Anne Perry's Christmas Mysteries: Two Holiday Novels Page 10

  “Most un-Christian,” Clara added.

  “It can be very difficult to recognize the right thing to do, at times,” Grandmama continued, grateful for the extraordinary ease with which the opportunities she needed were opening up for her. “But I must not misrepresent Mrs. Dowson. Actually she said nothing, except to praise Maude’s love of beauty, her laughter, and above all her courage to make the best of her life, even after so great a sacrifice, which was given silently and with the utmost dignity.”

  Zachary looked totally confused. Arthur was pale, his breathing seemed painful. Bedelia was as white as Agnes now and her hands on her lap were clenched. No one ate.

  “I am not sure what you imagine you are referring to, Mrs. Ellison,” she said icily. “It appears you are a lonely woman with nothing to do, and you have concerned yourself in our family’s affairs in a way that exceeds even your imagined duty to Maude, whom you barely met. Your meddlesomeness has run away with you. I think we had better find a way to return you to St. Mary in the Marsh tomorrow, regardless of the weather. I am sure that would be better for all of us.”

  Randolph blushed scarlet.

  It was Arthur who spoke. “Bedelia, that is unnecessary. I apologize, Mrs. Ellison. I don’t know what Maude told you, but I think you must have misunderstood her.”

  “She told me nothing,” Grandmama said, meeting his eyes. “She would never betray you like that! And surely by now you must know beyond any question at all that she would not betray Bedelia either! She did not come here to cause any kind of trouble. The man who had loved her and protected her in Persia died, and she could no longer remain there. She came back home because she wished to. Perhaps she even imagined that after all these years she would be welcome. Which of course was an error. Quite obviously she was not.”

  “You have no right to say that!” Clara cut in. “She had been living in the desert, in tents and by campfires, like a…a gypsy! And with a foreign man to whom she was not married! We could hardly have her in the house at the same time as Lord Woollard! My father-in-law has given more to society than you have any idea. This peerage would have been not only a just reward but an opportunity to do even more good. We could not jeopardize that!”

  “And it would, in time, have made you Lady Harcourt,” Grandmama added. “With all that that means. Of course you did not wish to lose such a prize.”

  “Oh, no…I…” Clara faded into silence. She had the grace to be ashamed.

  “Stuff and nonsense!” Bedelia snapped. “You overstep yourself, Mrs. Ellison. Your behavior is disgraceful!”

  “She came home because she had nowhere else to go?” Agnes asked, her face pinched with sorrow. “We should have forgiven her, Bedelia. It was a very long time ago.”

  “Bedelia does not forgive,” Grandmama answered Agnes. “Not that there was anything of Maude’s that needed pardon. Tragically there are some people who can never forgive a gift, especially from someone who is aware of their vulnerability. Sometimes it is harder to forgive a gift than an injury, because you have incurred a debt, and in your own eyes you have lost control, and your superiority.”

  There was an electric silence.

  “Those who themselves do not forgive find it impossible to believe that others do,” Grandmama went on. “So they expect vengeance where there is none, and strike out to defend themselves from a blow that existed only in their own guilty imaginations.”

  Arthur leaned forward. “I think you had better stop speaking in riddles, Mrs. Ellison. I have very little idea of what you are talking about…”

  “Neither has she!” Bedelia said tartly. “Really Arthur, you should have more sense than to encourage her. Can’t you see that she has been drinking? Let us speak of something civilized and stop descending into personal remarks. It is extremely vulgar.” She spoke as if that was the end of the matter.

  Arthur drew in his breath, but it was Agnes who answered. She looked at Grandmama directly. “Was Maude ill? Did she know she was going to die, and that was why she came home at last? To make peace?”

  “No,” Grandmama replied with authority. “As I said, there was nothing to keep her in Persia anymore, nor was it safe.”

  “She had made enemies, no doubt,” Bedelia observed. “You did not say that this man was married to someone else, but knowing Maude, I have no doubt that it was true.”

  “Oh, Bedelia, you should forgive her that!” Agnes pleaded. “It was forty years ago! And she is gone now. It’s Christmas!”

  “Don’t be so feeble!” Bedelia accused her. “Wrong does not suddenly become right just because of the season.”

  Agnes blushed scarlet.

  “Of course it doesn’t,” Grandmama agreed vehemently. “Some debts can be forgiven, but there are some that have to be paid, one way or another.”

  “I don’t care for your opinion, Mrs. Ellison,” Bedelia said frigidly.

  “There is no reason why you should,” again Grandmama agreed with her. “But you care about your family’s opinions. In the end it is really all you have. That, and the knowledge within yourself, of course. Perhaps that is why Maude was happy, in the deepest sense. She knew she was loved, and no matter what the cost, she had done the right thing.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about!”

  “Yes you do. You are probably the only one who does.” Nothing was going to stop Grandmama. “When you were a young woman, and even more beautiful than you are now, Mrs. Harcourt,”—she glanced at Zachary—“he fell in love with you. And like many young people, you did not deny yourselves the pleasure of love.”

  Bedelia hissed in her breath, but the shame in Zachary’s face made her denial impossible.

  “But then Mr. Harcourt came along, and he was a far better catch, so you went after him instead,” Grandmama continued relentlessly. “And you caught him, at least his admiration for your beauty, and a certain physical appetite. You also did not deny yourselves. After all, you fully intended to marry him. Which would all have gone very well, had not Maude returned home, and Mr. Harcourt fell truly in love with her.”

  Bedelia’s eyes on her were like daggers.

  Grandmama ignored them, but her heart was pounding almost in her throat. If she were wrong, catastrophically, insanely wrong, she would be ruined forever. Her mouth was dry, her voice rasping. “You were furious that Maude, of all people, should take your lover, but there was worse to follow. You learned that you were with child. Mr. Sullivan’s of course. But it could have been Mr. Harcourt’s, for all he knew. That gave you your perfect weapon for regaining everything. You told him. Being a man of honor, in spite of his lapse of self-control, he broke off his relationship with Maude, whom he truly loved, as she loved him, and he married you. He paid a bitter price for his self-indulgence. So did your sister, rather than allow you to be shamed.”

  There were gasps of breath, the clink of cutlery, even a broken glass stem. “That is what you cannot forgive—that you wronged her,” she went on regardless. “And she sacrificed her happiness for yours—and perhaps for Mr. Harcourt’s honor. Although I believe it was actually Mr. Sullivan’s, in fact.”

  Arthur stared at Bedelia, a stunned and terrible look in his eyes. “Randolph is not mine, and you know it,” he said very quietly.

  “Are…are you sure?” Agnes asked. Then she looked more closely at Bedelia, and did not ask again.

  “What does she mean that you could not forgive?” Arthur asked Bedelia.

  “I have no idea!” Bedelia replied. “She is an inquisitive, meddling old woman who listens at doors and hears half stories, gossips with other old women who should know better, and apparently listened to Maude’s self-delusions of her own romantic youth.”

  “It wasn’t a delusion,” Arthur told her very quietly. “I loved Maude as I have never loved anyone else in my life, before or since. But I could not marry her because you told me that you were carrying my child. I can’t blame you for that, it was my doing as much as yours. Nor can I blame Zachary.
He was no worse than I, and by heaven you were beautiful. But Maude was funny and kind. She was brave and warm and honest, and she was generous with life, with her own spirit. Her beauty would have lasted forever, and grown with time rather than fade. I knew it then, and I was proved right when she came back, even after forty years, which were like a lifetime while she was gone, and nothing at all once she returned.”

  “Oh, Arthur!” Agnes breathed out. “How terrible for you.”

  Zachary was looking at Agnes with amazement.

  “I found the rest of the peppermint water,” Grandmama said in the silence.

  “I beg your pardon?” Arthur frowned.

  Grandmama wavered for an instant. Should she tell them, or was this enough? But would it last? There would be no further chance. She turned to Bedelia and saw the fury in her eyes.

  “You told Maude when you gave her the macadamia nuts, which are so indigestible to some of us, that you had very little peppermint water, just the end of one bottle, sufficient for a single dose. But actually you had plenty. There is some in my room, and some in the other guest rooms also. A nice courtesy, especially over a festive season when we will all eat a little heavily.”

  “What has that to do with anything at all?” Clara demanded. “Why are we talking about peppermint water? Are you quite mad?”

  “I wish I were,” Grandmama answered. “It would be so much less ugly an answer than the truth. I don’t eat macadamia nuts myself. They give me indigestion…”

  Zachary was staring at her as if he could not believe his ears.

  Agnes looked appalled.

  “But peppermint water would help,” Grandmama carried on. “Unless of course, it were laced with foxglove leaves. Then it would kill. Most of us who have ever arranged flowers know that. There are a few one must be careful of, especially with children about: laburnum, monk’s hood, belladonna, and of course foxgloves. Such handsome flowers, but the distilled juice can cause the heart to fail. It is used in medicine to slow it down if it is racing, but only a very little, naturally.”

  “That is a wicked thing to suggest!” Clara was horrified. “How…how dare you?”

  Randolph touched her gently. “There is no need to be afraid, my dear. She could not possibly prove it.” He gulped. “Could you?”

  Grandmama looked at him and realized it was a question. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I had not considered trying to, although it might not be too difficult. I don’t think that is what matters. It is knowing the truth that is important. It gives you the freedom to do whatever you choose to, knowing right from wrong.” She turned to Arthur, waiting for him to speak.

  But he was not looking at her. His gaze did not move from Bedelia’s face, and he read in it the fear and the hatred that betrayed her. Whatever she had said, he would know what she had done.

  Randolph was staring at his mother with horror and pity in his face, and a revulsion he could not hide. He turned swiftly to Zachary, then embarrassed, away again. Zachary was looking at him with wonder, and an intensity quite naked in his eyes.

  Arthur sighed. He spoke to Grandmama as if Bedelia had ceased to exist. “You mentioned a garden in Persia that Maude described to you as if she loved it. Have you any idea where it was, exactly?”

  “No, but I believe Mrs. Dowson would know,” Grandmama replied. “Maude wrote to her quite regularly. I imagine she would be happy to tell you.”

  “Good. I have a great desire to see it, since she loved it so much. You made it sound marvelous also, Mrs. Ellison, and for that I shall always be grateful to you. The truth you have shown us is terrible, but deep as it cuts, a clean wound will heal, in time.”

  “You…you can’t go to Persia now, Papa…I mean…,” Randolph faltered and stopped.

  Arthur smiled at him, gently and with great affection. “You will always be my son in spirit, Randolph, and I will always love you as such. But I can go to Persia and I will. I shall write to Lord Woollard and decline a peerage. I may return from Persia one day, and I may not. The estate will provide for your mother. Please see that Mrs. Ellison is safely returned to St. Mary in the Marsh tomorrow. Now I shall wish you good night.” He rose to his feet. He was still a startlingly handsome man, but it was his dignity that remained in the mind. “And good-bye,” he added, before turning and leaving the room without looking behind him. He did not once glance at Bedelia.

  Zachary reached out his hand to Agnes, and very slowly, as if uncertain that it could be true, she took it.

  Reluctantly Grandmama abandoned her dinner and excused herself also. It was quite impossible to remain. She had shown them the truth. What they did with it she should not influence, only hope.

  Upstairs in her bedroom she sank down into the chair. Suddenly her legs were weak and she found she was trembling. Had she done enough? Should she have tried harder to prove something that would stand the test of trial and the law?

  As it was now, the family knew the truth. There could be no denying that. Arthur would leave, perhaps forever. Bedelia would probably never see him again. People would know, in the way that they do. They would look at her and whisper. There would be speculation, most of it ugly. The kindest she would receive would be pity, and that would be the most painful of all to a woman like Bedelia. She would see it in their glances in the street, the half-hidden smiles.

  Gradually perhaps even some of the truth would emerge, but imagination would be more colorful, and crueler. Agnes and Zachary would be happy with each other at last, and perhaps with Randolph too, and Clara. Old Mrs. Dowson would understand a great deal. She might be discreet, but Bedelia would know that she knew, and would never allow Maude’s name to be blackened.

  Bedelia would be provided for, waited on, but starved of friendship or admiration. No one would care how beautiful she had been, or how clever. She would be alone, a woman unloved.

  At a glance, that was a gentler punishment than trial, and possibly the gallows, or possibly a verdict of innocence. But it would be more certain, and far, far longer. She would taste it for the rest of her life.

  But the others would be happy, perhaps for the first time in their lives.

  Grandmama stopped shaking and sat still, slowly beginning to smile, even if there was sadness in it, and pity.

  In the morning Zachary drove her back through the deepening snow to St. Mary in the Marsh. He did not speak much, but she felt a great certainty that he had at last realized that Agnes was not a paler, second-best version of Bedelia, but a kinder if less brave person, a gentler, more generous one, who might now, at last, find the courage to be the best. And she had always truly loved him.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Ellison,” he said as the trap rounded the last corner through the dazzling snow and she saw Joshua and Caroline’s house blazing with lights.

  “I hope you will be happy,” she replied, meaning it far more than the simple words could convey.

  “I…I understand why you and Maude were such good friends,” he said earnestly. “Even in so short a time. You are like her. You have such courage to tell the truth, however difficult, and such joy for life. I am amazed at your compassion for even the weakest of us. I imagine you will have a wonderful Christmas, because you will make it so. But I wish it for you just the same.”

  “I will,” she assured him as they drew up in front of the door. It opened and Joshua came down the step and across the grass to the trap to assist her. “I shall have the best Christmas of my life,” she went on, still speaking to Zachary. “I am beginning to understand what it truly means.”

  “Welcome home, Mama-in-law,” Joshua said with surprise lifting his eyebrows. He gave her his arm and she alighted.

  “Thank you, Joshua.” She smiled at him. “Happy Christmas, my dear. I have wonderful things to tell you, brave and beautiful things, when I can think how to find words for them. About hope and honor, and what love really means. Your aunt Maude was a very wonderful woman. She has given me the greatest gift of all—an understanding of Christmas it
self.”

  “Yes, I see that,” Joshua said with sudden conviction. “It is perfectly plain. Happy Christmas, Mama-in-law.”

  A Christmas Secret

  To all those who

  would like to start again

  C LARICE CORDE LEANED BACK IN HER SEAT AS the train pulled out of the station in a cloud of steam. Smuts flew and engine roared as they gathered speed on their journey northward. The rain beat against the window; she could barely see the glistening rooftops of London. It was December 14, 1890, ten days until Christmas Eve. She had been married little more than a year, and she was far from used to being a vicar’s wife. Neither obedience nor tact came to her except with a considerable effort, but she made that effort for Dominic’s sake.

  She glanced sideways at him now and saw him deep in thought. She knew he was concerned about his ability to rise to this opportunity they had been offered so unexpectedly. The elderly Reverend Wynter had taken a richly deserved holiday; therefore his church, in the small village of Cottisham in Oxford-shire, needed someone to stand in for him and care for his flock over Christmas.

  Dominic had seized the chance. He was a widower who had abandoned a self-indulgent life and embraced the ministry somewhat late. Perhaps no one but Clarice saw beyond his startlingly handsome face and charm of manner to the doubts beneath. She loved him the more fiercely because she knew he understood his own weaknesses as well as the power of his dreams.

  He looked up and smiled at her. Once again she was warmed by amazement that he should have chosen her: the awkward sister, the one with the slightly crooked nose that gave her face a wry, individual look, the one with the tactless tongue and the pungent sense of humor, rather than any of the reliable and more conventional beauties eager for his attention.

  This chance to go to Cottisham was the greatest Christmas gift they could have been given. It was an escape from serving under the Reverend Spindlewood in the bleak area of industrial London to which he had been sent as curate.