Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand (13 page)

Roxanna looked from the man to Lord Winn, curious about the frown that appeared on the marquess's face. "No," he began, and she wondered at the wary tone. "Should I have been?" Lord Winn turned to her. "Mrs. Drew, since he has no manners, let me introduce the sheriff of this district, Reggie Cowans. Mr. Cowans, is your business with me or with Mrs. Drew?"

She frowned at the marquess. I wish you would be a little more friendly, she thought as she reached out to shake hands with the sheriff. And here he is, impatient with waiting. I wonder if he would like tea?

She gasped as Cowans slapped the document into her outstretched hand and bolted for the door. "It wasn't my idea!" he shouted over his shoulder as he ran from the house.

"Good God!" the marquess exclaimed. He took her by the shoulder as she stared down at the papers in her hand. "I don't know what this could possibly be, Mrs. Drew, but I think you ought to sit down before you open it."

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed as she broke the seal and spread out the pages. She read a few words, then sank to her knees before Lord Winn could grab her. She dropped the document as thought it burned her fingers, and covered her face with her hands.

Lord Winn snatched it up, his face white. "My God," he said softly as his eye scanned the first page. "Mrs. Drew, this is a writ of removal." He sat down hard on the sofa, running his finger down the document. He sucked in his breath and stared at her, dumbfounded. "Lord Whitcomb means to take your children in three days!"

There was a great roaring in her ears, blocking out what Lord Winn was saying to her, even when he grasped her by the shoulders and spoke right into her face. She noticed finally that she was sitting on the sofa, and that someone—it must have been Lord Winn—had placed her hands in her lap.

She sat there, and finally heard someone, his voice urgent, saying, "For God's sake, make a wreath in the kitchen and keep the girls out of here! Meggie, do you have any brandy?"

As her vision cleared, she saw Lord Winn holding out a glass to her. She tried to reach for it, but it seemed miles away and her hand was shaking too badly. In another moment, Lord Winn gripped her shoulder, put the cup to her lips, and made her drink.

"You were saying something," she managed to gasp, after the brandy began its work.

He sat beside her, his arm tight around her shoulders, as though to stop her trembling. "You simply must get hold of yourself, Roxie," he ordered softly. "The girls cannot know what is going on. It would destroy them."

She nodded, clenching her jaw closed to keep her teeth from chattering. She knew she should remonstrate with him for calling her Roxie, but it suddenly seemed so unimportant. He could call her anything, and it would not matter. Marshall Drew was coming for her children. She closed her eyes and leaned against the marquess.

Her senses on edge, she jumped and opened her eyes at the rustling of paper. Lord Winn had spread out the pages on his lap, reading them quickly, turning the pages. "Damn," he said several times softly, but with great venom.

"Tell me," she said, wishing that he would put more coal on the fire. She was numb with cold. But how could that be? A fire roared in the grate.

He shook his head. "No time now." He looked at his watch. "Roxie, we have to decorate this room with greenery and help hang a wreath. Then we'll eat dinner. What do you do then on Christmas Eve? Roxie? Come on, my dear. Speak to me."

"We read something," she said, her voice dull to her ears. "I wish-I could remember what. Something."

"The Bible?" he suggested gently.

"Bible?" she repeated. "Oh, yes, the Bible. Something in St. Luke. I can't remember what. Why would we read Luke? I wish I knew."

She stared at the marquess. He put his hands gently on her neck and gave her a little shake and then spoke distinctly, as though to someone deaf.

"Roxie, you've been dealt a dreadful hand by your brother-in-law," he said. "Are you going to play it?"

Am I going to play it? she asked herself and thought of her brothers, teasing her when she threw down a bad hand and ran from the room. "Of course I am going to play it," she replied automatically, and took his hands from her neck. "Of course I am."

She sat still a moment, and gradually began to feel warm. She sighed and burrowed closer to Lord Winn, grateful for his warmth. She could hear the clock ticking over the mantelpiece now, and the girls laughing with Meggie in the kitchen. I cannot lose them, she thought. I must be in control. She sat up straight then, and the marquess relaxed his grip.

"We read the story of the First Christmas from Luke, my lord," she said calmly, even as her stomach churned and roiled. "We hang our stockings, and the girls go to bed."

"Good girl," he said. "When they're in bed, we're going over to Moreland to take a real look at this and figure out what we're going to do."

To her indescribable relief, he said, "what we're going to do," and not, "what you're going to do." She turned to look him in the eyes. "Thank you for not leaving me in this alone."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, standing up, and pulling her to her feet. Her legs buckled under her, but he held her up until she could stand on her own.

"Mama?"

It was Helen, and she was holding out a red ribbon. "Mama, are you all right?" she asked anxiously.

I am dying, she thought as she squared her shoulders and smiled at her daughter. "Of course I am," she lied smoothly. "I think I was just a little too cold out there. Do you need me to make a bow?"

Helen nodded. Lissy came into the room, struggling with a wreath as tall as she was. Roxanna sat on the edge of the sofa as Meggie hurried to Lord Winn, a question in her eyes. There were whispered words between them, then Meggie gasped and turned away to face the window.

"Now, my dears, let us go in the kitchen, so I can lay out this ribbon on the table," Roxanna said as Meggie began to cry softly.

Startled, the girls looked at Meggie, then followed their mother into the kitchen. As they watched, she willed her hands to stop shaking, and made a bow for the wreath. It took three tries, but received Helen's approval finally. Under her direction, Helen threaded a needle and bound the bow to the wreath with a few careful stitches.

"Excellent!" Roxanna declared and took a step back for the full effect. "I am certain we can get Lord Winn to hang it over the mantelpiece. Is there enough holly left for a small wreath at the door? Hand it to me carefully, Helen. I can do that."

She fashioned a holly wreath, surprised that she could not feel the sharp pricks of the leaves. It is as though I am watching someone else do this, she decided. Nothing hurts, because it is not happening to me.

"Mama, it's beautiful," Lissy cried, her arm resting on Roxanna’s leg as she worked at the kitchen table.

Roxanna bent down and kissed the top of Felicity's head, breathing deep of her child's fragrance. She rested her head against her daughter's curly hair for a moment and closed her eyes, trying to imagine life without her.

"No," she said firmly. "It is not possible."

Lissy looked at her with those brown eyes so like her
own.
"Mama, I think it is beautiful!" she argued.

"Oh!" Roxanna said. "Of course it is. I was thinking of . .. something else. Let's put it on the front door."

By the time she returned to the sitting room, Meggie was fully in possession of herself and helping Lord Winn arrange the large wreath over the fireplace. Roxanna hung the holly wreath over the knocker. It was beautiful, she thought, the shiny green and red contrasting so elegantly with the white door. I will not think about the end of the week, when my brother-in-law will knock on this door to take my daughters from me.

She and Meggie prepared dinner in tight-lipped silence while Lord Winn and the girls sang carols and draped the holly and greens about the sitting room. Meggie looked up once from the onion she kept mincing over and over. "He's a cool one, Mrs. Drew," was all she said. Roxanna could only nod her head in agreement.

She did not attempt dinner, knowing that if she raised her fork to her lips, she would throw up. By pushing the food around on her plate, she managed to look busy enough to fool Lissy, who was always involved in her own meals anyway. Helen regarded her with a frown.

"Mama, you should eat," she scolded. "Don't you like fricassee?"

Roxanna patted her stomach. "What I really need is a glass of soda and water. I think I ate too many cookies this morning."

Helen nodded, accepting this reasoning, and finished her food. Lord Winn even asked for seconds. "You're a good cook, Mrs. Drew," he said. "I could grow stout with my legs under your table."

She smiled at him. "Don't blame me! It's all those cinnamon buns that Lissy insists on at your house."

There, she thought, that was a reasonable volley of conversation. We almost sound normal. She glanced at the clock. Another two hours of this charade and I can put the girls to bed and fall apart.

After dinner, while Meggie cleaned up in the kitchen, Lord Winn settled himself on the sofa, took Felicity on his lap, and accepted the family Bible. "Luke 2, my lord," Roxanna reminded.

He looked up at her in genuine amusement. "I know where it is, Mrs. Drew!" he declared. "You must not persist in thinking that I am a heathen." He turned the pages. "Ah. Here we are. 'And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed .. . ' "

Her arms around Helen, Roxanna leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes, the majestic words like a balm flowing over her whole body. As Lord Winn read, his voice that interesting combination of Yorkshire brogue and cultured diction so familiar to her ears now, she forced herself to think about that first Christmas. She thought next of her eight Christmases with Anthony, then folded them in her memory and tucked them away in her heart. Next year will be better, she thought. It has to be.

Helen was disappointed that there was no stocking for Lord Winn to tack onto the mantelpiece. "You could take off your boot and let me have that one," she reasoned as Roxanna hung the Christmas stockings.

"Oh, you wouldn't want either one," he assured her. "I believe there is even a hole in the toe of one and in the heel of the other."

Helen's eyes opened wide. "But you are a marquess!" she exclaimed.

Lord Winn laughed. "A title has nothing to do with it! You should have seen me in Spain. Even my breeches had holes in them there. Let me bring over a clean sock in the morning." He looked down at Felicity, who slumbered in his lap. "Here, Mrs. Drew. Take the Bible and let me get Lissy upstairs."

She and Helen followed him up the stairs. The floor was cold, so Helen's prayers were short. Felicity didn't even wake up as Roxanna dressed her in her nightgown and tied on her sleeping cap. Lord Winn stood looking down on her. "If that were anyone but Felicity, we could call it the sleep of the innocent," he whispered. Helen giggled, and crawled into bed beside her sister. She held out her hand.

"Good night, Lord Winn. I hope you have a happy Christmas."

As Roxanna watched, he turned away, the muscles in his face working. Tears started down his cheeks. She touched his shoulder and sat on the edge of Helen's bed as he left the room. "I am sure he will," she managed to say. "Perhaps the holidays are hard for him."

"But he has us," Helen asserted, keeping her voice low to avoid disturbing Lissy.

And such a lot of trouble we are for ten pounds, Roxanna thought. She kissed her daughter good night. "When you wake up in the morning, you will smell Lissy's heavenly goose cooking."

And my goose is already cooked, she thought as she hugged Helen, then closed the door behind her. Lord Winn was already down the stairs and into his overcoat, the writ in his hand, his eyes red.

"Get on your cloak, Roxie," he ordered. "We're going to Moreland. You can cry in peace over there and I can throw things."

She nodded and let him help her into her cloak. "I'll be back in a while, Meggie," she said. "Please try to sleep."

"I couldn't possibly, Mrs. Drew," Meggie said.

Lord Winn took her hand and hurried her through the snow to Moreland, his face grim. She half-ran to keep up with him, and then he shortened his stride. "Sorry," was all he said as they traversed the distance.

The estate was dark and cold. He let her into the bookroom and lit a lantern, then dumped coal in the grate and started a fire. "I'm going to the stable to wake up my groom," he said as he looked at the little flame. "I'm sending him for Tibbie."

"Tibbie?" she asked.

He nodded. "He may be the only cool head in the bunch, Mrs. Drew. I'll be back."

She pulled up a chair close to the fire and reached for the document that Lord Winn had thrown down on the desk. The Latin phrases mingled with the English words and leaped out at her like little imps to torment her. She shuddered and pushed it away.

By the time Lord Winn returned, the fire glowed in the grate, and her hands were warm for the first time all day. He sat down heavily in the chair and swiveled it. around to face her. "Did you read it?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I can't bring myself to touch it."

"I understand that, Roxie," he said simply. "He has been granted a writ of removal by the lord magistrate in York."

"York?" she questioned. "Why there? It's so far away!"

"Exactly," he said, scooting his chair closer until they were knee to knee. "The writ can only be answered in York, my dear."

"Then we will start out tomorrow," she said, her eyes on his face.

He shook his head. "To enter a pleading you have to have a court hear you. There's nothing in session right now." He leaped to his feet and slammed his hand on the desk. "Damn that man! There are no Common Pleas, or Assizes, or even Chancery Court open between now and at least January 6," he shouted. "Quarter sessions doesn't start for another three weeks! Mrs. Drew, he has humbugged you!"

She sagged back in the chair, her mouth open. "My God," she said softly. "Can I not at least bring a plea before a justice of the peace?" she asked.

He grasped her by the shoulders. "And who is this district's JP?" he demanded, his eyes fierce.

She began to cry. "It is Lord Whitcomb!" she sobbed. "But.. . how can he do this? Why can he take my children?" She cried as he took her in his arms and held her close.

"It's in the document, my dear," he said, holding her off a little to look at her face. "He claims you are an unfit mother because you moved your daughters into a dilapidated house with floors and roof missing. As the only living relative in England, he is empowered to take your daughters from your influence."