“We have an army of servants combing the city for you, and you’re here, gadding about.”
Hettie’s lips pinched together to hold back the words that came quickly to her thoughts; winning his family over would be far more difficult if she went about calling them rude little monsters and lecturing them about showing respect for their father. But her jaw ached as she forced her mouth shut.
“What is the matter?” asked Baxter.
“Charity has been brought to bed.”
Baxter stiffened, and Hettie instinctively drew her free hand up to grip his forearm. “I thought she still had a fortnight—”
“Yes, we all did,” he replied with a stony tone. “She asked us to send for you. So we have.”
Giving Hettie another long look, young Mr. Baxter added, “Yourfriendisn’t welcome.”
“Matthias.” The word was half exasperation and half chastisement but had no effect on his son.
Hettie released his arm and turned to Baxter. “Do not fret, but please send word when the ordeal is concluded. Meanwhile, I will pray for her, the babe, and your family.”
“My thanks,” he said, taking her hand and bowing over it. Baxter’s eyes rose to hers, and there was so much swirling in his gaze. Mrs. Callaghan was a strong lady; surely, she would be well. However, far too many fine women were struck down, and it was difficult for either of them to hide their fear.
“Father, we must go,” chided his son.
Baxter straightened and nodded her a farewell before turning on his heel and following his son. Hettie watched as they drifted away, and she gave the first silent prayer of many for Mrs. Callaghan and the safe delivery of her child.
Chapter 19
With the shades pulled tight against the night and a fresh pot of tea at her side, Hettie toed off her slippers and set her feet on the footstool. Despite her best efforts, they were still chilled after her picnic with Baxter, but now, as she angled herself toward the fireplace, the last of the ice melted from her bones.
Thank the heavens for small miracles: though many were out and about on that evening, the Stillwells had always considered New Year’s Day one for the family, allowing Hettie a moment of peace at home. Whilst the Christmas festivities were delightful, a night or two of rest was always called for if one wished to make it through all twelve days without collapsing.
To say nothing of their favorite tradition. Though most of the family no longer attempted to pen their own ghost stories, they each went to great lengths to scour up a tale guaranteed to chill the blood, and there was no better way to spend the Christmas season than gathered around a blazing fire with a selection of treats and drinks as they shared grisly tales of the great beyond.
Shifting in her seat, Hettie tucked her needle between her lips to free her hands and straighten the blanket on her lap. Pulling the needle free, she turned her attention back to her embroidery hoop and took up the next stitch, laying the base layer of green. With a medium shade to add depth and the highlights to finish it, the work would take some time to complete, but the mistletoe would look all the better for it. Though a strange decoration for a baby bonnet, it seemed appropriate for Mrs. Callaghan’s babe.
Thankfully, Hettie was quick with the needle, and the project would be finished soon enough.
Nelson was currently sharing his ghostly tale, reciting it with all the drama of a stage performer. His always tended toward overt horror, though Hettie preferred more subtly to her scares, for they lingered in the thoughts long after the tale ended.
Vincent was seated in his usual chair, his elbows resting against the arms and his fingers steepled as he watched with unblinking intensity as Nelson spoke. The ladies kept their hands busy with their needlepoint, though Louisa and Alice spent more time watching Nelson with wide eyes and gasping than their embroidery.
“…The anguished wails of the condemned echoed through the vaulted corridors, as the specter, satiated yet unsated, dissolved into the ethereal abyss, leaving a nightmare etched in the cursed castle's stone." Nelson’s voice trailed off into silence as his audience stared at him, gaping. His father broke the spell with vigorous applause, which was quickly followed by the others, though Louisa looked a little ashen as she returned her attention to the needlepoint.
“Bravo, Nelson,” said Vincent. “That got the blood pumping. Alice, you should go next.”
“Might we take a moment before we delve into the next?” asked Louisa. Then with a shudder, she added, “I do not know if I shall sleep tonight.”
The young lady’s husband came to her side, settling into the seat beside her with a smile, and whispering something not intended for the others, he managed to bring a blush to his bride’s cheek.
Alice cleared her throat and cast a glance at her aunt. With a barely contained giggle, she asked, “Did you have a lovely outing with Mr. Baxter? It looks so cold outside, I think it must’ve been quite bracing.”
Apparently, that was enough to clear Louisa’s mind of ghouls and gore, for she grinned and added, “I am certain they were able to keep themselves warm.”
That drew the men’s attention, and they raised brows at the womenfolk. No doubt they hoped to fluster her, but Hettie was an old hand at familial jests and knew the best way to fight teasing was to fluster her opponents.
“Oh yes. Mr. Baxter knows how to keep a lady warm. I was quite comfortable. Flushed, even,” she replied with a wicked smile, her tone full of insinuation.
Alice’s cheeks pinkened, her wide eyes darting down to the seam she was mending. Victor arched a brow at her, and Hettie gave him a demure smile in return, though his son looked far less amused, his brows drawing tight together.
“Calm yourself, Nelson,” said Hettie with a laugh. “Mr. Baxter is a perfect gentleman. Nothing untoward happened.”
