Page 32 of The Twelve Days of Christmas

A knock came upon the door and when the viscount bade entry, an elderly gentleman crossed the threshold. Holding fast his hand, with – most bizarrely – a brown hen following on a red leather lead, was none other than the child Charles had feared lost to him for ever.

‘Charles!’ she cried, half-running, half-limping across the room into his waiting arms.

‘Oh, Faith,’ he said, holding her close, his relief profound.

She was thinner than when he had last seen her (he could feel how slight she was in his embrace) but aside from a bandage wrapt tight about her ankle she looked otherwise unharmed.

Still, despite his joy at seeing her safe Charles felt an anger rise within him, and it was all he could do not to shake her.

‘Faith! What were you thinking, running away as you did? Do you not realise how frantic I was? Did you not stop to consider what might have happened to you? What did happen to you?’

His words were spoken perhaps a little more harshly than he meant, causing the tears already filling the child’s eyes to fall, sending watery roads down her pale cheeks.

‘I hated it there,’ said she in a voice that wobbled. ‘I wanted to be with you.’

‘And I told you that until I made Heysten habitable again, it was better you stayed where you were.’

‘But—’

‘I cannot understand why you would risk yourself in such a way! You could have been harmed!’

Charles glanced at the old man who had accompanied her.

‘You are Monsieur de Fortgibu, I assume? The viscountess said it was you who discovered her. You have my sincere gratitude.’

The Frenchman smiled warmly. ‘It was my pleasure. Certainly, I could not leave … Faith – oui ? – out in the perishing cold.’ He paused, gave a tiny bow. ‘’Tis a pleasure to finally know your name, mademoiselle . Now I understand why you took so fondly to my little Foi.’

These words succeeded in drying Faith’s eyes; her face brightened instantly as she looked to the brown hen which lingered at the elderly man’s feet, and the absurd thought passed in Charles’ head as to how many fowl one could feasibly be expected to suffer in a day.

‘Faith,’ said Charles gently now, turning her so she would look at him again. ‘What happened? By what means did you leave London? How did you come to be in Wakely Forest, all alone?’

‘I …’ Faith rubbed at her little nose and ducked her head. ‘There’s a stagecoach that stops at the Golden Cross. So I took it.’

‘With Mrs Doncaster’s money?’

‘I was going to return it,’ she said soulfully. ‘Or, at least –’ and here she bit her lip – ‘you would have.’

Charles frowned at this. ‘Such assumptions are not becoming, Faith.’

The girl looked between him, Monsieur de Fortgibu and the Pépins. ‘I know. But I meant no harm, Charles. I just wanted to come home for Christmas. I wanted to be with you.’

‘But Heysten is not ready. How often must I say it?’

His frustration, his relief, too, was such that Charles could not contain his temper. Oh, the tenacious will of children! Whatever was he to do with her? It was as Charles was pinching the bridge of his nose that Monsieur de Fortgibu leant down to rest his hands on his knees.

‘So you took a stagecoach. Then what happened, chérie ?’

Faith’s expression grew lively. ‘Well, it was a jolly ride out of London! I rode at first with a nice old couple who were very attentive, because they were worried I travelled alone, but I told them I’d been sent for by my father and was meeting my new governess at the staging inn outside of ——.

They got off after an hour or two, and then another couple came on who didn’t say much, and then a kindly gentleman got on at one of the turnpikes who gave me peppermint sticks, and then … ’

Faith trailed off. Charles removed his fingers from his nose.

‘And then?’

‘I …’ Faith’s eyes filled with tears again. ‘I ran out of money. I didn’t realise how far Merrywake was. I didn’t realise the coach would have to stop for the night.’

‘Oh,’ breathed Viscountess Pépin. ‘You poor dear.’

The girl swallowed hard. The tears fell.

‘I asked one of the stable boys how far I was from Merrywake,’ she said miserably. ‘He pointed me in its direction and … I walked.’

‘How long for?’

Faith sniffed. ‘I’m not sure,’ she whispered. ‘Some days, at least.’

Charles sucked in his breath. ’Twas a wonder she had not frozen to death. A wonder too, he thought, his blood running quite cold, she was not abducted or worse.

‘ Chérie ,’ said the monsieur gently. ‘Why did you not tell us any of this? Why did you keep so silent?’

‘Because,’ came the reply, in so small a voice it made Charles’ stomach twist. ‘I was afraid. I knew Charles would be angry with me, and I was just so relieved to be somewhere safe and warm and with nice people …’ Faith looked at him then imploringly. ‘ Are you angry, Charles?’

It was all Charles could do to contain himself in that moment.

Angry? Yes, by Jove, he was angry! At Faith for being so foolish, at Mrs Doncaster for not taking greater care, and himself for not seeing just how unhappy Faith had been.

But when he looked into her tearful face all Charles could do was gather the child once more into his arms.

‘You are safe now,’ he whispered. ‘That is all that matters.’

Against his shoulder Faith nodded.

‘Please don’t make me go back to Mrs Doncaster. I do not think I could bear it.’

Charles sighed, pushed her from him again and regarded her.

By rights he should march her straight back to London.

But how could he now, when it was clear Mrs Doncaster had been so careless?

Besides, if Faith was able to escape once she would surely find a way to do so again, and if Charles were to send her back she would never trust him again.

All his hard work at earning that trust these past seven years would have been for nought.

No, he could not risk returning her to London.

But what, Charles then thought, of Heysten Park?

The house was in no fit state for a child to inhabit.

He might be prevailed to suffer it, but not a little girl.

It was a messy business indeed, but in that moment Charles could not fathom a solution and so he simply said:

‘Very well.’

Faith threw her arms about his neck.

‘Oh, thank you ,’ she cried, and when she released him Charles saw her tears had been replaced with an expression of joy which humbled him exceedingly.

‘Can I finish my chess game, before we leave for Heysten? Monsieur Beno?t is teaching me, and I am convinced I shall have him beaten in three moves.’

Charles blinked at her, then laughed. This was one of the things he loved about Faith – she always managed to turn a melancholy situation upside down. Monsieur de Fortgibu laughed too, but raised his silvery eyebrows in question.

‘I am happy to continue, chérie , if Lord Heysten would permit?’

‘By all means,’ came the reply, and she pressed a kiss upon Charles’ cheek. Then – Faith taking the brown hen by its lead in one hand, and the Frenchman’s hand in the other – the pair left the study, shutting the door quietly behind them.

Feeling somewhat drained, Charles rose to stand. When he turned, it was to find the three Pépins watching him.

‘I think, Lord Heysten,’ Viscount Pépin said, ‘that now would be the time to explain yourself,’ to which Charles nodded.

‘Yes,’ Charles acceded, ‘I rather think it is,’ and proceeded to take the seat he had been sitting in before.

‘As you are aware,’ he began, ‘my father and I were not on friendly terms. As soon as I was able I took my leave of him, and have spent these past fifteen years in America. There have been times, however, when I returned. My father, you see, had many debts, and at risk of losing Heysten Park entirely to his creditors I was required – having since amassed a fortune of my own – to pay them. It was on one of these visits that I became aware that one of his maids was with child.’

‘Ah.’ Viscount Pépin’s expression was one of pity. ‘I see, Lord Heysten, where this is going.’

Charles inclined his head. ‘So you might,’ he said. ‘Faith is the child of my father, and by relation, my half-sister.’

There was silence as the three Pépins absorbed this news.

‘The maid begged for my help. My father had no notion of her condition, but it was providence, I suppose, that I came back to Heysten Park when I did, for she had only just begun to shew and a pregnant maidservant was hardly something my father could ignore. She would have been thrown out with nothing but the clothes on her back. I made arrangements, installed her in a boarding house in the city, and there she delivered the child. Unfortunately she did not survive the birth, and I was left with the baby.’

The viscountess shook her head.

‘Poor, poor thing.’

‘As you can imagine I had no recourse, no means to care for her. Instead, I found her a place at Mrs Doncaster’s Academy for Temperate Young Ladies, where, until recently, she has spent her formative years.’

Charlotte Pépin looked to her mother.

‘Did not Juliette say the child was educated? But pray, Lord Heysten, surely you could have done more for her? To spend one’s childhood entirely without family is needlessly cruel.’

With a stab of guilt Charles turned his head. Miss Pépin’s gaze was deep and contemplative, as if she were cataloguing more than his unpleasant account.

‘I had not yet inherited Heysten Park, and my business endeavours were, as I said, abroad. I could do no better for her than I did.’

‘What kind of business endeavours,’ asked the viscount, ‘would keep you so long overseas?’

It was a question that Charles had hoped to avoid, for the answer shamed him greatly; there was, however, no other thing for it but to answer, and honestly.

‘I owned a plantation.’

‘A plantation?’