A Christmas Scandal (22 page)

Maggie stood on Centre Street outside the imposing the bleak facade of the Hall of Justice, known by New Yorkers as The Tombs. The building was designed to look like a Roman tomb, forbidding and unwelcoming. She pulled her cheap cloak around her tighter, trying in vain to stop the bitterly cold wind from penetrating the thin fabric. The sun shone weakly in a milky sky, giving off little light and even less heat. She wished she could visit her father wearing her old ermine-lined coat and muff. The last thing she wanted to do was to worry her father more by arriving looking like some sort of scullery maid. But it was Christmas Day and she was alone in New York and she wanted her father.

The Tombs, a huge granite building, took up an entire city block. Maggie hadn’t known there were so many criminals in the city. It seemed as if all of New York could fit inside. Clutching a small parcel against her, she walked up the broad steps, fear touching her, almost as if she were to be locked up. At the top of the steps was a large portico with towering columns that seemed to block any light from penetrating the gloomy, frightening, cavernous entrance that was about as welcoming as the gaping opening of a grave. The portico was nearly deserted, but for a single uniformed guard leaning up against the dark granite lighting a cigar in his boredom. Maggie nodded to him, unsure where to go, until she spied a small sign directing visitors to a second building just beyond a courtyard.

She knew, suddenly, why her father had forbidden her mother and her to visit him. The Tombs was a frightening place. It smelled of damp and mildew, almost as if a fog of despair hung over the massive building. Men were killed here, sent to the gallows and hanged until they died. Maggie shuddered, more from that thought than the wind that swirled about the courtyard, kicking up long-dead leaves. She quickly walked to the door and opened it, finding herself in a small room where the smell of mold was almost overwhelming. Walking to a window where another guard sat, she informed him that she was here to visit her father.

“Reginald Pierce, you say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fourth floor. Through that door and up. At the top is another guard, he’ll bring you down to see him. What’s that?” he asked, nodding at her parcel.

“A book,” she said, suddenly afraid she wouldn’t be allowed to give it to her father.

“Let’s see,” he said, holding out his hand. Then seeing her stricken face, he smiled. “It’s for your protection and ours, miss.” Maggie gave him the book, her heart breaking as he undid her ribbon and unwrapped the brightly colored paper.

“The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,”
he read. “Never heard of it.” He riffled through the pages. “You wouldn’t believe what you can hide in books.”

“People do that?” Maggie asked.

“Once found a pistol in a copy of
Moby Dick.
” He handed the book and the paper and ribbon back to her. “Good day, miss. And Merry Christmas.”

Maggie gave him a watery smile. Oh, this was just horrid. Her father should not be in this cold, damp, dark place. He should be at home in their beautiful town house, his feet up on his ottoman, his pipe in his hand, sitting before a cozy fire. He should be listening to her read to him or perhaps singing along as Maggie played Christmas carols on their piano. As she walked up the stone steps, she brushed a few tears away. She’d nearly cried that morning in church, her mind not on the birth of Jesus, but on her poor father who no doubt was unable to participate in any Christmas tradition. She pinched her pale cheeks and forced her mouth into a smile, just to test it. It would only make her father more upset if he saw that she was sad. She’d smile, pretend nothing was too horrid about the place, and let him know that all was well.

When she finally made it to the fourth floor, Maggie’s thighs were burning from the exertion. She knocked on the door, which was almost immediately answered by a guard. “I’m here to see Mr. Pierce. I’m his daughter.”

The man smiled at her, a genuinely happy-to-see-you kind of smile that seemed so out of place here, Maggie was completely taken aback. “So, you’re Maggie,” the guard said. “Reggie will be just tickled. And don’t you worry that he’ll be upset. I know he didn’t want you to come here, but I just know he’ll be pleased as punch.”

“You certainly are a jolly guard,” Maggie said, laughing.

“There’s enough misery here without me adding to it,” the guard said, becoming somber. “I’m Sergeant Fisk. Your father and I play chess every day at four o’clock. Haven’t beaten him once but I’ve come awful close a couple of times.”

Maggie smiled, so completely astonished to find such a nice man working as a prison guard. She followed the guard through another door and found herself high above the ground floor, walking along a long, open hallway with cells on either side connected by a bridge. Two stovepipes ran up the center of the building, connected to two large stoves on the ground floor, giving off dismal heat. Despite skylights on the ceiling, the prison was dark, as if light could not penetrate through the gloom. It was noisy with shouts from below, and the smell of unwashed bodies and human feces was almost overwhelming.

“Block your ears. And your nose,” the guard said good-naturedly. “Lady coming through,” he called out, a warning to the men in cells along the way.

“I need a lady,” someone yelled from below. “Come here, lady.” The prisoner proceeded to make obscene noises until another guard thankfully put a stop to it.

The guard ignored the catcalls and Maggie’s flaming cheeks, concentrating only on his charges. “This fourth tier is the cream of the crop,” he said. “We got a banker, a lawyer, and…” As he passed by one cell. “What are you again, Vonner?”

“A falsely accused schoolmaster,” came the disembodied answer from one of the cells.

They skirted around a woman sitting on a small bench outside one of the cells, clutching the hands of the inmate inside, and continued on to the last cell.

“Yeah, a schoolmaster. And, of course, your father. Reggie,” he called. “You got yourself a visitor and a mighty pretty one, too,” he said, winking at her. “You sit yourself right here.” He pulled a small bench closer to the cell, then turned and left, good-naturedly returning all the gibes the prisoners threw at him.

“Oh, Maggie, what are you doing here?”

Maggie clutched at the thick, cold iron bars and gazed into the gloomy cell. “Papa, come here and let me see you,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. She simply couldn’t take it in, that her father was living in this tiny cell in this horrid place. It was worse than her imagination, far worse. Two cots were crammed into the tiny cell, and another man lay on another cot, apparently sleeping.

As her father came to the bars, she got an even greater shock. He looked…wonderful.

“I hate to say this, Papa, but prison seems to agree with you.”

Her father, his blue eyes glittering with tears, smiled. He’d lost weight, and his eyes had lost that fear, the worry that had etched so many lines on his dear, dear face. She put the book down on the bench, then reached through the bars and grabbed one of his hands, holding it against her. “Oh, Papa, it’s so good to see you,” she said. “I should have come sooner. I should have ignored your order. Shame on you for making us stay away.”

“I didn’t want to worry you, my dear. Oh, Maggie, please don’t cry,” he said, laying a trembling hand on her head. “How are you? How is your mother?”

“We’re both fine. Mother is still in England, but I had to come back. I’m so glad I did. I can’t believe you’re spending Christmas here. But it’s your last, isn’t it? Why didn’t you write to us that you were being released? It’s wonderful news.”

“I did write. Perhaps you haven’t received it yet. I could hardly believe it myself. Apparently Charles Barnes worked on my behalf to have the sentence reduced. I’ll be in his debt for a very long time.”

Maggie remained silent, not wanting to talk about Charles Barnes or even think of him. She certainly didn’t want to feel grateful toward him. She couldn’t stop looking at her father, taking in all the changes in him. “I imagine the food here is terrible.”

“It’s edible,” he said. Reginald had always been a man who overindulged in everything—food, wine, spending. “I do miss Cook’s
tarte a l’oignon.
Sometimes I dream about it,” he said wistfully. “And how is your Sir William? Is there a wedding to look forward to?”

“Well, perhaps,” she said. “But not to Sir William. He did propose, but I said no. He was a very nice gentleman, but I don’t think I would have made him a good wife.”

“Of course you would have,” her father insisted loyally.

“I didn’t love him, Papa.”

“I take it there is someone else, then?”

Maggie swallowed a knot in her throat and nodded. “Do you remember Lord Hollings?”

His eyes widened. “The earl from Newport?”

“I haven’t said so in my letters, but I’ve seen quite a lot of him in England. He is best friends with the Duke of Bellingham and spent a lot of time at Bellewood. It seems as though he loves me. At least he did. When I return to England I have to sort things out. And if I don’t, I’ll always have you, Papa. Oh, here,” she said, spinning around to gather up her present. “Merry Christmas.”

“The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,”
her father read.

“It’s supposed to be quite entertaining. I haven’t read it yet, myself.”

“Stevenson is one of my favorite authors,” her father said, smiling. “Thank you.” He went back to his cot and laid the book upon it. The task seemed to take an inordinate amount of time and Maggie suspected he was trying to compose himself before returning to her.

“How is your friend?” Maggie asked, nodding toward the sleeping man.

“Quite diverting. He’s only in for six months. Seems he was skimming off the parish books.”

“From a church?” Maggie whispered, aghast.

“My dear, people will do just about anything when they are in desperate need of money,” he said sadly.

During the rest of the visit, Maggie entertained her father with stories of England and her mother, omitting anything that might be upsetting to her father. She did tell him about her harrowing experience on the ship, making him laugh at Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s hysterics. She painted a wonderful picture of Bellewood and Lady Matilda and her brood. All he needed to know was that they were happy and being well cared for. He had enough worries on his mind.

“Here comes Sarge. Looks like you’ll have to go, Maggie-mine.”

Maggie grasped his hand. “I’m so glad I came, Papa. You’ve made this a wonderful Christmas.”

Reginald let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Really. Seeing you is the best Christmas present I could have asked for. And before you know it, you’ll be free and we’ll all be together. It hasn’t been too horrid, has it?” she asked.

“I just thank God every day it’s almost over. It’s hard to believe only seven more months. Send your mother my love. Tell her…” His throat closed and he shook his head. “Tell her I miss her more than I thought possible.”

“I will. She will be so happy to hear you’ll be coming home soon.”

“Home.” He said the word with such sadness.

“Home is where the heart is,” Maggie said, repeating the old platitude just to make her father smile.

But her father didn’t smile. “You know, I’ve never given that old saying much thought, but it’s true. I’d live in a tent if I could be with my family.”

“Have the boys been writing?”

“Oh, yes. Not as much as you, but I do receive a letter now and then. This is hard on them.”

“It’s hard on everyone. Most especially you.”

Her father’s expression grew fierce. “I don’t care about myself. I deserve to suffer. But none of you do. While I’ve been in here I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I did. I’m ashamed, Maggie. Ashamed of what I did to my friends, ashamed of what has happened to my family. I’m sorry, more sorry than you can know.”

Maggie held out her hand. “I know, Papa. But if this hadn’t happened, I’d be married to Arthur. So I do believe all this was quite worth it.”

Her father laughed, just as she intended.

“I’ve missed you,” he said. “My little bit of sunshine.” Maggie’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Now, don’t you go crying on me.”

She sniffed and wiped her face. “I won’t. I’ve cried enough in these last months. I’m done with all that.” She gave her father one last embrace. “I’ll write and let you know what’s happening. Oh, Papa, I cannot wait until you are free. Good-bye.”

Later that night, Maggie sat in her hotel room feeling lonely, but strangely happy, as if the dark cloud that had smothered her for months had drifted entirely away. For the first time in a long while, she was glad to be Margaret Pierce. She looked up toward heaven, knowing that even though she hadn’t received a single thing this Christmas Day, she’d been given the most wonderful gift: her life back.

“Thank you,” she said. “And merry Christmas.”

Amelia loved the pretty scarf Carson had given her for Christmas. Truly she did. It was the loveliest blue wool, soft and warm, and Carson said he bought it because it matched her eyes. That was wonderful, even if the scarf did not match her eyes—it was far too dark for that. But she couldn’t help being a bit disappointed that he hadn’t presented her with a ring.

“I know you were expecting something else,” he said. “But I want my wife to have my mother’s ring. Can’t say I expected to be gettin’ engaged while I was in England and that ring is back home. Unless my brother got hitched while I’ve been gone.”

Amelia was immediately worried, and Carson chuckled. “Don’t you go worryin’ about that. Boone isn’t one to go skirt chasin’. Fact is, the girls don’t much fancy him.” He flashed a grin. “Not when they’ve got me around.”

She giggled. “Perhaps they’ll find Boone more interesting once you’ve got a wife. And I completely understand about the ring. Is Boone really your brother’s name? It’s quite unusual.”

“Yeah. My parents named me after Kit Carson and him after Daniel Boone, the frontiersman. Guess they hoped we’d be heroes or something.”

“You are a hero,” Amelia gushed, making Carson laugh.

“If you aren’t the sweetest thing this side of the Rio Grande, I don’t know what is.”

“I love the way you talk,” she said. She loved everything about him, his eyes, his long hair, his towering frame, the way he looked at her as if he wanted to take her to his bed.

If there was one thing that dampened her Christmas spirit, it was her brother’s insistence that she have her season and then marry. She didn’t know why they couldn’t get a special license and marry right away before Carson had to leave. And he did have to go; it was something he was adamant about. Poor Boone just wasn’t capable of handling things on his own any longer and Carson was truly worried about his brother. That was another thing she loved about him.

All this meant that Carson would leave and she would follow after the season and they would be married in Texas instead of England. Amelia knew exactly what her brother was up to. He was hoping she’d forget about Carson or perhaps meet someone else in London. She knew that wouldn’t happen. At least she would get to enjoy the season, though it wouldn’t be the same if Carson wasn’t by her side.

“You know we only have two days before I have to go back to London, and then I’m gone.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Amelia said, feeling tears threaten. “I’ll miss you so much. I can’t wait until June so I can go to Small Fork. You’ve told me all about your ranch and the house, but you’ve said nothing about Small Fork. What’s it like? Is it a city or a village?”

“Well, it’s the prettiest little town you ever saw. The main street has a church with a white steeple that stretches to the sky, pointing up to heaven. There’s roses everywhere and houses with white picket fences, children playing everywhere you look. And in the center of town is a park with a whitewashed gazebo where the local band plays concerts every Saturday night. All the townspeople gather ’round and there’s dancing.”

Amelia sighed. “It sounds lovely.”

“Don’t it, though? Now, back to what I was talkin’ about.”

“What was that?”

Carson drew her away from the rest of the family, who was gathered around the piano singing carols. “I want to come to your room tonight.”

“My room?” She knew what he meant, but she couldn’t hide her shock that he’d suggest such a thing. And on Christmas night.

“I’m going in two days, honey. This could be our last chance.”

“But…But we’re not married,” she whispered, her face turning beet red. “We can’t. What if, you know, something
unfortunate
happens? I won’t see you for four months!”

“I know what to do to stop you from gettin’ in the family way.”

“You can do that?”

“Sure, sure.”

Amelia smiled. “It’s only six months. We’ll have a lifetime together.”

Carson took a bracing breath. “I need you, darlin’. I don’t think you understand what it’s like to be a man needin’ a woman. I’m crazy with wantin’ you. Crazy.”

“I’m crazy, too. But it’s wrong.”

For a moment, Carson actually looked angry, and Amelia was slightly alarmed. Then he smiled, putting her at ease. “Tell you what. We’ll just kiss. How’s that?”

“Just kiss?” Amelia asked skeptically.

“Maybe a little bit more. Come on, darlin’.”

Amelia grinned. “All right. But you have to promise not to go any further than that.”

“I sure will try,” he said, the devil in his eyes.

Amelia gave him a friendly swat on his arm. “You better, sir, or I shall be forced to drastic measures.”

“Now, that sounds interesting.”

She laughed, delighted with his flirting. Carson made her feel like a sophisticated, desirable woman. She only prayed she had the willpower to stop their “kissing” before it was too late. Lord knew it was getting more and more difficult to resist temptation even though she knew she must. No matter what he said, Amelia would not get married with a rounded belly. Not only that, but it was a sin to be with a man before marriage—especially on Christmas, for goodness’ sake! She could just picture God looking down at her with a fierce frown for even thinking such a thing. She would never shame herself or her family in that way. She only hoped Carson could understand.

“I don’t understand,” Carson said, his forehead wet with a fine sheen of perspiration. “We’re gettin’ married. Now, come on, honey, let me touch you…”

“No,” Amelia said, pushing his hand away from between her legs. “I said no and I mean it. I want you to leave, Carson.”

Amelia had foolishly agreed to let Carson visit her in her bedroom, believing they would be able to resist temptation. She never would have believed it would be so difficult.

Carson moved his hand to her breasts and continued to kiss her, long drugging kisses that had her moving her hips against him if only to feel that delicious sensation more. “See, honey? You want it, too. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be with the man you love. Nothing wrong.” He pulled at one nipple, and she let out a sound of pure pleasure. “Don’t you love me, darlin’?” He moved his hand down again and applied the most exquisite pressure between her legs. “There, that feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Hmmmm.”

He moved his hand in time with her hips and Amelia let out a gasp. She had to resist. She had to, had to…
Oh, Lord, please give me the strength…
“Oh, God, Carson, yes.”

“I know, honey, I know,” he said, moving his mouth to her erect nipple, gently biting through the fabric of her cotton nightgown. “Let me, darlin’. Oh, please let me. I need you so bad. Can you feel how much? Let me show you. Let me.”

He worked the buttons on his trousers and brought out his erection for her to see.

“Touch me. Please.”

Amelia looked from his…
thing
…to his face, and let out a small mewling sound, something between despair and yearning. She swallowed, then shook her head. “I think you should go.”

“Christ!” he growled, then shoved his erection inside his pants. “If you ain’t the biggest tease I’ve ever met.”

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice, and started to silently cry.

Her tears did him in, because he gathered her against him, murmuring his own apologies, kissing her hair. “It’s all right. Don’t you turn into a watering pot on me. You’re different than other girls an’ I should have known that. You’re a proper lady. I guess that’s why I want you so much, darlin’. No harm done, right?” He pulled away and looked into her tearstained face, smiling gently down at her. It was the nicest smile Amelia had ever seen, for it wasn’t full of bravado or flash, it was real.

“Thank you for understanding,” she said against his chest. “Once we’re married, I’ll do it every day.”

Carson let out a deep chuckle. “I’m sure you will, honey. I shouldn’t have pressured you like that. No more tears, right?”

She shook her head. “No more.”

He stood up and tucked in his shirt. “Do I look presentable?”

Amelia smiled. “You’re the handsomest man I’ve ever seen, Carson Kitteridge.”

This time when he smiled, it was one of regret and sadness. “I really think I’m going to miss you,” he said, as if that was a foreign concept.

“Of course you will,” Amelia said happily. “But it won’t be for long. We’ll have forever once I’m in Texas. I’m so excited.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Carson said, buttoning up his pants.

“We still have one more day together. And then, come June, I’ll be Small Fork’s newest resident. Do you think people there will like me?”

“Sure,” he said, almost absently. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I love you,” Amelia said, feeling suddenly unsure of her decision. Carson was being kind, yes, but it was as if something had changed, a slight shifting, and it made her feel uneasy and unsure.

Then he bent over and gave her a long, wonderful kiss, and all her doubts melted away, just like that. “Good night,” he said, and winked at her, making her heart expand with love.

After he’d gone, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine the pretty town he described. White picket fences. A gazebo in the center of town. Roses everywhere. It sounded so beautiful, so wonderful and idyllic. Amelia wished she was already there, already walking around her house with its wooden floors and windows looking out onto the bubbling brook that Carson told her about. She wondered if she’d be able to hear the cows at night, or what the sounds would be way out in the Texas countryside.

Amelia hugged herself with pure happiness. Small Fork was where she would get married, raise a family, and forever be with the man she loved. She knew she must be the luckiest girl in England.

Edward closed the book and smiled. For a while, he’d been transported back in time, when he was a boy reading a grand adventure. He used to sit with his father in their cozy parlor reading by the fire. His father was a great reader and not one to collect books simply for their beauty or worth. In fact, he was quite certain his father would have been appalled by the idea of collecting books one had no intention of reading.

But books had held a bit of magic for Edward. They were something that brought him and his father together, the only thing they shared. He loved the feel of them, their smell, their ability to bring you to another time, another place, where boys could be heroes, where no one you loved ever died, ever left you.

Books had lost some of their magic after his parents had died, but none of their fascination. But for a while, sitting in his own library, he was nine years old, praying his father wouldn’t notice how late it had grown, praying he would get in at least another chapter before being sent to bed.

Like so many other times, Edward pressed the book against his heart and closed his eyes, allowing himself to think of her, to hold something she held. It was foolish, of course. As foolish as holding on to her letters, as foolish as being content just to touch the small bundle in his desk.

You feel too much.

His mother had been right, of course. For all his flirting and cavalier attitude, he’d merely been trying to protect his heart. He knew that. Just look what happened when he finally gave it away. He was reduced to the kind of man who drew comfort holding a book merely because she’d once held it. He really should stick it on a shelf and forget about it. Forget about her.

Instead, he tucked it into his pocket, feeling its weight there, a constant reminder that he was a fool and weak. And so much in love it hurt.

Two days after Christmas, Meremont had finally returned to something like normal. The servants, feeling merry and well rested after Boxing Day, were back at work, humming beneath their breaths. The tree would remain standing until Twelfth Night, January sixth, but Amelia felt like taking down all the decorations the minute Carson walked out the door. He couldn’t even give her a proper kiss because her brother was standing right there with the strangest expression. It was almost as if he didn’t like Carson, which couldn’t be true because how could anyone not like Carson?

“I cannot wait until June. I will miss you,” Amelia said, on the brink of tears.

“An’ I’ll miss you,” he said, holding her hands in his larger ones.

And then he’d gone, without saying he loved her, without holding her like she wanted him to. It was all so disgustingly proper because her brother had insisted he be there when Carson said his good-byes.

Thank goodness they’d been able to have a more improper good-bye the night before. Amelia smiled just thinking about it. Carson had been well into his cups, celebrating his return to America, he’d said. He’d come to her room again, swaying on his feet, a silly grin on his face.

“I’m jush here to say good-bye, darlin’.”

Amelia drew him into her room before anyone saw her or heard him. He was being overly loud and completely imprudent and Amelia loved every minute of it. He held her and kissed her, a bit more ardently than before, but when she told him he had to leave, he was good-natured about it, muttering something about it being no good tonight anyway.

“I wish I could have had you, though. It will be my life’s regret,” he’d said. “Give me one more kiss good night.”

Amelia had obliged indulgently and led him to the door. “You are the sweetest thing. I’m gonna miss you sorely. Don’t you go forgettin’ me, now, darlin’.”

“How could I forget you? You’re my fiancé, you silly man. And I’ll be seeing you in just a few months.”

“An’ then I’ll have you?” he asked, grinning and swaying. Lord, he was drunk, Amelia thought. He obviously was a man not used to spirits.

“You’ll have me. Forever.”

“A lady with Carson Kitteridge. That would be somethin’. Back home, they wouldn’t believe it. Not one word. Too bad, too bad,” he said morosely.

“Yes. Too bad. That’s why we have to be married first.”

“Yup.” He grinned again. “Now give me that kiss.”

“I already did.”

“Then give me another. My last one. Ah, girl, I am gonna miss you. You smell so good,” he said, burying his face against her neck. “I almost wish…”