A Regency Christmas Carol (10 page)

‘If you had bothered to speak to him, or any other in this community, you would know him already.’

‘I know that he was waving a sledgehammer at me when last I saw him, just two days ago,’ Joseph said testily. ‘It did not put me in the mood for gaining a proper introduction.’

‘His name is Jonas Jordan,’ replied Old Tom, ignoring his retort. ‘He is the most skilled worker in the area, and might be your foreman should you and your mill survive long enough to hire him. And this is his family, preparing for the Christmas you and your kind have made for him.’

The man had not moved from his place, though his wife now gathered the children for their meal, over-
seeing the washing of hands and the setting of places. There were five of them. The youngest was a babe that was likely still at breast, and the oldest was too young to work.

In this little house, on a narrow side road just off the high street, there were none of the smells he had come to associate with the season—neither burning Yule Log nor sizzling fat and fresh bread. The fire in the grate burned low with the meagre handful of coal that made it, so that the cold crept out into the corners of the room, and the children, who should have been boisterous, huddled together as though they had little energy to do else.

‘Mama,’ said the second youngest, ‘I am hungry.’

Without a word, the woman brought out bowls and set them around the table. The children gathered to take their places. Then she ladled some thin porridge from the pot that sat by the fire, and reached for the jug that sat upon the table. She poured out water rather than milk. The children took it in silence and she looked on, worried. When she reached to set a bowl before her husband he pushed it away, without a sound, until it sat before her.

She watched, her own supper untouched, as the children finished what they had. Then she shared the contents of the last bowl between them. She sat hungry, as did her man.

‘It would be more nourishing for the children to have a bowl with a good dollop of cream in it,’ Joseph said
stupidly, knowing that there would be none of that in this house.

‘Perhaps if the lord of the manor had not sold off the herd that once grazed where the new mill stands they might have. It has been the nature, these many years, of the Clairemonts to keep the dairy and to graze the herd. All those who wished might come with jugs and buckets to take their share. But now they must send for milk from the next village. It is one more thing, along with all the rest, that this family cannot afford.’

‘So they are starving?’ Joseph said, doing his best to harden his heart. ‘They were just so before I arrived. It might well be because this very man stood up against the last master and burned his place to the ground.’

‘When men are pushed to the edge of reason by circumstances they act without thinking!’ The ghost shouted the words at him, as though even a spirit could be pushed beyond endurance. ‘Jordan and his family were hungry before. But they ate. He stayed at home with his babes the night the old mill burned. What has happened was no fault of his.’

‘Then when the new mill opens he shall have work,’ Joseph promised. ‘If that is the only reason you visit me, you have no reason to fear. I am bringing employment to the area.’

‘For some,’ the coachman said.

‘For as many as I need,’ Joseph answered him. ‘If it means so much to them, I will enquire with Clairemont about the dispersal of the herd and decide what can be
done to reopen the dairy on different ground. It was never my intention to cut people out of their places or make their children suffer.’

‘But neither did you make enquiries into their needs when you came here. I am sure if I asked you to quote figures about your building and your products you would know them, chapter and verse, without even opening a ledger. Yet this man, who will be your good right hand if you let him, might starve and die as a stranger to you.’ The ghost’s brow furrowed as though he were working a puzzle. ‘It is a wonder that the only way you can be made to look clearly at the suffering right before your eyes is to be dragged from your bed by a supernatural emissary.’

The ghost was hauling him forwards, through a closed door towards God only knew what fresh nightmare, and Joseph pulled back, struggling in futility against his grip.

‘Very well, then. I see my present clearly,’ Joseph shouted back. ‘The people I need to work in my mill are starved to the point of hatred. My best friend betrays me. The woman who I would take to wife cannot be bothered to speak a word of truth to my face and set me free of the promise I made to her family. I have seen enough. I will do what I can. Take me back to my room.’

‘Not just yet. There is one more you must see.’

Now they were in the home of his nemesis: Lampett.

‘Not here,’ he said to the ghost. ‘I get quite enough
of what I am likely to find here without a ghostly visitation.’

‘And what is that?’

‘Abuse heaped upon abuse. Violence from the father, and scorn from the daughter.’ He thought of the previous evening. ‘It is likely she will see me, as she did last night. How will I explain myself to her?’

The ghost crooked a smile. ‘She is grown into the sort of woman who is much too sensible to see ghosts. And she has given you more than abuse, if I have heard correctly.’

‘You mean the kiss?’ Joseph scoffed. ‘It was hardly a gift freely given. I took it from her, and then I tricked her into responding.’

‘Did she enjoy it?’

‘I expect that Eve enjoyed her taste of the apple. But that hardly made hers a wise decision.’

The coachman laughed all the harder. ‘You think yourself the devil?’

‘They do.’

‘Let us see, shall we?’

Just in case, Joseph huddled inside the brassy glow of Old Tom’s shadow, thinking that the light would render him invisible if nothing else could. Perhaps this Barbara
was
too sensible for ghosts. But she could see through him easily enough if she chose to do so—just as he could see more of her heart than he wished to.

More of her life as well. He should not want to spy upon her. Her life, her family, her thoughts and words
when she was not with him should be no concern of his. But there was a dark undercurrent growing in the curiosity he felt tonight—a possessiveness that was stronger than anything he felt for Anne, or even for his business. Suddenly he was hungry for any detail he might learn of her. Secretly he was glad that the spirit had brought him to her again. Once he had married there would be little chance for any conversation with her. For now, he would rather hear a bitter truth from her lips than the silence he deserved.

To hide his confusion, he examined his surroundings. The Lampett house was nicely though simply kept, and too small to need a servant. There was no sign of strife or need except for the worried look in the eyes of the pretty girl as she stood at the shoulder of the man sitting at a desk by the window.

‘Please, Father, take some stew. It is supper, and you must not go without eating.’ She set the dinner on his desk, nudging it in the direction of the paper he had been writing upon. Unlike in the last house, there was meat in the bowl she offered, and Joseph could smell fresh bread and mince pies cooling in the kitchen. His mouth watered.

But her father seemed unaffected by the sight and smell of the food. ‘Don’t want it. There is work to be done. I must stop Stratford before this goes any further.’ The man pushed the bowl to the side, and his daughter shot a worried glance in the direction of her mother,
who sat by the fire, stitching a piece of blond lace on to a blue muslin gown.

Joseph wished he could offer some reassurance—prove that they had nothing to fear from him, or his mill. When it had opened, and the men were back to work, he might be able to sit at their table as a guest, talking about books with her father and offering polite compliments about the housekeeping of the mother and the prettiness of the daughter. Despite the tension in the air there was a feeling of love and family that was lacking in the manor, just as it had been missing from his childhood.

Then he remembered that he was in the last house in Fiddleton where he might be welcomed as a friend. The disappointment he felt was sharpest when he looked at Barbara. While he was used to hearing her father rail against him, she had much more personal reasons to despise him and he deserved every scornful word.

‘Go on, then,’ Joseph said, bracing himself. ‘Give your opinion of me. When I am with you, you do not have a word of kindness for me other than the few thank-yous I have forced out of you. What do you say when we are apart?’ It would hardly be a surprise. She was quite plain about it when they were together. She did not like him in the least. But all the same he tensed, waiting for her words.

‘While many of the things he has been doing are wrong, they are not so much evil as they are misguided,’
she said, as slowly and carefully as possible. ‘I am sure, with time, he will come closer to your way of thinking.’

‘Defending him, are you now?’ Her father was staring at her, hurt, betrayed and sullen. She was clearly torn by the sight of his agitation.

‘Go ahead,’ Joseph said softly to her, putting aside his bitterness at the sight of her distress. ‘Say what makes this the easiest. It is not as if one more harsh word will hurt me. His mood upsets you. Agreeing with him will calm him down.’

‘Yes,’ she said suddenly. ‘I
will
defend him against your more unreasonable charges. The men in the district need work, Father. You must see that. There must be a mill of some sort, and Mr Stratford has built one where there was nothing. He has done it at great expense and risk to himself. Do the papers not say that it is a bad time to be doing business? He could just as easily have tried his hand at something more profitable. He could have stayed in London. Or built elsewhere.’

‘So he brings a few jobs to the Riding?’ her father said dismissively. ‘He will find another way to make the men starve once it is opened.’

‘Perhaps,’ Barbara admitted. ‘But perhaps not. If we show him reason and kindness and make him feel welcome here he might respond in kind. He does not have to be like Mr Mackay. He might provide a safe and clean work place, and be a benefit to the community. He is an extremely clever man. In talking to him, I find that he is well read and ingenious. If there is anyone
who can help the people here, I believe it might be him. You will like him when you know him better. Do you remember the books he sent to you?’

‘Yes,’ her father said grudgingly, like a child forced to be mannerly.

‘They are his favourites, and you like them as well. Might that not be a sign of a kindred spirit? But he must be given a chance to prove it to you.’

Joseph sank to the bench in the corner, quite taken aback by the flood of warmth he heard from her. ‘You listened to me, didn’t you?’ He grinned at the ghost, his own spirit much lighter than it had been. ‘It was not all anger on her part. Her chiding had some bluster in it. Perhaps there is some hope for me, after all.’

Old Tom laughed. ‘I wonder how your wife will feel about your success with this girl. Since she does not care for you, she will likely be relieved that you seek the affections of another. And you will have this one talked around in no time. If you wished to get her into bed—’

Joseph jumped to his feet, fists balled. ‘Do not say another word, sir, about the honour of that lady, or you will answer to me at dawn.’

The ghost observed him with a deathly expression. And, coming from one with such an intimate experience with that state, it was a truly fearsome thing. ‘You are a year too late to threaten me, Mr Stratford. Being from beyond the grave gives one the ability to say what one likes without fear of repercussion. So I will tell you that
you’re only pretending to be a gentleman towards her. You care little enough for people unless they can be of benefit to you. You would bed this girl in a heartbeat if you saw the chance to do it. You would do it even faster if you thought it would give you an advantage over her father.’

Joseph opened his mouth to defend himself, and then closed it again as he realised he had considered doing just that. The fact that he had not acted on the impulse was hardly a point in his favour. As the ghost pointed out, he’d had no opportunity.

Old Tom held up a hand to silence him, for the Lampetts were speaking again.

‘Let us talk of something more pleasant.’ Her mother interrupted the argument between father and daughter. ‘It is almost Christmas, after all.’

‘And a time for gifts,’ said Barbara, seizing upon the subject. ‘Although I do not know how I shall surprise you, Mama, if you keep rummaging through my sewing basket and stealing the contents for other purposes.’

‘Never mind what we want. What are we to get for you, my dear?’ her father asked, turning back into the doting parent that Joseph had seen the other day. ‘You still have not said. And it is too late to send to London for anything special.’

‘You know that is not necessary,’ the girl said, dropping her head.

‘We wish to get you something,’ her mother insisted. ‘It gives us pleasure to know that you are happy.’

‘You should know by now that I am happy just to have the days pass,’ Barbara said, staring into the fire. ‘It is never an easy time for me.’

‘But by now it should be. It has been years, Barbara,’ her mother said firmly.

‘Almost six,’ Barbara said absently.

‘It is not as if we expect you to forget.’

‘Very good. Because I shall not.’

‘Only that it is time to cease punishing yourself for a thing which was none of your fault.’

‘There are still those that blame me,’ she said, without looking up.

‘Fools,’ her father grumbled.

‘Let us not talk of them, or of the past,’ Barbara said quickly, as though eager to avert another dark mood. ‘Let us simply say that I am not overly fond of Christmas. I would prefer to celebrate it by knowing that those I love are safe and happy, and not by focusing on my own wants and needs.’

The scene seemed to fade from view again. Joseph could see the players in it, but could no longer hear their words, though he strained to catch some whisper of them. He turned back to Old Tom, frustrated. ‘Very well, then. You are right. I have been base and callous in regard to the people of Fiddleton, and this family in particular. But it would help me to understand them better if they were more open about the truth. Six years,’ Joseph said, counting on his fingers. ‘She would have
been eighteen then.’ He stared at the ghost of the coachman. ‘You were still alive. What happened?’