The Christmas Spirit (6 page)

As they strolled through the narrow courtyard, leading back to the common rooms, a gray-haired man in Quakerish dress issued from a doorway to their left. He looked plainly astonished to see them.

Taking her heart in her hands, Trudy slipped out of Matthew's grasp to greet the stranger with open arms. "Oh, there you are, you dear, dear man!"

Chapter Four

The man, who was surely Mr. Thomas Waite, steward of the establishment, halted in round-eyed astonishment upon hearing Trudy's effusive greeting. She was certain he had never been met quite so enthusiastically in his life, but she hoped that the rapidity of her assault combined with her dazzling beauty would stop his tongue from giving her away.

Still, as his look of shock turned to fear that the unknown creature bearing down on him seemed intent upon an embrace, she thought better of it and scooped his hand into both of hers instead.

"Dear Mr. Waite, I have brought a visitor to see you, the same generous benefactor who recently became one of our number. May I present Sir Matthew Dunstone?"

As she had hoped, Matthew's name, being the one on the large draft Mr. Waite had just received, distracted the poor steward for the moment. His eyes lit, and he pounced on Matthew, wringing his hand.

"Yes, indeed. Good day to you, sir. You honor us most profoundly with your visit."

Matthew, whose jaw had tensed inexplicably when his name was mentioned, relaxed at this simple greeting; but Trudy could tell that he had no interest in being thanked.

"Not at all," he said, with a look of polite boredom. "I have only come as the result of a mild case of curiosity, and with the thought that my companion Ahmad, who has traveled widely in Africa, might find something to interest him in your work."

As Mr. Waite turned curiously to examine the immense Pathan at Matthew's side, Matthew directed his gaze towards Trudy, and his expression eased.

"However," he added with a challenging glint in his eye, "I should say that you could have sent no more determined ambassador for your cause than Miss Meriwether here."

"Miss Meriwether?" A befuddled look came over their host before he fixed his gaze on her.

Trudy cursed herself for letting Matthew's smile distract her from the need to keep her deception working. If she did not hurry, the reason for Mr. Waite's confusion would be imminently clear. She should have known that neither his joy nor his surprise on meeting his mysterious benefactor would long prevent him from asking who the devil she was.

Rallying quickly, she threw Mr. Waite an arch glance, full of intimacy. "Sir, I must protest this formality! Why, when two hearts beat nearly as one for a cause as noble as ours, the conventions should never apply. From this day forward, I beg you will call me Faye."

As she had hoped, her boldness made him gape with a wide open jaw, and his accompanying silence lasted long enough for her to slip in another diversion. "We should not keep Sir Matthew standing any longer than is absolutely necessary, however, for he has been extremely ill and I fear this exertion may tire him. May we not," she continued, "see if these gentlemen would like to tour the establishment? I suspect that is why they have come."

No host, when faced with a request on behalf of a generous patron, can pursue another course. Startled into performing his duties, Mr. Waite became instant cordiality.

"Of course, of course!" With an anxious glance, the steward at once took in Matthew's sallow tinge and the looseness of his clothing. "Let us start at once."

Trudy could hardly blame Mr. Waite for not remarking these telltale signs of Matthew's illness sooner, for the deep intelligence of his eyes, the immense force of character shining through them, nearly made her ignore the results of his ague as well. If her own thoughts had not been so focused on distracting him with the hope of vanquishing his vicious dreams, she might not remark them at all. As it was, she could barely keep herself from hovering over him, from offering him her arm or from reaching up to touch his forehead to see if his fever had returned.

Ridiculous to act like a hen over her chick, and yet something about Matthew made Trudy feel quite protective of him. Possessive, too, like a gleeful troll with his hoard of gold.

The almshouse was laid out in a long, narrow rectangle around the courtyard in which they stood. In his eagerness to engage Matthew's further interest, Mr. Waite started to lead them along the walk to its end.

"If you will, please, come this way . . . ."

Matthew offered Trudy his arm again, which she accepted with an unbidden rush of warmth. He was so tall, her chin barely reached the top button of his vest. The brush of his sleeve against her hair made her feel strangely shy, when she had not felt so last night in circumstances far more compromising. Perhaps, it was because he looked more intently at her now, as if she were an intriguing sprite. More real than she had been at night, when the reverse was true.

As much as she found she enjoyed being the object of his scrutiny, Trudy was relieved when Matthew politely turned his attention to their host.

"As you can see," Mr. Waite was saying, "these are the dormitories. Each resident occupies his own room. We have twenty-two inmates, all of them male and somewhat incapacitated by age. In general, they were brought to England as servants. Then, for whatever reason, most were left to fend for themselves, although some are living here as pensioners of the same families who brought them to this country."

"What is their occupation now?" Matthew asked, and Trudy took hope from the interest in his voice.

Mr. Waite said, "We have taught them to make yarn and to weave, which, as it appears, is done by the men in most of their countries. We thought it best to find an occupation which would not offend their religious sensibilities."

"Very wise." Matthew's brief comment held a touch of irony, which suggested that he had witnessed what sometimes happened when the opposite attempt was made.

At that moment, they reached the end of the walk, and Mr. Waite led them inside the small common rooms, which stood in place of the usual chapel. In each, a group of men sat occupied in various tasks having to do with a stage of preparing wool. Some were carding, some dyeing and spinning, some weaving. Trudy felt her own curiosity growing. However, mindful that she must appear as if these sights were familiar to her, she cast no curious glances their way.

At the sight of a group of men in long, white robes, Ahmad, who had been following them at a discrete distance, chose to stop. The men glanced up from their work.

An exchange of words transpired in Arabic. Trudy, to whom all tongues were known, recognized the greetings as cordial.

Turning back to his own party, Ahmad fixed his stare on Matthew. Trudy supposed he was examining his friend for signs of fatigue.

"Saab," he said, apparently satisfied. "If you would not be inconvenienced, I should like to converse with these men."

"Not at all. You must do as you wish. If I tire, I can wait for you in the carriage."

Ahmad bowed and entered the room where the men were working.

"You, yourself, have traveled widely, Sir Matthew?" Mr. Waite's inquiry made them turn their heads.

Trudy could feel a bunching of the muscles in Matthew's arm. "Yes."

"Then you are perhaps familiar with the Mohammedan tongue?"

Matthew gave a curt nod, and Trudy could tell he had no wish to be questioned further. His tightly compressed lips barely concealed his impatience.

A nervous flutter of Mr. Waite's eyelids revealed that he had sensed Matthew's reserve. "Forgive my curiosity, sir. I had merely hoped you would be willing to help me with a particular inmate who seems to have landed here with no knowledge whatsoever of English. Though his fellows are quite willing to act as his interpreter, none are fluent enough to make his trouble clear to me."

"If that is all you require--" Matthew again relaxed--"then Ahmad should be able to assist you. When it comes to African tongues, he is far more gifted than I."

He called Ahmad back out of the room, and they conferred to one side. Afraid that Mr. Waite would use the opportunity to try to establish who she was, Trudy kept him occupied with various questions of her own. She could not hear the other men's conversation, but bits and pieces of it floated to her ears. Matthew clearly wanted Ahmad to stay at the almshouse as long as he wished, while Ahmad was concerned by the thought of Matthew's going home alone.

At last, Matthew's strength of character carried the day, assisted by a glare from his powerful eyes. While many other men would have quaked beneath it, Ahmad merely conceded defeat with a deep salaam.

Matthew rejoined Trudy and their host and gave Mr. Waite to know that Ahmad would stay to render him whatever service was needed, but that he himself must retire.

"I have errands of my own to complete, also," Trudy said quickly, not wishing to be trapped with Mr. Waite and his questions. "I shall accompany you to the door."

Mr. Waite thanked them both for coming and begged they would do so again. At least, Trudy thought, as she and Matthew approached the courtyard, the steward of the almshouse was no longer staring at her as if she'd fallen from the sky. No doubt he had put his confusion behind him, merely grateful to have two new interested patrons for his house.

As they came out, Trudy said, "I hope this morning has not tired you excessively."

"Not at all. You quite mistake my actions."

She had offended him once again with her solicitude. Matthew, it seemed, did not care for sympathy, far less for anyone's pity; but she could not help being concerned for his health. Fortunately, as she examined him covertly, he showed no particular signs of fatigue. Instead, a hint of restlessness flickered in his eyes.

She arched a look, at once feeling conspiratorial. "Very well, sir, what was your design in escaping? Did you find Mr. Waite uninspiring?"

"No. Though at one time I would have despised a man who did nothing more than a pedestrian job day after day. But that is a young man's opinion, and I have learned that there is something to be said for devotion of any kind.

"No," he continued, not giving her time to respond to his curious statement. "I simply wanted to give Ahmad a bit of time to himself. He has been spending far too much of it alone with me."

"I see. And shall you return home as you said?"

Matthew's deep, brown eyes lit with a glimmer. His tall brow furrowed as he hesitated, as if torn between two very different options. "I had thought I might take a turn in the park," he said with his gaze fixed on her. "May I take you up?"

Trudy sighed, and a beam of pleasure bathed her lips in warmth. "I cannot think of anything more delightful than a carriage ride just now."

She had startled him with her boldness, but it intrigued him nonetheless. Eying her with a mixture of wariness and amusement, he said nothing more, but ushered her out of the courtyard and into his waiting vehicle.

Matthew had hired a closed chaise. Trudy knew it was most improper for her to ride inside it with a gentleman alone, but she also knew deeply that Matthew would care even less for the rules of propriety than she. Why would a man who had roamed such exotic parts of the world have the same ridiculous standards as other Englishmen?

Matthew sat facing the rear, giving her the forward-facing seat. He settled a lap rug over her knees and directed the driver to take them to the park. Trudy heard the crack of his whip and felt the carriage give a short lunge before the horses settled into a sedate pace.

Clasping the seat with both hands and swinging her feet, for they did not reach the floor, she watched delightedly as the scenery rolled past. This was her first ride in a human conveyance, and she had rather hoped there would be more dash. But she found she was not disappointed, for the illicit pleasure of being alone with Matthew more than made up for the demureness of the ride.

The storefronts they saw were decked with freshly-cut greens, a sure sign the Yule was upon them. And when they passed an elegant milliner's shop, she exclaimed over the hats in its bow window. But, instead of peering outside as she did, Matthew kept his gaze fixed on her, an analytical smile curving his lips.

Trudy tried to engage him in the sights they were passing. The brisk temperature of early winter never failed to arouse her excitement since it hailed the coming year. The air in the carriage was nippy enough to chill her nose.

"You are quite a mystery, Miss Meriwether." Matthew's words cut across her effusions about the high perch phaeton they had just passed.

Faye. Please," she said, hoping to divert him from the questions she feared were gathering.

"Don't you wish to know what I find so mysterious about you--Faye?"

"Of course." When her ruse failed, a nervous feeling rose in her stomach like bubbles blown by a nymph in a pond. "What woman would not wish to know the answer to a riddle such as that?"

"What woman indeed? But you are not like other women, are you?"

She tensed with the fear of discovery. "What on earth can you mean?"

"You are more than simply unconventional. You hardly seem aware of the restraints upon women of your class."

Trudy breathed as relief soothed the flutterings inside her. "I am fully aware of them, Sir Matthew, but I despise them. You have traveled, sir. You know that the restraints imposed upon women differ widely from culture to culture."

"Yes." His brow furrowed. "But how would you know?"

"Oh." She waved an airy hand. "I have been about the world a bit, too. My father was a traveler, like you."

"Let me guess. The army in India, followed by a stint in the diplomatic service?"

She smiled, pleased that she did not have to invent another lie. Matthew had done the work for her. "Precisely," she said, and then was dismayed by how bad even that small inverse lie made her feel, when she was so used to inventing tales. She sensed that Matthew would be hurt if he knew she had lied. And, she found, she did not wish to hurt him.