert angle. “One cannot believe the words of a deceiver.”

  Will spun toward him, jaw clenched so tightly a muscle stood out like a rod on his neck. “Nor can one believe the tales of a schemer.”

  “Enough!” Uncle Barlow’s voice bellowed sharp and black, absorbing all light and air and objections.

  Caught between the fangs of the tiger and the three man-beasts roaring in a fury, Mina edged back a step.

  Uncle Barlow swung his gaze to Percy. “I also know of your devious plans, Percival. I have had my suspicions all along. Your clandestine meeting this morning with Mr. Greaves merely confirmed them. Very sloppy of you to meet in view of the house.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! There was nothing clandestine about it.”

  From this angle, slightly behind Percy and off to the side a bit, the morning light leaching in through the windows outlined his frame—and it shook slightly.

  So did Percy’s voice. “Fallon Greaves and I go way back. I was merely passing on the prospect of having him join in my investment venture. Nothing more.”

  Uncle Barlow leaned aside and opened a top drawer, and as he riffled through papers, Will leaned aside as well, whispering for her alone, “Mr. Greaves is the administrator of the Bishop’s Stortford Asylum.”

  “You mean—?”

  Her whisper was cut off by the sharp slap of a document landing on the desktop and the stab of Uncle Barlow’s finger skewering it in place. “Are you speaking of this venture, Percy?”

  In two long strides, Percy snatched the paper from off the desk. The parchment quivered in his grasp as his gaze swept over it. “Where did you get this?”

  “Do you really think me senile?” Uncle Barlow leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “That night at dinner, when you shoved document after document in my face, I took the liberty of memorizing several names. I contacted them, which led me to other names, and eventually on to a devolving list of men who are none too pleased with you at the moment. Apparently you’ve pledged more investment dollars than you’ve paid. In short, you are in debt to some very powerful men.”

  For once, Percy said nothing, though his mouth opened and closed several times like a landed halibut.

  “Uncle Barlow,” Will broke the awful silence. “My intent was to protect you from Percy’s schemes. Please allow me to explain.”

  The older man shot up his hand, shoving William’s words right back at him. “No explanation needed. I have known since you arrived that you were not married. But there is one thing I do not know.” Will’s uncle turned his grey gaze to her. “Tell me, Miss Scott, what is it you hoped to gain by going along with my misguided nephew and this ridiculous farce? What did he promise you?”

  Her corset cut into her ribs. Breathing was out of the question. It would be better to stare at the tiger’s fangs than to stand in the glare of such righteous damnation. But she couldn’t look away from the furious disappointment glowering out from Uncle Barlow’s soul—for she deserved it.

  “Nothing, sir.” The words squeaked out impossibly small, and she tried again. “I stood to gain nothing at all, save for the chance to hopefully prevent you from being forced into an existence no one should have to suffer. There is nothing but death in an asylum, and I know of what I speak, for my mother suffered such a fate. After discovering Percy’s true intent, I couldn’t let that happen to you. Yet I confess Will and I went about it the wrong way. It was wrong of me to have deceived you, and for that I am woefully sorry. I can do nothing but beg for your forgiveness.”

  Tears burned her eyes, for something precious had been lost. Not since her grandfather had she shared so thoroughly her love of literature—not even with Miss Whymsy. Would that Uncle Barlow were in possession of the second-chance coin instead of her.

  On the other side of Will, Percy started clapping, the sharp ring of his hands echoing from wall to wall. “Stunning performance, Miss Scott. Where did you say you picked this one up, Will—on Drury Lane, was it?”

  “Leave off!” Will moved so fast, air whooshed against her cheek. He grabbed Percy up by the lapels, twisting the fabric until wheezes garbled in Percy’s throat. “You are finished disparaging Mina.”

  Uncle Barlow shook his head, clearly disgusted. “Let go of your cousin, William. Violence solves nothing.”

  Will let go—but not without a little shove. “Leave Mina out of this, Cousin.” Then he turned to his uncle. “I take complete responsibility for having persuaded Mina to act as my wife. It was wrong. I was wrong. Do not blame her.”

  Will’s defense wrapped around her as warm as an embrace.

  Percy tugged at the hems of his sleeves, straightening each one. �
�On the contrary, the woman is every bit as deceitful as my cousin—on par with Will’s mother … for she is alive. Alive and well and living in France. No doubt packing her bags even this minute in hopes of setting up house here.” He spread his arms.

  Next to her, Will stiffened.

  Uncle Barlow jerked as if he’d been struck. “Is this true, William?”

  Mina stared, horrified, at Will. What would he say? Would he deny it or tell all?

  His head dropped. His shoulders. Even the very air around him seemed to deflate. “It is true, sir. My mother is alive. But I swear I did not know it until only recently, and she made me vow to—”

  “Stop. I’ve heard enough.” Uncle Barlow scrubbed a hand over his face. Again and again. “I think it best that you all leave—and not just this study, but my home. I withdraw my Christmas invitation.”

  “But Uncle, surely you’re not going to listen to a word of such drivel spoken by a liar and a loose skirt.” Percy’s voice tightened until it cracked. “William is not fit to inherit.”

  Uncle Barlow shot to his feet and slammed his fists on the desktop. “Neither of you are. Now out!”

  Percy whirled, muttering oaths and calling down brimstone upon them all.

  Will reached for her hand. “Let us leave, Mina.”

  She lagged behind, her heart lying in pieces somewhere on the floor back near the tiger’s mouth. How abominable this whole thing had turned out … and not just for her, but most especially for Will. Lord knows he didn’t deserve it, but would Uncle Barlow consider giving him yet another chance? It would take a miracle, an act of God—yet was that not what Christmastime was really all about?

  Wrenching from Will’s grasp, she turned back and marched to Uncle Barlow’s desk. She shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled out the second-chance coin, worn now like a talisman, and set it down on the desk.

  Uncle Barlow glowered. “You cannot buy back my good opinion, Miss Scott, and in fact, have only worsened it in the attempt to do so.”

  “I—I would never think of it, sir. I will only say this. A friend of mine gave me this coin, but I think, perhaps, you have greater need of it than I.”

  He said nothing, and behind her, William’s whisper travelled from the door, “Mina, come along.”

  But if she didn’t say these words now, she’d never get another chance. She pointed at the coin. “That small piece of gold is a second-chance coin. I’ve kept it, wondering who to give it to, and now I know. I give it to you and plead that you’ll see fit to give William a second chance—again. He’s told me of his past, and I don’t blame you for thinking ill of him. Yet the man I know now is not the same as the man that he was. He did change after you redeemed him from gaol.”

  Uncle Barlow’s grey eyes hardened to steel. “You will forgive me if I favor the evidence I’ve seen rather than your word.”

  “Evidence that is incomplete, for the full truth is that William’s mother is sick, and she made him promise not to alert you. He’s been using his own funds to pay for her doctor fees and apothecary bills. Her room and board. Will didn’t wish to get you out of the way in order to spend your money, like Percy did. He merely hoped to use the collateral of the inheritance to gain a small loan from a banker to continue her care. It had nothing to do with wealth or greed but to hopefully save the life of another human being. As misdirected as it was, Will acted out of love and kindness, nothing more. I will be the first to admit he is a flawed man, but he is a good one, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive him.”

  Without waiting for a rebuttal—for she’d spent all she’d had to say anyway—Mina turned and strode out the study door.

  Past a gaping William.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  There ain’t a gent’lman in all the land—nor yet sailing upon all the sea—that can love his lady more than I love her.

  David Copperfield

  After a last glance over his shoulder at his uncle’s estate, Will descended the final stair and dashed to catch up to the carriage setting off down the lane. The cold tried to nip him, but a white-hot sense of failure burned within. He’d likely never see Uncle Barlow again, and for that he was truly sorry.

  “Hold up!” he shouted to the driver.

  The man pulled back on the reins with a “Whoa.”

  Slipping on the snow, Will flung out his arms to keep from tumbling, then slid-walked the rest of the way to the carriage door. It would be a long trek to town should Mina and Miss Whymsy deny his request to board. But even if they consented, the ride would likely be just as long. The humiliation Mina had suffered on his account had been no small matter. He wouldn’t blame her if she gave him an earful, or worse—icy silence.

  He opened the door and hefted himself up onto the step, sticking only his head inside. Miss Whymsy blinked at him from one seat, Mina from the other.

  “I know I’m likely the last person either of you ladies would want to share a carriage with, but my cousins have taken the other coach, and the horse I rode here is lame. May I ride with you into town?”

  Miss Whymsy frowned. “You’ll catch your death out there. Of course you may ride with us. Come in.”

  “Thank you.” He yanked the door shut and latched it, then jockeyed for the best place to sit. The older lady sat on one seat with a large bag next to her, overflowing with books. He could squeeze between the bag and wall—maybe. It would be a tight fit.

  But Mina gathered her skirts and shifted to make room for him. The carriage heaved into motion, and he sat before he fell upon either of them.

  The wheels crunched through the snow. Horses’ snorts added to the jingle of tack and harness. He turned to Mina, and she to him, but words stuck sharp in his throat. How was he to tell her how sorry he was? How proud he’d been when she’d defended him to Uncle? How he hoped she could somehow forgive him? Regret upon regret heaped into a great pile and sank in his gut. He’d laughed off many things in his life, but here, now, staring into the endless fathoms of Mina’s blue eyes, he doubted he’d ever smile again.

  Across from them, Miss Whymsy clucked her tongue. “It’s rather hard to breathe, what with the elephant taking up so much space in here.”

  They both turned their heads toward the woman, Mina giving hers a little shake. “What elephant, Miss Whymsy?”

  “Posh! I may be old, child, but I’m not blind. There is clearly much on both of your minds.” Leaning sideways, she pulled out a thick book from her bag and shook it at them. “I shall be otherwise occupied, so have at it.”

  She plopped the book onto her lap and opened it with one gloved finger, ignoring them.

  The woman was right. He had far too much on his mind, but what to say? Where to begin? He blew out a long breath, creating a frosty little cloud, then turned back to Mina.

  “Mina—”

  “Will—”

  Her name blended with his on the air, and she shrank back.

  “No, no.” He shook his head. “Ladies first. I would hear what you have to say. All of it. No matter what.”

  Bracing himself for the onslaught, perhaps even tears, he clenched the seat so hard his knuckles cracked.

  But a strange transformation took place. Mina’s face softened beneath the brim of her bonnet. Her brows knit, not in an angry twist, but slanted with a bend of compassion. “Oh, Will, I am sorry for the way things turned out. I know money will be a stretch for you, what with your mother’s illness. But one thing I’ve learned from all this is that there are more important things than wealth. Spending time with your cousins showed me that pretty dresses and dining in fine establishments doesn’t necessarily bring significance. Significance comes in caring—really caring—for those around us. Please don’t misunderstand, I know you do care for your uncle, and I’m not for one minute saying you don’t, but you—I—went about it in the wrong way.”

  She paused, and the fine lines of her throat bobbed. “I can honestly say now that as mundane as my life is with Father, I would rather s
mile with him over a simple bowl of oyster stew on Christmas than to sit at one more linen-clothed table with Percy or Alice. There’s value in that, in the sharing of joy and tears, and that’s what makes life worthwhile. Not what we do or what we accomplish. I have you to thank for that revelation, for had you never asked me to be your pretend bride, I’d still be wishing to be someone or somewhere else.”

  His chest tightened, and breathing turned into a chore. Had ever a more gracious woman lived? She should’ve railed at him. Cursed him. Blamed him for the beastly way she’d been treated by his cousins … and by him, for he was the one who’d dragged her into this situation.

  “I know you’re disappointed with how things turned out, but at the very least—” A small smile curved her lips. “Your uncle won’t be committed to an asylum. And that’s what we were working toward all along. It was a hard victory, but a victory nonetheless.”

  “And for that I am thankful.” He attempted to match her smile, but bitter remorse stole his last reserves of humour, and he could do no better than manage somewhat of a grimace. “I regret, however, that I’ve broken the very thing I’d hoped to mend, namely my relationship with Uncle Barlow. I doubt he will ever speak to me again. Nor should he.”

  A ray of sunshine broke through the clouds, angling in through the window and resting upon Mina as a halo. “But how could he remain angry with you? The truth of what you did, while draped in duplicity, was for the benefit of him, not yourself. You are a man of integrity, despite how sideways it comes out.”

  Her words and the admiration shining in her eyes did much to soothe his soul—but could do nothing to erase the stain of his past.

  “You give me too much credit, Mina.” And she did. God knew he was as big a schemer as his cousin. “If I’d been up front with Uncle to begin with, left everything in God’s hands instead of taking the situation into my own, none of this would have happened.”