Evangeline suddenly tapped her cup with her spoon to draw attention. "Now, then, mes enfants, I think you should know that I have taken the liberty of sending apologies to Garsington House regarding tonight's, er, concert. Sir Jocelyn is to send a similar message, so we may all be assured of not having to face that wretched Mr. March person."
Greville caught Megan's glance, but said nothing as Evangeline went on, "To pass the time between now and noon I was going to insist upon rehearsals, but I don't think I have the patience." At this she tossed a reproachful glance at Greville, and for a moment Malvolio's cross-gartered yellow stockings seemed to shimmer above the arrangement of holly and tall slender candles newly placed in the center of the table, then she went on. "So, instead I shall busy myself with the costumes and scenery. I do not require any help from anyone, so please do not offer."
Rupert continued to stare out of the window, not having heard a single word, but Greville smiled. "Help with things theatrical? Heaven forfend," he murmured.
"Such facetiousness does not surprise me in the least," Evangeline replied tersely, "but there is time aplenty between now and Twelfth Night for you to master Malvolio." She turned to Megan. "My dear, I shall not require you this morning."
Again? Megan had begun to marvel over being employed, for the one thing Lady Evangeline Radcliffe did not seem to require was a companion! The duties required of her so far could almost have been counted on one hand. Megan's conscience pricked. "But, Lady Evangeline, are you quite sure you would not prefer me to help you with the costumes and scenery?"
"I'm absolutely certain, my dear. The morning is yours to do with as you please. Is there anything you particularly wish to do?"
"Well, I-I thought maybe I would walk to St. Nicholas's, and-" Megan was hoping to lead up to Rollo's request, but Evangeline broke in.
"Why, what a happy coincidence!"
"Coincidence?"
"Yes, because Greville mentioned last night that he is also going there this morning. Didn't you, Greville?"
"Mm? Oh, yes, I believe I did," he replied.
"Now you can go there together. You will be too late for morning service, but the walk will do you both good," Evangeline declared, and reached for a warm bread roll from the napkin-covered dish. "Just be back for midday, so that you may see the sleigh."
Megan and Greville set off shortly afterward. She wore her new cloak over her morning gown, and was glad of the honey-colored fur around her face. Her ankle boots were warm and comfortable, as was the muff Evangeline had once again insisted she borrow. He wore his braided charcoal greatcoat and top hat, and there were golden tassels on his Hessian boots. He carried a cane with which he dashed snow from some branches overhanging the Radcliffe House garden wall.
They walked apart, feeling suddenly awkward with each other, and neither of them spoke as they approached Church Street. The snow crunched pleasingly underfoot, and behind them the German band by the Marine Pavilion had been joined by choirboys singing "I Saw Three Ships," which made Christmas now very imminent indeed. Soldiers were clearing snow in front of the barracks at the foot of the hill, and the sound of shovels soon drowned the sweet music from the Steine.
Still nothing was said as they began the climb toward the church, but then Greville suddenly took Megan's hand and drew it over his arm. She glanced up at him, and saw warmth in his eyes. The air itself seemed to sing around her, and she remembered very little of the rest of the ascent to the church, just that suddenly they seemed to be outside it but could not go in because morning service was not quite over.
At last the congregation departed; then the vicar and the choir left as well. The studded door groaned on its hinges as Greville pushed it open. Inside there was the cloying smell of recently extinguished candles, and the sunlight glanced through tendrils of gently curling smoke as they began to walk slowly down the aisle. The carols that had so recently been sung still seemed to ring in the old stonework, as did memories of Christmastides long gone. Megan found herself thinking of the centuries of worshipers who had trodden these same stone flags, countless generations of Sussex folk, right back to medieval times.
Halfway down the aisle Greville suddenly stopped, draped his top hat on the end of a pew, and took her in his arms to kiss her. Her hood fell back from her hair as they stood together, heart beating to heart, lips clinging to lips; it was a sweet stolen moment that neither of them wished to end. But at last they drew apart, and he cupped her face in his hands to look down into her soft brown eyes, so large and dark with happy emotion.
"Oh, Megan, I cannot believe that you have completely changed my existence in so short a time."
"Do you forgive me now for being a companion?" she whispered.
"Do you forgive me for being disagreeably and arrogantly prejudiced against you?"
"You know that I do."
He bent his head to brush his lips gently over hers again, then smiled at her. "I do not begin to understand why my aunt decided to employ a companion, for no lady was ever less in need of one, but I do know I'm glad with all my heart that she did."
She put her hands over his. "There is something behind what she has done, isn't there? I know you are right when you say she has no need of me, and yet she still went to great lengths to engage me. Can you think of any reason why she might do such a thing?"
"No. Rupert and I have talked about it, but neither of us has any idea."
Megan moved away. "All I know is that she asked me some rather strange questions when she interviewed me at Wells. She seemed interested in my parents."
Greville spread his hands. "The name Mortimer conveys nothing to me. I have never heard her mention it in any connection, not even vaguely. I suppose, well…"
"Yes?"
"It is your surname? I mean, your father wasn't your stepfather, or some such thing?"
"No, I am definitely a Mortimer, and there are no former marriages on either side."
"Then, I am at a loss."
Megan lowered her eyes. "Can you imagine any other companion being kept on after kissing her employer's eligible nephew beneath the mistletoe in front of all Brighton? Yet far from being angry, Lady Evangeline seems to approve. She even made certain we walked here together this morning."
"Yes, she did rather, didn't she? No doubt she will admit us all into her confidence when she is ready. Alternatively, of course, we could ask her before then."
"Oh, no, please! What if there isn't anything at all, and she really did decide to employ me simply because she wanted a companion? She would think me very presumptuous indeed for wondering if there is more to it."
He smiled at that. "Then, you are very presumptuous indeed, Miss Mortimer, for you do wonder," he said teasingly.
She gave him a rather bashful smile. "I know, but so does everyone else, including Miss Holcroft. Anyway, it is one thing to wonder privately, quite another to ask Lady Evangeline outright, so curiosity will have to remain unsatisfied." She glanced down the nave toward his mother's tomb. "Come on, for you have a very particular purpose in coming here, do you not?"
"How-? Ah, yes, I was forgetting the spy in the gallery," he replied, and caught her hand to walk on.
They stood in front of Lady Seton's tomb with their heads bowed, but although Greville was paying due respect to his late mother, Megan could not help glancing down at Belle Bevington's brass memorial in the floor. Now that she looked at it property she could see that it was beautifully engraved with a design of what appeared to be joined rings, one containing a honeybee, the other a spoon. There was an inscription, quaintly spelt with f s instead of s's. Ye final refting place of Belle Bevington, aged six and twenty years, Pearl of Brightelmfton, Diamond of Ye Theatre Royal, Emerald of All Hearts. Died piteoufly as ye refult of injuries from ye great fire of London, buried ye twenty-fifth day of December, Anno Domini 1666. May she find joy with ye angels, and one day be reunited with R.W., Whofe love will never fade.