The Christmas Spirit (8 page)

His misgivings were ably seconded by Ahmad.

"But, Matthew saab," Ahmad said, when he had been acquainted with her reply, "what do you know of this woman?"

Alerted by his friend's plaintive note, Matthew braced himself. "What does any man know of any woman?"

"Saab--" Ahmad's voice was mildly scolding--"I only ask you to beware. Do you not find it strange that she should go about all alone?"

"Eccentric, perhaps, but not so out of the ordinary as to raise the degree of suspicion you obviously entertain."

Matthew felt burdened by his own suspicions--that Faye was, for whatever reason of her own, attempting to keep him from knowing where she lived. Or worse, that she had heard the rumors about him and had thought better of being seen with him. Already the prospect of facing the men who had accused him had put him on edge. He did not need an additional cause for disquiet.

Ahmad ignored Matthew's subtle plea for reassurance. "I was under the impression that unmarried English ladies would always walk out chaperoned."

"Often they do. But should they do otherwise, we do not take them out in the marketplace and stone them. And," Matthew snapped unreasonably, "if you find you are fond of such entertainment, I suggest you find another country in which to reside."

Fortunately, Ahmad had experienced Matthew's sharp temper before and did not take offense. Why would he, Matthew asked himself, feeling contrite, when he had often in his delirium cursed Ahmad for being so inconsiderate as to jostle him while carrying him on his back through the jungle?

But when Matthew started to apologize, he saw that Ahmad was not amused as he had been on that particular occasion. Instead, his brow was heavy with concern, and his eyes flickered with a hint of fear.

"Do you know what we say in my country when a beautiful lady appears and disappears so suddenly?" Ahmad asked.

Matthew wanted to sigh, but since he had treated Ahmad so roughly already, he merely replied, "No. What does one say?"

"We say she is one of the jinn."

Matthew had seen the notion coming. He had experienced much superstition on his travels, in all its forms, so he knew when it typically arose. When objects appeared but no one could remember how they came to be in that place. When strangers entered a village, unaccompanied and unannounced. When a plague was visited upon a people who needed someone to blame.

Except Ahmad had never been one for supernatural beliefs, aside from his Mohammedan religion, which he scrupulously observed. Long ago, he had hoped to convert Matthew to his faith and had even braved the extreme sacrilege of smuggling him into Mecca disguised as a Syrian doctor in order to attain that goal.

Matthew had been sincerely sorry to disappoint him, but he had not been able to accept Ahmad's religion, any more than he had the one into which he had been born. Faith had not come easily to him then, and it never would come to him now, not after all the cruelty he'd seen and the treachery he'd experienced.

And if religion would not come to him, he saw no reason to submit to fruitless superstition. He grinned at Ahmad, who retired in the face of Matthew's amused disbelief. Diverted, Matthew went up to his study to read.

It was not until he was half-way up the stairs that he recalled the elves who visited his hallucinations: Francis and Trudy. The memory of those visitors made him halt.

Strange, that Ahmad should have had a suspicion so near to his own feverish delirium. Matthew did not recall ever having told Ahmad about the elves.

Wondering at the bizarre coincidence, he shook his head and resumed his climb.

* * * *

Whatever anxieties might have troubled him had he been forced to wait that evening, he was spared them, for Faye kept to their appointment. Not only did she arrive precisely at the stroke of midnight, but the carriage that brought her appeared in the next instant after his own.

Matthew stepped to its door with the thought of helping her down as soon as he saw her attempting to alight. But he was momentarily distracted by her horses, which turned their heads in unison as he passed them, rather like two opera dancers on a stage. They must have suspected he had a lump of sugar in his pocket. 

As Faye made her descent, however, cutting them a startled glance, they swung rapidly back to face the street, for all the world like a couple of naughty children.

"Hummph!" Ahmad was heard to grunt behind him.

Matthew chuckled at this odd equine behavior, then turned to greet Faye, who looked enchanting in a hooded, fur-trimmed pelisse. "I did not know you kept a carriage," he said.

"Yes." Excitement raised roses in her cheeks. "It is quite new. Do you admire it?"

Matthew obliged her by looking it over as well as he could in the lamplight. He had already noticed Faye's penchant for gold and glistening materials, so he told himself he should not be surprised by the quantity of gilt on the wheels.

Even so, he was. Such luxury was seldom indulged except by persons of enormous fortune, and nothing Faye had ever said had led him to believe her father had been that wealthy. Gentlemen who sought occupation in the army and diplomatic service were rarely men of great wealth, but perhaps Faye had withheld some part of her father's history. Perhaps, he had been a nabob after all.

As quickly as these thoughts flitted through his brain, Matthew responded, "I think it a quite remarkable conveyance. It rather . . . shines."

Faye peeked out from beneath her hood, and her enthusiasm began to fade. "Do you think it too vulgar?"

"Nothing you've chosen could possibly be vulgar," Matthew reassured her, unsettled by her dismay and amazed to find within himself the gallantry to address it. He had always been curt and abrupt, much too busy to consider another person's feelings. But the impulse to comfort Faye had come quite naturally.

He offered her his arm to escort her in. But, just then, another figure as delicate as Faye's emerged from the carriage.

In response to his questioning look, Faye said, "I thought I should bring my maid."

Normally, that explanation would have sufficed, but Matthew could not bring himself to ignore Faye's maid. She was curiously dressed in a cloak of uncommon luxury, which had all the appearance of cashmere. Before Matthew could ponder the question of whether this was evidence of Faye's rash generosity or rather proof of the same vain impulse that had led her to gild the wheels of her carriage, he noted the girl's stunning face and it riveted his eye.

The maid was every bit as lovely as Faye, with golden blond hair of a satin fineness. She had sapphire blue eyes, the color so intense, it was visible even in dim lantern light. She raked him up and down with a bold glance before ruining her marvelous impression by raising one hand and dissolving in a fit of giggles.

"Grace!" The anguished reminder from Faye had almost no effect on the girl, who gave her mistress a sullen glance, before resuming her open flirtation.

If Grace had adorned the drawing rooms of London, she would have been considered a diamond of the first water, no matter how appallingly forward her manners might be. As it was--even considering her low degree of birth--Matthew had no doubt she had a promising chance of becoming the city's most famous courtesan.

"Saab--" Ahmad's voice came from behind him, stern and full of warning.

Matthew tore his glance away from the girl, aware that Faye, too, was awaiting him anxiously, which made him wonder why on earth she had ever employed the girl. Grace's charms posed no danger to him, but it would be very hard to keep followers from gathering about her, especially when it appeared that the bold piece would give them every encouragement.

"Shall we go in?" Matthew ignored Ahmad's attempts to meet his eye.

Frustrated, the big Pathan waited for them all to pass before following them.

As Matthew and Faye turned their backs on Grace to head inside, he felt a distinct relaxation on Faye's part.

"I thought the gentlemen of the African Association would take it amiss if I appeared unchaperoned with you," Faye whispered, "else I would never have brought Grace. I am terribly afraid she is not civilized enough to be taken into polite society."

Matthew had no time to ponder this strange remark for they were soon inside and had other, more immediate matters to face.

With this moment finally upon them, he felt a resurgence of some of his former strength. The same unflinching courage that had allowed him to look death in the face every day for two long years made him lengthen his stride now.

What, frankly, could happen to him as a result of this night's business, except that the members might attempt to have him expelled? And since they had tried that once already, what more did he have to lose?

Faye's dainty fingers on his arm had infused him with a churning confidence, and he somehow knew that no degree of disgust on his enemies' part would deter her from her mission. As they entered the hall of the tavern, which led to the private dining room, he could feel her support in the faint squeeze she gave his arm. When he peered down, she gave him a wink so full of conspiratorial mischief as to make him eager for the scene ahead.

Grace was told to stay outside in the corridor with the serving men. His arms folded on his chest, Ahmad glowered at her from the corner. As soon as Matthew turned his back on them, he heard her chair being surrounded by the servants who were waiting nearby for their masters' orders. A rippling giggle behind him made him hope Grace would not become so loud as to distract the members.

In the private dining room, a long board had been set for numerous courses. By this late hour--one Matthew had chosen for a particular effect--the covers had all been removed and various bottles had been scattered around. The gentlemen seated about the table, stiff in their evening garb, had pushed back their chairs and unfastened their bottom waistcoat buttons the better to discuss business over their port.

Sir Joseph Banks, President of the Royal Society and founder of this immediate body, sat at the head of the assembly. He was himself an explorer who had traveled with Captain Cook, and on the strength of his contributions to science, he had been made a baronet and received the Order of the Bath. As Matthew heard the first astonished mumblings from those who had remarked his entrance, it was to Sir Joseph that he looked. Whatever feelings the president displayed upon seeing him would prevail with the members, no matter what their personal opinions might be.

Wariness lit the venerable gentleman's eye before he stood, followed by the others. Matthew heard a muttered oath, then a curse.

"Dunstone?" Sir Joseph's utterance of his name seemed a challenge rather than a greeting. Matthew felt the muscles in his stomach knot. Hostility raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

"Sir Joseph." He did his best to keep an even tone.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Matthew saw Sir Julian Speck, and his jaw tightened, making it impossible for him to speak. Hostility raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Matthew stared at his well-dressed rival. The tips of Speck's starched shirt points reached as high as his wine-flushed ears. A waistcoat in rich ivory brocade covered the unmistakable beginnings of a paunch. The fury that had been accumulating in Matthew for these past many painful months emerged from the ash where it had been banked. Matthew held his fire in check, but felt it burning in his eyes.

Speck's glance wavered, but he hid his discomfort behind a twitching sneer.

A tense silence hovered in the room, waiting only for someone to break it. Much as he knew that person had to be himself, Matthew felt chagrin freezing his mouth and anger blocking his speech. In his wealth of emotions, he had almost forgotten the dainty creature at his side when Faye threw back the hood of her pelisse, and the gentlemen gasped.

With a grin suddenly tickling at his lips, Matthew released his adversary's gaze. Instead of the paralysis he had known just moments ago, he experienced a boyish rush of triumph. With one look at Faye's beautiful, sprite-like face, these gentlemen, who had wished to hang Matthew in effigy if not in earnest, seemed at once to have forgotten all their animosity.

"Sir Joseph," Matthew said, breaking in on their trance, "allow me to present Miss Faye Meriwether to your members. Miss Meriwether has come with a plea she believes will appeal to their generosity of spirit."

Ignoring the wryness in Matthew's tone, Sir Joseph stepped forward to lead her to his place at the head of the table, giving Matthew the luxury to reflect. If he had attempted to foist anyone else upon the group, either he or she would have been suspect from the outset. But no one raised a word of protest about the beauty who had invaded their proceedings. The members all stared at Faye, their eyes nearly bulging from their heads. Matthew would have stepped back, the better to enjoy the effect of her particular magic, but a determined grip of her fingers on his arm kept him near her side.

"Gentlemen . . ."

At Faye's first word, Matthew felt the air about him shiver with delight. So mesmerized were the men,  they forgot to offer her a seat but, instead, stood frozen in place while she told them of her charity.

Watching her now and feeling the power of the spell she wove, Matthew could not help but recall Ahmad's remark. It was no wonder his friend thought her a jinni, when she possessed so much magnetism as to make the very air about her hum. Faye made an impassioned plea on behalf of the almshouse, and one by one the gentlemen nodded as if their heads were strung like marionettes'. Matthew could almost see the guineas flying from their purses.

"I have to thank Sir Matthew Dunstone for bringing me to see you, and for his own generosity in our cause," Faye said. She pressed herself against his arm, and he felt a radiant glow. "Sir Matthew, having so bravely traveled the globe himself, knows how terrifying it is to be abandoned in a foreign country, and because of this, he has taken a compassionate interest in our inmates."

At her use of the word 'abandoned,' Matthew started. He glanced rapidly at the men's faces, certain he would discover a similar shock. Sir Julian Speck had certainly gone whiter against his cravat, but none of the others seemed to have noticed the irony of Faye's remark. It was as if they had completely forgotten Speck's accusations and the scandal Matthew had caused when he'd returned to refute them. Instead, the few who had been able to tear their gazes away from Faye were staring at Matthew with a new-found respect.