A Christmas Guest (14 page)

“But peppermint water would help,” Grandmama carried on. “Unless of course, it were laced with foxglove leaves. Then it would kill. Most of us who have ever arranged flowers know that. There are a few one must be careful of, especially with children about: laburnum, monk's hood, belladonna, and of course foxgloves. Such handsome flowers, but the distilled juice can cause the heart to fail. It is used in medicine to slow it down if it is racing, but only a very little, naturally.”

“That is a wicked thing to suggest!” Clara was horrified. “How … how dare you?”

Randolph touched her gently. “There is no need to be afraid, my dear. She could not possibly prove it.” He gulped. “Could you?”

Grandmama looked at him and realized it was a question. “I don't know,” she replied. “I had not considered trying to, although it might not be too difficult. I don't think that is what matters. It is knowing the truth that is important. It gives you the freedom to do whatever you choose to, knowing right from wrong.” She turned to Arthur, waiting for him to speak.

But he was not looking at her. His gaze did not move from Bedelia's face, and he read in it the fear and the hatred that betrayed her. Whatever she had said, he would know what she had done.

Randolph was staring at his mother with horror and pity in his face, and a revulsion he could not hide. He turned swiftly to Zachary, then embarrassed, away again. Zachary was looking at him with wonder, and an intensity quite naked in his eyes.

Arthur sighed. He spoke to Grandmama as if Bedelia had ceased to exist. “You mentioned a garden in Persia that Maude described to you as if she loved it. Have you any idea where it was, exactly?”

“No, but I believe Mrs. Dowson would know,” Grandmama replied. “Maude wrote to her quite regularly. I imagine she would be happy to tell you.”

“Good. I have a great desire to see it, since she loved it so much. You made it sound marvelous also, Mrs. Ellison, and for that I shall always be grateful to you. The truth you have shown us is terrible, but deep as it cuts, a clean wound will heal, in time.”

“You … you can't go to Persia now, Papa … I mean …,” Randolph faltered and stopped.

Arthur smiled at him, gently and with great affection. “You will always be my son in spirit, Randolph, and I will always love you as such. But I can go to Persia and I will. I shall write to Lord Woollard and decline a peerage. I may return from Persia one day, and I may not. The estate will provide for your mother. Please see that Mrs. Ellison is safely returned to St. Mary in the Marsh tomorrow. Now I shall wish you good night.” He rose to his feet. He was still a startlingly handsome man, but it was his dignity that remained in the mind. “And good-bye,” he added, before turning and leaving the room without looking behind him. He did not once glance at Bedelia.

Zachary reached out his hand to Agnes, and very slowly, as if uncertain that it could be true, she took it.

Reluctantly Grandmama abandoned her dinner and excused herself also. It was quite impossible to remain. She had shown them the truth. What they did with it she should not influence, only hope.

Upstairs in her bedroom she sank down into the chair. Suddenly her legs were weak and she found she was trembling. Had she done enough? Should she have tried harder to prove something that would stand the test of trial and the law?

As it was now, the family knew the truth. There could be no denying that. Arthur would leave, perhaps forever. Bedelia would probably never see him again. People would know, in the way that they do. They would look at her and whisper. There would be speculation, most of it ugly. The kindest she would receive would be pity, and that would be the most painful of all to a woman like Bedelia. She would see it in their glances in the street, the half-hidden smiles.

Gradually perhaps even some of the truth would emerge, but imagination would be more colorful, and crueler. Agnes and Zachary would be happy with each other at last, and perhaps with Randolph too, and Clara. Old Mrs. Dowson would understand a great deal. She might be discreet, but Bedelia would know that she knew, and would never allow Maude's name to be blackened.

Bedelia would be provided for, waited on, but starved of friendship or admiration. No one would care how beautiful she had been, or how clever. She would be alone, a woman unloved.

At a glance, that was a gentler punishment than trial, and possibly the gallows, or possibly a verdict of innocence. But it would be more certain, and far, far longer. She would taste it for the rest of her life.

But the others would be happy, perhaps for the first time in their lives.

Grandmama stopped shaking and sat still, slowly beginning to smile, even if there was sadness in it, and pity.

In the morning Zachary drove her back through the deepening snow to St. Mary in the Marsh. He did not speak much, but she felt a great certainty that he had at last realized that Agnes was not a paler, second-best version of Bedelia, but a kinder if less brave person, a gentler, more generous one, who might now, at last, find the courage to be the best. And she had always truly loved him.

“Thank you, Mrs. Ellison,” he said as the trap rounded the last corner through the dazzling snow and she saw Joshua and Caroline's house blazing with lights.

“I hope you will be happy,” she replied, meaning it far more than the simple words could convey.

“I … I understand why you and Maude were such good friends,” he said earnestly. “Even in so short a time. You are like her. You have such courage to tell the truth, however difficult, and such joy for life. I am amazed at your compassion for even the weakest of us. I imagine you will have a wonderful Christmas, because you will make it so. But I wish it for you just the same.”

“I will,” she assured him as they drew up in front of the door. It opened and Joshua came down the step and across the grass to the trap to assist her. “I shall have the best Christmas of my life,” she went on, still speaking to Zachary. “I am beginning to understand what it truly means.”

“Welcome home, Mama-in-law,” Joshua said with surprise lifting his eyebrows. He gave her his arm and she alighted.

“Thank you, Joshua.” She smiled at him. “Happy Christmas, my dear. I have wonderful things to tell you, brave and beautiful things, when I can think how to find words for them. About hope and honor, and what love really means. Your aunt Maude was a very wonderful woman. She has given me the greatest gift of all—an understanding of Christmas itself.”

“Yes, I see that,” Joshua said with sudden conviction. “It is perfectly plain. Happy Christmas, Mama-in-law.”

To all those who are still
hoping and still learning

BY ANNE PERRY

(published by The Random House Publishing Group)

F
EATURING
W
ILLIAM
M
ONK

The Face of a Stranger

The Silent Cry

A Dangerous Mourning

A Breach of Promise

Defend and Betray

The Twisted Root

A Sudden, Fearful Death

Slaves of Obsession

The Sins of the Wolf

Funeral in Blue

Cain His Brother

Death of a Stranger

Weighed in the Balance

The Shifting Tide

F
EATURING
C
HARLOTTE AND
T
HOMAS
P
ITT

The Cater Street Hangman

Farriers' Lane

Callander Square

The Hyde Park Headsman

Paragon Walk

Traitors Gate

Resurrection Row

Pentecost Alley

Bluegate Fields

Ashworth Hall

Rutland Place

Brunswick Gardens

Death in the Devil's Acre

Bedford Square

Cardington Crescent

Half Moon Street

Silence in Hanover Close

The Whitechapel Conspiracy

Bethlehem Road

Southampton Row

Highgate Rise

Seven Dials

Belgrave Square

Long Spoon Lane

T
HE
W
ORLD
W
AR
I N
OVELS

No Graves As Yet

Angels in the Gloom

Shoulder the Sky

T
HE
C
HRISTMAS
N
OVELS

A Christmas Journey

A Christmas Guest

A Christmas Visitor

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A
NNE
P
ERRY
is the bestselling author of
No Graves As Yet, Shoulder the Sky,
and
Angels in the Gloom
; two earlier holiday novels,
A Christmas Journey
and
A Christmas Visitor
; and two acclaimed series set in Victorian England. Her most recent William Monk novels are
Death of a Stranger
and
The Shifting Tide
. The popular novels featuring Charlotte and Thomas Pitt include
Southampton Row, Seven Dials,
and
Long Spoon Lane
. Her short story “Heroes” won an Edgar Award. Anne Perry lives in Scotland. Visit her website at
www.anneperry.net
.