Christmas Scandal...Not! Read online

  A Cerridwen Press Publication

  www.cerridwenpress.com

  Christmas Scandal…Not!

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Christmas Scandal…Not! Copyright © 2009 Jeanne Savery Casstevens

  Edited by Helen Woodall

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book Publication April 2009

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing Inc., 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Cerridwen Press is an imprint of Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.®

  Christmas Scandal…Not!

  Jeanne Savery

  Dedication

  For Regency lovers everywhere, everywhen…

  Chapter One

  A rather timid knock at the front door had Lady Elphinia Thornton, more commonly known as Elf, veering away from her nice warm salon. A draft whispered around her ankles. She pulled her thick wool shawl more closely around her thin shoulders as she muttered, “Who would come visiting in such awful weather?” Another, somewhat louder, knock sounded. Elf called, “I’m coming.”

  Not that she wanted to let in blowing snow and cold, but neither could she leave a guest out in it. She held the door with both hands against the expected gust, easing it open. It was barely wide enough when a lad of perhaps fourteen winters squeezed by. He turned, helping Elf push it closed.

  Then, the door shut, the boy leaned against it. He stared at her. “Yes,” he whispered. “Elf…” His lids fluttered shut. He sighed. Slowly, he slid down until he sat on the floor.

  Elf stared. “Well.” There was no response. She leant down and touched the lad’s cheek. “Ice. Good heavens, child, who are you and what are you doing on our doorstep?” There was no response. Elf slapped the youth’s cheeks lightly, again with no result. Her mouth formed a grim line as she hurried back into the kitchen she’d exited minutes earlier. Jemma, their only indoor servant, followed her into the hall where Elf called for her sister, Alvinia, to join them.

  With difficulty the three women hauled the well-grown boy up the stairs, stripped him to his drawers, and tucked him into Ally’s bed since her room was away from the wind and the more easily heated.

  Jemma returned to the kitchen to warm up bricks to pack around their unexpected guest while Ally built up the fire using coals they could ill afford. Elf, seeing that all was being done that could be, stared at the lad’s fine-drawn features. His faint resemblance to someone she knew would not call forth a name.

  But a name was less important then seeing the boy didn’t die of an ague or a cold settling in his lungs, so she too returned to the kitchen. There she selected herbs from those the Thornton sisters had collected and dried earlier that year, set them to steeping. Once it was ready, she’d bottle it, and they’d get what they could down their unexpected guest’s throat.

  Also needed in a sick room was barley water. While the herbs steeped Elf went into their small pantry, dipped barley from its bin, and then, a loaf of day old bread in her hand, hesitated.

  “Will he want to eat or will he be too tired, cold, and very likely sick?” she asked herself. She shrugged. She’d had little interest in supper after consuming a large tea at the vicarage that afternoon so felt a trifle peckish. If the boy couldn’t manage the panada she’d make from the bread, then she’d eat it herself.

  Three long days followed, days full of work, worry, and fretting about the lad’s recovery. Then, deep in the night of the third day, there was movement in the bed, a stirring that had more purpose than any before it. Elf eased her stiff body to her feet and leaned over the boy…and stared down into wide gray eyes framed by exceedingly long lashes. The lad’s expression was one of confusion. Elf felt a bit confused herself as she was again teased by that hint of a memory that would not yield a name.

  “Welcome back, lad,” she said softly.

  He frowned. “I’m hungry.” He sounded surprised, his voice croaky from lack of use.

  “To be expected.” Elf lay a hand on his forehead and found it cool. “You rest now and I’ll see what I can find for you to eat.”

  “A lot? Please?”

  Elf chuckled. “Just like a lad. You worry us to death, fearing you’ll quit this world for the next, and then wake up starving. You’ll eat what I bring and like it, my boy.”

  Later that same day Ally entered the cozy sitting room. She frowned, a difficult expression for her plump, normally cheerful, features. “He refuses to tell me his name, Elf. I can’t think why. Just repeats what he told you, that you told him years ago you would always be there to help if ever he needed it.” She tucked an arrant lock of hair into the bun at the back of her head and ignored that another fell. Ally’s hair never stayed where she wanted it.

  Elf’s long bony face was far more suited to the frown that grew from Ally’s words. “If I could only think of whom he reminds me.” She glared at her sister. “Ally, are you very certain you see nothing in him that gives you a clue to his family name? I know I know those eyes. His cheekbones are not as prominent as they’ll become when he’s fully adult, but I should recognize those as well.”

  Ally, knowing the glare was a result of worry rather than anger, puzzled over the problem but shook her head. “I am sorry, Elf, but I cannot think of a soul with eyes of that particular deep gray. Are you certain about the bones?”

  “Oh yes. He hasn’t outgrown a boy’s softness, but soon will.”

  They were silent for a long moment as Ally picked up her embroidery and chose her thread. “I sent Jemma off to see what the butcher has that would be filling,” said Ally when her needle was threaded. “Our lad’s been properly raised so he ate the stew and did so politely, but I noticed he very much wished he dared turn up his nose at the mutton.”

  Elf turned aside to hide a grimace from her soft hearted sister. They owed the butcher far more than she liked and she’d promised herself she’d avoid meat other than soup bones until their quarterly allowance arrived and she could pay him. Not that he complained or even suspected she would not pay their bill, but she could not like being in debt to him. Or to anyone, for that matter, since she very much disapproved of debt of any sort. Unfortunately, since the war with Napoleon ended, the price of everything seemed to have risen drastically and it was very difficult not to find oneself in a bit deeper at the end of each quarter.

  On the other hand, a growing boy, especially one who had been ill, needed meat.

  Elf sighed acceptance of the necessity but then stared rather fiercely at her sister. “This cannot go on. Someone must be exceeding worried about him.”

  Ally nodded. “I suggested that but he shook his head and got such a sad look. Elf, he insists there is no one who will care a farthing he is gone.”

  Soft-hearted Ally’s features expressed grief far more
clearly than anger or other negative emotions and Elf knew her sister was deeply distressed at the thought no one cared tuppence for the lad. “Boys,” growled Elf. “They get their feelings hurt and are instantly convinced no one loves them.”

  “No, no, Elf.” Ally shook her head so hard a few carefully hidden gray streaks appeared when still another tress fell to her shoulder. “No, I think it is something other than a mere misunderstanding. He has a sad look when he thinks no one is watching and then hides it when one is near. Something is very wrong.”

  Elf didn’t argue, but she was convinced the boy had run away after a misunderstanding, or alternatively, after punishment he felt undeserved, another common reason for runaway boys. But then her eyes narrowed and she tipped her head ever so slightly. The world was not always a nice place. It wasn’t impossible the youth was truly in some sort of danger, either from family or possibly a guardian who should never have been entrusted with a child’s welfare…

  Since there was nothing to be done just then Elf put such thoughts aside and watched her sister set half a dozen more stitches. “I think we should choose a name for him,” she suggested. “We cannot continue calling him boy and lad and that sort of thing. What would you say to Steven?”

  Ally thought a moment and shook her head. “He doesn’t seem like a Steven to me.” They tried a few others until Ally suggested, “Robert, perhaps?”

  Elf hesitated. “Or Robin?” Ally mouthed the name once or twice. Elf nodded. Firmly. “We will call him Robin.”

  Ally nodded three quick nods of agreement. “Oh yes. I believe you have found just the name for him.” She beamed.

  When they entered the boy’s room half an hour later, they discovered he’d left his bed. He’d found his newly washed linens and neatly brushed clothing and managed to dress himself. But doing even that bit had tired him and he was back on the bed which he’d roughly made, staring at the ceiling.

  “Since you refuse to give us your name, lad, we’ve decided we’ll give you one. We chose Robin. Until you tell us differently, we’ll call you Robin.” Elf’s eyes narrowed at the shock expressed by the lad’s stiffening form, his widening eyes. “Robin?” Suspicion swept through her when he bit his lip. “Is that all right?”

  Robin pushed up on his elbows. He stared at Elf. “How did you know? Have you known all along who I am and only pretended…” He saw Ally’s bewilderment and fell back against his pillows, his arm over his eyes. “You didn’t know. You made a guess and somehow you hit upon it.”

  Ally, recovering quickly, rushed to the side of the bed. “But we do not know your family name, Robin.” She patted his shoulder. “If you do not wish us to know, then we will not pry, but how can we help you if we know nothing about you or your problem?”

  Under the arm hiding his eyes, Elf watched him worrying at his lip with even white teeth. Once again she felt she should know the boy, know his family. She sighed. Softly.

  Ally struggled up onto the high bed, sitting with her legs dangling. “We truly would like to help,” she coaxed.

  The boy lifted his arm and stared at her and then covered his eyes again. “No one can help. I don’t know why I thought you could.”

  “Robin,” said Elf a trifle sternly. “Christmas is nearly upon us. Are you certain your parents don’t wish you with them for the holiday? That if you are not, and if you have simply disappeared so they’ve no knowledge of whether you are well or perhaps even dead…don’t you care that they will worry?”

  “I told you. No one will care.” For the first time there was a trifling hint of pettishness in his tone.

  Was it irritation that they would not believe him or was he tired of repeating himself? Elf eyed him. Or could it be fear that they’d discover he’d made up a story to gain their sympathy? This must not go on, she thought. She moved across the hall to the room Ally now shared with her, leaving her sister to soothe the lad, something for which Ally was far more suited than Elf who hadn’t the patience.

  “It is time to write some letters. Careful letters, since Ally promised we’d not reveal Robin’s presence here.” Elf dipped her pen in the ink, lifted it…and held it still. “I should have done this when he first arrived,” she muttered. “We’d made no promises then.” For a moment, she stared at nothing at all and then, again dipping her pen into the ink, wrote the first salutation. And once again paused. She’d promised not to give Robin away so what could she say?

  Still, someone must know of a schoolboy who had disappeared, who he was and the why of it. Elf decided she’d not mention him at all. All her correspondents knew how much she and Ally loved to hear all the news, the gossip if you will, and someone would include a clue to what they needed to know. They’d hear without raising a scandal.

  “If only I could remember of whom he reminds me…”

  Elf bent to her work and later waved the bundle of letters under Ally’s nose. “Someone will know of a boy who has disappeared from his home. Someone can tell us what we need to know.”

  “Elf,” said Ally slowly, “what if Robin is correct and no one cares what happens to him? That they’d be glad if he were dead.”

  “The melodramatic ravings of youth,” said Elf and sternly repressed a twinge. After all, she too had wondered. “Someone somewhere is worrying themselves sick.”

  “But he told me he heard them, that they were planning how to be rid of him.”

  Elf turned a hard stare on her sister. Then, far more gently than her expression would have led one to believe possible, suggested, “Perhaps you should sit down and tell me in plain words exactly what Robin told you.”

  “Should I have mentioned that?”

  Elf’s mouth quirked and she half shut her eyes.

  “I see I should have.” Ally’s lips compressed, partly a smile and partly a moue of contrition and, still another part was pure embarrassment. “You know I cannot tell a straight tale, that I always come at things in a haphazard fashion and it always annoys you and then you feel guilty and then you try to apologize when, really, you don’t feel you’ve anything for which you need to apologize and…”

  She stopped when her sister help up a hand. “Very true,” said Elf, “but what are we to do? I do need to hear it, do I not?”

  Ally’s bright bird-like gaze studied the spots of embarrassed color marking Elf’s cheeks. “I’ve a notion,” Ally said after a long moment during which they stared at each other, their gazes full of mutual understanding. “What if I try to write it all down so that I can put it in order and can, perhaps, also see that I don’t forget anything?”

  Secretly, Elf sighed in relief. Ally was, after all, quite right. Trying to get a coherent story out of her was worse than seeding raisins. At least the raisins just sat there and allowed one to do as one willed. Ally would go off on tangents, would repeat herself, would forget the most important points and, in general, make a hash of it all. “Yes. You write it down. Everything you remember.”

  Sometime later Ally came into the kitchen where her sister was doing her inexpert best to form a wreath for their front door. Holding the pages on which she’d written out her tale, Ally tut-tutted at her sister’s work. “You’d better let me do that, Elf, or we’ll have the oddest looking wreath in all of Cheltenham.”

  Elf, thankful to relinquishing a task for which she was not suited, moved aside and glanced at Ally’s writing. Arrows led here and there to indicate where forgotten points should be inserted into the story and then there were added fragments along the edges and other bits scratched out and, in toto, she’d managed to make her offering nearly illegible, which was surprising given her truly beautiful handwriting.

  As Elf began deciphering Ally’s words, Ally deftly and quickly formed a lovely circle of boughs, added small bows holding clusters of holly here, a few pinecones there, and, finally, one big perky bow. As an afterthought she fixed a wire loop to the back for hanging.

  Elf gave up trying to make sense of her sister’s writing and sat watching her sister. �
��That’s lovely, Ally. You’ve such a knack for doing things with your hands when all I do is fumble and make messes. But, if you have finished, perhaps you could make sense of this?” She picked up the pages and wafted them back and forth.

  Ally set the wreath down and then picked it back up. She went to the kitchen door and called for Robin. “You, my boy, can make yourself useful,” she said with a smile. “You can hang our wreath on the front door. Jemma will find you a nail and a hammer. I believe you’ll see a small hole where the nail has been set in previous years.”

  Robin, who was becoming more than a trifle bored, the bad weather keeping him in more than he liked, gladly went off to do the task.

  Ally joined Elf who had gone into the sitting room. “That should keep him occupied for a bit,” she said and picked up her notes. She studied them, frowning one of her difficult-to-achieve frowns. “Oh dear. Did I actually make such an idiotic mess of it?” Her eyes twinkled as she grinned at her sister. “I may do things easily with my hands, Elf, but it is you who boasts a logical mind and the ability to put two and two together.”

  After another few minutes she began. “First of all, his father must be dead. I think that is the first thing you must know.”

  “Yes, that seems a good place to begin. Do you know for how long he’s been dead?”

  Ally looked worried. “Should I?”

  Elf sighed. “No. Go on. His father is dead, but not his mother?”

  “No. That, I think, is the problem.”

  Elf waited. When Ally didn’t continue, there was the faintest touch of a bite to Elf’s voice when she asked, “That she isn’t dead is a problem?”

  “What? Oh no, of course not. But that she is thinking of remarrying? Perhaps? It is just a notion I have…”

  “I don’t suppose you recall what was said that gave you the notion?”