The Christmas Spirit (15 page)

Christmas dances were notoriously liberal in one respect. Mistletoe was sure to be hung somewhere from the ceiling to catch the unwary, and a gentleman would be forgiven any liberties he might take when under the influence of the "healing" weed.

In her excitement over the prospect of her first human ball, Trudy almost forgot about her own family's Christmas ritual. Then, with a pang, she remembered she had promised Francis she would come to the heath. And with Matthew in thrall.

The thought of that other celebration brought none of the excitement that Matthew's invitation did. With a feeling akin to the recollection of a nightmare, she recalled all her previous Christmas Eves.

The witches and trolls had come to the heath, riding their wolves, brooms or shovels, to the gathering place, where they danced riotously under stones. The air was full of noise, the music of lyres and flutes, the shouts from dancing and drinking. A great fire was kept lit to protect them from the Reaper, who roamed the hills on Christmas Eve. At midnight the animals talked to their friends. And the water of the streams turned to wine.

Trudy recalled how lonely she had always felt on Christmas Eve, realizing now that she never felt lonely with Matthew. If only he would come with her, perhaps she could learn to enjoy the elven revelries at last.

But whether he came or not, she thought with a rare misgiving, she had every intention of enjoying herself at her first Christmas ball.

She wrapped her cloak about her and created another outfit in which to go shopping. She had to have something new and splendid to wear to the ball, but all the patterns she had copied were for less formal attire. With one last look at Matthew's invitation, one last brush of her fingertips over his bold handwriting, she tucked the paper into her stylish reticule. She wasn't sure just where she could keep his note. As a rule, elves did not weigh themselves down with keepsakes--they hoarded nothing but gold. Trudy knew, however, that nothing would part her from this precious souvenir, even if she had to wear it always beneath her clothes.

Climbing down from her tree, she walked the several blocks to Bond Street, protected by her cloak. If any man chose to bother her, all she had to do was make herself invisible with one sweep of it about her shoulders. This, she'd discovered, was far more effective than haughty looks. Feeling rather melancholy this morning, she was determined to enjoy the evidence of the season, so she meandered on her way.

The doors of many aristocrats' houses had their knockers removed, which showed that the families had retired to the country for the season. But London was full of people with no country residence and with single gentlemen and ladies such as herself. One had only to look around to see their preparations for Christmas Eve.

There was a bustle in the streets. Grocers were sending raisins and currants to their customers for their Christmas puddings. Serving men delivered geese and ribs of beef, while scullery maids, working behind the dwellings, scoured cooking pots. The smell of chestnuts roasting over flames wafted from the braziers set up on every corner, and the freshness of evergreens and oranges scented the air.

Chandlers were busy delivering large mould candles to the houses in Berkeley Square, and the coopers' wagons were weighted down with Yule logs for any fireplace big enough to hold them.

Trudy saw all this, and her heart filled with anxious anticipation of her first Christmas Eve with Matthew. She hoped it would not be her last.

The elegant
modiste
in the shop she'd frequented in Bond Street cautioned Trudy that it would be difficult to engage a seamstress at this late date. Anyone who was talented enough to make a gown on the order of what she'd described would be completely taken up with earlier orders. The woman suggested that Trudy take a look at a ready-made gown, she said was certain to please her.

Trudy had intended to purchase another pattern to make her own dress, but the flash of green velvet caught her eye. The modiste held the high-waisted gown up before her in front of the mirror, and from the woman's rapturous sigh, Trudy was reassured that the image she saw in the glass was all she perceived it to be.

The gown's shade of green altered with the light, the way the color of forest leaves change with the angle of the sun's rays, making her eyes one moment as dark as summer ivy, the next as light as a winter sea. Trudy's cheeks glowed with their customary roses, but their pink had been enhanced by her walk and the anticipation of Matthew's kiss. Her black hair sparkled even by the poor shop light. Trudy decided she could do nothing better than to copy this dress, but to be fair to the modiste, she bought it. The woman thought it rather odd that she would not try it on, but the mere thought of doing so made Trudy shake with fear.

Most elves refused even to touch human clothes. The surest way to rid oneself of a night-time visitor was to offer him or her a gift of a garment. Trudy was not so superstitious as to fear touching human garments, but, still, the lessons of a lifetime made gooseflesh travel down her back when the shopkeeper pressed her to try on the gown. Trudy was obliged to assume a haughty air to silence the woman, but she could see in the end that the woman's motives had been innocent. She'd simply wanted to see how her favorite creation would look on a creature as divinely lovely as Faye.

Armed with her dress wrapped up in a parcel, Trudy stepped out of the shop and started to make her way home. If 'home' was what she should consider it, she mused. It was long past time to conjure her house, if for no other reason than at least to have a better mirror than the reflection offered her by the Serpentine or the Thames.

She flew to the park, and in the space she'd selected, drew up the illusion of her house.        When she'd finished, an elegant residence, both strongly built and in the Regency style stood at the end of a short lane, surrounded by trees. Trudy left off all her Aunt Petunia's suggestions for embellishments in order to maintain the simplicity she thought Matthew would prefer.

Making a key, she unlocked the bolt and went upstairs. Once alone in her own room--which Matthew would never see, but which she perversely fitted out just to suit her mood--she held the gown up in front of her again. The urge to put it on was almost more than she could resist, but she knew she must.

She wondered sadly how her body would feel with her magic suspended. She asked herself how long it would take her to adjust to living without it. More than anything, she wanted to know if the thrill of Matthew's kiss would be magnified if she wore the gown.

With an anxious feeling--which made her wonder why she tempted herself with dangerous thoughts--she had to admit that it would. Just as she had already felt in that brief instant when their hands had touched inside her glove.

Would she ever again experience such a thrill? What would it be worth giving up to make certain that she did? And, more importantly, would she want to go on living if she could not?

* * * *

Now, there ye have it. That's how our Trudy got herself in such a deep pickle by Christmas Eve. And I'll admit that I should've been watchin' her instead of playin' with them trolls. But how was I to know what sort o' nonsense a sensible elf like Trudy would get up to when a fellow wasn't around? So ye can't really say it was me fault.

By this time, o' course, I could see that Trudy was up to some strange kind o' mischief, so all the while she was aprimpin' in front of her mirror, I was awatchin' her from a tree. I could see that somethin' was botherin' her, somethin' more than just a toothache, which is the worst sort o' pain I've ever felt. But I couldn't quite tell what it was, ye see?  That's because it was her conscience, which is a thing I don't have and won't ever need. For a conscience is a troublesome thing to an elf, which is why we don't bother ourselves to get them.

But I had this eerie feeling like, as if somethin' bad were goin' to happen. Only, I didn't know exactly what because, as ye've seen, Trudy didn't really know herself. All I knew was, I had better stick around in case somethin' went wrong with them plans of hers, 'cause I could see she was getting in deeper than she ought.

And why she would want to play with a dangerous thing like that dress, as if she couldn't make anything she wanted of her own . . .

So, ye'll say I should've seen the trouble comin’, but I didn’t. And this was how it occurred . . .

On the night of the ball, Matthew found Ahmad waiting for him downstairs in the corridor. The Pathan's thick, black brows rose in an arch at the sight of Matthew's elegant garb as he descended the stairs.

Ahmad gave a deep salaam. "You are looking very well this evening, Matthew saab."

"Thank you, Ahmad." Matthew brushed a piece of lint from his evening clothes: a new black jacket, a white brocaded waistcoat, and a pair of tight-fitting, black satin breeches with hose to match. "Not too much like a scarecrow, I hope."

"No, saab. It seems you have recovered your weight."

"Not entirely. But the difference is no more than a good tailor can hide."

"You will be calling for Miss Meriwether, saab?"

"That is right." Matthew pulled the reply she had sent today from his pocket. "I have the directions to her house. I confess it is not an area I am familiar with." Matthew handed Ahmad the piece of paper, which, as was Faye's custom, had been printed in gold. The fact that she'd bothered with such an expense in this particular instance troubled him more than he liked to say.

But Ahmad made no reference to the gold lettering as he frowned at the note. "The last time I rode on that side of the park, I do not recall seeing a street by that name."

"She tells me her lane is quite new. Part of one of these new developments."

"Ah, that will explain it, saab."

Ahmad did not sound as convinced as his words implied, but Matthew let the subject drop. He took Faye’s note and placed it deep inside his pocket.

"And what will you do this evening? Visit the almshouse again?" Ahmad had made a practice of visiting the inmates quite often to play at chess.

"No, I shall take a walk." Ahmad's glance was casual as he asked, "If you do not mind, I shall ride with you as far as Miss Meriwether's house. The night is fine for a walk in the park."

"Of course I don't mind. But you will beware of footpads, won't you?"

Ahmad grinned and patted his belt where Matthew knew he concealed a large knife inside his baggy trousers.

"No need to worry, saab. Your park holds no terrors for me."

"I should say not. Not compared to those frightful mountains of yours. Still, it's as well not to become too complacent. Danger is danger, no matter how tame in comparison."

Ahmad nodded, and his expression was more serious than the occasion seemed to warrant. "I agree. May I suggest, saab, that you keep on your guard as well?"

"Me? At a ball?" Matthew scoffed. "You must be thinking that I shall trip while I'm dancing, but I assure you my friend, our English dances are so lacking in violence that I shall have no opportunity to wound myself."

"As you say, saab. All the same, I urge you to be cautious. Things are not always what they seem."

Matthew chose to ignore Ahmad's meaning. He knew his friend still had reservations about Faye. But, in spite of her mysterious ways, Matthew had made up his mind.

"Yes," he answered, deflecting Ahmad's comment. "We have both discovered that in the past few days." He smiled. "Helen is not quite the faithless woman I thought her. And Julian--though still a prig--was no more a traitor to me than I was to him."

As he'd expected, Ahmad was diverted by this speech. "He has still dishonored your name. In my country, a man would seek revenge for his insults."

"And the feuds would rage back and forth until no member of either family was left. No, Ahmad--" Matthew shrugged himself into his greatcoat--"I think this is one thing my culture has mastered better than yours--forgiveness." He grinned. "You should practice it. It makes life so much more pleasant."

"But I have been practicing forgiveness, Matthew saab," Ahmad said, as he helped Matthew into his sleeves. "If I had not, you would have been knifed in your bed for all the curses you have flung at me."

"Touché."
Matthew winced. "Although I am not certain one can call it forgiveness when you constantly remind me of my rudeness to you in your most imperiled moments."

Ahmad's smile contained a wealth of magnanimity. "Sir Matthew was not himself."

Matthew was glad to see Ahmad's good humor restored. He did not want his Pathan friend to worry about Faye and what she might be. To Matthew, her origins were immaterial. He had seen enough death to know that life was too short to be wasted on such foolish considerations as birth or position. If Faye's father had been a wealthy Cit, she possessed more than enough charm and poise to overcome that stigma. If she were a thief, he could only approve her particular brand of roguery. And if--as he more than half suspected--she was merely an enchanting kind of eccentric, he was eccentric enough himself to keep up with her.

Matthew looked at his friend more seriously. "There have been many times," he said, "when I have not been myself. But, do you know, Ahmad, I think I have never felt more at peace than I do right now."

Instead of the comfort he had hoped his words would bring, a new consternation arose in Ahmad's eyes. But Matthew's friend did not give voice to it.

Instead, he said, "I should wish you a merry Christmas, saab, for I do not expect I shall see you before morning."

"Thank you, Ahmad. Shall we go?"

Chapter Ten

The streets of Westminster that Christmas Eve were thickly crowded with all sorts of conveyances. At the last moment, Matthew had been obliged to bribe a driver in order to secure a carriage. He might more easily have hired a couple of chairs, but he refused to give up this chance of privacy with Faye. The question he had to pose her was best left until the end of the evening, and he would be damned if he'd propose marriage out in the street. Since he was not at all certain he would be invited into her house after the ball, he decided the carriage would be a necessity.