The Christmas Spirit Read online

  "Saab?" Ahmad entered his library. "A note has come for you."

  Matthew resisted the temptation to grab it. He hoped it was from Faye and would give him permission to call.

  But, as soon as he saw the engraved words, he felt a wave of disappointment.

  "An invitation," he said to Ahmad in a contemplative tone, "and to a Christmas ball from one of the members of the Association committee. Well, it's clear that I must have been forgiven. It's been years since anyone's invited me to anything."

  "That is good, saab. It is good to take your place in society, yes?"

  "Better than I care to admit. When I was younger, I put no value on such things. But now . . . " Matthew hesitated before going on. He raised his eyes to his loyal friend's. Ahmad had the right to know what was in his mind.

  Ahmad's stare convinced him that he had sensed Matthew had something serious to impart. "Yes, Matthew saab?"

  "I was about to say that when a gentleman contemplates marriage, he begins to care more about his place in society. For his wife's sake, of course."

  Ahmad betrayed no surprise. His demeanor was sober, rather than overjoyed. "Did you not consider being married before, Matthew saab? To Helen memsa'ab?"

  "Yes, I did." Matthew felt all the embarrassment of that error. He had not truly loved Helen. He saw that now. "You are trying to say that I had no such consideration of her, which is true. I hope to choose more wisely this time."

  "To choose Faye Meriwether, is this not so?" Ahmad was troubled. "You believe she has helped you win the support of your colleagues again. Is that it, saab?"

  "Whether I believe she did or not is not the issue. I must have her, Ahmad. It is that simple." As Matthew had held her hand in his carriage, he had discovered this to be true.

  "Then, in that case, Matthew saab, I hope you shall have her." Enigmatically, Ahmad added, "And I shall do my best to see she does not escape."

  Matthew grinned. "I hesitate to ask what you mean, but I hope you're not suggesting that I'm incapable of conducting my own love affairs? I assure you I am well practiced with women."

  "No, saab." Ahmad allowed himself a smile. "I have great faith in the famous Matthew saab when it comes to pleasing ladies. You forget, but I have seen you charm more than one princess from the arms of her prince."

  "All those instances are best forgotten," Matthew said, firmly pushing those memories into the past. He hoped that Faye would forgive him for his past transgressions--circumstances being what they'd been--but just to insure she would, he would not mention them. His lady love possessed an open mind, but he would not strain its boundaries with useless confessions.

  After Ahmad had retired, Matthew studied the invitation in his hand. The ball was to be on Christmas Eve, only a few days away. Faye had promised to kiss him under the mistletoe.

  Well . . . it appeared that fate had provided them with a golden opportunity. Matthew now had a tool and a date with which to force her hand.

  He took up his quill and ink to write two missives. One to his hosts to beg another card for the ball for a lady friend. The other to solicit Faye's company for the evening. When he had finished the latter, his sense of anticipation was as high as it had ever been. Far higher than it had been when he had set off on his conquests. That a woman should make him feel as if to win her would be greater than all other possible glory made him wonder whether he might not be feverish again.

  But when, much later that night, Trudy awakened him with a whisper, he did not feel achy at all. His thoughts were clear, and his dreams had been free of all horror. All his senses went on alert. The sound of her voice sent ripples through him like the wind over water. Her fresh-flower scent drifted through the air to tickle his nostrils. And, when he saw her poised for flight at the foot of his bed, he felt as if his vision had been blessed with the sight of such celestial beauty as to make the perfect recollection of it impossible.

  Her mere presence in his bedroom had aroused him. The sight of her exotic face with its pale green eyes and the ears that peaked beside it so charmingly gave him a rush of desire such as he'd never known. He decided that a dream must have conjured her this time instead of a hallucination, his feelings were so intense.

  Trudy seemed to sense that his capacities, as well, were undiminished by chills, for she remained a safe distance away from his far-reaching arms. If she had not, Matthew knew he might have tried to staunch his need by grabbing her in the next instant.

  As it was, however, he was afraid to move for fear of chasing her away. He had not expected another visit from Trudy. His dream-maiden occupied a special place in his heart, one he was likely to lose at any moment. And, he could not help wondering, if Faye became his wife, how near the reality of marriage would come to the perfection of his night-time visits from Trudy.

  Would Faye have the ability to cure him with a touch of her hand? Could she soothe him with her magical voice? Would she be willing to come to him in the night to vanquish all his haunting memories?

  "Hullo, mannie," Trudy said, and his heart melted with the sound of her familiar voice.

  "Hullo, Trudy. I had not looked for you tonight."

  "I know. I thought I'd come around just to see how you were doing before I go off to celebrate the Yule."

  "Tell me about your celebration, Trudy."

  "Would you like to hear about it?" Her voice sounded wistful, as if some anticipated sadness had burdened it.

  "Yes, I'd like to hear about that, and other things that only you could tell me."

  "Such as?"

  It was foolish--and, yet, he thought she could tell him. As if by some magic, his own mind could leave the limitations of his body and float to places that body could no longer take him. "Such as . . . tell me about the White River of the Nile, Trudy. I came so close to its source. I could almost feel it. . . ."

  She approached him now, gliding noiselessly over his coverlets, and Matthew felt her fingertips closing his eyelids, soothing him, drawing pictures out of the darkness before his eyes, pictures of the fog-shrouded Mountains of the Moon.

  "I'll show you, mannie," she whispered, and her voice was Faye's voice. The similarity sent chill after chill down his spine. "If you would come with me, mannie, I could show you everything."

  "I don't need to see everything. Just tell me about the Nile."

  She sighed, and he thought she might refuse. But then, her palms slowly covered his face, making his vision that much larger. "Can you see them, mannie? The Mountains of the Moon?"

  "Yes, I see them." To his surprise, the fog had lifted from them, and he saw that their peaks were covered with ice and snow. The significance of those long-hidden glaciers did not escape him. "So the river does come from there?"

  "Yes, it does. But it's far more complicated than that. Are you with me?"

  "Yes." He sensed that they were going on a tumultuous journey, so he grasped her wrists to hold on.

  Trudy gave a gasp. But Matthew kept his hold so gentle and so unthreatening, she eventually relaxed. The Mountains of the Moon came back into focus in all their snowy splendor.

  "Then what, Trudy?" Matthew asked in his most soothing voice, sensing that he'd scared her, but unwilling to let her go. Her touch was more than exquisite. It was an intimate and sensuous entry into another world.

  "Can you see the streams, Matthew?"

  And he could, so he nodded. And his lips brushed her palms.

  Her hands gave a tremble.

  "Yes, I see them." He kissed her palms lightly to calm her.

  Trudy's face, Faye's face, was floating above his vision of the mountain's icy streams. Matthew had never seen an image so beautiful.

  "You'd better stop that now or you'll miss the rest."

  "The temptation is overwhelming."

  "Yer telling me."

  He chuckled. Now, she was his Trudy again. "Very well. I shall promise to behave, if you'll show me the rest."

  She sighed, more deeply this time, and he fancied she was a bit di
sappointed, but--he would oblige her later.

  And oblige himself.

  "The streams," she continued in a dreamier voice, "all run downhill until they empty into a vast nyanza. Or lake, as you Britishers call it."

  "I can see it," Matthew said. Its waters had spread in her palms like a plate of glass.

  "Do you see the bay at its northern end?"

  Matthew wanted to nod, but he felt a need to hold on, for he was rushing then, rushing with the pent-up waters of the lake towards a high ridge that loomed suddenly in his vision.

  "Do you see the break?"

  He not only saw it. He felt his body falling through the enormous gap in the rock, falling down and down some sixteen feet, while the start of the fierce white river surged with him.

  Then, he was swept down the gorge where great, white cliffs towered hundreds of feet above him, forcing all that snowy water into a narrow, jumping ribbon of foam. Matthew clenched his teeth, reining back a shout of pure exhilaration.

  No wonder no European had found it, the source of the mysterious White River, for it was hidden in this gorge, which no man could risk ascending without courting death. Yet, he was seeing it here, in his bedroom, and no matter how impossible, no matter if it had come to him in a dream, Matthew knew it was true.

  His mind, for all its English schooling in logic and science, had been exposed to hundreds of other ways and other beliefs. He believed that whatever Trudy was, a dream or an illusion or the elf she called herself, she had shown him what he needed to make all his travels complete. And it did not matter that he couldn't make these discoveries known or claim them for himself. It only mattered that he'd seen this before he died.

  His wild river ride glided to a pause as the waters fell to the plains, where they spread in a marsh in all directions, like a pitcher of cream that's been poured into a bowl. Under the surface, where no one could see them, slow-moving currents secretly carried them north to the sea. Other streams mixed with Matthew's stream to make it stronger. The water had to travel many more miles before he would be able to recognize it as the White River he had known, but he had seen enough to satisfy him.

  Slowly, gently, Matthew removed his hands from Trudy's and allowed her to lift her palms from his face.

  "Did you see all you wanted to see, mannie?" Her green eyes glowed in the darkness of his room once again.

  "Yes, thank you, Trudy. It was everything and more than I'd imagined. That was a lovely Yule gift."

  "Do you mind so much not being there?"

  "No. As glorious as it was, I'd far rather be here with you."

  Matthew paused. All his desire flooded back in an instant. If she was only a dream, then he could indulge his deepest wants. He shouldn't have to bear with his powerful need any longer. "Will you lie with me, Trudy?" he asked.

  She extended a hand, which he tried to take, but at the same time, she floated backwards out of his reach. "I can't come to you yet, mannie. Not like this."

  "Like what, then?"

  But her voice began to fade, and it seemed she dragged the back of one hand over her eyes. "We'll have to wait until we're both in the same world for it to be right."

  "Yes." He thought he knew what his dream was trying to tell him. It was Faye he should be pursuing, not his phantom figure, no matter how much he loved her.

  "Then, I shan't be seeing you any more," he said.

  She looked startled, even fearful. "Yes, you will. You'll be seeing me sooner than you think."

  And in a blink, she was gone. Matthew lay awake, wondering if he had come to consciousness just as rapidly as she had disappeared. But his throat was clogged with need, and the delicate scent of her still lingered in the air.

  The gift she had given him was still clear in his mind: his wild river ride, the secret of the source. After such a beautiful dream, he ought to have felt sated. But, instead, he was troubled.

  Chapter Nine

  Trudy was troubled, too.

  She had been hiding behind the door to Matthew's library when he had told Ahmad his intentions, and she had suffered a great shock. Even she, an elf, knew that his affair with Faye was progressing much more rapidly than convention dictated, but she had never imagined he would think of marriage--and so soon.

  She ought to have known that a man of Matthew's quick impulses and determined mind would not tarry over any decision, even a matter of the heart. He had decided that he wanted Faye, and that was that. He would never stop to consider how few times he had actually seen her or even who she really was. Of course, if one counted the night-time visits from Trudy, he'd spoken with her twice as often as he realized; but Trudy could not tell whether those visits had played any part in his decision.

  She felt a certain intimacy with Matthew at night, when he allowed himself to confide his secrets to her, an entirely different sort by day when he supposed her to be human. But never once, since they had first met, had she felt the way she had expected to feel--like a superior being, toying with a pet of challenging intelligence.

  Oh, Matthew was a challenge all right. Yet, Trudy knew, despite all the claims she'd made to the contrary, that she would never be able to lead Matthew around by the nose.

  Not unless he followed her into the mists, where she could confuse him so terribly, he would be grateful to submit to her will. The thought of Matthew tamed and on his knees, however, brought her no sense of triumph at all. It made her miserable. With a feeling of dread, she thought she knew why; but that was a thought she could not admit aloud, even to herself.

  She intercepted Matthew's invitation by blowing it out of his messenger's hands over a fence into a private garden. She had allowed the boy to search for Meadows Lane just long enough to feel a merited frustration, but not nearly long enough for him to determine that a street by that name did not exist. Trudy was sufficiently familiar with human foibles to suspect that he would be unlikely to report his failure to deliver the note. She followed him a ways just to make certain. But, after giving a weary shrug, he skipped off in the opposite direction from Matthew's lodgings.

  Tut-tutting this irresponsible behavior, which was deplorably unworthy of anyone with a soul, Trudy clutched Matthew's missive to her chest and climbed up into a tree. She read it there, lingering over his every word.

  He would be delighted, he said, and honored if she would agree to accompany him to a ball on Christmas Eve. The words were conventional, she knew. Yet, with a shivering thrill, Trudy could imagine all Matthew's feelings behind them. She did not have to wonder whether he recalled her request about the mistletoe, for Matthew had appended a postscript reminding her of her promise.

  Christmas dances were notoriously liberal in one respect. Mistletoe was sure to be hung somewhere from the ceiling to catch the unwary, and a gentleman would be forgiven any liberties he might take when under the influence of the "healing" weed.

  In her excitement over the prospect of her first human ball, Trudy almost forgot about her own family's Christmas ritual. Then, with a pang, she remembered she had promised Francis she would come to the heath. And with Matthew in thrall.

  The thought of that other celebration brought none of the excitement that Matthew's invitation did. With a feeling akin to the recollection of a nightmare, she recalled all her previous Christmas Eves.

  The witches and trolls had come to the heath, riding their wolves, brooms or shovels, to the gathering place, where they danced riotously under stones. The air was full of noise, the music of lyres and flutes, the shouts from dancing and drinking. A great fire was kept lit to protect them from the Reaper, who roamed the hills on Christmas Eve. At midnight the animals talked to their friends. And the water of the streams turned to wine.

  Trudy recalled how lonely she had always felt on Christmas Eve, realizing now that she never felt lonely with Matthew. If only he would come with her, perhaps she could learn to enjoy the elven revelries at last.

  But whether he came or not, she thought with a rare misgiving, she had every intention
of enjoying herself at her first Christmas ball.

  She wrapped her cloak about her and created another outfit in which to go shopping. She had to have something new and splendid to wear to the ball, but all the patterns she had copied were for less formal attire. With one last look at Matthew's invitation, one last brush of her fingertips over his bold handwriting, she tucked the paper into her stylish reticule. She wasn't sure just where she could keep his note. As a rule, elves did not weigh themselves down with keepsakes--they hoarded nothing but gold. Trudy knew, however, that nothing would part her from this precious souvenir, even if she had to wear it always beneath her clothes.

  Climbing down from her tree, she walked the several blocks to Bond Street, protected by her cloak. If any man chose to bother her, all she had to do was make herself invisible with one sweep of it about her shoulders. This, she'd discovered, was far more effective than haughty looks. Feeling rather melancholy this morning, she was determined to enjoy the evidence of the season, so she meandered on her way.

  The doors of many aristocrats' houses had their knockers removed, which showed that the families had retired to the country for the season. But London was full of people with no country residence and with single gentlemen and ladies such as herself. One had only to look around to see their preparations for Christmas Eve.

  There was a bustle in the streets. Grocers were sending raisins and currants to their customers for their Christmas puddings. Serving men delivered geese and ribs of beef, while scullery maids, working behind the dwellings, scoured cooking pots. The smell of chestnuts roasting over flames wafted from the braziers set up on every corner, and the freshness of evergreens and oranges scented the air.

  Chandlers were busy delivering large mould candles to the houses in Berkeley Square, and the coopers' wagons were weighted down with Yule logs for any fireplace big enough to hold them.

  Trudy saw all this, and her heart filled with anxious anticipation of her first Christmas Eve with Matthew. She hoped it would not be her last.