Christmas Carol (15 page)

“Caroline, you are in some disarray,”
Penelope observed. “It is most unlike you to be untidy. Is
something wrong? I was worried when I arrived home with Alwyn and
Aunt Augusta told me you were not yet here. Where have you
been?”

“I went to see Nicholas. We spent the
afternoon—we spent it talking.” Carol could feel herself
blushing.

“You went to his house without a chaperone?
From the look of you, the two of you weren’t just talking. Has
Nicholas been taking liberties with your person?”

“I didn’t mind at all,” Carol said with
perfect truth.

“Caroline,” gasped Penelope, giggling a
little, “how could you?”

“Because I love him.”

“Oh, what a relief!” Penelope let out a long
breath. “And here I thought you were marrying him for my sake, to
get a larger dowry for me.”

“You weren’t supposed to know. How did you
find out?” Carol asked.

“Do you think I am a complete dunce? I
guessed, of course, after Aunt Augusta revealed to me weeks ago
that I was to be handsomely provided for in your marriage
settlement. I thought I was the only reason you agreed to marry
Nicholas.”

“She never told me that you knew! I have been
trying so hard not to say a word that might give you the slightest
hint about the arrangements being made for you. Are you telling me
that we have been hiding the same secret from each other?” Carol
cried.

“It seems so.” Penelope gave one of her
quick, little laughs. “What a fine joke! And all this time I have
been wondering how to thank you for your willingness to sacrifice
yourself for my sake after you have claimed for years that you
never wanted to marry anyone. It is good to know that Nicholas was
able to change your mind—and your heart.”

“I love you, Penelope.” Carol found it
remarkably easy to say what she felt for this sweet girl.

“I love you, too. You are the very best of
sisters,” Penelope responded, adding with a bright smile, “Isn’t it
fortunate that Alwyn and Nicholas are such good friends? And their
country estates are near to each other, too. We won’t be separated
by our marriages the way some sisters are.”

“I cannot think of anything in this world
that would keep your sister apart from you,” Carol replied, knowing
with absolute certainty that Lady Caroline would agree.

The Christmas Eve ball was held at yet
another of the great London mansions to which Lady Caroline, her
sister, and her aunt were regularly invited. This particular
mansion was even more heavily decorated for Christmas than was
Marlowe House. Thick garlands of evergreens were hung around the
mirrored, gilded ballroom and the smaller nearby chambers. Vases of
hothouse flowers added their sweet fragrance to the sharper scent
of the abundant greenery. Hundreds of fine beeswax candles in
glittering chandeliers shone their light upon the richly dressed
crowd as the guests wandered about exchanging holiday greetings
before the dancing began.

Carol found the seasonal cheerfulness a sad
contrast to her state of mind, though on the surface she did not
think anyone could notice anything different about her. She was
wearing a gown in a soft shade of rose silk and with it, the
sapphire and diamond necklace Nicholas had given to his
fiancee.

On this festive evening Lady Augusta was
resplendent in lavender draperies and pearls.

The first sight of her as they were preparing
to leave Marlowe House sent a chill to Carol’s heart, reminding her
of the costume Lady Augusta had worn on the night when she first
appeared in Carol’s bedchamber. The prospect of being wrapped into
those draperies a second time was almost too much for Carol to
bear, and all the more so because she knew when the moment came she
would be torn from people for whom she had learned to care
deeply.

The three ladies greeted their host and
hostess and then moved on into the ballroom, where Lord Simmons
immediately appeared to salute them with a warmth and charm that
made Carol understand why Penelope was so attracted to him. He
promptly filled Penelope’s dance card for the three dances allowed
by the rules of etiquette, and wrote his name on Carol’s card, too,
for two dances.

“May I stretch propriety a little and claim a
fourth dance with Penelope, since she is to be my wife?” he asked
Lady Augusta. “Let the gossips say what they will tonight, the news
of our betrothal will soon be out and then everyone will
understand.”

After Lady Augusta assented, Lord Simmons led
Penelope away to take their places in the first dance. With a sense
of finality Carol watched them go, certain that she and the girl
whom she now thought of as her sister would never speak together
again.

“Tell me about them,” Carol murmured. “About
their future lives.”

Lady Augusta did not answer at once. Like
Carol, she was watching Penelope and her new fiance. After a long
wait, she spoke with her gaze still on the young couple.

“They will marry, of course,” Lady Augusta
said, “and will produce four sons and a daughter.”

“What about the name?” Carol asked. “Lord
Simmons’s given name, Alwyn, was my father’s middle name.”

“Ah, yes,” said Lady Augusta, “I thought your
guess at that particular truth would be accurate. Thirty years from
now, the youngest son of Penelope and Lord Simmons will journey to
America and settle there. Those two dancing together are your
great-grandparents many generations past.”

“Penelope is my ancestor?” Carol’s eyes
filled. She blinked hard. “Thank you for telling me. What about
Nicholas and Caroline?”

“Indeed, what of Nicholas and Caroline?” said
a beloved voice from just behind Carol. Nicholas continued, teasing
the women, “Are you two rearranging our wedding plans? If so, I
implore you to name an earlier date. I find I am becoming
impatient.” This last was said with a glance into Carol’s eyes that
almost broke her heart with its tenderness.

“Actually,” said Lady Augusta, “we were
speaking about Penelope and Alwyn.”

“Is it Alwyn now?” Though he was speaking to
Lady Augusta, Nicholas was still smiling into Carol’s eyes. “Does
this mean the attachment is official?”

“They received my approval late this
afternoon, as you very well know, since you helped to ease the path
to their hearts’ desire,” said Lady Augusta. Her voice suddenly
taking on a sharpness that must have seemed odd to Nicholas, she
added, “I assume you have presented yourself in order to claim this
next dance with your fiancée. I believe the dance cards say it will
be a waltz. I shall now retire to the card room to join Lord
Falloner for a game of piquet until you have finished.”

Carol wanted to tell Nicholas to wait, to sit
this dance out with her and not take her onto the floor until the
next waltz, but with Lady Augusta looking hard at her she did not
dare attempt a delay that would give her more time with him. Her
heart aching with love and grief, she put her hand into his and
stepped to the center of the floor. Nicholas took her into his arms
and they began to dance.

Carol knew she would have only a few minutes
more to touch him and to memorize his strong, handsome face. She
kept her eyes fastened on him as they whirled about the floor. His
steps were sure and she followed him easily, without having to
think about what she was doing. They were meant to be together like
this, with Carol safe in his arms and Nicholas gazing at her with
an affection he did not trouble to conceal. For these last, brief
moments they moved along together, twirling and gliding in their
own enchanted space into which the rest of the world—and the rest
of .time—could not intrude.

“I love you so much,” Carol whispered.
“Whatever happens in the future, don’t ever forget that, and never
doubt that I am grateful for the way you treated me this afternoon.
I do not regret what we did together and I never will.”

“I am not sorry for those hours either.” His
tender smile almost reduced her to tears. “I love you, Caroline.”
He said more, but the music was just ending and his voice began to
fade in her ears.

“Nicholas?” She wasn’t sure he could hear
her. What Carol heard instead of Nicholas’s words was Lady
Augusta’s voice, though Lady Augusta was still in the card room. By
now it was probably the real Lady Augusta who was sitting at the
piquet table with Lord Falloner, both of them completely unaware of
what was happening. The Lady Augusta whom Carol knew was there in
the ballroom with her, and this Lady Augusta was invisible.

“The dance I allowed you as a special favor
is finished,” Lady Augusta said. “Now we must leave.”

For an instant or two Carol could still feel
Nicholas’s arms around her, before his figure started to blur. To
Carol’s eyes, the ballroom began to grow dark and the musicians,
who were just striking up for the next dance after the waltz,
seemed to her to be more and more distant and off key.

“Please, Lady Augusta, wait for just a
moment,” Carol begged. “Let me see him happy with her. Let me know
my breaking heart isn’t a waste.”

“I cannot permit a further extension of your
time here,” Lady Augusta began, but she was interrupted. Another,
deeper voice spoke with a sound that reverberated through Carol’s
head like thunder and yet was gentle as a sigh.

“
Because you love honestly
, “ said the
voice, “
your wish is granted. Behold
.”

The darkness surrounding Carol parted, so she
could see the ballroom again, bright with candles and Christmas
decorations. She saw Lady Caroline standing with Nicholas’s hand
holding hers. As she watched, Lady Caroline swayed, putting her
free hand to her forehead. Nicholas bent toward her with open
concern on his handsome face. Lady Caroline said something and
Nicholas smiled. Taking the hand he held, he tucked it into his
elbow and led her off the dance floor, toward a row of French doors
that opened to the gardens. Every line of Nicholas’s body conveyed
the same loving protectiveness as the expression with which he was
now regarding his fiancée.

“
They will be happy
, “ said the voice
in Carol’s head, “
and that happiness is your doing
.”

“Thank you.” Carol said the words aloud,
though she believed the Owner of the voice would have heard them
even if she had only spoken them in her mind.

“Come, Carol.” That was Lady Augusta. “We
have overstayed our time.”

Lady Augusta’s arms were around her. On this
second occasion, Carol was better prepared for the chill of her
companion’s embrace. This time, the bitter cold could not compare
to the grief of parting forever from her only love, or to the
knifelike pain of the loneliness now filling her heart.

“Nicholas!” The cry tore from her lips like
the wail of some lost soul consigned to the outer regions of
darkest hell.

“Oh, Carol,” murmured Lady Augusta, “you do
not yet understand. There is more … so much more still to
come….”

Christmas Present

London, 1993

The cold draft blowing around her feet
wakened her. At first Carol sat perfectly still in the old wing
chair next to the dead embers of the previous night’s fire while
she tried to remember where she was. Her body was cold and stiff,
as if she had been sleeping in the same position for a long time
without a blanket. Confusion filled her mind, making clear thought
difficult.

When she noticed a faint gray light coming in
around the edges of the windows, she got up to push aside the
curtains and look out on the little square in front of Marlowe
House. The fog was gone, the sky was sunny, and the brightly
colored lights on the Christmas tree in the square glittered as the
branches moved in the morning breeze. A few early risers walked
purposefully across the square. They were wearing twentieth-century
clothing.

“What has happened?” Turning from the
cheerful outdoor scene, Carol surveyed her dingy, unattractive
room. “What am I doing here? I should be in the blue bedroom, with
Penelope just next door. This must be a servant’s room, but why am
I in it?”

Not until she flung open the bedroom door and
stepped out into the hall did her memory begin to return. Looking
down the hall she could see the wall that, since soon after the end
of World War II, had divided the once-spacious Marlowe House into
two smaller houses. The blue bedchamber—Lady Caroline Hyde’s
bedchamber—lay on the other side of that thick wall, one level down
from where Carol presently stood.

“Was it all a dream? But how could it have
been when it was so long and so detailed?” Deep in thought now,
though still confused, Carol went back into her room and closed the
door again. “It must have been a dream. Anything else is
impossible. Lady Augusta’s ghost? Ridiculous. I don’t believe in
ghosts. No sensible person does. Something I ate must have upset my
stomach. Spoiled food can cause nightmares.”

A half-eaten bowl of chicken soup sat on the
table beside the wing chair, a thin, blackened slice of mushroom
floating on top of the broth. Upon lifting the domed metal lid from
over her dinner plate, Carol discovered a congealed mess of cold
chicken and vegetables. The untouched wedge of apple tart did not
look much more appetizing. Carol quickly replaced the dome.

“If I didn’t eat any of my dinner, then it
can’t have made me sick,” she reasoned. “I don’t recall ever
hearing of an empty stomach causing bad dreams. More likely, it
would keep me awake. So, what did happen here last night?
Was
it last night? Or have several days passed?”

She sank down into the wing chair again,
thinking hard, trying to remember every detail of her sojourn in
the early nineteenth century. There had to be a rational
explanation for the events she was able to recall in such vivid
detail. Lady Augusta’s ghostly late-night appearance … Penelope …
Nicholas—