Under The Mistletoe (15 page)

The earl removed his hand from the child's chin at last. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers against his mouth. The boy stood before him, his head hanging low, one foot scuffing rhythmically against the carpet.

“Nicky,” Lord Lisle said at last, “I will need to know this man's name and where he may be found.”

The boy shook his head slowly.

The earl sighed. “Your mother's direction, then,” he said. “She will perhaps be worried about you. I will need to communicate with her. You will tell me where she may be found. Not now. A little later, perhaps. I want to ask you something. Will you look at me?”

Nicky did so at last.

“Do you like her ladyship?” the earl asked.

The child nodded. And since some words seemed to be required of him in response, he said, “She's pretty.” And when his master still did not say anything, “She smells pretty.”

“Would you want her to know that I found you with the silver top in your hand?” the earl asked.

The child shook his head.

“Neither would I,” the earl said. “We are in entire agreement on that. What do you think she would do if she knew?”

Nicky swallowed. “She would cry,” he said.

“Yes, she would,” the earl agreed gently. “Very hard and very bitterly. She will not be told about this, Nicky. But if it happens again, perhaps she would have to know. Perhaps she would be the one to discover you. I don't want that to happen. Her ladyship is more important to me that anyone or anything else in this life. Do you know what a promise is?”

The child nodded.

“Do you keep your promises?”

Another nod.

“Are you able to look me in the eye and promise me that you will
never steal again, no matter how small the object and no matter how little it will be missed?” Lord Lisle looked gravely and steadily back into the child's eyes when he looked up.

Another nod.

“In words, Nicky, if you please.”

“Yes, guv'nor,” he whispered.

“Good man. You may leave now.” But before the child could turn to go, the earl set a hand on his head and shook it slightly. “I am not angry with you,” he said. “And you must remember that we are now in a conspiracy together to make her ladyship happy.”

He removed his hand, and the child whisked himself from the room without further ado. Lord Lisle stared at the door for a long while.

 

Estelle was not entirely pleased with the ring when she returned to the jeweler's to fetch it. It was very beautiful, of course, but she did not think she would have called it the Star of Bethlehem if this had been the one Allan had put on her finger. The diamond no longer looked like a star in a night sky. She did not know why. It was surely no larger or no smaller than the other had been, and yet it looked more prominent. It did not nestle among the sapphires.

But no matter. She had not expected it to look the same, anyway. There could be no real substitute for the original ring. This one would serve its purpose—perhaps. She took it home and packed it away with the rest of her gifts.

The following day the guests would begin to arrive. She would see her parents for the first time in six months. She had missed them. And everyone else would be coming, too, either on the same day or within the few days following. And Christmas would begin.

She was going to enjoy it more than any other Christmas in her life. It might be her last with Allan. The last during which they would be truly husband and wife, anyway. And though panic grabbed at her stomach when she thought of what must happen when the holiday was over and Mama and Papa began to talk about returning home, she would not think of that. She wanted a Christmas to remember.

The Earl of Lisle was no better pleased with his ring. He knew as soon as he saw it that the original must have had nine sapphires. The arrangement of eight just did not look right. They did not look like a night sky with a single star shining from it.

But it did not matter. Nothing could look quite like the Star of Bethlehem, and this ring was lovely. Perhaps she would know that it
was not meant to be a substitute, but something wholly new. Perhaps. He wrapped the little velvet box and carried it about with him wherever he went.

Nicky, in the meanwhile, was feeling somewhat uncomfortable, for several reasons. There was the whole question, for example, of what Mags would do with him if he could get his hands about his throat. And what his new master would do with him if he caught him thieving again. Nicky had the uncomfortable feeling that it would not be a whipping, which would be easy to bear. The governor would force him to look into his eyes for a start, and that would be worse than a beating. He was proving to be not such a soft touch after all.

Then, of course, there was his mother. And Elsie. Were they starving? Was Mags bothering them? He knew what Mags did to help girls to a living. But Elsie was not old enough yet. Nicky did not know what he would do, short of abandoning his family to their fate. Nothing had been said about any money in this new position of his. Plenty of clothes and food, yes, and very light work. But no money.

There was, of course, the shiny shilling the lady had given him the first night she came to him with a cup of chocolate. Nicky had never seen so much money all at once. But he couldn't give that to his mother. He needed it for something else.

And that brought him to the nastiest problem of all. That ring and that diamond almost burned a hole in his stomach every day, pressed between the band of his breeches and his skin as they always were. He couldn't sell them to Mags now. It would seem like breaking his promise, though the things were already stolen when he had been forced to look into his master's eyes and make the promise, and though he had never thought of keeping a promise before.

And he couldn't put them back in the lady's room, though he had thought of doing so. Because she would tell the governor and he would know the truth. He was a real sharper, he was. And he would not whip or even scold. He would look with those eyes. He might even put a hand on his head again and make him squirm with guilt.

There was only one thing he could think of doing. And that would mean leaving his room again during the night, and the house, after the lady had brought him his chocolate and kissed him and allowed him to breathe in the scent of her. And the governor might catch him and look at him. And the stupid clothes he would be forced to wear would draw ruffians like bees to a honey pot. And Ned Chandler might refuse to help him at the end of it all and might not believe where he had got the things and what he meant to do with them.

Nicky sighed. Sometimes life was very hard. Sometimes he
wished he were all grown up already so that he would know without any difficulty at all what was what. And he was getting used to a warm and comfortable bed and to a full night's sleep. He did not particularly want to be prancing about the meaner streets of London at an hour when no one would ever hear of him again if he were nabbed.

Ned Chandler had been a jeweler of sorts at one time. He still had the tools of his trade and still mended trinkets for anyone who came to ask and dropped a few coins his way. Nicky, as a very small child, had often crept into the man's hovel and sat cross-legged and openmouthed on the floor watching him when he was busy.

It was doubtful that Chandler had ever held in his hands a gold ring of such quality set with nine sapphires of such dark luster, and a diamond that must be worth a fortune in itself.

“Where did you get these 'ere, lad?” he asked in the middle of one particular night, not at all pleased at having been dragged from his slumbers and his two serviceable blankets. He held the ring in one hand, the diamond in the other.”

“It belongs to my guv'nor's missus,” the child said. “I'm 'avin' it mended for 'er. She sent me. She sent me a shillin'.”

“A shillin'?” The former jeweler frowned. “And sent yer in the middle of the night, did she?”

Nicky nodded.

“Did you steal these 'ere?” Chandler asked grimly. “I'll whip the skin off yer backside if you did.”

Nicky began to cry. His tears were perhaps somewhat more genuine than was usual with him. “She's pretty,” he said, “an' she smells like a garden, an' she brings me choc'lut when I'm in bed. An' I'm 'avin' it mended for 'er.”

“But she didn't send yer, lad.” It was a statement, not a question.

Nicky shook his head. “It's to be a surprise,” he said. “Honest, Mr. Chandler. She lost the di'mond, an' she cried, an' I found it. I'm 'avin' it mended for 'er. I'll give you a shillin'.”

“I'll do it,” Ned Chandler said with a sudden decision, looking ferociously down at the tiny child from beneath bushy eyebrows with a gaze that reminded Nicky uncomfortably of the earl. “But if I 'ear tell of a lady wot 'ad a ring stole, Nick, lad, I'll find yer and whip yer backside. Understood?”

“Yes.” Nicky watched in silent concentration as the jeweler's tools were unwrapped from an old rag and the diamond replaced in the ring.

“You can keep yer shillin',” the man said, tousling the boy's hair
when the mended ring had been carefully restored to its hiding place. “And you make sure to give that ring back, lad. Don't you be tempted to keep it, or I'll be after yer, mind.”

“Take the money,” the boy said, holding out his treasure, “or it won't be my present. Please?”

The man chuckled suddenly. “Well,” he said. “I'll take it, 'cos it shows me yer must be honest. Off with yer then, lad. Be careful on your way back.”

Nicky grinned cheekily at him and was gone.

 

Christmas Eve. It had always been Estelle's favorite day of the season. It was on Christmas Day, of course, that the gifts were opened and that one feasted and sat around all day enjoying the company of one's family. But there had always been something magical about Christmas Eve.

On Christmas Eve there was all the anticipation of Christmas.

And this year was to be no exception. There was all the hustle and bustle of the servants and all the tantalizing smells coming from the kitchen, that of the mince pies being the most predominant. And there was Alma pretending to forget a dozen times during the day that the mistletoe was hanging in that particular spot, and standing beneath it. Especially when Estelle's unmarried brother, Rodney, happened to be in the room.

And there was Papa working everyone's excitement to fever pitch, as he did every year, with hints dropped about the presents, hints that stopped just short of telling one exactly what the gift was. And Mama sitting with her needlepoint having a comfortable coze with Allan's mother. And the children rushing about getting under everyone's feet, and their parents threatening halfheartedly to banish them to the nursery even if it was Christmas.

And the men playing billiards. And the girls whispering and giggling. And Papa tickling any child who was unwise enough to come within arms length of him. And Allan relaxed and smiling, playing the genial host. And Nicky following the tea tray into the drawing room with a plate of cakes and pastries, looking fit enough to eat himself, and the pleased way he puffed out his chest when Estelle caught his eye and smiled and winked at him.

And the group of carolers who came to the door before the family went to church and were invited inside the hall and stood there and sang, their cheeks rosy from the cold outside, their lanterns still lit and in their hands. And the noisy and cheerful exchange of season's greetings before they left again.

And the quiet splendor of the church service after the hectic day. And the Christmas music. And the Bible readings. And Bethlehem. And the star. And the birth of the baby, the birth of Christ.

And suddenly the meaning of it all, the quiet and breathless moment in the middle of all the noisy festivities surrounding it.

The birth of Christ.

Estelle was seated beside her husband, their arms almost touching. She looked at him, and he looked back. And they smiled at each other.

The drawing room was noisy again when they went back home, even though the children had been put to bed before they went to church. But finally the adults too began to yawn and make their way upstairs. After all, someone said, it would be a terrible tragedy if they were too tired to enjoy the goose the next day.

Estelle smiled rather regretfully at her husband when they were alone together. “It's going so quickly,” she said. “One more day and it will all be over.”

“But there are always more Christmases,” he said.

“Yes.” Her smile did not brighten.

“Are you tired, Estelle?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Mm,” she said. “But I don't want the day to end. It has been lovely, Allan, hasn't it?”

“Come and sit down,” he said, seating himself on a love seat. “I want to tell you about Nicky.”

“About Nicky?” She frowned. And Allan wanted to talk to her?

One of his arms was draped along the back of the love seat, though he did not touch her when she sat down beside him. “I have been making some plans for him,” he said. “I spoke with him in my study this morning. He seemed quite agreeable.”