Chapter Twenty
“Y e look a picture,” Ivy proclaimed.
It was Christmas morning. Diana had donned her best frock of indigo-blue shot silk, and Ivy had done wonders with her hair. Ringlets framed her face and the ropes of braids looped around a chignon at her nape looked particularly nice. “Thank you, Ivy.”
“Thank ye for the handkerchief, miss.”
“It was my pleasure.”
The evening before, at a gathering in the servants’ hall, Diana had handed out the handkerchiefs she’d made to members of the upper and lower household staff, as well as to Mr. Nankervis, the coachman, and the groom, who had all been appreciative.
Once Ivy had left, Diana retrieved the last letter she’d received from Mrs. Phillips, wishing her a Happy Christmas. She reread it with a heavy heart. Her godmother was bedridden now and reduced to writing in pencil. She’d been very pleased to hear about Miss Fallbrook’s progress but had peppered her missive with questions about Sir Thomas’s death. Had Diana learnt anything new?
To Diana’s disgruntlement, she had not.
Diana reviewed in her mind all that she had gleaned so far. Whether or not the baronet’s distracted mood when he’d returned from Germany had been caused by an investment scheme gone wrong was still in question. She had never heard back from Franke and Dietrich .
She agreed with Mr. Emity that there was something wrong about Sir Thomas’s suicide note. Its wording exactly mimicked the phrase in his letter to Mr. Trenowden. Her suspicions about Mr. Trenowden had not held water, but the baronet had apparently not been a popular man. Had he written a similar threatening note to someone else, giving them a reason to want him dead?
What about the footsteps she’d heard late at night, and the papers she’d found in disarray in the study? What of the light in the north tower? Did these things have anything to do with Sir Thomas’s death?
Diana thought about the driftwood plank she’d found on the beach. She had been so certain it had come from the sailboat in which Lady Fallbrook and her son had lost their lives. The captain had discounted that theory as improbable, and he might have been right. But if their boat had been deliberately scuttled, it would be an important finding. If only there was a way to prove it.
Diana’s earlier stumble on the fork in the cliff path and her fall from the library ladder pricked at the back of her mind as well. She hadn’t mentioned either incident in her letters to her godmother and her sisters and brother, not wanting to worry them unnecessarily. She had told herself they had just been accidents. But what if she was wrong? Both times, she could have died. What if someone had orchestrated the incidents hoping to get her off the scent? She had suffered no other mishaps since then, however…
It’s Christmas Day , she reminded herself with a shake of her head. A day for celebrating and rejoicing, not wallowing in worry.
She had just determined to sweep all this from her mind when Miss Fallbrook rushed in, setting the bell-shaped skirts of her new white, silk gown aswirl. “At last, I get to wear a pretty gown again!”
A modest dress fashioned with a pleated bodice, low pointed waist, and just a dash of lace, it fit the girl perfectly.
“I asked Hester to help me dress and put up my hair. What do you think?”
Miss Fallbrook’s tresses were drawn up in the latest style, like Diana’s. The new look made her appear several years older than her fifteen years—almost a different person. Diana believed the girl was too young for such a hairstyle, but she didn’t want to dampen her pupil’s enthusiasm. “You look very nice,” was her matter-of-fact reply.
“So do you.”
They hurried to the morning room. A fire leapt in the grate, bringing cheer to the chamber. The captain, already seated at the head of the festively set table, rose as Diana and Miss Fallbrook entered. Diana’s heart tripped over itself. He stood stiff and regal in a tailored, navy-blue frock coat and cream brocade waistcoat. It was the first time Diana had seen him dressed in anything but black, and the shade of blue brought out the mesmerizing color of his eyes.
His brows lifted as he took them in. “Happy Christmas.”
Diana and Miss Fallbrook returned the greeting and sat down at the table. A delicious-looking breakfast was laid out before them, everything from ham, kippers, and sausages to eggs, cheese, toast, scones, butter, cream, marmalade, tea, and coffee. After months of porridge, Diana’s mouth watered at the sight.
“What a feast,” Diana remarked as they helped themselves and began to eat. “It reminds me of Christmas breakfast at home.”
“You have never spoken of your home, Miss Taylor,” returned the captain as he skewered a piece of ham with his fork. “Tell us about it.”
“Well, it was built over two hundred years ago. It sits on a rise at the edge of a moorland, which spreads out as far as the eye can see.”
“Is it as big as Pendowar Hall?” Miss Fallbrook spread butter on a scone.
“Nowhere near as big and nothing like it. But I love it just the same.” Nostalgia rose within her as Diana thought of the cozy cottage with its latticed casement windows and front door overhung with ivy. Memories of home, and all the Christmas mornings she had shared there with her family, overwhelmed Diana in a rush, and tears sprang to her eyes. She felt Miss Fallbrook’s and the captain’s questioning glances and dashed the moisture away. “What about you, Captain? How did you celebrate Christmas aboard ship?”
Captain Fallbrook gamely regaled them with tales of his holidays at sea, some of which were so amusing, they had Diana and his cousin laughing into stitches.
“I shall never forget one Christmas some years back,” he told them. “We were anxious to arrive at Barcelona. I sensed that land was not far off, but the fog was so dense, there was no sign of it. A canny, old sailor had taught me in my youth that sometimes, if you close your eyes for a moment and then stare again long and hard at the horizon, the sight you seek will emerge from the gloom. I tried it. And there it was! ‘Land ho!’ I cried and all on board rejoiced. We had a hearty Christmas dinner that day, one which I shall never forget.”
“I have read about a similar technique,” Diana commented, “called steganography.”
“Steganography?” repeated the captain. “What is that?”
“It is the practice of hiding an image or message within another image. For example, you might look at a picture and see a tree. But when viewed from a different angle, the picture is something else entirely, such as the image of a cat’s face.”
“I should like to see such a picture,” Miss Fallbrook remarked.
“I have only seen a few myself,” admitted Diana, “but they were cleverly done.”
Before they knew it, the clock was striking ten and it was time to move into the drawing room to open their gifts. They took seats by the fire, where the captain gaped at the trunk that had a tag with his name on it.
“Youngest goes first,” Miss Fallbrook announced. “That was Papa’s rule.” She began by opening her gift from her cousin.
It was the box with a seashell-carved lid that he’d been working on in the woodshop, now completed, stained, and varnished. Miss Fallbrook adored it. Diana went next. Her pupil had painted a watercolor for her of the old, wooden footbridge over the Pendowar River, surrounded by colorful tropical foliage on the banks. As Diana studied it, the strangest sensation came over her. The painting felt… menacing, somehow. It made no sense. It was just a picture. Yet Diana wanted to wrap it back up in the brown paper in which it had been shrouded and hide it away in a dark corner to never look at again.
Determined not to reveal her disquiet, Diana thanked the giver profusely.
Miss Fallbrook was delighted with her presents from Diana: a set of colored pencils and a new sketchbook. “I was so afraid you were going to give me a handkerchief!”
Diana didn’t admit how close that prediction had come to being true.
The captain handed Diana a package. “Miss Taylor.”
Diana opened his gift and fell silent in awe. He had made her a wooden keepsake box equally as lovely as his cousin’s. The carved lid on hers depicted a woman sitting beneath a tree, reading a book, and it was lined in blue velvet.
“I recalled that your favorite color is blue. Do you like it?” he asked gruffly.
“I love it. It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
He handed her another package. Diana protested that she couldn’t accept two gifts, but he insisted, “You earned this one.”
Diana unwrapped the parcel and let out a gasp of shock and delight. It was Jane Eyre , the three volumes bound in reddish-brown decorative cloth, which was elegantly embossed and gilded.
“I found it in a London bookshop,” the captain explained.
Diana shook her head. Such an expensive gift! “This is too much, Captain. You must keep it. It will make a fine addition to your library.”
“It’s Christmas, Miss Taylor. Gifts must be accepted in the spirit in which they were given. It is a rule.” He glanced at his ward. “Is that not so?”
Miss Fallbrook laughed. “It is!”
“Well, then… thank you,” Diana said again, hugging the volumes to her chest. It had been many years since she’d had a new book to call her own. “I cannot wait to reread it.”
“Good. And now,” the captain said with a grin, turning to the trunk at his feet, “I want to know what this is.” As he untied the ribbon, he teased, “Is it a ball? A bagpipe? A hat rack?” Upon opening the lid, he exclaimed in surprise, “Well, I’ll be blowed. It’s a hammock!”
Diana and her pupil beamed as he unfolded the hanging canvas bed and studied it in wonder. Miss Fallbrook bubbled over as she related the story of the retired sailor who had willingly parted with it.
“You said you missed the rocking motion of your boat at sea,” Diana explained. “I thought it might help you sleep.”
“I don’t know what to say,” replied he, proving that motto untrue as he proclaimed his thanks. “I am grateful to the man for his generous donation, and to you for thinking of it. I look forward to trying it.”
Their gift-giving completed, Captain Fallbrook called for the carriage, insisting that Diana accompany them to church. As the coach rattled along, and Miss Fallbrook and the captain chatted animatedly, their interaction revealed a new and open affection that made Diana’s heart swell.
I may be far from home , Diana thought as a deep contentment settled over her. I may miss my sisters and my brother and my godmother. But this has been a perfect Christmas morning.
*
The guests gathered in the drawing room, where the Yule log burned brightly, and the sight and scent of Christmas greenery filled the chamber with festive cheer.
It was a small party but no less lively for it. Mr. Latimer, dressed in a black velvet frock coat and drenched in his familiar, sandalwood cologne, complimented Diana’s gown in a tone that made her stomach churn. Mr. Wainwright was also in attendance, along with one of Captain Fallbrook’s old friends from the Navy, Lieutenant Commander Keating, a ruddy-faced man of short stature who looked to be in his mid-forties, and his wife, a petite woman in a fashionable gown of Christmas plaid.
“Miss Fallbrook is so improved, I hardly recognized her,” Mr. Wainwright said, taking Diana’s arm and leading her across the room. “I used to think, There is a wild, young thing who can never be tamed . But she has grown up in the months since you came. Why, she looks quite eighteen.”
Diana frowned. It bothered her to think that people might perceive Miss Fallbrook as being more mature than she was. Diana didn’t want the young lady to grow up too fast, to find herself in an awkward position, or to be hurt.
Dinner was announced. In the dining room, silk brocade covered the walls and an elegant chandelier hung over a large, mahogany table. A centerpiece of evergreens, nuts, apples, and blazing candles presided festively over fine china, an array of silver flatware, and a formidable number of crystal glasses. A row of servants, some hired especially for the occasion, stood behind every chair with clasped hands and eyes cast forward, ready to assist the diners to their seats.
After everyone sat down, the staff brought in the meal, a lavish affair that began with soup and moved on to boar’s head, mince meat pies, fish, and roast goose. Mr. Emity poured the wine, a different bottle for every course. Miss Fallbrook asked if she might have a glass and was disappointed by the captain’s quick refusal.
The meal was delicious, and the conversation flowed congenially. Diana became uncomfortable, however, when she noticed Mr. Latimer murmuring something in Miss Fallbrook’s ear. The young woman blushed and toyed with the food on her plate, a dazzled expression on her face.
Perhaps Mr. Latimer was just being kind to a young lady—but he was in his thirties! Miss Fallbrook was only fifteen years old. She had spent no time in society. I should have foreseen this and better prepared the girl , Diana chastised herself.
A footman ceremoniously brought in the plum pudding, flaming, and topped with holly. As everyone enjoyed the treat, the group discussed its history, from its roots in medieval English sausages to its shift from savory to sweet.
“They say the first records of plum pudding date to the fifteenth century,” Mr. Wainwright remarked, “but is it such a noble tradition, I daresay it goes back to the days of King Arthur and Camelot.”
“There is no proof that King Arthur or Camelot ever existed,” Captain Fallbrook pointed out.
“Never discount a fine legend,” Mr. Latimer replied with a laugh. “Have you heard of King Arthur’s Lost Land of Lyonesse?”
“Never.” Emma looked fascinated.
“It stretched from Land’s End at the tip of Cornwall to the Isles of Scilly,” Mr. Latimer explained. “But one night after a mighty storm, it was engulfed by the sea and never surfaced again.”
“Your very own Atlantis in Cornwall,” Lieutenant Commander Keating observed.
“If you travel down the back road between Truro and Tresillian,” Mr. Latimer declared, “beware of the old Devil’s Arch Bridge.”
“Why?” Diana asked, amused.
“It is said that if you dare walk under the bridge, you must hold your breath or the Devil himself will possess your soul and drag you to hell.”
“And,” exclaimed Miss Fallbrook with enthusiasm, “that road is haunted by the ghost of a highwayman.”
“He dangles a noose from the top of the bridge to hang passing coach drivers,” Mr. Latimer added mischievously, “before stealing the belongings of the passengers within.”
Captain Fallbrook shot him a glance of barely veiled irritation. “Don’t tell me you believe this nonsense.”
“There is more truth to Cornish legends than you think, Captain,” commented Mr. Latimer. “You and Miss Taylor ought to be wary of one in particular: the Mermaid of Pendowar.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” Mr. Wainwright glanced at Diana with concern.
“I know about the Mermaid of Pendowar, gentlemen.” Diana scoffed. “She does not worry me.”
“Perhaps she should,” Mr. Latimer replied. “You and the captain seem to get along, Miss Taylor. Who knows how Morwenna might interpret that?”
“Morwenna’s wrath is a fearful thing,” Miss Fallbrook agreed, her brow wrinkling.
“Mermaids, ghosts, and curses are not real,” Diana insisted.
“I hope for your sake, you are right. And,” Mr. Latimer added, eyes twinkling, “that you know how to swim, Miss Taylor.”
Diana’s smile fell away. Despite herself, her chest constricted, and a feeling of dread enveloped her.
Mr. Wainwright gasped. A hush fell over the room. Diana felt everyone’s eyes on her.
“I was only teasing,” Mr. Latimer asserted. “Do not tell me, Miss Taylor, that…” He paused suddenly, as a thought seemed to occur to him. “Forgive me,” he added quickly, glancing at the tabletop. “Perhaps that was insensitive of me. In view of how…” His voice trailed off.
Diana guessed that Mr. Latimer—and everyone else—was thinking of how Lady and Robert Fallbrook had died. The captain’s face constricted. He turned to Diana.
“Do you truly not know how to swim?” the captain asked quietly .
“I never learned,” Diana admitted. “I never needed to.”
“Let us hope,” Mr. Wainwright intoned solemnly, “that you never shall.”