Megan wasn't able to think more about Rollo and Belle for the time being, because Greville turned away from his mother's tomb to go to the altar, and she followed. Once again he took out the snuffbox, removed a sprig of mistletoe, and hid it in the wall. Then he turned to face her. "I think perhaps I should tell you why I do this."
"There is no need."
"I think there is, for I want you to know, to understand… Well, to understand me, if nothing else." He put his gloved hand softly to her cheek for a moment, then looked at his mother's tomb again. "You already know that my father left my mother for her companion, but you do not know that my parents first met through just such a sprig of mistletoe. The then vicar was a stuffy fellow whose sermons were interminable, and a group of young gentlemen, my father being one, delighted in playing tricks on him. My father's turn happened to fall at Christmas, so he hid some mistletoe behind the altar, knowing the vicar had expressly forbidden it anywhere in the church. My mother happened to see what he did, and went to remove the offending pagan article. Unfortunately, the vicar caught her in the act and accused her of putting it there. My father gallantly confessed and was duly castigated, but he fell in love with my mother, and she with him.
My parents were married within the year, I was born eighteen months after that, and every Christmas they hid a sprig of mistletoe on each of the twelve days of the festival. They were happy together until I was about five, but then my mother's health began to fail. My father could not abide illness, and in order to avoid spending too much time with her, he salved his conscience by employing a companion for her. The woman he selected was too much to his liking, and just after my sixth birthday he decamped with her. That Christmas my mother came here alone with the mistletoe. She brought me with her, and I sat in that pew over there, watching as she sobbed her heart out for what she had lost. She continued to come here every Christmas until her death, and I have carried on the tradition ever since. This would have been the first year I had missed because I originally intended to stay in London, but my plans changed at the last moment, and I have been able to place the mistletoe as always."
Megan gazed at him with tear-filled eyes. "It is a very sad story."
"Aunt E doesn't know I come here like this, and since she and I do not view my mother's situation in the same light, I would rather she did not hear of it."
"I won't tell her."
He took both her hands. "Well, now you know my reason for coming here today, but what of yours?"
"Oh, just the walk and the view," Megan replied.
"Indeed? So your intense interest in Belle Bevington's memorial has nothing to do with it?"
Her lips parted. "How-?"
"I saw how closely you were examining it."
Her cheeks warmed. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect to your mother."
"Nor was any perceived. Why are you interested in Belle?"
The warming increased. "You will think me mad if I tell you."
"Will I?"
She nodded. "Yes, because you already think Lady Evangeline slightly, er, eccentric."
His lips parted. "You aren't going to mention that wretched ghost of hers, are you?"
"Yes, because Master Rollo Witherspoon really does haunt Radcliffe House. I have seen him, heard him, and spoken to him. I believe he is unable to leave because of Belle Bevington." She led him over to the brass. "I think the bee and the spoon inside the rings are their badges, and that the initials at the end of the inscription refer to him."
"But the initials could stand for anything. Ronald Worthington, Robert Walters, Reginald Wycliffe, Raymond Wibblefarthing…"
"Wibblefarthing?" she repeated with a laugh, then shook her head firmly. "Indeed not, for I am sure it's Rollo Witherspoon." She told him everything that had happened since she met his aunt, including the fact that Rollo could not go anywhere except with Evangeline.
When she had finished, Greville was silent for such a long time that she felt quite foolish, but then he exhaled slowly. "I think I can furnish an explanation for his adherence to my aunt."
"You can?"
"Yes, but it is only an informed guess. Forgive me if it is also a little indelicate, but it concerns Charles II’s, er, prowess, which resulted in offspring who were granted surnames such as FitzCharles and Fitzroy. Another such name was Charrel, which is based upon the Anglo-Saxon pronunciation of Charles, and the lady upon whom he sired this line was called Isabella Beaventon, whom I now have to wonder was Belle Bevington, spelling being somewhat random in those days. Aunt E is a Charrel on her mother's side."
Megan's lips parted with growing excitement. "That would certainly explain Rollo's interest in her." She sighed. "But how am I going to persuade her to come here? It isn't her church." A thought struck her. "Rollo says she must perform the task without knowing what it is about, and he has also forbidden me to speak to her about it. But he didn't tell me I couldn't tell anyone else, so what is there to stop you informing her that he needs her to come here to the church?"
"It's worth a try," he answered with a smile, then glanced at his fob watch. "We must go, for it is more than our lives are worth to miss the grand unveiling of the royal sleigh."
They kissed for a last time before emerging into the sunshine and snow, and as they walked back down Church Hill toward Radcliffe House, Megan felt happier than she had done since her parents were alive.
The appearance of the royal sleigh soon attracted an admiring crowd on the Steine. It was an elegant little vehicle, exquisitely lacquered in purple with gilded embellishments, and its curved, flowing runners became the horses' shafts. Two gleaming black Arab horses, jingling with bells, were in harness, and they had Prince of Wales plumes on their backs and heads. There was a front-facing bench seat inside, richly upholstered in velvet, and the sleigh was driven by someone seated on a raised dickey seat at the rear. At first that someone was Rupert, and his passenger was Evangeline, who was thoroughly enjoying the envious stir she was causing among Brighton's elite. The bells tinkled rhythmically and the plumes streamed as the sleigh skimmed over the snow, and to it all was added the Christmas music from the Marine Pavilion. Several snowmen had now been built by excited children, a snowball fight was in progress, chestnuts roasted on glowing braziers, and there were cheers and clapping as Rupert tooled the sleigh expertly around the Steine. It was a wonderful scene, and very conducive to Yuletide spirit.
After a while Evangeline surrendered her place in the sleigh to Chloe, whom Rupert conveyed away at a spanking pace. Today Chloe wore mulberry wool trimmed with black fur, and she was positively brimming with exuberance as Rupert urged the horses past Donaldson's, which was closed because it was Sunday. Chloe's eyes danced with delight, her cheeks were pink, and her lips were parted in laughter as she waved to two ladies who were observing from a chariot that had halted on the corner of St. James's Street. But then her smile vanished as she suddenly saw Oliver in his curricle behind the chariot. He was bruised and battered from his drubbing at the hands of the Garsington siblings, and he winced as he shifted his posterior on the curricle seat. Chloe felt nothing for him now, not a wish to forgive and forget, nor even any compassion for his very public misfortune. He had shattered all her illusions when he walked away from Megan at the ball, and the subsequent scene with Sybil had been the final straw. Today Chloe could not believe she had ever been taken in by him, and when Rupert leaned over to smile down at her as the sleigh skimmed through the snow, it was as if the past few months had never been. All was right in both their worlds again, and she knew that by this time next year she would be Lady Rupert Radcliffe.
Oliver knew it too. He gazed after the sleigh, his face twisted with bitterness. Chloe was the woman he wanted, but she was now denied to him forever because of Sybil Garsington. If ever a man rued something, it was Oliver March, because if he hadn't made the salutary mistake of using his charm and subtleties upon Sybil, her mother, and Mellish, in order to make trouble for Cousin Megan, Sybil's interest in him might never have been reawakened. Now it had come to this! Success had been handed to Rupert on a veritable platter of gold, and he, Oliver, was going to find it very difficult indeed-if not impossible-to wriggle out of marrying Sybil, whom he had certainly never bedded! He had only paid court to the awful creature because Ralph Strickland had wagered him he wouldn't dare! Dear God, Oliver wished he had just paid up cravenly, for if there was one thing he didn't dare now, it was to defy Sigismund Garsington! Even thinking the fellow's name made his knees tremble, so he looked nervously across to Garsington House on the other side of the Steine. To his dismay he saw Sybil standing at an upstairs window. She had seen him, and was waving and beckoning. He could see her lips moving, and did not need to hear her to know what she was saying.
"Cooee, Oliver! Cooee! COOEE!"
He shuddered, and imagined being awakened by her of a morning. No doubt she would put her lips to his slumbering ear in the marriage bed, and send him into a state of witless shock with just such a shrill squeal. A nerve flickered at his temple. He had to have someone to blame, and one person sprang instantly to mind. His eyes swung toward Megan as she stood with Greville, Evangeline, and Sir Jocelyn. It was her fault, he thought with savage illogicality, and he would see that she reaped the consequences! Then he flung the curricle forward around the chariot, and away down the Steine toward the seafront.
Evangeline observed his departure, and tilted her head close to Sir Jocelyn. "Behold, one very sulky bear," she murmured.
"One very sulky, very self-pitying bear," Sir Jocelyn replied shrewdly.
The sleigh was returning, and as Megan hurried to speak to Chloe, Evangeline turned quickly to Greville. "Now you must take Miss Mortimer out, sir," she said with a smile. "I am sure you would like to do that, would you not?"
He met her eyes. "You know so, Aunt E."
She nodded. "Well, after that, er, kiss beneath the mistletoe last night, I would be very surprised if you did not."
"I trust you mean to soon allow us all into your secret?"
"Secret?" She played the innocent.
"You know exactly what I mean, Aunt E," he chided. "There is something going on that concerns Megan, and since I have very obligingly done as you hoped by forming an attachment for her, I think the very least you can do is explain yourself."
Evangeline looked at him for a long moment. "You have seen through me, I fancy."
"I think so."
She nodded. "Very well, I think you are right to expect an explanation. I promise I will tell you everything when we are back at the house, but for the time being I mean to enjoy the social glory of the sleigh. It is not every day that one can be assured of being the undisputed queen of Brighton. But first I wish you and Miss Mortimer to enjoy it."
There were murmurs as Greville handed Megan into the sleigh, for Oliver's contretemps with the Garsingtons had not entirely banished Lady Evangeline Radcliffe's impudent companion from the beau monde's mind. Megan was hardly aware of anything, she was too speechless with delight to be seated in the Prince of Wales's sleigh. Just over a week ago she had been Lady Jane Strickland's nobody of a companion, now she was about to be driven around the Steine like royalty. She turned to smile up at Greville as he stepped up behind her and took the reins. The black Arabs sprang forward, their plumes dancing, and the sleigh sped away over the snow as if upon air. The runners sang, the bells jingled, and it seemed that the horses trotted in time to the Marine Pavilion band, which was now playing "God rest you merry, gentlemen!"
Megan expected to simply navigate the Steine, but suddenly Greville turned the team toward the Castle Inn, then down Ship Street, where everyone turned to gaze open-mouthed as it passed. On reaching the foot of the street, Greville turned west to drive along the undulating cliff top, where very few people were to be found on a Sunday. The sea was blue to match the sky, and the horses' breath stood out in clouds as Greville brought them up to a canter. At the western edge of the town, he turned the vehicle, and then drove back again at the same brisk speed, but instead of driving up Ship Street again, he followed the track on toward the Star and Garter and Mahomed's Baths, where it swung inland again toward the Steine.
A stagecoach was just leaving the inn, and as Greville reined in to allow it to pass, a woman called to him from the roadside in a broad Sussex accent. "Some mistletoe for your lady, sir?" It was a red-cloaked countrywoman with an enormous basket of carefully tied mistletoe posies, one of which she held out hopefully to Greville.
He laughed and tossed her a coin, which she caught deftly and tested with her teeth before stepping from the curb to give him the posy. "Give the lady a kiss for Christmas, sir, for 'tis not only lucky, 'tis expected!"
"Expected, eh? Well, I must not disappoint," he replied, and to the delight of onlookers he held the mistletoe above Megan's head. "Madam, your lips are needed," he said softly.
She blushed as she turned and tilted her face to meet him. Their lips joined in a warm kiss that drew a rousing cheer from some men who had just emerged from the Star and Garter. The countrywoman gave a satisfied cackle of laughter. "May you both have the finest Christmas ever!" she cried as Greville pressed the mistletoe into Megan's hands, then urged the team on again.