A Christmas Conspiracy (9 page)

The twins stared silently at the floor.

Do you think we dare?

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, Tavie. If we are indeed to thwart Miss Walleye, it would seem we must not only move quickly, but enlist the help of some other trustworthy soul. Besides, Sally is almost a sister to us. Remember how she helped us put brambles in the seams of Miss Montague’s chemise?

But surely this is a more desperate ploy.

All the more reason to enlist what aid we may have.

“Now, what is that soil really for?”

Genie blushed, but lifted her chin and said stoutly, “It is all part of a scheme to make our parents fall in love again.”

Sally looked from one to the other, her brows knit in consternation. “It is clear, young ladies,” she said at last, “we need to talk.”

* * * *

Giles sat on a bench in the conservatory, idly stripping the leaves from a ficus tree. How had he and Fanny ended up in an argument? He had meant to laugh with her about the little masque the girls had written. But somehow, everything had gone awry. He had not meant to be so perverse, but he had found the bitter words erupting from his heart uncontrollably.

What did the past matter anyway? he taxed himself. He had known from the first moment he saw Fanny that he wanted her back again, in spite of everything. Since she left, his life had been a succession of dreary winters—Fanny had always been the spring of his heart. Now he had gone and spoiled it all.

The girls were right, he realized: he had been blind to Fanny’s worth. True, she was infuriating. He had good reason to believe she had been unfaithful to him. But there was an essence deep within her his soul cried out for. Until she reappeared, his soul had been dead. Now it felt the painful, joyous stirring of life.

He realized, too, that in spite of his bitter words, he had forgiven her long ago. The years had passed, and now, if he held anyone in contempt, it was himself. He had known when she married him there was still something about her beyond his reach. He had tried in every way he could to make her happy, but he had not succeeded. If he had been sufficient as a husband, none of this would have happened.

Too, the sight of her in the arms of one he considered to be his friend had taken on an illusory quality, almost like a nightmare one has overcome at last and may think on without fear. He could, he thought, allow it to fade entirely.

“Sir Giles!” Martin, the old gardener, stood before him, his seamed face knit into a terrible scowl.

“What is it, Martin?”

“Someone has been at your prize orchids!”

He shrugged absently. “It is probably just Lady Fanny. She always said they ought not be hidden away in here. I daresay she was right.”

* * * *

In the drawing room Fanny was, for the moment, more practically occupied. She was indeed nursing her index finger which she had jabbed rather painfully when she reassumed her needlework. What had possessed her to address herself to such a hazardous occupation when that dratted Giles had just vexed her to distraction? Not only was Genie’s handiwork still hopelessly tangled, but it was emblazoned with a bright drop of her mother’s blood. Bad blood, she thought crossly.

Chapter Ten

When Sally deciphered the twins’ cryptic comment (for what had a pile of earth to do with making their parents fall in love?) her heart gave a flutter, for the tragic story of Sir Giles and Lady Fanny had wrenched her soul when first she heard it in her early days of service. Indeed, it had provided a better taste of doomed romance than even the penny novels Cook read aloud to them in the evenings. When, in the privacy of their chamber, she heard the sum of the twins’ machinations, she pursed her lips and thought a while.

“Do you not think,” she asked after a moment, “something more direct must better answer your purposes? Time, as you say, runs short.”

“We have done our best,” Genie complained.

“Yes, but do you not think your approach has been the least bit... well, that is to say, the heart is one with the body. You have only considered their minds.”

“Why, how do you mean, Sally?” Tavie asked ingenuously.

Sally took a deep breath. “I mean kissing. I mean embracing.”

“Mama and Father?” At this notion, the twins laughed uproariously. “Do but consider, Sally! But they are so old, surely they cannot—”

“Trust me,” Sally told them with a wink. “What you must devise is an opportunity for a more . . . intimate encounter.”

* * * *

“Brandy?” Genie asked.

“Yes.”

“Champagne?”

“Yes.”

“Cakes?”

“Half a moment—yes.”

Genie read from a long list, scratching items out as Tavie confirmed them. The girls had borrowed long pinafores from Sally and tied them over their gowns against the dust of the attic. There, they had spent the better part of the afternoon, and now surveyed the pile of assorted goods before them.

“Let me see ... featherbed?”

“Yes.”

“Blankets?”

“Yes, three.” Tavie shuddered with the cold. “They will need all of them.”

“Candles?”

“Yes.”

“I think we are done then,” Genie sighed, pushing a loose tendril back from her forehead. “What a good thing that Sally helped us devise this plan, for we should never have thought of it ourselves. How much more direct and sensible it is. I only hope our parents have the good sense to avail themselves of this opportunity—if only they remember how it is all done!”

“Do you think,” Tavie asked for the tenth time, “we are taking too drastic a step here?”

“Do not be chicken-hearted, now we have come this far! ‘But screw your courage to the sticking point,’ ” her sister admonished with somewhat less patience than she had begun the afternoon. “Think of Miss Walleye taking on the part of Father Christmas!

“Now, the more important question,” she continued as she wiped her soiled hands on her pinafore, “is how on earth shall we contrive it so our parents fall in with our lovely plan?”

“I have not the least idea!” Tavie gave the feather bed a last shake and tossed it upon the floor. “I am mortally tired of thinking today. Besides, it is almost time for us to change for dinner. Perhaps something brilliant will occur to us after we partake of some sustenance.”

“I certainly hope so, for you must own it would be altogether ineligible if plotting alone failed and our last resort should have to be something physical.”

“Why, Genie!” Tavie exclaimed, shocked to her core.
“That
would surely be a good deal worse than ineligible! You must realize our parents are far too heavy for us to drag about, and I do not think the footmen would humor us, however harmless we assured them the venture was.”

“You are quite out, Tavie. I was not, after all, considering bludgeoning them,” Genie said indignantly, “but merely lacing their tea with sleeping powder—only I do not know how much of the stuff to use.”

“That is a relief anyway. As it is, however, I fear our plan cannot bear close examination—ethically, at any rate.”

“Let us not be bothered with scruples at this point,” Genie complained crossly as she removed her pinafore and flung it far into a dark corner of the attic. “Scruples are exceedingly inconvenient. Besides, I cannot think Sally would advise us to do anything precisely wrong—only expedient. Come now. We had best change.”

* * * *

Later, when the twins joined their parents in the drawing room before dinner, they discovered the pair sitting quietly across from each other, each apparently lost in thought.

At least they are not still fighting,
Tavie sighed inwardly.

Nor,
Genie countered,
are they likely to wear out one another’s patience with chatter!

“Good evening Mama, Father,” they said, curtseying prettily.

“You look very smart this evening, my dears,” their mother told them. Automatically, they looked at one another as if regarding a glass. Periwinkle blue did become them, they knew.

“Those gowns,” she went on, “will look very well with the little gifts I have brought you for Christmas. Tell me, do you still open one gift on Christmas Eve, or are you such mature ladies you are able to contain your enthusiasm until Boxing Day?”

They looked from one to the other, and frowned. True, they had their differences with their father, but they could not like to shame him. The fact was that, in past years, their Christmas celebrations had been largely devised by the servants. Somehow, their father was often absent.

“The Christmas Eve gift? I believe it would be a very good thing to revive that custom,” Sir Giles said quietly. Then he went on. “I have read your little masque. I found it most amusing.”

“Amusing?” his wife asked, raising her eyebrows quizzically. A moment pregnant with silence ensued before she smiled and continued, “Indeed, I found it so myself. Tomorrow morning we must all go up to the attic and you may help us to choose our costumes.”

The attic! I knew
we
should find a way!
Tavie rejoiced.
Who would have thought that writing a simple masque would lead to masquing our intentions!?

I begin to think our intrigues are growing too easy to deserve that title.

“I do not believe they are kept there anymore,” Sir Giles said.

“Oh! But they are,” Genie broke in quickly. “Sally told me so only today.”

“And do say we need not wait until morning,” Tavie begged. “I vow I could not sleep a wink for the excitement of it. Please say we may look tonight!”

Sir Giles glanced at his wife, then said, “Very well. We should not wish to think of you staring at the canopy all night, waiting for first light.”

Dinner, although a quiet meal, did much to allay the twins’ misgivings, for their parents exchanged a number of glances they thought
might
be interpreted as warm. When it was done, an interminable length of time ensued before their father finished his brandy, and at their mother’s request they had performed a duet. At length, however, Sir Giles and Lady Fanny allowed themselves to be coaxed up the stairs.

“I believe,” their mother said through chattering teeth, “I shall just go to my chamber and fetch a shawl.” The draft which issued from the attic could only be characterized as glacial.

Their father, who stood holding a branch of candles, nodded. “It will be freezing up there. You girls must find some wraps as well.”

As good an opportunity as I have ever seen,
Genie exulted.
Shall we do it?

Tavie hesitated a mere second. Then she shot back
Yes. It is clear, there is nothing else for it!

“Do not trouble yourself, Mama,” Genie smiled sweetly. “Tavie and I shall fetch yours for you.”

“Just go on up without us,” Tavie prompted them. “We shall be back before you know it.”

* * * *

Holding aloft a branch of candles, Giles led Fanny up the narrow attic stairs. It was so cold, their breath issued forth in foggy billows before them. Fanny chafed her arms. Her evening gown was hardly the choice for such an excursion, she thought ruefully. There was a bright side, however: she was certain Giles must find her a far more sympathetic figure if she were to be carried off with consumption.

“I hope,” she managed, shuddering violently against the cold, “the girls are prompt. I begin to feel like Lot’s wife.”

Giles was holding the candles aloft as he peered into the darkened corners. “It was as I thought,” he said. “I do not see the trunks here. I was certain I had told Spencer to store them in the west wing last year. Mice were turning them into bed chambers.”

“Clever creatures,” she shivered. “Let us go then. At least we may continue our search in warmer climes.”

“Minimally so. I believe Cook has begun to store perishables in the west wing.”

“How entirely appropriate,” she said archly. “I feel about to perish.”

Giles took Fanny’s icy hand and led her down the narrow staircase. The door at the bottom was closed and, when Giles reached to turn the handle, he found it apparently stuck,

“What a nuisance,” he muttered. “I suppose we shall have to wait a moment or two until the girls return. Then we can send them for some help.”

By way of reply Fanny allowed her teeth to chatter more loudly. She rued her choice of gown even more desperately for, while it was not nearly so revealing as the one she had worn that morning, neither was it made of anything so cozy as a bear skin.

“Here,” he said quietly, setting his candles down on the staircase and putting an arm about her shoulders, “we cannot have you freezing solid.”

He continued to chafe her arms for some minutes. It would be heavenly, she thought abstractedly as she leaned back against him, if only his caress were prompted by something other than the cold. As she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that the last several years had never taken place, that she and Giles were . . .

“Where the devil are they?” he complained. Taking his hands from her shoulders, he set his weight against the door, to no avail.

Fanny looked back over her shoulder; in the flickering candlelight she could see above them the unquestionable shape of a ... could it be a kissing bough?

“Giles . . .” Fanny began warily, “you do not suppose . . .”

“Yes?” he grunted as he shoved at the door once more.

“You do not suppose the girls could have . . . locked us up here?”

Through the flickering light, she could see his frown deepen. He rattled the handle. Then he turned his gaze on her. “Do you have any reason to believe they might have done so?”

“I have,” she shuddered, “more than one reason to suspect them, but it is a long story. Do but look above us for a moment.”

Giles held the candles up. “What in heaven’s name is a kissing bough doing in the attic?”

“Like me, it seems to be forming icicles.”

“What are those minxes up to now, I wonder?”

“I think I have an idea,” she said slowly. “Come, Giles, let us go back up the stairs. Unless I was hallucinating from the cold, I believe I saw some blankets piled about.”

“Do not be a looby, Fanny,” he said with unexpected good humor as he took her hand once more. “I should think it will be at least another ten minutes before we begin to hallucinate.”