Christmas at Whitefriars: A Novella Read online

  “We’re being sued,” he said.

  “What?” she screeched.

  “Everett says we’ve broken our terms of the contract. He’s exercising his right to repossess Whitefriars.”

  The words were a slap in the face. Colin had signed a mountain of contracts when the deal with the Wootens had first been struck nine years ago. The contracts had been through an army of attorneys for both sides, but their only real obligation was to preserve the external appearance and reputation of the castle.

  Mary raced to find the original contract to see the terms Everett claimed they violated. Colin looked badly shaken as he tore open the other envelopes, laying all the pages out in order across the surface of the table.

  Apparently, Everett Wooten had been trying to get her attention for some time. Even now he was in the nearby city of York, waiting for her to call on him in person to discuss remedies.

  Remedies? This was her home. Her lifeblood was in this castle. Over the past decade she’d given everything to rescuing this magnificent wreck of a castle from the ravages of time, mold, swamp, and decay.

  Mary collapsed into a chair, unable to even speak. Over the next few minutes, Lucy, Nick, and his wife gathered in the room, stunned at this horrible turn of events. Nick’s wife advised her to lay on the sofa and elevate her feet. Rosalind was a doctor, but not that kind of doctor. A specialist in waterborne viruses, how could Rosalind help with a broken heart? Whitefriars was her heart, her soul, and everything else that mattered to her. Seventy tenants lived on this land, and some millionaire from New York City thought he could waltz in and take over?

  Colin and his wife both paged through the stack of documents Everett Wooten sent, reading quickly as Mary’s world collapsed around her.

  “I think this is the problem,” Lucy said, pulling a small item clipped from the newspaper out of the stack. It was the announcement Mary placed in the New York Times, advertising the availability of Whitefriars to lease. She did not misrepresent the castle. She described the amenities of the tower rooms and the nine hundred acres suitable for hunting, fishing, or invigorating walks in the fresh country air. And surely Everett couldn’t object to the image on the advertisement, for it was the same one he used on all the Whitefriars branded products of which he was so proud. The image was of the castle, set in an oval frame with a few trees and rolling hills in the background. It was a lovely image, and now world-famous thanks to the licensing agreement they signed with the Wootens.

  “What’s wrong with the advertisement?” she asked, mortified how badly her voice trembled.

  “He might not like that you’re leasing the castle,” Lucy said. “It might seem a little lowbrow in his eyes.”

  She raised her chin. “Our title dates to the seventeenth century. We have hosted kings and princes. Everett Wooten’s father started life as a shoe polish salesman.”

  “Pipe down there, ma’am,” Nick said, a hint of warning in his voice. Maybe she sounded snobbish, but there was nothing lowbrow about Whitefriars, even though she’d spent most of her adult life rescuing it from decaying roofs and waterlogged fields.

  “He states in his letter that any material change to the external appearance or reputation of Whitefriars will allow him to exercise his right to buy out the property.” Colin swallowed hard. “And since the Wootens have already contributed three million dollars toward the renovations, we own less than twenty percent equity in the estate.”

  “Twenty percent? That can’t be right.”

  It was. As Colin explained, the deal he negotiated all those years ago awarded the Wootens substantial equity in return for the massive infusion of cash to salvage a castle. The deal allowed Mary and her heirs the right to occupy the house in perpetuity, but most of the equity now belonged to the Wootens.

  She couldn’t resent Colin for the deal. At the time he signed the contract, the castle was on the verge of becoming uninhabitable. Colin’s deal both saved the castle and let her live in it forever. He knew what Whitefriars meant to her, and how she’d be devasted to be driven off the estate.

  “We need to move quickly,” Colin said. “Everett has been in town all week. He’s staying at the Knightsbridge Inn. If we leave now, we can possibly see him this evening.”

  Her apprehension ratcheted higher. She’d visited York in the past, but it never went well, and over the years her anxiety about the city had grown worse. York had once been a charming small city, but in recent years it had become the hub for dozens of railways and all their associated ruckus. Confectionery factories and woolen mills further diversified the economy, but the crowds, the smoke, and the noise made it difficult for her. She would happily live out her days in rural isolation if it meant she never had to set foot in a city again.

  She pretended not to understand Colin’s meaning as she stood. “Let’s hurry, then. I’ll fetch your coat and put these papers into order for your meeting.”

  “Mary, you need to be there.”

  She turned to face him, praying he would understand. “I don’t know much about business. I think you’d be far better at negotiating a way out of this mess.”

  “Mary, you need to be there,” Colin repeated calmly.

  She closed her eyes. Leasing the tower had been her idea. She was obviously the right person to go, but these attacks of panic could come out of nowhere, and one was hovering right now, threatening to choke off her breath.

  “I’ll be with you the entire time,” Colin said, his voice kind and reassuring. “After coming so far, I won’t let you falter, but we have to play this wisely.” The corners of his mouth turned down as he eyed the six envelopes she’d let stack up. Her carelessness had already put them on the wrong footing with Everett, and she wouldn’t exacerbate it by hiding here like a coward.

  But this was going to be hard. She hadn’t travelled farther than the local village in more than two years, and York was such an industrialized blight on the countryside. It now had ninety thousand people crammed into a few square miles. The noise, the congestion, the towering smokestacks and crowded streets. No, she couldn’t do it. Even now a wave of dizziness threatened, and she braced a hand against the wall to steady herself.

  Right over an old musket hole in the limestone wall. Legend had it that the lady of the manor fired that musket when the officers from the king came to arrest her husband for owning an illegal printing press. It was a hanging offence, and her valor gave the husband enough time to disassemble and hide the press. He lived to be an old man thanks to the courage of his wife that day.

  Mary drew a steadying breath. She would be worthy of her ancestors. Over the centuries this castle had witnessed epic battles, survived floods and famine, served as a hospital during outbreaks of disease, celebrated feasts after victories, and led the people during times of mourning. She would not be worthy of Whitefriars if she couldn’t leave its walls to fight for it.

  She squared her shoulders and faced Colin. “Let me fetch my cloak, and we can leave immediately.”

  Chapter Two

  It took almost an hour for the carriage to make it into York. Whitefriars had once been a monastery, and its location chosen for its isolation. Getting into town was a bit of a challenge, and Mary clasped the leather hand strap as the carriage bumped and jostled along pitted country roads.

  “Tell me everything about Everett Wooten,” she said, determined to handle this meeting with aplomb, for Whitefriars depended on it.

  “He’s a hard man to get to know,” Colin said. “Our meetings have always been brief. Very businesslike. He knows exactly what he wants, and we usually come to an agreement quickly. I’ve gotten along okay with him, but he’s not afraid to lock horns with people. Last summer there was a revolt at one of the canning factories. He wanted to start operating the facility around the clock, and the workers objected, even after he offered a higher wage to people on the night shift. When they still objected, he took the overnight shift for a solid month, just to show them it could be done.”

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nbsp; She lifted her brows in surprise. “He worked on the cannery floor? Like a common factory worker?”

  “He did. And in the end, he got his way. That factory now operates around the clock, seven days a week.”

  She’d always known Everett was a competitive businessman. Their correspondence proved that, although he’d always been generous with his advice to her, despite being a little formal and scary.

  “But what is he like?” she pressed. “His personality? His likes and dislikes?”

  Colin shrugged. “That’s all I really know. He doesn’t engage in idle chatter. I never see him at society events. I once invited him to a golf outing, but he turned it down. Same with a fishing trip. He simply has no discernable interests outside of business.”

  None of this sounded very promising. She had to find some way to establish a common bond before they got down to brass tacks.

  “Does he have a wife? Children?”

  Colin frowned. “There was a bit of a scandal a few years back. He was engaged to a woman from upstate. The church had been reserved, hall rented, flowers ordered, the whole works. He called it off a week ahead of the ceremony and it caused a big uproar. The girl’s father threatened a lawsuit and would have won, for the girl was the wronged party. Wooten settled out of court. No one ever learned the cause of the debacle. Look, he’s a bit of a stick in the mud, but we don’t need to be friends to do business with him. All we need to do is smooth his ruffled feathers and hopefully this whole thing will blow over.”

  She drew a steadying breath, dreading this meeting. Dreading it all… the city, the stress, the unknown. The carriage slowed as traffic snarled the streets. The lampposts were decorated with Christmas wreaths and bow-fronted shop windows draped with red ribbons, but none of the season’s cheer could penetrate the hard wall of anxiety that encased her spirit.

  They had arrived at the Knightsbridge. It was the city’s finest inn, with liveried footmen standing on the marble portico and gaslight torches flickering in the darkness.

  “I’ll meet you in the front lobby,” Colin said. “The meeting may run long, and I want to tip the men at the stable to give the horses a rub down.”

  She nodded tightly, the frosty air penetrating her cloak as she disembarked. The chill prompted her to hurry up the steps, and one of the footmen opened the door for her. She nodded her thanks but was too nervous to speak. Cities always did this to her.

  Still, she couldn’t help a little smile at how nicely the hotel lobby looked, already fully decked out for Christmas. Garlands of pine boughs wrapped around the marble columns at the front counter. A Christmas tree in the sitting area filled the lobby with the scent of pine.

  Her footsteps were muffled by thick carpets as she approached the front desk, but she couldn’t ask after Mr. Wooten. It would be the kiss of death for an unmarried woman to inquire after the whereabouts of a male guest. Everett wasn’t even expecting them. For all she knew, he’d become disgusted by her lack of response and had already left for America. She wished Colin was here, and that her heart wasn’t pounding so hard. She was beginning to perspire, and it was hard to breathe.

  Oh please, not now. These attacks of panic had plagued her ever since she was a girl. Sometimes they were brought on by city noise, sometimes for no reason whatsoever. All she knew was that a sense of doom was closing in around her, making it hard to breathe. She couldn’t collapse. She would will the panic away.

  Barely able to breathe, she approached the front counter, cutting ahead of a line of gentlemen to get the attention of the only clerk.

  “Please… can I have a glass of water?”

  The clerk must have noticed her distress, for he dropped the card he was about to file. “Right away, madam.”

  She braced her hands on the cool marble of the counter, leaning her weight on it lest she faint. Breathe in and breathe out. She could do this.

  Except now her hands had gone numb. The clerk returned with a cup of water, setting it on the counter, but she couldn’t even lift her hand to take it. She heard voices, but they all sounded as if they were coming from far away. If only Colin would come get her. They could board the carriage and go home and she could collapse in the privacy of Whitefriars.

  “Shall I send for someone?” the clerk asked, but all she could do was shake her head.

  Someone put his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be all right, ma’am,” a calm voice said. The man was tall, but that was all she could sense, for she didn’t trust herself to lift her hands from the counter to look at him. She’d probably topple over.

  “Follow me,” the man said. “I know what to do.”

  A gloved hand lifted her palm off the counter, encasing her hand as he guided her to the far side of the lobby. What a fine leather glove he wore. It was an inane thought… to admire a man’s gloves at a time like this… but she followed him and soon they were behind the Christmas tree, a padded bench at her side.

  “Have a seat,” the man said.

  She couldn’t. She might tip over if she tried.

  “Sit,” he ordered, turning her shoulders so that she was aligned with the bench. It hit her behind the knees and she plopped onto it. He joined her and, oddly, upended the sack he carried, dumping an array of candy and wrapped bakery goods onto the carpet. He crunched the paper bag and squeezed the top.

  “Hold this to your face,” he said.

  She reared back, looking at him in shock. He had light brown hair and fine blue eyes and a stern mouth, but his face seemed kind.

  “Trust me on this,” he said. “Our cook had the same disorder as you seem to have. Use this paper bag to get control of your breathing. It will help.”

  She still didn’t understand, but he pressed the bag to her face, its dry paper rasping against her skin. It still smelled like peppermint candies.

  His hand was on her back, rubbing gently. She ought to haul off and slap him… the impudence… but this bag, the sensation, the easing of the panic, the scent of peppermints…

  “You’re doing well. Keep it up.”

  How could something as silly as a paper bag provide such relief? Her parents had taken her to a dozen doctors. Written to specialists in Berlin and Paris. None of it helped, but this paper bag, it was amazing. She lowered it to ask how he knew of such a trick.

  He immediately lifted it again, pressing it to her face. “Don’t give up too quickly,” he said. “We’ll just sit here for a while. We don’t have a care in the world.”

  Easy for him to say. He wasn’t collapsing into a puddle of nerves and about to have his house yanked out from under him. “I feel like a fool,” she said, her voice muffled through the paper bag. He leaned over to pluck a piece of candy from the carpet, slowly freeing it from the paper wrapping.

  “Taffy drop?” he asked her politely, but she shook her head. He popped the candy into his mouth, chewing slowly as he gazed toward the front of the lobby as though lost in thought. How cool he seemed, as though he was totally absorbed as he analyzed the taste of the chewy glob.

  So much candy still lay spilled on the floor, but he seemed disinterested as he sat beside her. What an oddly heroic move to casually dump it all out to let her use of the sack. The candy came from the Rowan Confectionery, one of the best in the city. He must have quite a sweet tooth, because he’d bought hard candies, chews, and a dozen pastries, all safely wrapped in paper branded with the Rowan Confectionery.

  “Good?” she asked after he finished chewing, but it took him a while to answer.

  “Not really. Too much sugar. It overpowers the natural apricot flavoring.”

  He must be affiliated with one of the dozens of confectioneries that had sprung up in York. It was one of the reasons the city had grown so quickly, for thousands of people flooded the city to find work in the various candy and chocolate factories.

  She pulled the bag a few inches away. “Are you in the candy business?” she asked, then quickly covered her nose again. Nothing in her life had ever curbed her fits of
panic as effectively as this paper bag, and she didn’t care if she looked silly. It worked.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Possibly soon.”

  He went back to staring straight ahead and the discussion was at an end. She couldn’t carry it because of the bag, and he didn’t seem interested in holding up his end of the conversation. So they sat. At least the Christmas tree partially screened her from the bustle of the lobby.

  At last she saw Colin striding forward, scanning the crowd for her.

  “Colin!” she called out, raising her hand. He spotted her and walked over. She was about to explain the bag, but he wasn’t even looking at her, he looked only at her companion.

  “Everett,” he said to the man, holding out his hand. “I see you’ve met Mary.”

  The man rose and returned his handshake. “Colin. Good to see you.”

  Oh, good heavens! The man spoke with an American accent. She’d been too distracted to notice, but she had been sitting alongside Everett Wooten all along.

  “Mr. Wooten?” she asked in astonishment. At his nod she turned to Colin. “But he doesn’t seem so bad.”

  Colin blanched, and she wished she could call the words back. How awful to insult this man who’d only been kind to her. Maybe he didn’t notice her gaffe?

  But he did. His face became closed and shuttered. He stiffly leaned down to begin gathering the scattered candy into a tidier mound. “I’d better go ask for another bag at the front desk.”

  He left without another word and Colin sat beside her on the bench. “What was all that about?” he asked.

  Mary relayed what Mr. Wooten mentioned about having a cook who had the same nervous condition and how a paper bag could help. There had been no time for introductions, and now she’d gotten the relationship off on a terrible footing.

  Mr. Wooten returned with another bag and squatted down to fill it with the candy. His face was expressionless as he filled the bag. “Why haven’t you been answering my letters?”