The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,7

presence, at last. Good afternoon, my lord Kingston, and no, I will do no such thing. The room needs airing, it smells like something died in here and, as you’ve decided not to do the world such a favour, we must have some fresh air.”

King opened his eyes again, wide this time, so affronted by the temerity of the young woman who worked in this establishment that he was momentarily lost for words.

“I’ll have you dismissed, you impudent wench!”

The outrageous creature just snorted in amusement. “I’d like to see you try.”

King blinked, trying his best to focus on the fuzzy image which appeared to have some misshapen hump on its back. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a baby, strapped to the woman by means of a long swathe of fabric. King watched the babe and the woman wearing it suspiciously, assuming at any moment that one or the other of them would grow horns and a tail, and gnash pointy teeth in his direction. However, the hallucination—for it could be nothing else—took a different direction this time, and he watched a sleek black bird fly in the window and settle on the disrespectful female’s shoulder.

“Good day to you, Mr Moon,” the woman said to the bird. “Gelly has saved some lovely bacon rind for you if you go and tap on the kitchen window.”

The crow, for that was what Mr Moon appeared to be, gave an ear-shattering squawk and flew back out the way it had come.

King swallowed. Good God, he’d lost his bloody mind.

Livvy watched her pet crow fly away to the kitchens and turned back to face their unwanted guest. He was staring at her with undisguised horror. He was also shivering so hard his teeth were chattering. No wonder he’d wanted the window closed, she thought with a stab of guilt. Still, she would not let him fester in such a fetid atmosphere. Her grandfather had been a strong believer in the power of fresh air and exercise, and she’d never had cause to doubt his word as he’d been as hale and hearty at seventy as any man twenty years his junior. If only he’d not fallen from his horse, perhaps they’d not be in this terrible mess, but there was no point in lamenting that fact all over again. With a sigh, Livvy went and stirred up the fire, getting a hearty blaze going again. She’d air the room for half an hour, and it would warm up soon enough once the window was closed. In the meantime, she’d put another blanket on his bed.

Once Livvy had pulled the blanket out of the chest where such things were kept, she moved back to the bed, a little alarmed to see King pull his legs up and scramble away from her.

“Stay back,” he said, breathless with terror. “You’ll not have me.”

“I don’t want you,” Livvy said in disgust. “I can’t imagine why you’d suppose I would.”

She moved closer and King made a sound of distress, staring at her with wild eyes.

“No!” he said, shaking his head, breathing as though he’d been running for miles. “No, I won’t go.”

“No one’s asking you—” Livvy began and then realised. Oh, Lord. He was still seeing things. No doubt he thought she was some goblin or demon, come to carry him off to the fiery pits. Summoning her most calm and reasonable voice, the one she used on unruly children, she tried again. “Lord Kingston, you’ve been very unwell, and I know you are all about in your head at present, but I promise you I am no devil come to take you into the darkness. I’m Miss Olivia Penrose, and I just wish to put this blanket on the bed to make you more comfortable.”

Kingston stared at her for a long moment. So long she wondered if he had lost his wits entirely.

“L-Livvy?” he asked cautiously.

Livvy sighed. “Miss Penrose.”

He hesitated.

“There was… a bird.”

Good heavens, she supposed that would seem odd. Especially if one had just left off seeing things that one ought not.

“Oh. Yes, my crow. Mr Moon. He’s quite harmless, I assure you.”

Kingston looked doubtful.

Livvy turned towards the sound of the door opening and her heart sank as Jane came in, followed by a black piglet. Kingston squeezed his eyes shut.

“It’s not there,” he muttered. “It’s not real. Get a grip, King, for the love of God.”

Livvy sighed. “Um, actually, that is real, though it ought not be in the house. Really, Jane, what were