Read It Happened One Christmas Online

Authors: Kaitlin O'Riley

It Happened One Christmas (21 page)

BOOK: It Happened One Christmas
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“No, you haven't.”
His heart dropped to his feet and he hung his head, twisting his cap in his hands. More afraid now than he was with the gang boys, he began, “Mama . . .” and then stopped. He did not know what to say. She knew.
“I went to see you at Mr. Rutledge's this afternoon.” Her voice was cold. “That man laughed at me and told me that you haven't worked for him in months. He said that you ran off one day after stealing three pairs of boots from him. He said I owed him money to replace those boots.”
Tom's head snapped up and he cried in outrage. “I never took anything from him!” That fat blighter was accusing him of wrongdoing? Tom's face grew red.
“He said you did.”
“He's a big old liar. I didn't take anything from him. I never would do such a thing. Besides, he would have come after me if I'd stolen his stinkin' boots.”
She stared at him hard, weighing his words. “Don't lie to me, Thomas. I can't bear it.”
“I didn't steal from him. Mama, I swear I didn't.” He stood unmoving, dreading what was coming next. “I couldn't work for him anymore. He beat me, he . . . he . . .”
She paused, considering his explanation and eyeing him carefully. “Well, I believe you did not steal from Mr. Rutledge. But you have been lying to me . . .”
“Yes.” He nodded, his chest tightening. The sting of tears burned behind his eyes for the second time that night. “I'm . . . I'm sorry. I couldn't work for him, though. I just couldn't.”
She sighed heavily, her eyes full of a terrible sadness. “What have you been doing all this time I thought you were working for Mr. Rutledge? Where have you been getting the money?”
Tom wiped a hot tear from his eye with the back of his hand. Stupid tears.
Her voice grew frightfully low and tinged with a sense of dread. “Please tell me you have not joined one of the street gangs.”
“No, Mama, I swear to you that I haven't,” he pleaded with a desperate need for her to believe him. He was nothing like those boys. Nothing. “I've done everything you told me. I've stayed away from those lads just like you said.”
Anna Alcott rose from the chair and came to him. She lifted his chin with her fingers, forcing him to face her, to look her in the eyes. She paused, and concern suddenly edged her voice. “What happened to your face?”
“Nothing.”
She ran her fingers gently over the blossoming purple bruise on his jaw. “Tom?”
“Nothing. I'm fine.”
Noticing the cut around his neck, she demanded, “What's this?”
Tom shook his head, but said not a word. He couldn't. If he spoke, he would surely cry.
She stared hard at him. “Thomas, I want the truth now. Where have you been getting the money from all this time?”
Tom began to cry. He couldn't prevent it from happening no matter how hard he tried. This was worse than the gang boys hitting him. Big fat tears rolled down his cheeks and slid under his swollen chin. His shame was so great he wished he could disappear into thin air. He had never wanted his mother to find out that he had sunk so low. He didn't want her to know that he was a common thief. “I'm sorry.”
He saw her worried expression change as hurt and disappointment filled her eyes.
Her voice shook as she spoke the dreaded words aloud. “You've been stealing then?”
A gut-wrenching sob tore from his chest and the tears continued to spill forth and he couldn't stop them. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't know what else to do. I only wanted to buy us a house. I just didn't want you to be sad anymore, Mama. I'm very sorry.”
“Oh, Tom! My sweet little boy.” She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. “What have we come to?”
He wept into her chest, great wracking sobs. Mama held him tight, her hands smoothing his hair. She should have yelled at him. She should have screamed at him for what he'd done. She should beat him soundly for stealing, for that was the least of what he deserved. Yet her kind words hurt more than a beating. His mother should hate him for letting her down in such a shameful way.
But no, she still loved him. And for that he cried his heart out.
“You must not steal anymore, Tom,” she whispered gently as she continued to hold him and his sobs subsided. “You must not steal ever again. Do you hear me?”
He mumbled into her chest that he heard her, shame flooding him. No, he never would steal again. No sir. That was it for him.
“Do you know what would happen if they caught you, Tom? Do you?” Her voice became more agitated, more desperate. “The constables would take you away from me. Is that what you want?”
“No!” he cried. “No!” He was sorry he stole but he was even more regretful of the fact that he had disappointed her. His mother had raised him to be a better boy than that. He thought of his sack of money that had hidden under the floorboard for months. Shame flooded him anew. How could he tell her that not only was he a thief, but he was a good one who had amassed three pounds? He'd rather die than see that hurt look on her face ever again.
She finally released him from her fierce hug. Again she lifted his sore chin to stare in his eyes. “We're all we have left in the world. It's you and me, Tom. And I promise you that we will get by without stealing to survive. I will take care of you. I won't let anything bad happen to you.”
He sniffled and wiped his nose. “I won't let anything happen to you either.”
“Then you cannot lie to me anymore,” she admonished softly.
“I know. I won't.” The bag of stolen money weighed heavily on his conscience. “I promise. I promise.” He hugged her tightly. “There's . . . There's something else I have to tell you.”
She stiffened, as if preparing for the worst. “What is it?”
“I saved most of the money I stole.”
She stared at him, uncomprehending.
Tom continued, hoping for the best. “I did. I saved the money I stole because I wanted to buy a house for us. I had almost three pounds.”
His mother didn't cry. She didn't yell at him either. She did something he had hoped for all along.
Mama smiled.
“Where is it?” she asked breathlessly, her eyes alight with wonder and something that looked like hope.
“I lost it.” He whispered so low he barely heard his own voice. “The gang lads just took it from me on my way home tonight.”
His mother cried then. She gathered him in her arms and they cried together.
22
Did Nothing Take in Scorn
Tuesday, December 16, 1873
 
At Hamilton's Book Shoppe the next afternoon, an edgy Lisette finished tutoring one of their delivery boys and two of the young girls, Lizzie Parker and Victoria Browning, who worked in the shop. Lisette gave them reading lessons in the rooms above the shop. Since her family had moved to Devon House when Colette married Lucien, they had redesigned their private apartment upstairs into a schoolroom of sorts. From time to time when they were busy at the shop, they still had meals upstairs as well.
“You all did an excellent job today,” Lisette said. “Please read as much as you can from the history text by the next time we meet, and I shall see you back here the day after tomorrow?”
“Yes, thank you, Miss Hamilton.” The older of the girls, Lizzie Parker, adjusted her little cap and grinned. She and her younger brother, Daniel, had been working at the shop for only a month or so but had demonstrated remarkable progress.
Lisette watched as the three made their way down the stairs. She stood and began putting away the books and papers she had used for that day's lesson, feeling happy that her pupils had accomplished so much. She hoped that one day the Parker family would be able to live in one of the new homes that Quinton Roxbury was designing. She had hoped to talk to him about it at some point.
In the meantime she had tried to keep Quinton from entering her thoughts, but it seemed the harder she tried not to think of him, the more often he found his way into her mind. She really did need to forget about him, though. Nothing good could come of their being together. Especially after the other night in his carriage. That was proof enough of the dangers of any kind of encounter between them.
Descending the stairs to the shop, she had just reached the bottom step when she ran into Paulette.
“Lisette?” Paulette asked, a puzzled expression on her little face. Wearing a green and black plaid gown with her blond hair pinned neatly upon her head, Paulette looked every inch the efficient shopkeeper.
“Yes?”
“There is a lady here to see you. I offered her my assistance, but she insists on seeing you specifically. She said you helped her with Christmas cards a few days ago and that you know what she wants.”
“Oh, yes of course,” Lisette murmured but her heart was in her mouth. There would be only one lady she knew of who would insist on seeing her.
Paulette asked, “Do you know her?”
“If it is who I think it is, I believe so, yes.” Lisette dared a glance into the main area of the bookshop and held her breath. The tall form of Lady Emmeline Tarleton stood wrapped in a gold embroidered cloak trimmed with black fur. “She is Mr. Roxbury's fiancée.”
“The gentleman who dined with us the other evening? The friend of Lucien's? The one who took you home last night?” Paulette showered her with questions.
“Yes.”
“Why does she wish to see you, I wonder?”
“I have an idea,” Lisette answered a little breathlessly. The woman did seem intent upon seeking her out, this being her second visit to the bookshop. “But I doubt she's interested in buying books.”
Paulette watched with growing concern as Lisette smoothed her navy plaid gown with velvet piping and squared her shoulders. She walked as graciously as she could toward the woman waiting for her.
“Good afternoon, Lady Emmeline,” Lisette said. “How may I help you today?”
The expression on Lady Emmeline's heart-shaped face changed from one of expectancy to one of surprise. “You know who I am?”
“Yes.” Lisette gave her a nod, but did not smile. “And you know who I am.”
“Then I guess you can safely assume that I did not come here to purchase Christmas cards,” Emmeline said with succinct tightness and pressed her thin lips together.
Lisette's pulse quickened in fear, and the air fairly crackled with tension between them. This woman had every right to be angry with her. Lisette had kissed her fiancé on more than one occasion. But did Lady Emmeline know that?
Lisette asked in the coolest voice she could manage, “Why did you come here?”
With an imperious toss of her head, Emmeline cast her a scathing look. “I came to have a few words with you in private concerning a matter of a highly personal nature of which I believe you are very well aware, Miss Hamilton.”
A flood of dizziness swept over Lisette, and her stomach tied itself into a painful knot. Oh, this was simply dreadful ! What in heaven's name would she say to this woman? Should she admit that she had kissed Quinton and apologize profusely? Should she deny everything? With the blood rushing to her head, Lisette nodded once again and murmured her assent. “Very well, then. Please come with me.”
Lisette turned and made her way back to the staircase with Lady Emmeline following behind her. Paulette's worried expression did not calm her as she passed by.
“Lady Emmeline and I need a moment of privacy,” she said to her sister. “Will you excuse us?”
Paulette nodded. “Yes, of course.” She continued to observe them with concern as they climbed the stairs.
Once she and Lady Emmeline were in the rooms above the shop, Lisette closed the door. The last thing she needed was for Paulette or anyone else to overhear their conversation, whatever it might entail. They stood facing each other.
“Would you care to sit down, Lady Emmeline?” Lisette offered, making an attempt at civility.
“I would prefer not to,” she said, her eyes scanning the small room in disdain. “This is not a social call.”
Fine. “What is it then?” Lisette asked more sharply than she'd intended, her nerves getting the better of her.
“This is most uncomfortable but it needs to be addressed. I believe you know my fiancé, Mr. Quinton Roxbury, do you not?” Lady Emmeline questioned, her ex pression accusatory.
Lisette opted for admitting as close to the truth as she could. The truth was always best. She swallowed first. “Yes. He is a business associate of my brother-in-law, the Earl of Waverly. Mr. Roxbury was a guest at our home and dined with us a few nights ago.”
“But that is not all, is it?”
“What do you mean?” Lisette countered, her stomach flipping. She willed herself not to fidget and prayed her cheeks were not scarlet.
Emmeline inspected her with a critical eye. “You saw him in Brighton two weeks ago, did you not?”
Again, Lisette could not lie. “Yes, as a matter of fact. We met by chance while shopping one afternoon.”
“I find that rather difficult to believe.”
“I am sorry about that.”
“You are aware that Quinton and I are to be married in less than three weeks?”
“Yes, he told me,” Lisette said, wishing she were a thousand miles away.
“I have very good reason to believe that you and
my
fiancé are more than mere acquaintances,” Emmeline said.
“That is ridiculous.”
“You were seen walking with him on Saturday. It seems you entered his carriage as well.”
Lisette recalled the busy London shoppers and cringed. Anyone could have seen them outside the jewelry shop. At the time it was all quite innocent. “We met accidentally on the street. My fiancé was detained and the weather was terrible. Mr. Roxbury kindly drove me home.” That part was the absolute truth. It was what happened
inside
the carriage that she did not dare mention.
“Your fiancé?” Emmeline huffed in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“Well, Miss Hamilton, I think you need to be spending a little more time with your own fiancé and a little less time with mine,” Emmeline declared, anger rising in her voice. “And I have come here to warn you that you should stay away from my fiancé.”
“I had no plans to do otherwise.”
Emmeline continued as if Lisette had not spoken. “Mark my words, he will be my husband.”
“I've no doubt of that.” Lisette said quietly, a feeling of nausea washing over her. How could Quinton even consider marrying a woman such as this? There was something terribly cold about Lady Emmeline Tarleton.
“What do you think? You can't possibly believe that he's going to end our engagement and marry you? Do you?” Lady Emmeline laughed in derision, her lips curled into a snarl. “Think about this before you throw yourself at Quinton again. You could never be the kind of wife that he needs, a wife that would be an asset to him. Look at you! A little bookshop girl! A nobody from an insignificant, low-class family. I know all about you and your grasping sisters. You give yourself airs because your eldest sister got lucky and married an earl. But I know about your wild sister who ran off to New York. You and your sisters working in the shop! Yes, I know all about your incompetent mother, your buffoon of an uncle, and your wastrel of a cousin. You Hamiltons. What a lot! You and your pathetic family would only be a liability to Quinton's political career.”
Lisette flinched at her words, almost knocked off her feet by the venom of Lady Emmeline's caustic tirade. What was more scalding was that everything she said was tinged in truth, and that stung more than the biting tone in which Quinton's fiancée uttered them. Lisette remained speechless at the onslaught.
“What do you know about society?” Emmeline continued to berate her in a scathing manner. “How would you make political connections for him? Who would ever want to be seated beside the likes of you at a dinner table? You are not even capable of hosting a party, are you? You'd make a laughable hostess. No, Quinton could never marry someone as low and common as you. The best you could hope for is to be his mistress.” Again she let loose a mocking laugh. “So whatever designs you have upon him, I assure you, you can just forget about them because you will never have him. Because Quinton desires something more in life that you will never, ever be able to give him, in spite of your pretty face. Let me remind you of something, Little Miss Shopkeeper, my father is the Duke of Wentworth and I have been raised to this life. I can offer Quinton access to the best of everything. With me, he can climb higher than he ever imagined. With you and your family, he would go nowhere but down. With you—”
“Get out.”
Lisette could hardly believe the rude words flew from her mouth, but she could take no more of Emmeline's vitriol. Even though she probably more than deserved this tongue-lashing, for she
had
kissed Quinton on more than one occasion, she did not need to listen to the disparaging remarks about her own family. She repeated her order. “Get out of our shop and never set foot in here again.”
Stunned to be spoken to in such a disrespectful tone, Lady Emmeline had the nerve to look affronted. “It will be my pleasure to leave this place.” She flounced her gold cloak and turned to the staircase. Then she swung back around and threatened, “Don't forget what I said or you will be very, very sorry,” before making her exit.
“Believe me, I shan't,” Lisette whispered to herself. She watched the figure of Lady Emmeline Tarleton descend the stairs, but she remained rooted to the spot.
Once she was alone, the trembling set in and she blinked back her tears. She stumbled into what was her former bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Grabbing an embroidered pillow, she held it tightly against her waist and rocked back and forth while she took deep breaths.
She had no one to blame but herself for this appalling and humiliating situation. Lady Emmeline had every right to be angry and suspicious of her. What Lisette had done with Quinton was so very, very wrong.
Yet it hurt dreadfully to have Emmeline fling the truth at her.
Lisette knew she could never be with Quinton. Even though she had allowed herself to imagine such a thing for the slightest second, it wounded her to know that even if he did want her, she and her family
would
be nothing but a hindrance to him. Lady Emmeline was correct in her assessment of that. What did Lisette know of politics? Of society ? What did she know of being the kind of wife Quinton needed to succeed?
Marrying Henry Brooks and being the wife of a solicitor were all that she was suited for.
Hot tears trickled down her cheeks and a sob escaped her. She had been content with her lot before. What had suddenly changed? What had caused her to long for something more? The answer terrified her.
Quinton Roxbury.
“Are you all right?” Paulette stood at the doorway of the bedroom, her earnest face drawn into a frown of concern.
Lisette wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. Leave it to Paulette to be where she shouldn't be. “You were listening, weren't you?”
Her sister nodded guiltily. “I was worried about you because that woman did not seem very nice. But I only heard the end clearly when she raised her voice.”
BOOK: It Happened One Christmas
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