A Sprig of Mistletoe by Katherine Bone

Author:Katherine Bone
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Historical
Publisher: Seas the Day Publishing
Published: 2019-11-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Berkhamstead, Hertfordshire

December 24, 1843

“This way, sir,” a porter called as Bart stepped off the train and onto the platform at Berkhamstead Station.

Another train attendant moved on to help a woman and child board the stairs. “Here it is, ma’am. Next stop, Tring Station! All aboard!”

Bart lowered his valise to the ground, not for the first time doubting whether or not he’d made the right decision to journey to Hertfordshire. While the scenery—over twenty-six miles of rolling landscape through dipping slopes, woodland, and river—had been a delightful change from the congested streets and dreary, sooty London skies, he felt quite unqualified for country life. He heaved a sigh, quite cognizant of why he’d traveled to the quaint hamlet.

Kitty.

He’d lain awake at night picturing her as she was when she’d boarded her carriage and vanished from Saffron Hill. How he’d wished in vain for her image to do the same.

Wishing for something out of reach had never benefited him in the past. Prayer hadn’t saved his parents’ or his grandfather’s lives. Poverty had taught him much in the way of survival. While Uncle Matthias had bolstered Bart’s mind and schooled him in industry, investments, and material things, sharing his emotions wasn’t as easy to learn.

Bart wasn’t sure how to move forward. How did a man combat something beyond his control? He was damaged. He knew that all too well. But every time he closed his eyes, Kitty was there. He hadn’t been able to eat, to think, to sleep . . . In truth, she had taken him over entirely. Nothing but a quest to escape financial failure and scandal had possessed him so—until now, until her. Thankfully, his sudden acceptance of Egerton’s invitation provided other opportunities: a chance to examine Nugent House off Berkhamstead’s High Street, which the locals termed Ragged Row, and to attend a meeting with the Berkhamstead Union Guardians.

Tom Fool scheme! He never should have wasted six shillings and six pence on a ticket to Hertfordshire. It is Christmas. Why am I going anywhere at all? I hate Christmas! True, and by visiting Berkhamstead Place this time of year, he’d be forced to participate in midwinter festivities. How could he refuse without seeming rude?

Hell and damnation! Why must my secrets be efficiently guarded like an oyster’s?

Vapor jettisoned from the locomotive engine, jarring him back to reality. Luggage in hand, passengers of various characters and ages darted past, accompanied by porters who guided them to the first-, second-, and third-class cars. A select few stood on the platform, wary of the tracks, while others paid their fares at the brick-gabled booking office.

The steam trumpet blew. Passengers and hangers-on alike started as the packed train prepared to depart. Another shrill whistle rent the air. The train’s suspension shifted, axles, springs, and wheelsets revived. Gears engaged. In a trice, the steady chug-chugga-chug across the tracks consumed his world.

It was too late to change his mind now.

For a space in time, the only thing that existed was the West Coast Main

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