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A Magical Regency Christmas: Christmas Cinderella / Finding Forever at Christmas / The Captain's Christmas Angel
Alex took a deep breath and incinerated every bridge. ‘If Miss Woodrowe wants it, the position is hers.’
‘Really, Mr Martindale!’ Lady Eliot’s mouth pinched. ‘We cannot possibly countenance such a—’
‘Thank you, Mr Martindale,’ said Polly calmly. Her face glowed as she turned to him. ‘If I may have a key, I will walk into the village tomorrow and decide what will be needed.’
He scowled. The deuce she would. ‘As to that, Miss Po—Miss Woodrowe—I have the keys with me now and would be delighted to drive you.’
Lady Eliot drew herself up. ‘I must make quite plain that this has not Sir Nathan’s approbation!’
Alex bowed to her. ‘I perfectly understand that, ma’am.’ He turned back to Polly. ‘Fetch your cloak, Miss Woodrowe. I will await you in the front hall.’
* * *
Polly stared about the second room of the schoolhouse in rising panic. She had not thought. She simply had not thought, had not known. But now the reality of the two-roomed cottage crashed over her like snow falling off a branch.
The schoolroom was in fine order. Neat rows of desks, a cupboard holding slates and other equipment. Books on a bookshelf, a desk for the teacher and a great fireplace. She had seen a huge stack of wood outside. Clearly teacher and pupils were not expected to freeze. The schoolroom itself had been freshly whitewashed and was more than acceptable.
This room, too, had been whitewashed. And that was it. There was nothing in it. Nothing. An alcove to one side, with a wide shelf clearly intended for a bed, was innocent of mattress and bedding. There was no furniture. There was nothing. She swallowed. Even if there were something, she realised with a jolt of shock, she would have no idea how to so much as cook her dinner. There wasn’t even a cooking pot in which to cook it, although there was an iron rod, with a hook to suspend a pot, that clearly swung in and out of the fireplace. She had seen such arrangements when visiting women in the village...but a cooking pot would cost money, and she would need a table, and chair to sit on, and bedding and...
And she was not going to give up! She had got the position and she was jolly well going to keep it. She had some money. Not much, but surely enough to buy a few simple things to furnish this room.
She lifted her chin. ‘I will need to—’
‘It won’t do,’ said Mr Martindale. He swung around on her, his grey eyes hard. ‘You can’t possibly live here! I must have been insane to suggest it.’
Her determination firmed. ‘Why not?’ All the reasons why not were buzzing frantically in her head. If she could swat them aside, why could not he? ‘It...it just needs furniture. A table and chair. Perhaps a settee to sit by the fire. Some bedding and a...a cooking pot.’
His glance skewered her. ‘Polly, do you even know how to cook?’
She stiffened. ‘Do you?’ She tried to ignore the leap of her pulse, the sudden clutch of her lungs at the sound of her name, her pet name, on his lips. For two years she had been Miss Woodrowe. Her aunt and cousins insisted on Hippolyta now. No one, not one person, had called her Polly since her mother’s death. And he shouldn’t be now.
‘I have Mrs Judd,’ he pointed out with a smile.
‘And I have a brain,’ she said, ruthlessly quelling the little flare of delight at his smile. ‘And I can buy a book. And...and ask advice. Please.’ Oh, curse it! She’d sworn not to beg.
‘You’ll be alone,’ he said. ‘A young woman, alone.’ His mouth firmed. ‘I don’t like it at all.’
‘Well, I do,’ she said. ‘My uncle is right. I cannot possibly go back and forth from his house.’ Better to make the break completely and establish her independence. Aunt Eliot would put every sort of rub in her way. But the bubble of panic rose again. Women were not intended for independence. It was wrong. Against the proper order. Unnatural. She swatted those thoughts away, too. Any number of people had probably thought it against the natural order when King John was forced to sign the Magna Carta. The sky hadn’t fallen then either.
Alex frowned, clearly thinking. ‘Perhaps lodgings here in the village—’
‘No!’ Her vehemence was as much at her own cowardice as at his suggestion and she flushed at his raised brows. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve lived in someone else’s home for two years. I...I should like to live by myself.’ Being under someone else’s roof, subject to their rules and arrangements had galled her. Certainly if she paid board she would not be a dependent, but... ‘I should like to try.’
He scowled. ‘For goodness’ sake, Pol—Miss Woodrowe! It’s winter, and—’
‘There’s a huge pile of wood out there,’ she said. ‘I actually do know how to light a fire.’ The governess had been permitted a fire in her room on Sunday evenings at the Frisinghams’, although she suspected this generosity had more to do with prevailing damp than concern for the comfort of a lowly governess. Since no servant had been responsible for lighting it, she had learnt how to manage for herself.
‘But by yourself—won’t you be lonely?’
She stared at him, surprised. ‘You live alone. Don’t tell me Mrs Judd holds your hand in the evenings. Are you lonely?’
‘That’s diff—’ He stopped and the wry smile twisted his mouth. ‘Very well. Yes. Sometimes I am.’
‘Oh.’ His honesty disarmed her. But still— ‘Well, no. I don’t think I will be.’ She might be alone, but that didn’t mean lonely. She was lonely now, surrounded by people who would prefer that she wasn’t there at all, people she had thought cared for her. Polly Woodrowe, poor relation and dependant, was a far different creature than Polly Woodrowe, wealthy cousin. But she couldn’t explain all that to Alex Martindale—it would sound self-pitying, utterly pathetic. So she said, ‘It’s different being a guest and family member to being a dependant.’
His brows rose. ‘The change in your circumstances is difficult for them, I take it.’
Something in her snapped. ‘Difficult for them?’ She snorted. ‘I’m sure it was difficult to discover that the girl you counted on bringing a healthy dowry into the family was ruined! Positively tragic. And...’ she was warming up to her subject now, ‘...if you are going to tell me that it is my Christian duty to accept the situation allotted to me by God, with humble piety, then you may go to the devil!’
He blinked and Polly realised what she had said. Oh, goodness. This time she wouldn’t have to get as far as being pawed around by the son of the house to be dismissed. This time she was going to be dismissed before she’d even started.
‘I was being sarcastic,’ said Alex mildly. ‘And if,’ he continued, ‘I had been so mind-bogglingly arrogant as to say that, you’d be welcome to kick me on my way.’ He eyed her consideringly. ‘You are sure, then, that you want this? There will be no going back, you know.’
She swallowed. ‘There is already no going back.’ She had already lost her place. In society, in her family. She would have to make her own place.
‘I suppose it will be safe enough,’ he said slowly. ‘Right here in the village. And Dominic owns the cottage, so only a fool with a death wish would cause trouble.’ His expression hardened. ‘Not to mention having me to deal with.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Very well, then. Fifty pounds a year, payable quarterly.’
‘Fifty?’ It came out as a sort of squawk.
The dark brows rose. ‘Not enough?’
This time she picked up the humour in his voice. ‘More...more than enough,’ she managed. ‘I—the cottage will need some things. A table, maybe a chair—if you could advance me a little and take it out of—’
‘Certainly not!’ He glared at her, grey eyes furious, all humour fled. ‘The place will be fully furnished and equipped.’
‘Equipped?’
He waved vaguely at the fireplace. ‘Mrs Judd will tell me what is needed. A...a cooking pot, I suppose. Some utensils.’ He levelled a searching gaze at her. ‘Are you quite sure this is what you want? What about Lady Littleworth?’
She swallowed. ‘And what will happen when she dies, or decides that I annoy her? She won’t be paying me, you know. I’ve thought it all out. I need to save enough for the future. Perhaps buy an annuity for my old age.’
His jaw dropped. ‘Polly—you’re twenty-one!’
And one day she would be fifty-one. With no money. Ignoring the little voice of fear, she countered, ‘Have you ever met Lady Littleworth?’
His mouth twitched. ‘Actually, yes. I take your point. Very well, the position is yours, Miss Woodrowe. When would you like to start?’
What had she done?
The following Monday, Polly stared at the fire glowing under her cook pot and hoped she wasn’t burning her dinner. Mrs Judd had brought along a piece of mutton during the afternoon and explained how to deal with it. It seemed simple enough and the smell coming out of that pot was making her stomach rumble in a most unladylike way. She looked around at the room that was now her home. A table and two chairs in the middle of the room, a mattress and bedding in the alcove, a small cupboard to hold a meagre amount of cutlery and earthenware crockery and here, by the fire, a small wooden settle. She had brought the pillow over from the bed to soften the wooden frame a little and was curled up in the corner of the settle, waiting for her supper.
In the schoolroom everything was prepared for tomorrow when the school opened. Lord and Lady Alderley were coming along with Mr Martindale to speak to the children. A dozen children to start. Boys and girls. She had met most of them after church the day before. Alex Martindale had made a point of it.
Despite the twisting knot in her belly, she thought it would be a great deal better than her respectable position as a governess. For one thing she wouldn’t have Mrs Frisingham constantly interfering, making excuses for bad behaviour and vetoing any discipline. Nor would she have the lady’s brother-in-law, young Mr Frisingham, lurking in corridors to paw her about and make lewd suggestions. She shivered a little.
She had left the Manor without fanfare. Neither Susan nor Mary had come downstairs to say farewell to her. Only her aunt had seen her off, mouth thin with disapproval.
I dare say it will not take you long to realise the folly of your actions.
Outside the afternoon was drawing in, she had already closed the shutters and blown out the lamp. There was enough light from the fire and she couldn’t afford to burn lamp oil wantonly. For the first time in her life, she was alone. Utterly alone. And she had a horrible feeling that loneliness was very close, waiting to pounce.
The knocking on the door made her jump. ‘Come in!’ she called as she scrambled up from the settle.
Alex Martindale stalked in, a scowl on his face. ‘Why isn’t the door bolted?’ he demanded. The stern effect was rather ruined by a half-grown, black-and-tan setter pup, who rushed across the floor to her, all outsize paws, lashing tail and enthusiastic tongue.
‘Bolted?’ She stared at him while the pup licked her hands. ‘Why?’
‘Why?’ He looked around. ‘Is something wrong with the lamp?’
‘No, nothing,’ she said. ‘Why should my door be bolted? It’s barely five o’clock.’
‘It’s dark!’ he retorted. ‘Or nearly so. Anyone could come by!’
‘Someone just did,’ she observed, patting the dog.
‘Who?’ he growled.
She stared. What on earth had him all on end?
‘You, of course,’ she said. ‘Who else would have bothered?’
‘Who else?’ he echoed. ‘Polly—Miss Woodrowe—any tramp could come by and see the light. Perhaps decide to find out who lives here.’ His mouth flattened. ‘And you’re here by yourself.’
‘Oh.’ She flushed. Felt a complete widgeon. ‘I see.’
‘Thank God for that. Now, will you promise to bolt the door in future?’
All her family’s concern had been for how her actions must reflect on them, how demeaning it was. His furious concern for her safety was as warming as the fire itself.
She nodded. ‘Yes. If you believe it necessary.’ And when she saw the relief on his face she warmed even more.
‘Good.’ He hesitated. ‘I won’t stay. I just wanted to give you this.’
He held out a parcel and she took it with trembling hands. ‘Thank you.’
He nodded. ‘Are you sure you’re quite all right here?’
‘Yes.’
‘And there’s nothing wrong with that lamp?’
‘No.’ She flushed. ‘I didn’t want to waste oil.’
‘Oh.’ He looked a little disconcerted. ‘I see. Bonny—sit.’
The pup sat, her tail lashing, then, with a sigh, lay down and curled up beside the fire.
‘Bonny?’
He smiled. ‘An early Christmas gift from Lady Alderley. She thought a dog would be good company.’ He eyed the pup dubiously. ‘Which is probably true, as long as she doesn’t cost me my housekeeper. Mrs Judd is not entirely convinced and nor is her cat.’
Polly laughed. ‘But she’s lovely. And dogs are good company.’
‘True. You’re all ready for tomorrow?’
Her stomach twisted. ‘Yes. Everything is prepared.’
His head tilted. ‘Including you.’
‘Yes. Including me.’ She hoped.
‘No regrets?’
That steadied her as nothing else could have. ‘None.’ And suddenly it was true. She had no idea how this would turn out, but she had made her choice. The choice she had wanted to make. Even if it all came crashing around her ears in the end, for the moment she had her independence and that was golden. If loneliness was the price, then she was prepared to pay it.
‘May I open my present?’ she asked.
To her amazement, he flushed. ‘It’s not a present, exactly. Just something I had by me. You might find it useful, that’s all.’ He scowled. ‘It’s nothing. Nothing at all.’
Her hands were busy with the string and the paper which came apart to reveal a small, plain wooden box with a key in it. A small posy of inlaid flowers decorated the lid.
‘Oh.’ Her breath came out on a sigh of delight. Hands trembling, she turned the key and opened the lid to reveal two inner lids with little brass knobs. A slightly pungent fragrance drifted to her and she knew what he’d brought her.
She had to swallow before she could speak. ‘It’s a tea caddy. Thank you.’ It came out as a whisper, all she could manage.
He said, awkwardly, ‘It’s not a very good one. It’s just a hobby. But—’
‘You made it?’ Her hands closed on the little box as emotion choked her. She forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘Thank you, sir. It’s the loveliest gift I’ve ever had.’
She lifted one of the inner lids and saw the little wooden spoon, nestled in the tea. ‘And you made a spoon, too?’ She lifted it out, felt the silkiness of the wood under her fingertips, and swallowed the lump in her throat.
‘Two,’ he said, his voice gruff. ‘One for each compartment.’
Heat threatened behind her eyes as she replaced the little spoon in the fragrant leaves and closed the lid. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t! Carefully she set the caddy safely on the shelf by the fire with the teapot.
‘Thank you, sir.’ There, she’d sounded quite steady.
‘It’s nothing,’ he said. The dark eyes watched her and her heart beat a little faster. ‘Is everything quite all right, Miss Woodrowe? You are sure you won’t feel lonely tonight?’
‘Quite sure,’ she said, her gaze going to the caddy.
* * *
Alex walked along the village street towards the rectory and his evening Office. Something rested, warm and glowing, near his heart. He’d made the caddy, just the caddy, last summer, intending it for Pippa, but it hadn’t seemed quite right for her and he’d set it aside. Seeing it on the back of his shelf the other day after showing Polly the schoolhouse, he’d known why he’d held on to the caddy; it was waiting for Polly. But he’d wanted to make something especially for her, and a tea caddy needed caddy spoons, didn’t it? That bare, bleak little room had haunted him while he carved them, but somehow, when he’d seen her face just now as she cradled the gift, the room had seemed full, glowing. Not bleak at all. He clicked his fingers and whistled for Bonny, who was exchanging greetings with the blacksmith’s old collie.
Davey Fletcher came out and called his dog. ‘Evening, Rector. Your Miss Polly all right, is she?’
‘Er, yes.’ No point denying where he’d been. His Miss Polly? It was natural that he should take an interest in Miss Woodrowe’s situation, wasn’t it?
‘Little bit of a thing to be setting up for herself,’ said Fletcher. ‘Still, it’s a good thing for the youngsters.’ He scratched the collie’s ears. ‘Reckon we’ll all keep a bit of an eye on her, eh, Rector?’
* * *
The scholars stood behind their desks, faces scrubbed and shining, gazing solemnly at Lord Alderley as he introduced Polly the next morning.
‘Miss Woodrowe has agreed to teach you and I know you’ll all do your best for her.’ He gestured Polly forwards. ‘In a way, she is like a Christmas present—one that you’ll have all year. We want all of you to learn to read and write, and do your sums so that you can get good jobs and do them well. And now I think if Mr Martindale will finish with a prayer, we’ll get out of Miss Woodrowe’s way and let her start.’
Alex stepped forwards and everyone bowed their heads as he spoke directly to God, thanking him for the gift of the children and—Polly blushed scarlet—for the gift of Miss Woodrowe, come at exactly the right time in answer to prayer for a teacher. She doubted that she was entirely what Alex Martindale, Lord Alderley, or even the Almighty for that matter, had had in mind. But here she was and here were the children, and she was going to do her very best for them. No matter that Aunt Eliot and her cousin Susan were standing stiffly at the back of the room with Lord and Lady Alderley. Polly had no illusions that her aunt approved of the situation—Lady Eliot was here because Lady Alderley had an interest in the school and would be present.
Alex finished with the Lord’s Prayer and stepped back, gesturing Polly forwards.
‘Sit down, children,’ she said quietly.
They all sat with a great scraping of chairs.
‘Can anyone read or write already?’
Surreptitious glances all round, but one small girl raised her hand.
‘Yes?’ Polly smiled encouragingly.
‘I can write my name.’
At the back of the room Susan Eliot tittered.
Polly didn’t bother to look at her, but focused on the child. ‘Excellent. It’s Maryann Perkins, isn’t it?’
The child beamed. ‘Yes, miss.’ And she spelt her name out painstakingly.
Susan tittered again. This time Polly did look at her. Susan looked back insolently and Polly’s baser nature got the better of her.
‘Very good. Once I knew a little girl called Susan who took simply ages to learn to write her own name. You’ll probably be quicker with your sums, too.’ Susan had been the bane of successive governesses.
Susan flushed as Lady Eliot turned an outraged stare on Polly.
Alex Martindale sprang for the door. ‘We’ll leave you to it, Miss Woodrowe.’ He sounded as though he were trying not to laugh.
Lady Eliot stepped forwards. ‘One word, Hippolyta—’
Alex forestalled her. ‘No, Lady Eliot. Miss Woodrowe is busy now. I’m sure she will be delighted if you call on her after school.’ He smiled at Polly, a warm smile that had her heart doing things it had absolutely no right to be doing. ‘Good day to you, Miss Woodrowe. After you, ma’am.’ And he ushered Susan and Lady Eliot from the room. Lord and Lady Alderley followed them.
Polly breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief, and, pushing all thought of her relatives from her mind, settled to her task.
* * *
By the time half past two came she was exhausted, three more children could write and spell their own names, they could all recite the alphabet, knew their scripture lesson for the day and had started on simple sums and counting. They had finished with a Christmas carol that most of the children knew already, but were more than happy to sing.
In brief moments throughout the day Lord Alderley’s words had come back to her: that she was a gift to these children. Certainly her previous pupils had not considered her a gift. Quite the opposite. And perhaps the converse was true; these children were a gift to her. Without them, she would still be in her uncle’s house, a resented burden. Now, looking at the children lined up at the door awaiting dismissal, she realised that she had something to give. Knowledge, perhaps an altered future for these children.
‘I’ll see you all in the morning, children,’ she said gently. ‘Class dismissed. Off you go.’ She swung the door wide, expecting them to make a bolt for it. Instead they trooped out one by one, all of them stopping to say goodbye and thank her.
Maryann Perkins, at the end of the line, explained, ‘Rector came to see all our families and said as how one of the best things we could do was to thank you each day because we’re real lucky to have you.’
Heat pricked at the back of her eyes. Gifts, it seemed, came in all sorts of unexpected guises.
* * *
She had worked out a budget. For food, fuel, and how often she could afford a pot of tea. Coffee was out of the question, but she preferred tea anyway. And she had decided that if she was prepared to re-use her tea leaves, a cup of tea after her class left was perfectly affordable.
A knock came at the back door as she waited for the kettle. Opening the door, she found Alex Martindale.
‘Oh.’ No doubt he wanted to know if he’d made a crashing mistake or not. ‘Come in.’
‘No need to ask how it went,’ he said, ducking his head under the lintel. ‘I met some of the children. They’d all enjoyed themselves and three of them repeated the scripture lesson to me.’ He grinned, and her heart somersaulted. ‘Caleb Fletcher repeated his sums. Well done.’ He put a small pot on the table. ‘Jam. Mrs Judd made rather a lot of blackberry last summer.’
She flushed. He was just being kind. It didn’t mean anything. ‘Thank you.’ She loved blackberry jam. ‘They all did well. They want to learn. Not like—’ She stopped.
‘Not like your previous pupils?’
She found herself smiling at the twinkle in his eye. ‘No. I wasn’t a very good governess,’ she admitted.
He snorted. ‘That I don’t believe. In fact—’
Footsteps in the schoolroom had them both looking around as Lady Eliot stalked in. ‘Ah. Hippolyta. I must protest—’ Her gaze fell on Alex and she frowned. ‘Mr Martindale. I cannot think it proper for you to be here with Hippolyta alone.’
‘I called to see how Miss Woodrowe had fared, Lady Eliot.’ Ice chipped Alex’s voice. ‘Just as I might call on any of my parishioners.’
Lady Eliot sniffed and looked unconvinced. ‘Well, I dare say it doesn’t much matter now. And I needed to speak to you as well about that disgraceful incident this morning.’ She speared Polly with a savage look. ‘Poor Susan is mortified. I believe an apology—’
‘Oh, no, Lady Eliot,’ said Alex. And Polly blinked at the bite in his voice. He continued, ‘As long as Miss Susan realises how very wrong she was to laugh at Maryann, I am sure no more is needed.’
Polly choked, Lady Eliot’s jaw sagged and Alex went on, ‘I am sure she understands that to laugh at a child’s achievements is not at all the behaviour you expect of her, so we shall say no more.’
The ample, velvet-shrouded bosom rose and fell. Lady Eliot’s lips pursed tightly. ‘I see. You do not think that making a mockery of her betters–’
‘—is any worse than mocking a child?’ said Alex. ‘No. I do not. And I am not entirely certain why you would consider Miss Susan as Miss Woodrowe’s superior.’ If his voice had been chilly before, now it could have frozen hell solid.
