Christmas Delights Read Free

Victoria murmured. “Do any of those doughty ghosts take corporeal form?”
    Rose giggled. “Lady Allen-Hill! I mean, Victoria. How racy of you.”
    The train lurched, and Penelope fell against Victoria.
    Penelope righted herself. “I want a Christmas story. Do you know any Roman ones, Rose?”
    “The Romans didn’t celebrate Christmas, you know. They were pagans,” Victoria said.
    “They did have Saturnalia,” Rose said thoughtfully. “It’s a pagan festival in December, celebrating the Roman god Saturn.”
    “Do you know any ghost stories from your neighborhood about that?”
    “I do actually. ‘The Ghost Lights.’ ”
    “That sounds promising,” Penelope said, resting her head against Victoria’s arm as the train jerked again.
    “Ice on the tracks?” Victoria asked.
    Rose wiped a spot clear on the window and peered out. “It’s snowing.”
    A conductor opened the door and poked his head into the compartment. “We’re getting word of trouble with the branch lines. I believe the end of the road tonight will be Brighton.” He shut the door.
    “That’s twenty miles from Polegate,” Rose said.
    “We’ll have to cable to get a carriage,” Victoria said. “Unless we can hire something at the station.”
    “My father’s driver, Robbie, will have it all arranged,” Rose said with an air of confidence. “He will have discovered the line to Polegate is closed and will drive to Brighton. We can take you to the Fort.”
    “Are you sure? It will be a cold drive.”
    “They will keep us for the night, if it is too late to return to Redcake Manor.” Rose hid a yawn behind her gloved hand.
    “ ‘The Ghost Lights?’ ” Penelope probed with a childish disinterest in their travel arrangements.
    Rose sat back. “Oh yes. On the mound, every December eighteenth. That’s when Saturnalia began, so we’re told. It was a festival of lights, you know, to make the human sacrifices more visible.”
    Victoria’s brows lifted. “They had human sacrifice?”
    Rose nodded cheerfully and continued her tale. “Of the local Christians.”
    “How Christmassy,” Victoria said, remembering Rose’s earlier complaint about her story.
    Rose threw up her hands. “But the lights are pretty.”
    “They’re real?” Penelope’s eyes widened.
    “Yes. Probably gases or bugs or something.”
    “Or the ghosts of a hundred Roman soldiers, protesting the death of a good Christian,” Penelope said reverently, fingering the cross around her neck, one her mother had given her for her seventh birthday.
    Christian zeal irritated Victoria, and Penelope’s mother had been something of a fanatic, following her vicar’s wife around Liverpool like an acolyte, aping her good deeds. Victoria had never liked the desperate light in her aunt’s eyes. Why had her child been removed from her? Because of religious fervor?
    They continued trading stories until their train pulled in at Brighton Station. The wind buffeted them when they reached Trafalgar Street, but Rose recognized her family’s carriage.
    “How did it get here so quickly?” Victoria asked, battling with her hat against a gust.
    “They must have known hours ago.” The sound of Rose’s cough was hidden by the wind.
    The driver jumped down from the seat to help the porter they had acquired with Victoria and Penelope’s considerable baggage.
    “We’ve warm blankets,” Robbie said. Rose allowed him to help her into the carriage as the porter wrestled with the bags.
    With a sigh, Victoria took Penelope’s arm and followed Rose. She hoped they could reach Polegate in two hours, but that speed was unlikely with hired horses and their baggage weighing down the carriage. At this time of year, it was already dark. Inside the carriage, a lantern swung dizzily, creating a kaleidoscope of her companions’ faces.
    The driver had been able to supply thick sandwiches and jars of water. Victoria refused it all; she could see that whoever had prepared it had not been