The Captain's Christmas Bride (20 page)

A sick, roiling panic had her reaching for her wine glass and taking a large gulp. What would she do if Alec just walked away without her? Which was beginning to look increasingly likely. And she couldn’t even blame him. When she looked back at the things he’d said, when he’d caught her in Eduardo’s arms, the things which she’d found so insulting at the time, they were all looking more and more reasonable. She
had
seduced him in that very place, in mistake for another man. So she could see why he might think she had no discernment. And then she
had
leapt into the marriage bed with a sort of wild abandon that she couldn’t quite explain. Considering the reputation the Whitneys had for infidelity—which he must have learned of by now even if he hadn’t known before he arrived—coupled with the lack of regret she’d displayed over the loss of David—who was supposed to have been the love of her life—what was Alec to think except that she was a...well, she didn’t know what the word was to describe the female equivalent of a rake, but she had no doubt acted like one. Her behaviour
must
have looked fickle and heartless.

If only he’d come anywhere near her, once she’d calmed down and started to look at things from his point of view, she could have explained that it was impossible to pine for a man like David, once she’d seen through all his lies.

She could have told Alec that the feelings he evoked had swiftly eclipsed anything she’d felt for the disappointingly devious David. That even before they were married, it had been thoughts of Alec that filled her head, Alec to whom she reacted whenever he was near. Because Alec had been the man to awaken her passion. Not David. Who now held about as much appeal as a plate of congealing lard.

‘And so I told her,’ Uncle Maurice was saying. ‘Wonderful idea, don’t you think?’

‘Absolutely,’ she said politely, having no idea what the idea was, or why Uncle Maurice should think it so wonderful.

‘Capital, capital. Christmas is all about family. Nothing more important than that. I knew you’d see it the same way. Nobody more dedicated to the family than you. I’ll tell her you’re agreeable then, shall I? She had some silly notion that you might cut up stiff, but I told her you wouldn’t. That you are a good sort.’

She placed her wine glass carefully next to her plate, wondering what she’d just agreed to, while her mind had been wandering.

‘What, exactly, will it entail?’ she asked, feeling pretty sure that such a vague question wouldn’t alert her uncle to the fact she had no idea what he’d been talking about.

‘Oh, nothing much. Dressing up in a costume the girls have made. Reading your lines from a script. Not a taxing part, she said.’

Oh, so that was it. She appeared to have agreed to take part in the theatrical production the young people had been working on with such enthusiasm for the past few days. Under the supervision of the actors. And with Alec’s determined help. She wondered what he was trying to prove, with her family. He had the younger boys running around, saluting him, crying out ‘Aye-aye, Cap’n!’ He’d commandeered the estate carpenters and barred everyone not involved with the play from the ballroom, so that they’d all been intrigued by the renewed sounds of hammering and sawing filtering out from behind the locked doors. Anticipation was running rife. This year’s production, everyone was saying, was going to be something they’d all remember for years to come.

‘Only she was insistent,’ Uncle Maurice continued, ‘that all the family have a part, no matter how small. And that the servants should be the audience. Said something about the Lord of Misrule, and turning everything upside down for one night. And I said that should have been Christmas Day but she’s got such a persuasive manner of speaking, and anyway your father has agreed so what could I say?’

‘She?’ Who was it that was organising things behind her back? Had she been so distracted these last few days that somebody else had taken over the organisation of this house party?

‘The Neapolitan Nightingale.’ Uncle Maurice sighed, a faraway look coming to his eyes. ‘That woman could turn a saint into a sinner.’

And didn’t she just know it! Where her Uncle Maurice was concerned, anyway.

‘I mean...’ He flushed guiltily. ‘Begging your pardon. But she very nearly has. I mean, your Uncle Algernon. Bishop and all that—’ He broke off, reached for his wine glass and took a hefty swallow.

Ah.

Somehow she didn’t mind if it was Nellie who’d taken charge of the Twelfth Night production. Nellie had probably noticed how distracted she was, how unhappy, and was trying to help by taking everyone’s eyes off Julia, and the way she was drooping round the place. She straightened up in her chair. She might be drooping in spirit, but she had no intention of letting anyone discern as much with poor posture. Nellie would know, of course, because the actress had been in the orangery both times Julia had got into hot water. She knew all Julia’s secrets.

Including the fact that she’d fallen in love with the husband who’d only married her under duress? The man who’d spoken of the relationship in terms of being press-ganged? And who now, after giving it his best shot to begin with, had decided there was nothing worth salvaging?

She wouldn’t be a bit surprised.

At last, the interminable meal came to a close, and she got to her feet to indicate the ladies could withdraw.

When they reached the drawing room, she was astonished to see a couple of wicker hampers set down under the windows, and various costumes strewn about over the backs of chairs.

Most of her aunts looked as bewildered as she felt. But her cousins looked as though they were going to burst with excitement.

Winifred went to the fireplace and clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

‘In honour of Twelfth Night, we have arranged a very special pantomime,’ she said. ‘All of the family are to take part. Well, nearly all,’ she amended. ‘We’ve made costumes for everyone.’

‘How can we take part,’ grumbled her Aunt Frances, ‘when we haven’t been to any of your rehearsals? Really, Winifred, this is too tiresome of you.’

‘Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport,’ said Aunt Constance. ‘The girls have clearly gone to a lot of trouble to put on some entertainment for tonight. It will be no worse than charades, I shouldn’t think. What do we have to do?’

Winifred looked at Aunt Constance with gratitude. ‘Just put on your costumes—each one has the name of the part and who is to play it, pinned on. And a copy of the lines you will need to say.’

‘This is going to be dreadful.’ Aunt Frances sighed. ‘You cannot expect us to perform a play without any idea what it’s about, or having a rehearsal.’

‘Trust me,’ said Nellie, striding to the hearth beside Winifred. ‘It will be a lot of fun. It may not be the kind of thing I’d ever want to put on at Drury Lane, but it is just right for a family party. The young people have worked very hard to make sure of it.’

‘Oh, very well,’ said Aunt Frances. ‘What am I to wear?’

For a few moments, everyone milled about, discovering their costumes, the names of their characters, and reading over the lines they had to say.

‘Thank you, Nellie,’ said Julia, as the actress came up to her. ‘For organising a sort of grand finale to this house party. I really should have done something. Something to include the young ones. And to thank the staff for all the work they’ve put in this year. More than usual, what with the weddings.’ Not to mention boarding up broken windows. Gatley had been furious to discover his precious plants had been put at risk of cold draughts. She’d feared there would be an end to citrus fruit for the dining table. But he’d simply tucked extra layers of fleece round all the delicate plants, and got the estate carpenter to board up the broken windows before night fell.

‘This will be wonderful, I’m sure.’

‘I certainly hope so,’ said Nellie, giving her hand a squeeze. ‘Your husband has put a lot of effort into it. He’s got all the cast fired up to play their parts. Even turned the younger boys into a sort of crew to work the scenery and such.’

‘Lovely,’ she said through gritted teeth. While she’d been mourning the stillbirth of their marriage, he’d been having what sounded like a perfectly splendid time. But there was no point in dwelling on her unhappiness. Best to keep busy.

With that in mind, she followed Nellie to a table on which were strewn various scraps of material and props. ‘Well, what part have you decreed I should play?’ She was already playing a part for her family. The part of unrepentant adulteress. How hard could it be to adopt one more role?

‘You are to be the princess,’ said Nellie, picking up what looked like a genuine diamond tiara, and setting it on her head. ‘You will have a little pageboy—played by your cousin Freddie. Whenever you have a line to say, he will hand it to you on a card.’

‘Isn’t it past his bedtime?’

‘It is already past most of their bedtimes, I should think.’ Nellie chortled. ‘That is part of the fun for them. That and feeling that for once they are in charge of the adults.’

‘I see. All part of the spirit of misrule you seem determined to foster tonight,’ she said, as Nellie settled a bright-red cloak, trimmed with what looked like ermine, but couldn’t possibly be, round her shoulders. As Julia looked around the room she could see the other costumes were of a similar sort. Hats or headgear, coupled with a cloak, or some kind of prop to carry. Gradually, all her aunts were being transformed into clearly recognisable pantomime characters. Aunt Constance had become a tavern wench with the simple addition of a stained apron, a mobcap, and a pair of pewter tankards. Aunt Frances was a peasant woman with a cloak of sacking and a hoe. And as for Aunt Joan—well, with the plain collar and steeple hat, she looked nothing so much as a Quaker woman.

‘What is the pantomime we are to perform?’

It was what everyone wanted to know.

‘All in good time,’ said Nellie, who’d donned a very ugly false nose, glued on a wart and some hair to her chin, and clapped a large-brimmed, pointy hat on her head. To denote a witch, Julia would guess.

‘Can you hear that?’ Winifred was practically bouncing up and down on the hearth in excitement as the strains of a boisterous folk tune, played on fiddle and flute, sounded from just beyond the door. ‘It’s the band!’

Somebody banged three times on the door, then flung it open.

Benjamin, who was all dressed up to look like a town crier, stepped inside, and unrolled a scroll with a flourish.

‘Come all you fair ladies who stay at Ness Hall. You’ve feasted, you’ve drunk and you’ve danced at a ball. Once more don your costumes—this time for the play. In which magic abounds and true love...’ at this point his face went bright red ‘...wins the day.’

True love? Julia clenched her teeth. If the play was to be a sickly love story, she didn’t know how she would bear it.

Aunt Frances rolled her eyes. ‘Amateur theatricals,’ she said waspishly. ‘We shall all end up looking ridiculous.’

Julia was rather horrified to realise she’d started to think like her Aunt Frances. And wondered if it was Aunt Frances’s natural disposition to be waspish, or whether a series of disappointments in her youth had made her that way.

‘This evening is about the young people,’ said Julia, with renewed determination to nip the slide into Aunt Francesism in the bud. ‘They’ve been remarkably well behaved this year. They deserve that we play along with them. After all, it is our last night all together.’

‘Oh, yes, of course, for the sake of family harmony,’ Aunt Frances grumbled. Then twitched her sacking cloak so that somehow it fell into positively elegant folds, before wafting across the room to the doorway.

In the corridor, the flautist and fiddler struck up a new tune, and Nellie beckoned them to follow in procession to the ballroom. As they passed the dining room, they were joined by the gentlemen—got up in equally quaint costumes—as well as a second fiddler, and the percussion player from their hired orchestra, who was beating a little drum.

She tried not to look at Alec, the way she always tried not to look at him whenever he was in the vicinity. But she couldn’t help darting him little glances. He was got up like a sailor. Not an officer with gold braid and a cocked hat, either, but a common sailor in a stocking cap and calico trousers. He was carrying his battered telescope tucked under one arm. And looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Which was why she tried not to look at him again. Because it hurt so much to see him carrying on as though nothing was amiss, when she felt as if she was dying inside.

As the family entered the ballroom, the servants who’d gathered there to watch the play burst into a round of applause. Julia blinked at the transformation the room had undergone yet again. Since she’d last been in here, the actors—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say Alec’s crew—had transformed it into a series of theatrical sets. There was a woodland on what had been the raised dais used by the orchestra. The dais was covered with some kind of green floor covering, a painted backdrop had been suspended somehow from the ceiling, and even half-a-dozen lemon trees had been brought in from the orangery. Who on earth had approached Gatley and persuaded him to have them brought indoors? It must have been someone with nerves of steel. Or perhaps Nellie had worked her usual mixture of feminine charm and ruthless determination on him. Uncle Maurice was of the opinion she could coax any male to do whatever she wanted.

Perhaps she should consult Nellie on the best way to win her husband back. It would certainly be worth a try. Perhaps she could approach him after the play. If it went well, and he was in a good mood, she could...but there her mind went blank. She couldn’t begin to think how to persuade him to relent towards her, not without betraying Lizzie. Which she simply couldn’t do.

Over where she usually had the buffet tables set out was an area done up to look like the outside of a village tavern. And by the chaperons’ benches was the throne room of a palace. She recognised the handiwork of her younger cousins in the backdrops, though she could tell the outlines had been sketched by a professional.