A Christmas Journey (13 page)

The following day they traveled through glancing blizzards, one of them heavy enough to halt them for over two hours, but they reached Crianlarich before sundown, and the day after as far as the head of Loch Lomond, with Ben Lomond towering white in the distance to the south.

After that, they kept close to the water until they were past the Ben itself, and on the morning of the fifth day since leaving Glen Orchy, they bade MacIan good-bye and thanked him heartily. They took the boat to the farthest shore of the loch little more than twenty miles from Glasgow itself. From there it was a matter of hiring a vehicle of any sort and driving their own way to the railway station. With a trap and good roads, even if the weather was inclement, it was a journey that could be done in one day.

After breakfast Isobel was assisted in, then Vespasia, leaving Mrs. Naylor last. Vespasia had intended it so, knowing that Mrs. Naylor was an excellent horsewoman, used to driving. After all, it was she who had gained control of the runaway horse that had killed Kilmuir. Whether it was an accident or not she did not know, nor did she wish to. She herself was a fine rider, but very indifferent at managing a carriage horse, which was a different skill entirely.

Mrs. Naylor hesitated.

Vespasia wondered if memories of Kilmuir's death were returning to her; doubt, guilt, horror, regret—even fear that Gwendolen, having witnessed it from her horse, even a hundred yards away or more, had made her courage for life so fragile. Did she know that her mother had killed to save her? Was that the burden Gwendolen finally could not bear?

Mrs. Naylor sat in the driving seat and picked up the reins awkwardly. She held them in her hands together, not apart in order to give her control of the animal.

The hostler showed her how, patiently, and still she looked clumsy. The horse sensed it and shifted, shaking its head.

The truth struck Vespasia like a hammerblow. Mrs. Naylor did not know how to drive. It was not she who had held the reins when Kilmuir had fallen, accidentally or otherwise; it was Gwendolen herself! Vespasia had seen her in London; she was brilliant at it! And it was Mrs. Naylor who had been out riding and had seen. It made infinitely more sense! She had had to protect her daughter, and Gwendolen, in the shock of it, had allowed herself to forget—to move the blame to a more bearable place.

It fell in front of her eyes in a perfect pattern: The guilt was for having arranged and permitted a marriage to someone like Kilmuir, not to have judged him more accurately. It was a mother's primary duty toward her daughter, and Mrs. Naylor had signally failed. That was why she was prepared to take the burden of guilt now. And Gwendolen had allowed it.

Then in one trivial, cruel remark Gwendolen's fragile new image had been shattered, hope, the shield of forgetting, all gone, and the specter of a lifetime's blackmail from others who knew, or guessed at least part of it.

“I'll drive!” Vespasia said aloud, her voice surprisingly steady. The slight tremor in it could be attributed to the cold. “Let me. I am not as good as Gwendolen was, but I am perfectly adequate.” She scrambled forward to take Mrs. Naylor's place. Their eyes met for a moment, and Mrs. Naylor knew that she understood.

Vespasia smiled. It would never be referred to again. Isobel could not afford to—she had her own secrets to keep—and Vespasia had no wish to.

Mrs. Naylor handed her the reins, and they began the last part of their journey to Glasgow, before the long train ride to London.

The journey was tedious, as it had been on the way up, but they reached London at last. It was three days before Christmas. The final meeting was to be at Applecross, and Vespasia knew that Omegus Jones would already be there. There seemed little point in remaining in the city, so she invited Mrs. Naylor and Isobel to go with her to her own country house, which was within ten miles of Applecross. She was uncertain if Mrs. Naylor would wish to accept, and was surprised how it pleased her when she did.

PART THREE

After greeting her husband and children, the first thing Vespasia did was to write a letter to Omegus Jones and tell him that they had completed their mission, and it remained only to report that fact to make the oath binding. Then she sealed it and called one of the footmen to ride over and deliver it.

“Shall I wait for an answer, my lady?” he asked.

“Oh, yes! Yes, indeed,” she answered him. “It is of the utmost importance!”

“Yes, my lady.”

When he returned several hours later and gave her the envelope, she thanked him and tore it open without waiting for him to leave.

My dear Vespasia,

You cannot know how relieved I am to hear that you are safely returned, and that you have accomplished in full all you set out to do. The letter of the law would have sufficed to bind our fellows to silence, but it is the spirit which heals the transgressor, and that is in essence what matters.

I admit I have worried about you, veering from one moment having the utmost faith that you would come to no harm, and the next being plunged into an abyss of fear that some natural disaster might overtake you. Had I known the true extent of your journey to the north, I should not have allowed you to go, and none of this would have succeeded. Perhaps it is good that at times we do not know what lies ahead, or we would not attempt it, and failure would be inevitable.

Naturally, you will wish to be with your own family for Christmas Day, but will you bring Isobel and Mrs. Naylor to Applecross on Christmas Eve, so we may complete our covenant, and Isobel be free?

I await your answer with hope,

Your friend and servant,
Omegus Jones

She folded it with a smile and placed it in her escritoire in the drawer that had a lock on it, then she found Isobel and Mrs. Naylor and gave them Omegus's invitation. The following morning she sent the same footman back with their acceptance.

They set out in the afternoon in order to arrive at Applecross for dinner. The day was crisp and cold, but this far south there was no snow yet, only a taste of frost in the air. By the time they arrived they were shivering, even beneath traveling rugs, and glad to alight and go into the great hall decked with holly and ivy, scarlet ribbons, gold-tipped pinecones, and great bowls of fruit. The fire blazed in the hearth, burning half a log. Footmen met them with glasses of mulled wine and marzipan sweetmeats, warm mince pies and candied peel.

In the hall was a huge fir tree decked with ornaments, candles, and chains of bright-colored paper. Beneath it were small, gaily wrapped gifts. The tree's woody aroma filled the air, along with wood smoke, spiced scents, and, very faintly, the promise of roasted Christmas dinner and hot plum pudding. There was excitement in the whisper of maids' voices and the quick rustle of their skirts.

Omegus was delighted to see them. He complimented Isobel, offered his deepest sympathies to Mrs. Naylor, and said he would tell her all she wished to know when she felt ready to ask, and would take her to the grave at her convenience.

She thanked him and said that festivities of the season must come first. It was a brave and generous thing to do, and exactly what Vespasia would have expected of her.

Ten minutes later when the others had gone, Omegus took Vespasia's arm and held her with a startlingly firm grip when she made to move away. “I think you have more to tell me,” he said quietly.

She swiveled to face him. “More?”

He smiled very slightly. “I know you, my dear,” he told her. “You would not like Mrs. Naylor, as I see you obviously do, unless you had come to know her more than superficially. You have learned something of her which has moved you to admiration, something you do not give lightly. The same emotion is not in Isobel, so it seems likely to me that you have not confided it in her. I wonder why not, and the answer is possibly to do with Gwendolen's death. Is it something I should know?”

Vespasia found herself blushing. She had not intended to tell him, and now she found she could not lie. It was not that she had not the imagination—it would have been simple enough—but she would lose something she valued intensely were she to place that barrier between them.

In a low, very soft voice, she told him what she had guessed and deduced of the truth of Kilmuir's death.

“And you did not tell Isobel?” he asked gravely.

“No. It …” She saw in his eyes the criticism that was unspoken inside herself. “She has a right to know—doesn't she?” she finished.

“Yes.” There was no equivocation in him.

“I shall tell her after dinner,” she promised. “After she has made peace with Lady Warburton.”

His eyebrows rose in question. “Do you not trust her to keep the same silence for others that she wishes kept for herself?”

Again Vespasia felt the heat burn up her cheeks. “I'm not sure,” she confessed. “Mrs. Naylor deserves that silence, and Gwendolen needs it. There is no oath to bind her for that.”

He put his hand over hers for an instant, then offered her his arm.

“Shall we go in to dinner?”

The meal was rich and excellent. After the main courses were finished, and long before anyone could think of the ladies withdrawing, Omegus rose to his feet, and the talk ceased.

“My friends, we are met together this Christmas Eve in order to keep an oath that we made less than a month ago. We promised them that if Isobel Alvie were to travel to Scotland and find Gwendolen's mother, Mrs. Naylor, and give her Gwendolen's last letter, and should Mrs. Naylor be willing, accompany her back here, then we would wipe from our memory all knowledge of her remarks to Gwendolen on the night of her death. Her part of that oath has been fulfilled.”

“You expect us to take her word for that?” Fenton Twyford asked, his face twisted in sarcasm.

“Mrs. Naylor is here,” Omegus answered him. “If you have doubts of Isobel, or of me, then you may ask her.” He indicated Mrs. Naylor where she sat calm and dignified at the table.

Fenton Twyford turned to her, met an icy stare, and changed his mind. Then he became aware of his impertinence and blushed.

The flicker of a smile crossed Omegus's face. “It is now up to us to keep our part. Any man or woman who breaks it will cease to be known by the rest of us. We will not speak to them again, invite them to any event public or private, or in any way acknowledge their presence. They will have chosen to be a person whose honor is worthless. I cannot imagine anyone wishes to be such a … a creature. Mrs. Naylor has promised to be bound by the same code.” He turned to her.

“I have,” she said clearly. “And I wish to add to that what Mr. Jones does not know. Mrs. Alvie's part in my daughter's death was smaller than you or she are aware. It was simply the last straw added to a weight Gwendolen was already bearing, placed there by others, of which Mrs. Alvie had only a slight knowledge. I have no intention of telling you what burdens those were. It is better buried with her. Sufficient to say that it would be unjust for Mrs. Alvie to suffer more blame than she has—and which she has washed away by her acts toward me. It is over.”

Isobel turned to her, her eyes wide, her lips parted in astonishment and dawning anger. “You mean they were going to punish me—and I was only partly guilty?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Naylor agreed.

Isobel swung around to stare at Lady Warburton. “You would have ruined me, driven me into a wilderness from which I would never recover! And I wasn't even guilty! Not entirely …”

Lady Warburton quaked. “I didn't know!” she protested. “I thought you were!”

“You thought so yourself!” Blanche Twyford added. “You didn't deny it!”

“Yes, I did!” Isobel spat at her. “You gave no mercy!”

“That is true,” Omegus cut across her, his voice clear and insistent, undeniable. “And mercy, the gift to forgive, to wash away from the memory as if it had not happened, to accept the gift of God which is love and hope, courage to begin again in the faith that redemption is come into the world, is the meaning of Christmas. That is why we are met here today. It is why we deck the halls with holly, why the bells will ring tonight from village to village across the land until the earth and the sky are filled with their sound.” He turned to Isobel, waiting for her answer, not in words on her lips, but in her eyes.

She hesitated only a moment. “Of course,” she answered softly. “I have made my journey and arrived at Christmas, perhaps only at this moment. I shall be grateful all my life that you offered it to me, and to Vespasia for coming with me, when she had no need. How could I accept it for myself, and deny it to another?”

“It is everyone's journey,” Omegus said with a smile of utter sweetness. “No man needs to make it alone. But his choice to go with another is the one act of friendship which brings us closest to the Man who was born on the first Christmas, and is the Gift of them all.” He raised his glass. “To the friendship which never fades!”

All around the table the answering glasses were lifted.