Visions of Mistletoe: A Ridlington Christmas Novella Page 6

  She blinked. Then her chin rose. “He has formed the habit of arriving unannounced, I’m afraid. No matter how much I suggest otherwise.”

  “Has he indeed.” Michael pinned the other man with his gaze once more. “Then he must be persuaded to mend his ways, I believe.” He too lifted his chin. “And your business with my wife?”

  The silence in the room was so thick, Michael wondered if any of them would be able to breathe after a minute or so.

  “Your wife?” Graymore choked out the words, as if he was strangling himself by uttering them.

  “I believe you heard me correctly.”

  “You’re married to her?” He pointed at Ariadne.

  “I see no other lady present,” remarked Michael.

  “Lady? Lady?” scoffed Graymore. “You’re sadly mistaken if you think she’s a lady. She’s no better than a…”

  Whatever unwise word was about to issue from his mouth was soundly stopped by a sharp, strong punch.

  “Oh well done, Michael, well done.” Ariadne, far from being shocked at this display of fisticuffs in her parlour, applauded. “I’ve wanted to do that for a couple of years now.”

  Michael turned. “He’s been bothering you that long?”

  She nodded. “He introduced himself as a neighbour willing to help. Then he heard the rumours about me. From then on, it was either sleep with him, marry him and sign over the property to him, or pay him to keep him quiet. He made all sorts of threats.” Her hand shook a little. “Some against Joshua. Against my son. Once he tried…he tried…”

  “He tried what, love?” The word slipped out without Michael realising it, since his temper had risen even higher with Ariadne’s words.

  “Well, you can imagine. I was alone that morning. Fortunately Rodney arrived just in time. From then on I made sure I was never alone when he visited. The money seems to have kept his mouth shut, I will admit, but it has been a burden.”

  “Lies, all lies. She’s a loose-moralled slut. And if you’ve married her…well, I dunno what to think of you,” spat Graymore through the gap Michael’s fist had knocked in his front teeth. “Ask her how many have had her before you. And she’ll play you for a fool, mark my words. As if I’d soil myself with dirt like her.”

  Michael released Ariadne’s hand. “Will you excuse me for a moment, my dear?”

  He walked to the door and opened it. “Rodney, you’re needed in the hall.” His shout echoed through the house.

  Then he turned back, grabbed Graymore by the scruff of the neck, and ignoring his protests and struggles, all but dragged him out of the parlour, through the hall and out the front door onto the step.

  Where, just to be completely thorough about things and make sure he was fully understood, he punched the man again. Hard. Several times.

  “If you come back here, there’ll be more where that came from. Much more.” He looked down at the writhing man at his feet, now wearing a copious amount of his own blood. “And you won’t get off so easily next time.”

  “You bwoke my nothe…” Graymore struggled for a handkerchief to stem the flow.

  “I’d like to think so, yes. Vermin like you deserve no less. In fact, I think I shall have to drop a word in the ear of a good friend of mine. I don’t like to mention his name, but sometimes he travels through the countryside because that’s his job. He’s the Lord Lieutenant of this county and I hear he’s not friendly to those who attempt any kind of blackmail or extortion.”

  “I…no…” Graymore gained his feet, slipping a little in the snow, but backing away just the same. “I won’t be around again then.”

  “Most wise.” Michael carefully flicked a bit of dust from his jacket. “I’m sure you have other prey. I pity them and hope perhaps some of them might take a stand against you. But even if they do, I won’t hear about it, since you won’t be returning here. Ever.” He stepped forward, enjoying the fact that Graymore immediately stepped back. “Will you.” It wasn’t a question.

  “No. Nothing for me here.”

  “Well, I’m glad we finally agree on something. I believe Rodney has your hat. Good day to you.”

  And with that final cutting remark, Michael turned his back on Graymore and walked into the house, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Chapter Seven

  Her heart thundered as Michael walked back into the parlour, a satisfied look on his face even as he massaged his hand. She didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to react to everything that had just happened.

  So she dropped into a chair, rested her arms on the table—and then laid her head down on top of them.

  “Dear God.”

  Michael chuckled. “I must apologise. Punching a man in a lady’s parlour is not acceptable behaviour. Especially at this hour of the morning.”

  She looked up. “On the contrary, I found it wonderfully, perfectly acceptable. But you are so flippant. You just eliminated one of my biggest worries. That man has been a painful thorn in my side for far too long.” She shuddered. “Yet I was helpless, and it was so frustrating but...because…”

  “Because of Joshua,” he answered before she could speak the words.

  “Yes,” she sighed. “He’s a child. He’s everywhere and very adventurous. I try to keep an eye on him but he’s fast, curious and fearless. And he's all I have. I would have paid my last farthing to keep him safe.”

  “He’s a boy,” said Michael. “I was one once. And yes, I completely understand.” He walked to her and gently rested his uninjured hand on her shoulder. “I hope this takes care of the problem, Ariadne. Graymore will think twice now before bothering you again.”

  She nodded, and sat up, then hissed as she saw his hand. “Lord above. That must hurt. Sit down.” She all but pushed him back down into a chair at the table. “Here. Finish your tea.”

  Grabbing a plate, she hurried from the room, opening the front door and dipping it into the snow. It was her first reaction and probably a good one, since the icy cold would stop the worst of the swelling.

  Silly man. He’d taken a risk punching Graymore. But he seemed to know what he was doing.

  Returning with her bowl of snow, Ariadne took Michael’s hand firmly in hers and thrust it into the ice-cold pile.

  “Yowwwww…” Michael hissed out a muted howl. “That’s cold, dammit…”

  “Oh hush. I don’t want your hand swelling any more than necessary. I have no ice, but plenty of snow.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Just keep your hand there for a minute or two and don’t be a baby.”

  “I’m not,” he pouted, peeking up at her from beneath those fierce eyebrows. “I can see I have myself quite a nagging wife.”

  Ariadne’s knees promptly gave out and she plopped into her chair with a choked sort of gasp, blinking at him and trying to clear whatever was obstructing her throat.

  “So.” Michael was grinning at her as if he sensed her difficulties. “About that comment…”

  She coughed. “What on earth possessed you to say such a thing, Michael?”

  “I’m not sure, to tell the truth.” He sounded puzzled. “It just seemed to slip out. I barely even thought about it, because it was so natural.”

  “But you’ve only just met me.” She tried to understand.

  He smiled. “That is irrelevant. Haven’t you ever met someone and just known, right down to the soles of your shoes, that you were destined to be friends? To have some kind of special relationship with this person?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not until…”

  “Until?” he prompted.

  “Well, I can’t be sure, of course…”

  “Of course.”

  “Until…” She cleared her throat again.

  “You seem to be coughing a lot, my dear. Perhaps more tea?”

  She gritted her teeth. “All right. Until I saw you yesterday in my doorway.”

  “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His smile was pure innocence and had it not been for
the wicked gleam in his beautifully distracting eyes, she’d have taken him for the complete and total gentleman.

  “You’re a wicked wretch,” she surrounded with a laugh. “And I admire the power of your punches. Thank you, Michael. For myself and for Joshua. We’re in your debt.”

  He gazed at her. “As I am in yours. So I suggest we remove any idea of debt from both our thoughts and focus on what we’re to do next.”

  She nodded, trying not to respond to the shimmer of warmth she felt when he spoke of “we”. As if they were now working together. And oh, wouldn’t that be the most wonderful thing? Hesitantly she glanced at his face. “I’m not sure what to advise.”

  Michael took a few moments to remove his hand from the snow, dry it off with a napkin from the breakfast tray, and flex his fingers.

  “Good as new.” He winced. “Well, almost. I think the cold did the job.”

  “Or you’re a fast healer…”

  “I’ll bruise, for certain,” he said, frowning. “But there’s no serious damage. I’m happy to think Graymore will suffer from that lost tooth and broken nose a lot more than I will from a couple of bruises.”

  “True,” she nodded.

  Silence fell for a moment or two, then Michael looked up. “Ariadne, may I ask what might sound like an absurd question?”

  “Most certainly,” she answered immediately. “But I cannot imagine what I might consider absurd…”

  “Do you believe that there are matters in this world beyond our understanding?”

  She swallowed and met his gaze. “Yes.”

  His eyes never left hers. “On a personal level, have you experience of such things?”

  She took a breath before answering. “Yes.”

  “Not just sleepwalking…”

  “No, not just sleepwalking.” She shifted and looked away. “I have gypsy blood, Michael. I was not raised to ignore things like instincts or senses. My mama taught me that such things were not only part and parcel of our lives but important, and I should never ignore them. There are many beliefs and ideas that might seem strange to one raised in London, for example.”

  “But you have experienced something that might be called…unusual.”

  “Oh yes,” she chuckled. “I have indeed.” After a moment or two, she had to ask. “Why these questions? Might I assume you are or have been experiencing something that might be described—to use your word—unusual?”

  “My mother spoke to me.” He turned his head to the fire, away from her gaze. “I should put it down to exhaustion, or being almost asleep, or even dreaming. But it wasn’t any of those things.” He turned back. “I heard her voice. Clear as day.”

  Ariadne considered his words. “Do you know where she was from? Was there anything about her that might lead you to believe she possessed some kind of gift?”

  “Well, she was Irish. Hair of ebony and eyes…”

  “Green, like yours?”

  He nodded. “Yes.” He paused, his throat moving as he swallowed. “Yes, I have her eyes.”

  She chose her words carefully. “There are many who believe that the Irish, as a nation, have a greater ability to sense other worlds…matters that exist on another level. The fae, for instance. Sidhe. Many are still convinced of their existence, especially in Ireland, where sithens, or faerie mounds are supposed to be everywhere.”

  “That’s very true. I heard some of them when I was a boy, but my father forbade discussion of such things in our house. He felt it was beneath the dignity of anyone with an iota of intelligence to believe in such drivel.” Michael shook his head. “His words, not mine. My mother was the one who believed in the magic of butterflies and heard whispers in the rustling of leaves.” He smiled.

  “Your mother passed her sensitivity to you, I’m thinking. And your father sounds like…a man of narrow views, shall we say?”

  “Very.”

  Ariadne let it rest. There was little to be gained by reviving old and unpleasant memories for him. “So, if I may be so bold, what did your Mama have to say when she spoke to you?”

  “Not enough, dammit.” He frowned. “She told me to find my name. Those were her exact words. Find your name.”

  “Hmm.” Ariadne pondered that piece of information. “Logic would say she wants you to find your real father? Would that be a possibility?”

  He nodded. “Yes, and that was my first thought as well. So thank you for endorsing my notion. I suppose it’s not that far-fetched, but other than a few more cryptic words, she gave me no idea as to who he might be.”

  “What else did she say?”

  “She told me to go to the vale. That the answer was in the vale.”

  “What vale?”

  Michael widened his eyes and spread his hands helplessly. “I haven’t a damn clue.”

  *~~*~~*

  “I believe we might need some help,” said Ariadne, rising to her feet.

  Michael watched her walk to the door, open it and call a name he couldn’t quite catch. He felt a little foolish, having confided his experiences to her—after all, he was a rational man who prided himself on logical thought in spite of his acknowledged heightened senses. And here he was, having strange visions in a tent and hearing his mother’s voice after so many years.

  Perhaps this was all a delusion and he was lying unconscious somewhere under a hedgerow in a snowbank, ready to die.

  Ariadne walked back to him, a soft smile on her face.

  If angels look like this, then I’m quite ready to go.

  “Winnie will have some suggestions, I’m sure.”

  “Winnie?”

  “Rodney’s wife. The two of them came with me when I moved in here. You’ve met Rodney. They’ve been the only grandparents Joshua has ever known. And honestly? I couldn’t have asked for better.” She turned as the door opened. “And here’s Winnie now.”

  Michael blinked, then stood. “Good God. You…”

  Grinning at him was a small elderly woman. Without her fancy scarf and coin headdress, she resembled the servant she apparently was, but there was no doubt in his mind.

  She was the gypsy in the tent.

  “Aye, ’tis me, lad. Yer can close yer mouth because I’ll not deny it.”

  “I…but…uh…”

  “Not much of a talker, then, is ‘e?” Winnie glanced at Ariadne.

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, give him a chance to recover from the shock.” She put her hands on her hips and stared at Winnie. “After all, the last time he saw you, you were a gypsy at the fair.”

  “Yes, well then. He’d best deal with it, lest yer both waste an entire mornin’ waitin’ fer ‘im ter get ‘is voice back.”

  “You showed me her.” Michael struggled, pointing at Ariadne. “You knew, all along.”

  “Well o’course I did, yer great lackwit. D’yer think I’d ‘ave shown ‘er to anyone else? I knew yer was the one, the minute I saw yer.”

  “The one? The one what?”

  “The one what might be able ter ‘elp. An’ yer did. Smackin’ that Graymore a good one.” She chuckled, although it was a little more like a cackle, which Michael found a bit unsettling. “That was good to ‘ear, an’ long overdue.”

  “Be that as it may,” said Ariadne firmly, “we need your advice, Winnie.”

  The old woman folded herself into a chair and stared at the two of them. “Get on with it, then.”

  Ariadne told her of Michael’s experience and repeated what his mother’s voice had told him.

  He waited, watching, wondering if he’d strayed into some kind of asylum. “Do you think I’m losing my mind?” He had to ask, even though he had directed the question to a pretend gypsy-witch-servant. Perhaps that, in and of itself, answered it, but at this point he was ready to accept pretty much anything.

  Had she sprouted wings and flittered about the parlour, he’d only have been mildly surprised.

  “Nay, yer sane, lad. As sane as the rest of us.” She scratched one ear. “Which ain’t sayin’
much, I s’pose, but there ’tis.”

  “So you believe me then? That I heard my mother’s voice?”

  “O’ course I do.” Winnie’s eyes widened. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Michael’s mouth opened and shut. He couldn't come up with anything in response.

  She turned to Ariadne. “I think we needs to look into the ball…”

  Ariadne’s eyes opened wide. “Really?”

  “Can’t think of anythin’ else at this point, lass, can yer?”

  “No,” answered Ariadne, shaking her head. “No, I can’t.”

  “Right then. I’ll get it.” Winnie pushed out of the chair and trotted off, leaving Michael lost and confused. He turned to Ariadne, knowing his face asked the question that trembled on his lips.

  “It’s a special…um…” She searched for the right word. “Well, it’s a crystal ball, but that doesn’t do it justice.”

  Michael smiled wryly. “Hmmm. If Winnie takes it with her to local fairs, then I know the one you mean.”

  She reached out and covered his hand with hers, her warmth soaking through his skin and spreading over the rest of him. “You’re a good man, Michael. You have a sound heart and a trusting soul. And you want to help where you can, in spite of everything. Who you are, this deep-seated goodness if you will, makes it easier for you to accept that there are things in life we may never understand. And exist they do.”

  “Maybe it’s faith…” he said, hesitant to voice such matters. “Faith in justice, in the ability of right to triumph over wrong…”

  “Those are good things to believe in.”

  He turned his hand over and grasped hers. “I believe in other things too.”

  “And I’m glad to hear it,” she smiled back, squeezing his fingers. Then she withdrew as Winnie returned bearing a small bundle wrapped in dark blue wool.

  She came to the table and Michael watched in fascination as she unwrapped the parcel, knowing what he would see inside.

  “It’s…” He leaned over, moving this way and that to see the details. “It’s extraordinary…even though I've seen it before, it's still extraordinary.”