The Christmas Spirit (12 page)

And, now, to discover that all his hatred and the fury that had kept him in isolation were nothing more than the result of a bitter misunderstanding . . .

A painful restlessness finally drove him out of Julian's house, although their final words had been healing. Julian Speck had promised to do his bit to restore Matthew's reputation among the members of the African Association. The two men, undoubtedly, would never be friends. Matthew's erudition and arrogance were anathema to one of Sir Julian's persuasion. Julian's blatant disrespect for other cultures infuriated one with Matthew's keen mind. But at least they had come to terms.

The morning had taken its toll on Matthew's body. Such wrenching emotion had left him feeling limp. He needed a good dose of English mutton and some porter, he decided. So, he took himself to dine at Limmer's Hotel in Bond Street, where the conversation, which consisted of nothing but the turf, should be as innocuous as it was boring, and where a good English meal could be had.

At this early hour, he did not expect that the coffee room would be filled, so he was surprised by the noise issuing from it. Then he recalled the season, and he thought he knew the cause. Even though Christmas was hardly observed any more, and most of its ancient rituals had died out, in England, at least, it was still an excuse for excess food and drink. And one could not indulge in the latter without other forms of revelry creeping in.

Matthew took a chair at a table off in a dark corner and ordered himself a heavy meal. Then he sat back to watch the revelers, who laughed and took snuff and fought over their wager books.

He envied them their amusement. They had gathered here to drink with their friends and to place bets on horses. Though such companionship was something Matthew had never desired once he had turned his sights onto conquest, he felt the need of it now. The familiar smells of mutton pies and good English beer mixed with the smoke from the fire, awakening in him vague memories of scenes from his childhood, and the green of holly and ivy brought back other Yuletides.

As the old smells and sounds milled around him, and his exhaustion passed, Matthew experienced a curious feeling of lightness. It was as if all his shame and anger and hatred had floated away, leaving a vast void in their place. No, not a void, precisely, but something with an elusive substance.

He wondered if, in forgiving Helen and losing his hatred for Julian Speck, he had not experienced a rebirth of his soul. Often in his darkest hours, he'd feared that he had lost it, that it would never return. But truth and clarity had worked their inevitable magic to bring it back to life, even though its return left him still feeling relatively hollow.

An unreasonable sadness hovered over him, as if his purpose for being had gone. If those vicious emotions had been all that had kept him alive this past year, he was an object for pity indeed.

Never one to accept a bad condition tamely, he thought about what he must do to rectify his. Find something else to care about, that was sure. But what?

He could never mount another expedition. To do so would be to court certain death. Too many men had died already in a similar search for glory for him to think otherwise, and Matthew was no fool. He had already spent his allotment of vitality in his own vain searches.

Was that his trouble? Did his failure to find the Nile weigh so heavily on him or, without massive ambition, was he just another man set adrift?

His dinner came, and Matthew cut off his musings, which had done nothing to soothe his disquiet. He needed action to take his mind off these dismal reflections, if not some other form of comfort entirely.

He thought of Faye, who had helped him overcome this one great tribulation of his life, and who surely had the gifts to help him solve many more. And, all at once, he realized that with his reluctance and mistrust behind him, he was free and ready to go on with his life. A life with another woman, perhaps.

And, just as suddenly, he found he could no longer wait to see Faye.

After hastily eating, he climbed into a hackney-coach with the intention of calling upon her immediately. But when he gave the driver the name of her street, the man did not recall ever having seen a Meadows Lane near the park. Matthew suggested that he drive up and down Park Lane to look for it. The coachman told him that the effort would be wasted since he knew every inch of Westminster and London as well; but Matthew insisted and in the end was disappointed.

It was always possible, he told himself, that a narrow lane, which was not much visited, could have been overlooked, but still the episode left him feeling uneasy. At this time of year, darkness settled over London very early over London, so Matthew had no recourse except to wait for the morrow. He would return home and inform Ahmad of the illuminations of the day, and next morning, he would ask for Faye at the almshouse.

* * * *

Trudy had hovered about him all day, using her cloak to sneak into Helen's house and spying on them both from behind a sofa.

Though the temptation had been great to interfere, especially when either Helen or Julian had spoken sharply to Matthew, she had bitten her tongue and stayed out of his way.        Matthew's expression, when he had discovered his ruin had all been due to a muddled circumstance, had made her wince, but there had been nothing she could do at that moment to help him. She wished she had some way of seeing him whenever she wished. Not as Trudy, but as Faye.

In the morning, after she'd divined Matthew's intentions, she flittered over to the almshouse ahead of his carriage. When he arrived, she was discussing the inmates' most pressing needs with Mr. Waite. The steward seemed to have decided not to question her infrequent appearances since they always brought some benefit to his house. And this morning, he had even greeted her with a moderate indication of joy.

When Trudy saw Matthew enter the workroom where they were standing, her heart gave an astonishing leap. And her pulse kept up a flutter of rhythm even though she'd been expecting him.

Just why she should react so irrationally raised a worry in her breast. But she forgot it the moment Matthew's eyes lit upon seeing her, and an answering smile sprang to her lips of its own accord.

Mr. Waite was the first to speak. "Ah, Sir Matthew. Welcome, sir. You see our dear benefactress, Miss Meriwether, has visited us again, and with quite a delightful thought in mind."

Matthew took Trudy's hand and raised it to his lips, his fixed gaze burning deeply. "Oh? And what has Miss Meriwether planned this morning?" He raised his brows as much as to say that he could see she had charmed their host at last.

Trudy let Mr. Waite speak since she thought it would appear more modest to do so.

"She has come to ask whether our pensioners are sufficiently supplied with gloves for the winter, and I have to say that they are not."

"I was afraid they could not possibly be, but that will give me something I can do for them for Christmas," Trudy said.

"Oh . . ." Suddenly uncomfortable, Mr. Waite glanced away. "If that makes the giving more acceptable to you, you may consider it as such, though of course our inmates have no use for pagan observances. Being Mohammedans for the most part, they neither drink spirits nor indulge in frivolous rites."

Matthew hid a smile and cleared his throat before offering Trudy his arm. "If Miss Meriwether is determined to celebrate the Saturnalia, perhaps I should accompany her to make certain she comes to no harm. I'm afraid the streets are rather more rowdy than usual because of the season."

As he drew her quickly out of the building, making their goodbyes, Trudy protested, "The Saturnalia! I did not say I celebrated the Saturnalia!"

"No, but clearly our most-Puritan host views Christmas as a similar evil. All those pagan customs involved! The drinking and the singing and dancing must surely be viewed as wicked."

"Do you think them so?" she asked, uncertain of his temper.

Matthew laughed. "No, not at all. They are relatively harmless expressions of high spirits meant to warm us in our darkest days."

"They are much more than that," Trudy asserted.

Matthew questioned her with a glance. He had brought her to the street where his carriage waited. "And what is Christmas to you?" he asked.

Trudy flushed. "I was not necessarily speaking of Christmas," she said. "Though I am far from heathen! We have ever been--" She had been about to say that elves were Christians, too, but she doubted he would believe her.

Sensing the danger in too much speech, she ended lamely, "I was speaking of the Yule, which is different."

"How so?"

"Oh--" she gave a tiny shiver--"it is a magical time when everything is turned inside out, and goblins lurk in the dark."

Matthew's crumpled brow betrayed a hint of amusement. "Do you tell me you are superstitious, Faye?"

"Why, yes! Are not you?"

"Certainly not, and I believe you are pulling my leg." Matthew reached to open the carriage door. "Well, shall we go?"

"Go where?" Trudy did not wait to find out before climbing inside. Her heart had made another leap at Matthew's high spirits, as if she'd been infected by a dance.

"We are off, are we not," he asked, "to purchase gloves?"

Matthew took her to the shop where he had fitted himself out before embarking on his last expedition. A place, he assured her, where they were certain to find sturdy gloves.

Trudy ordered a pair for every inmate of the almshouse and an extra one for Mr. Waite.

While she was speaking with a clerk, Matthew had a conference with the shopkeeper, who disappeared into the back of the store and came back with a box in his hands. He placed it on a table beside them and raised the lid to reveal a selection of ladies' kid gloves.

"Oh!" Trudy exclaimed as she ran her fingers lightly over the soft kid. "But they are lovely."

Matthew said, "I noticed that you never seem to wear gloves yourself, and I thought you might be willing to accept a gift from me."

The blood rushed from Trudy's face, and she jerked back her hand. "No, I couldn't. I must not."

"Why?" Matthew gave her a surprised and puzzled look. "Would accepting a gift from me offend your sense of propriety? I assure you it is innocently meant. I only wish to thank you for what you did at the Association meeting Saturday night."

"Oh . . ." A measure of Trudy's fear left her. This was not an attempt on Matthew's part to trap her, for he did not realize that wearing human clothes could harm an elf. Nor did he know what she was, she was certain.

Deciding the wisest move would be to accept his present without making a fuss, she thanked him very prettily and said she was very honored by his gift.

Matthew gestured to the shopkeeper to help her make her selection. But Trudy needed no help. She pointed to a pair that were as white as a new fallen snow at midnight.

She ran her fingertips over the gloves and gave a sigh. She wondered if she could conjure anything half as soft.

"Now, if miss will try them on . . ." The shopkeeper held them out, one at a time.

Again, she felt as if her life was draining from her veins. "That shan't be necessary, shall it?" Her voice croaked. "I mean, can we not simply hold them up to see if they fit?"

"Faye?" Matthew's brow was bent in a crooked line of consternation. "Is something wrong? Had you rather not have them?"

"No, no." She snatched one up. "Of course, I want them. They're beautiful. It's just--"

She did want them very much. So much. They would be a precious gift from Matthew. He simply he did not know what he asked.

Slowly, and tremblingly, Trudy pulled on the gloves. She felt the immediate absence of magic in her hands. It was if a candle had been snuffed out; a roaring fire had been thoroughly doused in just an instant. She felt helpless, as if her hands were limp.

"Do you like them?" Matthew asked, hovering by her side. "They seem a trifle large."

"Perhaps they are a mite," the shopkeeper said, "but they should do quite nicely. I had worried I would have nothing to fit such a dainty lady."

Trudy could not speak, she was so frightened. She had allowed herself to be trapped.        Whatever would Francis say? What would become of her now?

Then, Matthew laid his palms over hers, and both her hands tingled with life, a new sort of life. "You have such tiny hands," he whispered, taking them up in his.

His heat slowly invaded her, making its way from her fingers to her toes. The shopkeeper discreetly whisked himself away.

Matthew dragged his palms lightly over hers, before withdrawing them entirely, and Trudy discovered she could move after all. She managed to lift her hands up before her face.

"They are lovely, Matthew," she said softly, though a mixture of fear and longing clogged her throat, and, an ache built inside her. She knew she could not remove the gloves herself. "Thank you very much."

"Would you like to keep them on?" he asked.

"No! That is--they are much too fine to wear for day. I shall save them for a special evening."

He inclined his head, then looked as if he were waiting for her to take them off.

"Could you--" she nearly choked on the request, which would seem very odd to him indeed--"that is, would you, please, pull them off for me?"

He hesitated a second, clearly taken aback by her forwardness. Trudy squirmed inside. She felt like a girl who'd been caught with her garters showing.

"Gladly," Matthew said, and there was no mistaking his undertone.

He slid his fingers inside one glove as he slipped it off, letting them brush the sensitive pads of her palms. The shock she got from this and the simultaneous return of her magic was enough to make her gasp. Trudy trembled all over while her second palm was subjected to the same exquisite ecstasy as the first.

As if on cue, the shopkeeper reappeared, and Matthew gave instructions for Trudy's gloves to be wrapped.

"And those other pairs, miss?" the shopkeeper asked.

"Oh, yes." Trudy had been so unsettled by her feelings as to forget the purpose of their errand. "I shall pay for them now." She reached in her reticule and brought forth a quantity of gold sovereigns.