The Christmas Spirit Read online

  Faye's eyes grew round with dismay. He could almost see her cringing from the despair on his face. Matthew averted his glance, pinching his brow to spare her the sight.

  "Surely that cannot be true," she ventured after an interminable pause.

  "I'm quite afraid that it is. But it's a long story, one I will not bore you with."

  Concern and restrained curiosity played across her face, but he would not give in to them. He had already revealed too much. Let her hear from others how seriously he had been discredited, he thought.

  Then, all at once, a radical change came over her demeanor. A militant gleam lit her eyes.

  "If you have lost your former friends," she said with a mischievous dimple in each cheek, "that is all the more reason to introduce them to me."

  "What?" Matthew gave an incredulous bark of laughter.

  "I said, it would be better to let me speak to them."

  "Oh?" He studied her. Something in her look made him wish to hear more. "To say what precisely?"

  "Oh--" that smug little chin of hers was in the air again--"nothing in particular. But," she added with a wink, "I assure you I have my ways of dealing with foolish men."

  Sir Joseph Banks, a fool? Some of the profoundest minds of their day, mere foolish men? Matthew wanted to break into laughter. But, he realized with a start, any such outburst from him would be of pure exhilaration, untinged by spite. When he puzzled over his reaction, the explanation immediately came: Faye believed in him.

  She had not asked what he had done to lose the respect of such an august body. She gave no sign of believing his ostracism was merited. Without a blink or a justification from him, she had taken his side.

  Such blind acceptance had given him the greatest lift he'd had since he'd begun to believe he would make it home alive from his last expedition. And that former rush had lasted so brief a time. Just long enough for him to return home to find his reputation ruined and his fiancée married to someone else.

  The immensity of that disappointment, the dashing of his fondest dreams, should have made him cautious now; but he found that, despite the extreme exhaustion that threatened to overtake him, he did not want to give up this one spark of hope. It might be mad in the extreme--it most assuredly was--but something inside him very much wanted to see what Faye could accomplish with those men.

  They might think him a liar, a coward, and a scoundrel, but at least they would see he had very good taste and the support of one very charming person--which was just what his vanity needed. They were all gentlemen. There was no possibility that they would treat her with rudeness, especially not with her pretty face.

  Glancing at Faye now, and feeling the immense pull of her charm, Matthew could almost feel pity for those men. They were extremely competitive. He could practically see them elbowing each other out of the way for a chance to make fools of themselves.

  "Very well," he said, before fatigue and reason could make him change his mind. "I can take you to their next dinner meeting, which should be this Saturday. But I must warn you, the governing committee meets in a tavern in Pall Mall. Are you certain you wish to appear?"

  "Absolutely," she said, and he could not doubt it. "As soon as you determine for certain what time we should go, you must drop me a note at this address." She reached into her reticule for a card and handed it to him.

  Like the first, it was engraved in gold. Not the usual fancy of a fortune-hunter. Matthew felt absurdly relieved by this proof that she was what she pretended to be.

  The card gave an address in Meadows Lane. "I have not driven much in London this past year, and before that, I was traveling. Where is Meadows Lane?" he asked. "I do not recall the name."

  "It is not far from the park. I shall send you directions.

  "And, now," she said, changing the subject abruptly, "I greatly fear that I must get on with my errands. If you would be so kind as to drop me in Bond Street?"

  Matthew gave his driver the word, and they had soon pulled over in front of a millinery Faye had pointed out. At the end of his weakened resources for the day, Matthew did not argue when she insisted she would find her way home. He only prayed he would not regret the rash impulse that had led him to accept her mad proposal.

  Chapter Five

  The next few days were restless ones for Matthew. Instead of sending him back to his bed, the outing had made him eager for more activity. Nothing was harder for a man of his enterprise than to sit idle, once a fire had been lit inside him. And, suddenly, one burned. Ambition, which had always been at the crux of his character, had sprung back to life with the thought of facing his accusers with an ally by his side. Not the same dark ambition which had driven him into Africa, but one that was much more fundamental: the desire to restore his reputation in the eyes of his peers.

  True, Ahmad had always been his willing supporter. But, no matter how enlightened the patrons of the African Association were, they were still Englishmen, and full of bias. To them, Ahmad was nothing more than a specimen of his race. A particularly fine one, but merely an object for study, certainly not a man whose opinion they would consult. After all, he had not been properly brought up, nor had he attended the proper English university. So how could he be believed?

  The narrow minds of Matthew's colleagues made Faye's liberality seem all the more remarkable. That her girl's mind should hold more wisdom than all those learned brains put together confounded him; but her belief in him somehow meant more to him even than Ahmad's steadfast friendship. And Matthew was not so foolish as to think it was because Faye was merely one of his own kind.

  Discovering within himself a distinct impatience to see her again, he sent her a note, informing her of the time of the association's next meeting and asking where he should call to take her up. Her response arrived on Saturday when he and Ahmad were passing through the plain entryway of their apartments in the wake of their afternoon meal. Matthew slit open the seal of her missive, doing his best to conceal his eagerness.

  However, when he read Faye's reply, excusing her from riding with him on the grounds that she had another engagement earlier that evening, fresh doubts made his heart sink. She would have to meet him at the tavern to arrive by the designated hour. Matthew could not help wondering whether she would appear at all.

  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 butto
ns 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.