Page 18

Chapter 17

‘I can’t believe we’ve put a whole tree inside the house!’ Jack said, his voice full of amazement.

Emily smiled at him as she stood back, admiring the fir tree that dominated the drawing room and filled the air with the scent of pine. Her father had initially been dubious about this new trend as it had been made popular by the royal family, but she had eventually convinced him to put aside his Irish ideals on this one occasion because she found it so charming. She and her brothers had just finished decorating the tree’s branches with candles, which the family would light on Christmas Eve (only on her father’s strict condition that they keep several buckets of water close at hand), and candied fruits, which they would have to monitor vigilantly to prevent Gus from making off with them at his first opportunity. At least for now he was distracted by a plate of mince pies sitting on a round table near the roaring hearth.

‘December is the greatest of all the months,’ he declared thickly, his cheeks bulging. ‘There’s my birthday, and Christmas, and an excuse to eat mince pies every single day. It’s like the year is saving the best for last!’

Emily felt a pang of sadness and her hand drifted to her stomach. She had hoped to have special news to share before the year’s end, but it was not to be. Her hand moved to her pocket, where a piece of paper crinkled beneath her fingers, and she drew cheer from the memory of the entertaining letter she had received from Matilda, her staunch companion from her days as a housemaid in Boston. Dictated to the housekeeper at Marlowe House – since Matilda couldn’t write herself – the letter gaily reported that their old pigeon friend was alive and well and sent his greetings by dropping a special ‘gift’ onto her cap.

The door opened and Emily’s father entered the drawing room, carrying a box.

‘I’ve just completed the last one,’ he announced, crossing the room and setting the box on the table next to the rapidly emptying plate of mince pies. A few stray wood shavings clung to his sleeves as he lifted the lid of the box and withdrew several wooden ornaments, carved in the shapes of stars and angels and doves.

‘They’re perfect, Da,’ Jack said, beaming. Then his fair eyebrows furrowed. ‘How will we hang them, though?’

Their father produced a roll of ribbon and a scissors from his pocket with a flourish. ‘Courtesy of Mrs Hawkins,’ he said. ‘And I’ve already chiselled holes in the tops of the ornaments, see?’

Emily took the items and set to work at once, snipping the ribbon into lengths and threading them through the ornaments’ holes. She then passed them to Jack and Gus, who circled the fir tree, seeking empty branches. As she licked the frayed end of a piece of ribbon to smooth the strands, her father used the poker to push a burning log further in from the grate and paused to stare meditatively down at it.

‘What’s on your mind, Papa?’ she asked, although she was certain the more pertinent question was ‘who’. He and her mother had been apart for more than three months now and his mood had palpably slumped when her latest letter had indicated that she would be delaying her return to Bewley Hall a little longer, though she had not explained why.

However, when he turned away from the fire, he said, ‘I was thinking about Henrietta.’

Emily blinked. ‘Oh. What about her?’

‘I was just pondering what Christmas will be like for her in the Dunhill household,’ he admitted. ‘I hope they’ll include her in their festivities and make her feel part of the family.’

‘I’m sure they will,’ she said without conviction. Henrietta had a tendency to push people away with her prickly temperament. ‘Has there been any word on the reopening of the theatre?’

‘I’ve exchanged correspondence with Mr Dunhill. He’s optimistic that it will reopen in the new year.’ A somewhat guilty expression crossed her father’s face. ‘I also sent him some sheet music as an early Christmas gift for Henrietta—a Scottish song called “The Parting Glass”. I heard it being sung when I was passing a tavern in Bedford after a recent appointment at the bank, and the poignancy of it reminded me so much of her ballad about the young fisherman’s lover that I sourced a composition of it. Even if she cannot read the notes herself, someone at the theatre should be able to teach it to her.’

‘I’m certain her sweet voice will do it justice,’ Emily replied and said no more on the subject, although she wondered whether her father was fully aware of the obvious paternal nature of his conduct.

She was going to ask instead what business had brought him to the bank when Gus skipped over to collect another ornament and a mince pie.

‘Ma’s cutting it close to get back in time for my birthday tomorrow,’ he said with the pronounced wheeze that always laced his voice during the winter.

‘You mustn’t be disappointed if she doesn’t make it,’ Emily said soothingly. ‘You remember what her letter said—she was unavoidably detained but she would still try her best.’

‘She’ll make it,’ he said with total confidence before turning to their father. ‘When will we get to go back to Oakleigh? I didn’t solve a mystery there over the summer, but I’m positive there’s at least one ghost, if not more, haunting the giant’s claw. I need to do more investigating.’

‘And we never got to go walking up the Blackstairs Mountains either,’ Jack called over his shoulder as he slipped the ribbon of his angel ornament over the end of a branch.

‘Hmm,’ said their father. ‘And those are your noble intentions? This has nothing to do with the fact that travelling to Ireland would mean missing your lessons with Mr Humphrey?’

‘That would be regrettable but unavoidable.’ Gus carefully enunciated each syllable with round, innocent eyes and Emily burst into giggles.

‘Don’t you encourage him,’ their father said, fighting a grin.

The door swung open again and this time Rory, David and Mr Comerford came in, all three of them bearing large pails chock-full with branches of holly. The sight of Rory reminded Emily of the Christmas gift she lacked but had so dearly yearned to give him. Bottling up her despondency, she mustered a bright smile.

‘Those will make such beautiful garlands,’ she said. ‘Let’s start with the mantelpiece and the window sills.’

David and Mr Comerford brought their pails over to the hearth, so she directed Rory towards one of the drawing room’s large windows and helped him pull the holly branches from his pail, taking care not to prick herself on the spiky leaves. As she arranged the branches along the sill, positioning them so that the bulk of their vibrant red berries faced into the room, Rory sidled close to her.

‘What was that look?’ he murmured. ‘When we came in?’

She cringed. He knew her so very well now, but sometimes she wished she could conceal her feelings a little better.

‘Oh, nothing, really,’ she said, striving for a light tone. ‘I had just hoped that we would have more than one reason to celebrate this Christmas.’ She blew out her breath. ‘But we don’t.’

His green eyes softened with understanding. He reached around her, ostensibly to tuck in a branch that was sticking out too far, but he used the opportunity to brush his body gently against hers, the closest they could embrace in a roomful of people.

‘It’ll happen,’ he said, dipping his head to let his lips graze her ear. ‘We don’t know what next year will bring. Well, apart from what we do know.’

Drawing back, he gave her a clumsy wink and she suppressed a laugh, recalling the time she had walked in on him practising winking in their bedchamber mirror, which had most definitely not been a component of Mr Humphrey’s curriculum.

‘You’re right,’ she said, her spirits lifting. ‘Next year already has so much to offer.’

Her insides glowed as she pictured the acceptance letter that lay proudly on her dressing table. In January, she would commence her attendance at the Blake-Fletchley Academy of the Arts in Harrogate, Yorkshire. The best part of this was that she planned to reside with her kind friend from the Integrity , Louise Shelby, who lived near Harrogate with her four-year-old daughter, Philippa. The worst part was that it would mean being separated from Rory for a time, but he had fully supported her decision and the Academy permitted its students to travel home once a month. She and Rory would just have to be very active on her visits to Bewley Hall if they desired next year to bring them additional cause for joy.

Mouth quirking as though he could guess the train of her thoughts, Rory picked up the pail and they moved on to the next window. As they laid out another set of holly branches, he said, ‘I’m thinking of making a trip to Liverpool after you leave in January. My excuse for visiting Penny Close could be to check if all’s well with the flue since it was unblocked.’

She bit her lip. ‘But in reality you want to check on the family?’

‘I do.’ His Adam’s apple bobbed. ‘I’m really not sure if I should’ve signed the lease with Tommy Jones—I’ve been questioning the wisdom of it every day since. My gut tells me there’s something off about that fella.’

He had described to her what had happened during his last visit, including the tension that had hummed in that smoky room and the bruise he had glimpsed on Maud’s wrist. Could it have been produced by the vicious grip of a man’s fingers? Or had she simply injured it in an innocuous accident caused by clumsiness? The evidence was only circumstantial, especially when Maud herself seemed to be insistent that all was fine.

‘You’ll need to act with caution,’ Emily said sombrely as she gathered up a couple of berries that had fallen off the branches and rolled along the window sill. ‘Maud married Tommy of her own free will. She’s his property now.’

‘But the house is my property,’ Rory said. ‘I might not have a say in how he treats what’s his, but I do have a say in where he does it. If there’s something rotten going on, I’ve got to figure out a way to confront him about it.’ At Emily’s hum of apprehension, he added, ‘I’ll be careful. The last thing I’d want is to put Maud and the young ones in a worse position.’

‘I wonder what sort of Christmas they’ll have—’ Emily started to say when the drawing room door opened for a third time.

‘I knew she’d make it back in time!’ came Gus’s wheezy crow of triumph.

Emily whirled to see the butler, Sheppard, ushering her mother through the doorway, along with Polly and John Corbett. Her mother’s cheeks were flushed with cold and pleasure as Gus charged across the room and flung his arms around her.

‘I’ve missed you, my little miracle,’ she said, dropping a kiss onto his mop of chestnut curls.

‘I amn’t a miracle!’ he chirped, beaming up at her as he made space for Jack to share their hug.

‘My lamb,’ she said tenderly, pulling Jack in close to her.

Beyond their cluster of bodies, Polly’s face lit up as her gaze swung across to the hearth, where David and Mr Comerford had finished decorating the mantelpiece with holly. Her uncle strode forwards and they met in the middle of the room, his big hand cupping her cheek with affection.

‘Welcome home,’ he said gruffly and David echoed him, looking very pleased as he glanced away from Polly and started to stack the empty pails inside each other. ‘Your mother will be mighty happy to see you,’ Mr Comerford continued. ‘Will we go find her?’

Polly nodded eagerly. As he escorted her from the drawing room to seek out Mrs Hawkins, John ventured further in, his expression dumbstruck. Emily’s father approached him and said, ‘Thank you for accompanying them all the way from Oakleigh. I sincerely appreciate it.’

John goggled at him. ‘Jaysus, lad, this place is colossal. You’re the landlord of all this? You could knock me down with a feather.’

Emily hid her amusement at the man’s stunned disbelief as she hastened towards her mother. The boys hadn’t let her go, so they ended up squeezed between both women as they embraced. When they separated, laughing, their mother’s dark brown eyes sought out their father. He came to her at once, grasping her hand and lifting it to press it against his chest.

‘Let’s not be apart for so long again,’ he murmured.

‘Agreed,’ she said softly in return. ‘Can we…’ She threw a fleeting look over her shoulder to the doorway. ‘There’s something urgent that cannot wait.’

He nodded without hesitation.

‘John,’ she went on, raising her voice a little, ‘will you please excuse our momentary absence? A pressing matter requires our attention. David can show you to a guest bedchamber in the meantime, and we’ll return shortly.’

Still drinking in his surroundings, John responded with a good-natured wave and they slipped out of the room, their hands clasped and their heads bent close together.

‘Good gracious,’ Emily whispered to Rory, who had stepped up beside her. ‘They couldn’t even wait until bedtime.’

***

Cormac stood staring at Bridget, his heart thumping wildly. ‘Are you being serious?’ he managed to croak.

Her smile bloomed. ‘I am. And I think Garrett is too.’

He shook his head, trying to process the news. They had retreated to his study, where the remnants of his labours on the wooden ornaments were still strewn across his desk. The scent of the wood shavings lingered in the air, but he hardly noticed.

‘I can’t quite comprehend it,’ he said hoarsely.

She squeezed his hand, which she had not released since he had taken hers in the drawing room. ‘I know it’s difficult to believe, given his previous vile conduct. But you should have seen him. He was so dejected, and astonishingly self-aware. I scarcely recognised him.’

Cormac frowned, trying to reconcile this image of Garrett with the version who had caused his family so much pain.

‘Patrick’s disdain has hit him harder than anyone could have expected, including him.’ She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. ‘It’s forced him to confront his inadequacies both as a man and a father.’

Cormac winced. He knew all too well the power of a child’s love, and the devastation of losing it – when Emily had fled to London, her actions had seemed a declaration that she was willing to claim Garrett as her father instead of him, and it had crushed him. Could Garrett be capable of feeling the bone-deep anguish and guilt of letting down his child? And was he genuinely prepared to take such a drastic measure to regain his son’s respect?

Cormac chewed the inside of his cheek as numerous doubts crowded in. ‘He may have good intentions right now, but that doesn’t mean he won’t retract them the instant he has another change of heart.’

‘I’m still cautious,’ Bridget admitted. ‘His past record makes him far from trustworthy. Nevertheless, I can’t help but feel a flicker of hope.’

He endeavoured to let himself feel it too. If Garrett followed through on this, Bridget would finally be free of him. She would be able to marry Cormac, lawfully and with no obstruction from any quarter. They would be forever tainted by the scandal, yes, but that was hardly unfamiliar territory. He envisioned the joy of giving her his name at last, of being able to truly call her his wife.

A giddy laugh bubbled up in his throat and he swept her into his arms, spinning her around in a circle. She let out a surprised yelp before her own laughter mingled with his. When he set her back on her feet, he cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the curves of her cheekbones, his right palm caressing her scar. She leaned into his touch, her eyes shining.

‘What an incredible gift to receive this Christmas,’ he said.

‘The potential of it is so vast that it seems too big for Christmas alone,’ she said, a little breathless. ‘Perhaps we ought to view it as a gift for our recent significant birthdays as well.’

‘From the least likely benefactor imaginable,’ he said wryly, sobering again. ‘We will need to temper our expectations for now. His capricious disposition and the slow pace of the law mean that nothing is guaranteed at this stage, nor for a very long time into the future.’

‘I know, but we shall exercise patience and keep faith that it will ultimately be rewarded.’ The corner of her mouth tilted upwards. ‘We should go back to the drawing room now. We haven’t been very good hosts yet for John and we have a great deal to show him before he returns to Oakleigh—he’s eager to stay for at least a week and see as much of the estate as possible.’ She brushed her fingertips over Cormac’s chest. ‘But later, I want you to do all those things you promised to me in your letter for my birthday.’

His whole body ignited at the heat in her gaze and it took a supreme effort to release her from his grasp and open the study door.