The Christmas Stranger Read online

  Published by Anna Campbell

  Copyright 2017 Anna Campbell

  Cover Design: © Hang Le

  ISBN: 978-1-947414-07-5

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems - except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews - without permission in writing from the author, Anna Campbell. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes

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  Acknowledgements:

  * * *

  To Anna Sugden, with grateful thanks for her help at the inception of The Christmas Stranger

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Mistletoe And The Major

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  About the Author

  As the wayfarer traverses these isolated Yorkshire valleys, he is oftentimes struck by the lucky survival of diverse quaint fancies that the common folk persist in holding true. One charming legend from Fraedale in the High Pennines relates that a stranger’s arrival during Advent signals a year of great good fortune ahead. Strangers being something of a rarity in these wild and remote corners of the realm, the good luck isn’t as widespread as perhaps it might prove in gentler parts of the country. So a traveler at Christmas always receives a warm welcome, which given the generally inhospitable nature of the landscape, especially in the harsh winters, he may very well need.

  Travels Through the Kingdom of Britain (1787) by the Rev. Dr. Hector Chudleigh Quayle, M.A., D.D. (Oxon)

  Prologue

  * * *

  Jesus College, Oxford, 1st December 1821

  As a highly respected expert on ancient Athenian politics, Dr. Thomas Black devoted the bulk of his time to reading.

  However the letter holding his attention, as he sat at his desk amidst the dusty jumble of his college rooms, didn’t date from the 5 th century BC, but from last Thursday. Which was a pity. He’d much prefer to peruse a document from a couple of thousand years ago.

  What did he know of the modern world? And frankly, what did he care?

  He sighed, not for the first time, and aimed a longing glance at the thick report that had arrived from Dr. Albert this morning. Albert was a lucky dog, excavating in Greece for the entire winter. How Dr. Black itched to learn more of his recent discoveries.

  But nobody could say that Thomas Black was completely lost to his duty.

  Besides, he still harbored a soft spot for Kitty Hale. Although he’d spent the last thirty years thanking his Maker that, when he and his best friend pursued the lovely Miss Katherine Summers during that long ago London season, she’d chosen Cedric instead of him. He really wasn’t cut out to be a husband.

  Now Kitty wrote to embroil him in a family matter, wanting him to interfere in her son’s life. Although Dr. Black supposed that given the young man in question was his godson, she had some right to enlist his assistance.

  His eye fell once more on the offending lines.

  Thomas, I’m at my wits’ end, and I would dearly love your help if you’re able to give it.

  Joss is doing well in his career—you’ve probably heard of his success as an architect. Everyone in society is clamoring for him to rebuild their old houses in the fashionable gothic style.

  Thomas vaguely recalled Kitty’s letter last Christmas. There had been something in that about his godson making a splash in the world. Or at least he thought so. He always got the news about the children mixed up. With seven Hale offspring to sort out in his mind, a lot of Kitty’s tattle went over his head. He hadn’t seen any of the family in the last twenty years, although they always invited him to visit for the Festive Season.

  He went back to reading the letter.

  He needs to find a nice girl and settle down. He’s approaching thirty and more than ready to move into the next stage of his life.

  Dr. Black scowled at the paragraph. Reading between the lines, as a scholar was wont to do, those words implied that Kitty thought her former suitor, now a confirmed bachelor, was stuck in his childhood, too. What cheek.

  But I’ve introduced him to every eligible girl in Sussex, and he won’t have a bar of any of them. When he’s in London, he just runs around with unsuitable women.

  That raised a reminiscent smile. Dr. Black recalled the escapades of his youth well enough to understand the appeal of unsuitable women. He hadn’t exactly been a devil for the ladies, but he hadn’t been dead either.

  Now I turn to you as his godfather. I realize you lead a retired life, but surely there’s some charming girl you know, the daughter of a colleague or a relative, who might suit Joss.

  He’s got a good heart, although his manners aren’t the most polished. And he’s clever. So I need a girl outside the normal run. Which is one of the reasons I thought of you. I imagine Oxford is overflowing with clever women. All those fusty old dons you know must surely have a niece or a sister with brains.

  Fusty old dons? He hoped she wasn’t including him in that description.

  Or perhaps someone you worked with in the early days ended up leaving college to marry and now has an attractive daughter. Can you think of a lady who won’t bore Joss silly within the first ten minutes? If so, could you arrange for him to meet her?

  One thing more—it would help if she was pretty. All the unsuitable women are diamonds of the first water. I suspect unsuitable women usually are. My son is not a shallow man—in fact, he’s a bit of a romantic, and that’s why he’s so reluctant to commit himself. I believe he wants to fall in love. But I always think it’s easier for a man to fall in love with a girl who isn’t a complete antidote.

  Kitty then revealed the iron hand under the velvet glove.

  So far, your obligations as Joss’s godfather have been far from onerous. And I’m persuaded your aid in assuring my son’s future happiness won’t demand much of your attention.

  “Are you just, Kitty, my girl?” he asked aloud, breaking the untidy room’s silence.

  As if smart, pretty girls seeking a rough brute of a bridegroom grew on trees. Dr. Black wasn’t remotely deceived by that line about “unpolished manners.” If his doting mother described him thus, the boy must behave like a navvy in company.

  Without much optimism, his mind ran through the few unmarried girls he knew. If they were pretty, they were silly. If they weren’t silly, they weren’t pretty. Young women were almost as much of a mystery as the vagaries of the world outside the walls of his cozy college. He inhabited an almost entirely masculine environment.

  Dr. Black drew a sheet of paper forward and picked up his pen to begin a letter. He’d inform Kitty that she could harp about his o
bligations to her second son all she liked, but Thomas Black could be of no assistance in this matter.

  Then he paused and frowned thoughtfully into the distance.

  Now he considered further, that wasn’t quite true. He might just have a girl in mind.

  Kitty Hale wanted her son to find a wife out of the common way? Dr. Black knew someone who fitted that description, both literally and figuratively. Further, Black had long ago decided to do something for the chit. Settle money on her. Find her a suitable situation. Put her in the care of someone who could help her make her way. Arrange a husband. That sort of thing.

  He well remembered seeing the girl at her mother’s funeral and planning to fix her up in life.

  Had that really been a year ago?

  Unfamiliar guilt stabbed him as he frowned down at the empty page in front of him.

  By heaven, that wasn’t a year ago. No, it had been five years.

  All this time, Miss Margaret Carr had been stagnating up in Yorkshire. Dr. Black didn’t make a habit of dwelling on his personal failings, but even he admitted he’d been deplorably careless about his orphaned cousin.

  He’d meant to place the girl somewhere suitable to her rank. How unforgivable that he’d retreated into his selfish concerns and completely forgotten her, despite paying her a wage and providing a roof over her head.

  She was pretty, very much so, and she was unusual—and her father, the vicar, had been a dashed clever fellow. Perhaps she was precisely the woman to satisfy both Kitty and her wayward son.

  It would take strategy to get Joss and Margaret together. Even Dr. Black knew enough about worldly young men to see that if they caught the slightest whiff of manipulation, they ran for the hills. Which was obviously where Kitty was going wrong with all her local belles.

  He lifted his pen once more, but paused before writing. Was this wise, what he plotted? Joss Hale sounded like a bit of a lad. One mustn’t discount all those unsuitable London ladies. What if the boy was an out-and-out libertine?

  But there were other servants in the house. Dr. Black was almost sure he paid more than one set of wages every month as a standing order from his bank. Margaret would have plenty of chaperones to keep her safe from a seducer’s wiles.

  Anyway, it was well past time Joss saw the estate in Yorkshire. After all, it was to come to him in the end—not that Dr. Black wanted to tempt fate by telling him so.

  Pleased with this easy solution to two problems, Joss’s bride and Margaret’s future, he started to write.

  Dear Joss,

  Forgive me for being such a neglectful godparent and for writing to you out of the blue like this. But I find myself in need of an architect to visit Thorncroft Hall in Fraedale in Yorkshire, with a view to undertaking largescale modernization.

  I’d very much appreciate it if you could travel up there at your earliest convenience and report on the state of the building and what work needs to be undertaken to bring the old place up to date.

  If you feel able to assist me in this, I’ll be most grateful. In the hope that you’re amenable to my request, I’m attaching details of the location. The house is ready for guests, and I’ll let the servants know to expect you.

  Yours affectionately,

  Thos. Black

  Now he must write to Margaret and tell her to prepare for a visitor. Then he’d answer Kitty’s letter and share his dashed brilliant plan. He was a capital canny fellow, even if he did say so himself. Fusty old dons came in very handy sometimes, damn Kitty’s impudence and fine green eyes.

  He’d write that letter to Yorkshire. And the letter to Sussex. Of course he would.

  Just as soon as he opened Dr. Albert’s report. One little peek before he got back to his correspondence. His colleague’s last letter had finished in a most suspenseful manner, after the discovery of a cache of stone tablets.

  With a decisive gesture, Dr. Black sealed the letter to Joss and rose to put it on the table near the door, ready for his scout to collect and post this evening.

  One glance to see what the report contained, then he’d write the other letters. He tore open the package from Dr. Albert and settled back at his desk, immediately engrossed in an ancient world that seemed so much more alive to him than the trivial matters filling the present.

  The late autumn day closed in, and it was time to go to hall for dinner. Dr. Black’s longsuffering scout collected the first letter, but there were no letters to follow.

  Dr. Black disappeared back into his concerns and never answered Kitty’s letter or wrote to Thorncroft Hall to let Margaret know company was on the way.

  Chapter One

  * * *

  Thorncroft Hall, Fraedale, Yorkshire, 19th December 1821

  “I hate to leave you on your own, Maggie. And at Christmas, too.”

  Maggie Carr mustered a smile for her friend and colleague Jane Parker. They’d been through this a hundred times already. She passed Jane her bag and opened the massive door leading out from the hall to the drive.

  “Jane, your daughter’s baby is due. Your place is in Goathland with the family.”

  “But you’ll be all alone. What if someone comes?”

  “Nobody’s going to come. Nobody ever does.”

  Her employer, an eccentric and aging Oxford don, never traveled north to visit his small manor house in this isolated valley. And there were no passing travelers. They were miles away from a main route.

  Jane must have picked up the wistful note Maggie tried so hard to suppress. With a decisive bang, she put down her bag. Her lined face set in a mulish expression. “That’s it, then. I’m not leaving you alone in this great barn of a place. You’re coming with me.”

  Maggie summoned another smile and picked up the bag. “You know your daughter’s cottage will be bulging at the seams with you there, as well as her husband and the other two children. You’re lovely to worry about me, Jane. But I’ll be fine here. I’ve been on my own before.”

  “But not at Christmas.” Jane looked torn. “How I wish you had some family to go to.”

  So did she. But she’d long ago learned the futility of wishes.

  “I can’t leave the house. You know Dr. Black wants someone in residence all the time.” It was one of her employer’s few demands.

  “I’d feel better if Welby was here.”

  Welby was the outdoor man who looked after the garden and the pony, and did the heavy work in the house. In the depths of winter, with only two women living in, there was little for him to do.

  “He’ll come if there’s an emergency.”

  “If he knows about it.”

  “He’s still only five miles away.” Welby always spent December with his family in Little Flitwick, the nearest village. Maggie’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “And it’s not like he’s marvelous company.”

  If Welby spoke ten words a year, she’d be surprised. Jane, on the other hand, was a great talker. Maggie often wondered why the warmhearted woman had taken this situation such a long way from society. Although the pay was good and the work light. And Jane had a large family in the county who made sure she visited regularly.

  Lucky Jane.

  “Are you coming, missus?” the wagoner called from outside. “There be snow on the way, and I got other folk to collect.”

  “Snow on the way? Maggie, you can’t stay here.”

  Maggie shook her head fondly and bundled Jane out of the door. “There’s plenty of wood and food. If the snow traps me here, I’ll just miss the Christmas service in the village. I’m sure God won’t mind.”

  “Missus?”

  Jane dithered for another second, before she bent to kiss Maggie’s cheek. “Happy Christmas, then. Though I can’t be easy about leaving you.”

  “I’ll write.”

  Jane looked worried again. “If the mail makes it through the snow.”

  “Happy Christmas, Jane,” Maggie said quickly, before Jane could yet again change her mind about going. “I’ll see you in January.”


  The wagoner tossed the bag on board. Maggie hid a smile as he struggled to get the plump and not terribly spry Jane up onto the wooden bench.

  “Happy Christmas, Maggie,” Jane called, as the driver urged his horse forward.

  “And happy New Year, dear Jane,” Maggie called back. She stood on the doorstep until the wagon rolled out of sight.

  The heavy silence settled around her. Silence and solitude. Despite her brave words to Jane, she hated being alone at this time of year, when memories of her happy life with her parents haunted her.

  Once Christmas had been a joyous celebration of hope. Once she’d had a family. Once she’d had people who loved her. But no more.

  With a sigh, she closed the door with a thud that she tried not to find ominous. She squared her shoulders and told herself to stop being so poor spirited. Things could definitely be worse.

  Her father had been an impecunious clergyman, but the family had led a good life, if not a particularly luxurious one. Maggie hadn’t known hardship until after he’d drowned, when she and her mother had to leave the Kentish vicarage that was the only home she’d ever known. Luckily her mother’s cousin Thomas Black had offered the widowed Mrs. Carr a position as housekeeper at his Yorkshire estate. He’d given Maggie a home as well.

  At the time, she’d been thinking of seeking a post as a governess or companion, but after the tragedy of losing her father, the chance to stay with her mother was too appealing. Following her mother’s death five years ago, she’d stayed on as housekeeper, although at twenty, she was really too young to take on the role. She’d been too heartsick with grief to think of setting up an independent life elsewhere. At least Thorncroft held memories of her mother.

  Since then, she’d made a home of sorts here. She liked Jane and the taciturn Mr. Welby. And as housekeeper, she had more independence than any governess could aspire to.

  But those few compensations offered frail cheer against spending the next weeks all alone, while the rest of the world celebrated Christmas.