That Silent Night (3 page)

“As do mine,” he said, coming around the game table to my side. “I suggest”—he was covering my neck with kisses—“that we go upstairs at once, so I may demonstrate.”

I saw no reason to object, particularly as nothing short of visual proof would convince Colin I had seen Mrs. Leighton in the snow the night before, and I never liked to waste time on a hopeless cause, particularly in lieu of the activity he proposed. Furthermore, I had not the slightest idea how to avoid mate in two. Hours later, as I lay in bed listening to my husband's even breathing, which told me he was fast asleep, I envied him his peace, for a feeling of disquiet had seized me, and I found I could no longer ignore it. As if driven by a force beyond my control, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed to my dressing room, nearly tripping on the gown I had worn that evening, which my husband had discarded with the same scandalous disregard he was wont to apply to his own garments. After pulling the door closed behind me, I turned on the lights, their glare harsh on my eyes after so many hours of darkness, and reached for a dressing gown.

I carried my slippers as I made my way back through our chamber, where Colin did not stir, even when I opened the door. I padded across the corridor, pausing to cover my feet, as the floor, even with its thick carpet, felt cold. Our room faced the back garden, ensuring the ever-increasing traffic in Park Lane would not disturb our slumber. Now, though, I wanted to see the street. I opened the doorway across from ours, entered the Green Bedroom, so named for the Chinese silk hung on its walls, went directly to the window, and pulled aside the curtains, stepping forward until my brow almost touched the glass, the heavy fabric falling behind me as I let it go.

I half expected to hear something—anything—a sound that would explain the feeling of having been summoned to this spot, but silence hung heavy over me. Yet my premonition, if it had been nothing more than that, did not fail me. There, across the street, in front of the gate to the park, stood the same woman I had seen before, still with no coat, wearing what appeared to be the same old-fashioned gown. I believed she could not see me—I carried no light and the room was dark—but I began to question this when she removed one of her hands from her tattered muff and held something up in front of her, reaching high above her head. What could have prompted this motion if she had not observed me? I strained, trying to identify the object. She moved it, slowly and rhythmically, back and forth and, as she did, the glow of the streetlight caught it, only for a moment, and I saw a glimpse of gold, hanging from a chain.

I hesitated, wanting to race downstairs in another attempt to speak to her, but I knew—somehow, inexplicably—that she would be gone before I could reach her. Instead, I studied every detail of her appearance. Even from my current distance, I could see that, although she did bear a striking similarity to Mrs. Leighton, the woman was not she. This figure was thinner and more angular, with a paler, almost sickly complexion. I considered opening the window, but worried the sound would scare her away, so I continued to watch.

After what felt like an eternity had passed, I began to grow concerned. She would freeze if she stayed out much longer, yet her posture indicated no sort of discomfort as she continued to move the necklace—unless it was a watch—back and forth. Back and forth. The motion mesmerized me, and before long, my lids felt heavy. I swear I closed them only for an instant, but when I looked again, she had gone, without a trace.

As before (although this time through the window), I looked up and down Park Lane, but did not see her. She could not have retreated into the park, as the gates had long since been locked. Telling myself I must have drifted asleep, and for longer than I thought, I returned to bed.

Colin rolled over and reached out for me. “I do not like waking up and finding you gone,” he said.

“As you see, I am not gone.”

“Your feet are like ice,” he said. “Which tells me you have only just returned. What have I missed?”

“Only another visit from our mysterious lady,” I said.

“Mrs. Leighton?” he asked, his dark eyes, which had remained half-closed through this, suddenly snapping open.

“No,” I said. “The same woman I saw from the library window. You were quite right. It is not Mrs. Leighton, but it is someone very like her.”

“You were dreaming,” he said, pulling me close and wrapping his arms around me. “Go back to sleep, my dear.”

*   *   *

The snow had stopped by the next morning, and after luncheon Davis informed us Mr. Leighton's servant had returned an identical quantity of coal to that he had borrowed and had also sent two large potted poinsettias as thanks. A short letter from Mrs. Leighton accompanied the plants. She thanked us for our hospitality and invited me to tea that afternoon.

“If this continues, we may as well return to Anglemore,” Colin said, tossing the note aside after I gave it to him to read. “We are plagued with neighbors no matter where we go.”

“Mrs. Leighton is unlikely to suggest charades,” I said.

“Touché, my dear.”

I bundled up against the elements before walking to the Leightons' that afternoon for, although the snow had finished, the temperature had dropped. Theirs was one of the oldest houses in the street, but it did not possess the elegant Georgian façade one would expect from an eighteenth-century dwelling. Instead, it loomed above Park Lane, a dark and foreboding tower rising from one corner, as if its designer had wanted to conjure up the image of a medieval fortress. Large trees stood in the front garden, too close to the house, causing a feeling of claustrophobia as one approached the front door. The interior had been remodeled in the middle of our current century, and I am sorry to say had been decorated to excess, no doubt by someone who followed the fashion that mistook clutter for style.

The butler led me through the wide entrance hall and into a dark-paneled corridor. A collection of hunting paintings hung from the walls, their subjects ranging from portraits of elegant individuals wearing pinks while seated on their horses to mangled and violent death scenes depicting the hunters triumphant. I could not imagine that any young bride would choose to adorn her house in such a fashion and wondered if she planned to renovate.

When at last we reached the sitting room where Mrs. Leighton received me, I was delighted to leave the gloom of the rest of the house for this charming little space overlooking Hyde Park. With the leaves long since fallen from the trees in the front garden, the room was brighter than it would have been in the summer, although the branches outside the windows combined with the early dusk of winter allowed an uneasy gloom to creep into the room. Well-placed lamps managed to combat it effectively, however, and the walls glowed a comforting shade of yellow, with grapes, sunflowers, and a variety of other blossoms covering the paper that could only have been designed by William Morris. The fact that Mrs. Leighton chose to have tea here made me wonder if the rest of the house reflected her husband's taste rather than hers.

“What a charming room,” I said, sitting in one of the Empire style chairs that furnished the space and thanking her for the steaming cup of tea she handed to me.

“I thank you for the compliment. It is the only place in the house I feel comfortable,” she said. “I suppose I am not quite used to the married state. This house is very large and something like a mausoleum, I am afraid.”

“I read somewhere that marriage is a stalemate between equal adversaries,” I said. “Your husband is quite affable and obviously enormously fond of you. I cannot imagine he would object to you redecorating however you would like.”

She blushed, and the color in her cheeks transformed her whole appearance. “He is very good to me. He purchased the house after our engagement, but I have not yet thought about making changes. It does still feel very much like someone else's home.”

“Where did you meet Mr. Leighton?” I asked.

“The usual way, at a ball,” she said. “I was with my aunt in London at the time.“

“Were you with her for the season?” It was not uncommon for young ladies whose parents did not keep a house in town to stay with relatives when making their entrance into society.

“I have lived with Aunt Clara from just after my tenth birthday. She took me in when my mother died. It has always made this time of year difficult for me. The anniversary of her death is Friday.”

“I am so very sorry,” I said.

“My father was in the merchant marine, so we hardly ever saw him growing up. Mother fell ill not long after his ship disappeared in a storm. I had only met my aunt once or twice before then—she was much grander than we, you understand, and our social spheres did not overlap.”

She made her point delicately. “How good of her to take you in,” I said. “Does she still live in London?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “She lived in Manchester, but when I came of age she sold the house there and we moved to Essex. There was enough money left to give me one season in London, and, happily, I met Emmett during it. We planned to spend Christmas with her in the country, but the storm delayed our departure. I had hoped we would leave tomorrow.…”

I waited for her to finish, but no further words came. “The snow will be dealt with by then, surely, so long as no more falls.” She sat, looking out the window, saying nothing. “Are you unwell, Mrs. Leighton?” I asked.

Her teacup and saucer clattered to the floor, and the noise of it shattering brought her back from wherever her thoughts had taken her. “Apologies, Lady Emily. I am afraid I am a poor hostess.”

“Not at all. Did you see something out the window?” I asked.

“Why would I see something out the window?”

“There is often a fascinating parade of people going to and from the park,” I said. I had asked the question because something about the look in her eyes called to mind the mysterious figure I had seen outside my own window, and given the overall oppressive atmosphere of the house, I could hardly keep from expecting to see something untoward. I continued, not wanting her to think I suspected anything to be wrong. “Although in this weather—“

“Of course,” she said, her entire face a mask of gloom, her grey eyes the color of dim storm clouds. “I misunderstood your question.”

This fascinated me. Perhaps she had seen something she did not want to confess. “How so?”

“It does not merit discussion,” she said, her cheeks coloring again. “I must thank you again for having us to dine last night. Your cook is extraordinary. Please do give her my compliments.”

“Of course,” I said, studying her face. Her eyes had gone bright once she changed the subject. “How do you find Park Lane so far? Will you be happy here? My husband complains about the traffic, primarily because he remembers the street being much more quiet during his childhood.”

“It has certainly been quiet with the snow,” Mrs. Leighton said.

“It has,” I said. “Colin objects to the ever-increasing presence of motorcars. He insists the sound of their engines is not conducive to residential neighborhoods.”

“Emmett would not agree with him on that point,” she said, leaning forward. “He has two of the blooming things.”

“Two? Is that so?” I asked. “Personally, I find them fascinating and am desperate to learn to drive.”

“What's this?” Mr. Leighton entered the room. “A lady who wants to drive?”

“I don't suppose I could persuade you to instruct me in the art?” I asked. “When the weather improves, of course.”

“I should be delighted to,” he said. “Although I doubt your husband would be thrilled by the prospect.”

“I can assure you, Mr. Leighton, his opinion on the matter does not concern me in the least.”

“I apologize for disturbing you ladies,” he said, “and shan't keep you from your conversation for long. I only wanted to remind you, darling Pen, that Dr. Holton will be round about six thirty.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

“I shall leave you to it,” he said, smiling broadly. “Enjoy your tea, and I shall look forward to your driving lessons, Lady Emily.” He left us with a cheery wave.

“Emmett is so attentive,” Mrs. Leighton said. “He reminds me about every little appointment. He does worry so about me.”

I had been about to ask her if Dr. Holton was a close acquaintance, as I had assumed Mr. Leighton to be referring to some sort of social engagement, but if it were an appointment, I thought it best not to inquire further. I knew there to be a Dr. Holton in London who specialized in the treatment of nervous disorders. “So you depart for Essex tomorrow?” I asked.

“I very much hope so,” she said.

“Do you have other family there?”

“No,” she said. “My aunt was widowed young, before she could have children, and lived alone until I came to her.”

“It is good of you to spend Christmas with her,” I said. “Your husband, I understand, belongs to a large family.”

“Yes, Emmett's brother and sisters are rather terrifying, if you must know. I am not used to so much bustle and fuss. But they are all very kind.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Only a sister, but she died some years ago. When we lost our mother and I went to live with Aunt Clara, Adelaide was placed in the care of our father's brother, who lived in London. I never saw her after I moved to Manchester.”

“I am so sorry, Mrs. Leighton,” I said. “I seem to have a talent for asking you heart-wrenching questions.”

“It was a long time ago,” she said, a forced smile on her face. “Would you care for more cake?”

*   *   *

“Dr. Holton.” I had repeated the name three times, but Colin refused to comment. “You know him by reputation, I am sure.” Davis had brought our after-dinner coffee into the library where we had retired to read. Or rather, he had brought Colin's coffee, as I despised the beverage and was having chocolate
chaud
instead, with a large dollop of whipped cream, to remind me of Vienna.