The Christmas Spirit Read Free Page A

her before the whole thing got out of hand, and a terrible tragedy would have been averted. But that's our Trudy for ye. She always did do things her own way, with no proper reflection beforehand.
    And, as for Sir Matthew . . . Well, that's the last time I'll believe any man who claims he won't be pixie-led.
     

Chapter Two
     
    Trudy stood before the front door of Sir Matthew's lodgings in Gilbert Street and, before knocking, took a moment to survey her appearance. Beneath her elven cloak was a simple white muslin gown with tiny, pink posies worked into the cloth. The pale green color of their leaves picked up the meadow-green of her eyes, and the lively pink of the flowers matched the perpetual bloom in her cheeks. She was very pleased to think she had conjured the gown all by herself. The fact that the dress was merely an illusion did nothing to dull the thrill of wearing it. She was sure she had perfectly dressed the part of a fashionable lady of the ton.
    Her rapid tap with the knocker was not immediately answered, but she reminded herself that humans were excruciatingly slow in everything. While she waited, she contented herself with the keen anticipation of entering their world as one of their own. What Francis would say when he discovered her plan, she did not know, but she could almost see the blood rising into his cheeks right now. She would lure Sir Matthew into the mists well before Christmas, but first she meant to have a little adventure of her own.
    The door opened slowly. The Pathan warrior she had spied through the window these past few nights filled the entryway and dwarfed her fragile self. At the sight of her beauty--much as she had done to hide its other-worldliness--his eyes grew wide beneath their pair of heavy brows, but he soon recovered his dignity.
    He bowed wordlessly after his Eastern fashion and waited for her to speak.
    "Is this the lodging of Sir Matthew Dunstone?" she inquired in her acquired society voice.
    The Pathan inclined his head, but his eyes never left her face.
    "Would you tell him, please, that he has a visitor?"
    The Pathan hesitated only a second before surprising her. "Sir Matthew does not receive," he said, with a regretful bow. "He is unwell." And with that briefest of statements, he closed the door.
    Trudy stared in disbelief at the flat, painted surface. She had never been refused to her face before. She wondered briefly if the problem was with the dress, if she had somehow failed to give the appearance of a respectable caller.
    But as she looked down again, she could only nod approvingly. She liked the way the skirt subtly sparkled with the scattering of fairy dust she had added for trim. The innovation was her own, not strictly in the pattern books, but she did not think it enough of a departure to make a man take offense. Gentlemen were notoriously ignorant where female fashions were concerned, and besides, she wasn't quite prepared to give up all her advantages. An elf maid must attend to her attractions, same as any girl.
    Having worked out her frustration in this idle musing, she returned to the problem at hand. She had intended to meet Sir Matthew entirely upon his own human terms; but if those failed, she was quite prepared to use magic, just as long as whatever trick she pulled could easily be explained. The big Pathan would be a formidable obstacle to any other girl, but he was as nothing to her.
    Wrapping herself completely in her elven cloak, she knocked again, letting her taps fall more heavily on the door to disguise their origin.
    This time, when the Pathan opened the door, she saw his blank stare of confusion. His brows snapped together darkly as he walked right past her and out into the street to peer this way and that. Assured that she was completely invisible to him, Trudy tiptoed daintily through the door, relieved to find that he had not been born on a Sunday. Those born on a Sunday had a remarkable gift for seeing elves, but since he obviously had not,