Christmas for Ransome

Also by Katherine Bone

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Christmas for Ransome

To Sir Christmas, With Love

Yule be Home for Christmas

The Pirate's Yuletide Treasure

Miracle Express

A Sprig of Mistletoe

Nelson's Tea Series

My Lord Rogue

Duke by Day, Rogue by Night

The Rogue's Prize

My Lady Rogue

Revenge of the Wallflowers

Lady Vengeance

The Regent's Revenge Series

The Pirate's Debt

The Pirate's Duty

Standalone

The Mercenary Pirate

Romancing the Jewel

The Pirate's Yuletide Treasure

Christmas for Ransome

CHRISTMAS FOR RANSOME

KATHERINE BONE

LICENSE AND COPYRIGHT NOTES

Copyright © 2023 by Katherine Bone 

Published by Seas the Day Publishing, LLC

Cover Design by Dar Albert

Editing by Tessa Shapcott

ISBN: 9780998657394

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews—without the author’s written permission as allowed by copyright law.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or copied or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

For more information contact

katherine@katherinebone.com

or visit www.katherinebone.com.

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The Christmas for Ransome Series is dedicated to you, dear readers! Your love and support for my short story in the anthology, A Christmas Brothel, made this series possible. Enjoy!

CONTENTS

Volume 1

To Sir Christmas, With Love

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

Volume 2

Yule be Home for Christmas

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Volume 3

The Pirate’s Yuletide Treasure

Untitled

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

VOLUME ONE

To Sir Christmas, With Love

By

Katherine Bone

LICENSE AND COPYRIGHT NOTES

Copyright © 2022 by Katherine Bone 

Published by Seas the Day Publishing, LLC

Cover Design by Dar Albert

Editing by Tessa Shapcott

ISBN: 9780998657325

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews—without the author’s written permission as allowed by copyright law.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or copied or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

For more information contact

katherine@katherinebone.com

or visit www.katherinebone.com.

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PROLOGUE

Herne Bay, Kent, December 1806

Miss Emma Clavering endured a host of admirers, and the fist to his stomach pilfered his breath. 

Lieutenant Christmas Astley-Milne stood amid the holly and ivy, gold medallioned trimmed garland, the gleaming yule log and candlelight, crowded by an array of jubilant smiles and dancing couples, and launched every nuance of this country ball into his memory. That was all he would allow it to be, a memory. A man’s calling if he didn’t know whether he’d experience another Christmas, he supposed. What hardworking, seafaring man was proficient in such bliss? None. Trafalgar was a celebrated victory, but the United Kingdom was still at war. And the way things were going in the Atlantic, there were no guarantees he would ever celebrate another indulgence like this again. 

No one went to sea without acknowledging the peril.

He took it all in, aware that the woman he’d always loved could potentially marry another while he was at sea. Why, this very day, he had orders in hand to report to Spithead and the HMS London without delay. The ill-timed missive had ruined this short reprieve, making it seem hardly fulfilling, and leaving him little time to settle his affairs. And yet, something bewildering gripped him, a steely vise closing around his heart. He did not know when it had happened, nor why, but he loved her and if he never returned, what would become of her? 

The significance of time, sizeable and solemn, wrapped around him, coiling like wet rope in a hot sun, seizing his heart. Would this be his final Christmas in England? Dare he leave without making his intentions known to Emma? What kind of life would he be subjecting her to when he was the only man capable of retrieving the moon for her?

Interlacing his fingers behind his back, Chris silenced any lingering reservations he had and turned his attention back to the dancing, considering the bodies in motion before him with the keenest of awareness. Purposeful steps transported the dancers to and fro, hands interlocked, skirts flowing, backs ramrod straight, proprieties observed at all times. 

Hillsborough was a quiet village, offering little respite to those who yearned for the pomp and circumstance of city life. Winter abused and people were forced indoors, ushering in the loneliest of days, making assembly and revelry a much-anticipated affair whenever they could be found. 

The Admiralty’s orders, concealed within his coat, branded him, propelling him into making a decision he hadn’t anticipated until the hour for the ball approached and he’d witnessed Emma’s arrival at Milne Manor. Dressed in a white gown with blue accents, the color matching her brilliant eyes, she’d bedazzled him immediately, forewarning him that this was to be his last public hoorah for an indeterminate amount of time. 

The lure of her beauty and company struck him profoundly. He and the sea were one, espoused and eager, drawn to danger, soaked in secrecy. Nevertheless, it was challenging to pretend indifference to Emma while standing among those around him. The enthusiasm and merriment of his fellows was contagious, to be sure. Blood and gall! It would be a crime, egregious of him to refuse the hearty assurances and love and companionship afforded him in this time and place. 

Seafaring men rarely allowed tender feelings to conflict with obligation.

But he was no ordinary mariner.

The music thrummed, violin bows crafting a lilting harmony to everyone’s delight. Aye, these were moments he’d cherish, engage in, preserve in his mind for years to come. If only he didn’t have one regret—Emma. 

A product of Claverfield, she was a genteel woman with eyes the color of the Caribbean Sea. She was amicable from bow to stern, and demonstrated a topman’s natural robust for life, daring and shocking to those who truly knew her. But not him. Never him. Her diverting spirit had captivated him since their youth. In fact, everything about Emma made him feel breathless, bold, and bright whenever she was near. More than once, he’d desired to explore that connection with a kiss, a touch. But deciding nothing more could come of it, he’d forced himself to think of her as a friend, inevitably wasting years better spent in each other’s arms.

How could he burden her to a life of monotony and desolation?

Women who married a naval man lived a life of widowhood until the fellow’s return, if he returned at all. Although shielded by a man’s rank and prestige, things he’d so arrogantly sought, theirs was a bitter, lonely life. His only motivation in not asking for Emma’s hand before now had been to spare her an imbalanced life. 

War raged on the Continent. After Trafalgar, the French fleet had fled to the Atlantic. New orders communicated he was to tail the enemy there. Service to one’s king and country did not provide certainty. Therefore, he had little to offer Emma except the love and promises of a man who would do anything to return and make her his bride.

Would that be enough?

Naught was guaranteed. Nothing but the affection my heart possesses.

What more assurances were needed? His parents, Richard, Viscount Astley Milne and Paulina, Lady Astley-Milne, engaged in a promenade, sweeping past him, his mother winking her encouragement after their conversation mere moments ago.

Love, she’d said, is the most important thing in the world, Christmas. When you find it, you must grab hold of it and never let go. True love is not restricted to distance or time. If Emma says yes—and I know she will—I promise she shall not want for anything in your absence. I shall make it my duty to watch over her as if she were my very own. 

His mother’s astounding declaration wasn’t surprising. Her only daughter had died at birth, and she still felt the loss keenly. Emma would be welcomed and cared for as a daughter in his absence.

He clenched his hands. Bollocks! No excuses were left to prevent him from asking Emma for her hand. All that limited him now was his stubborn will. 

So why am I standing here, vacillating? I am a man of action. Determined. My devotion to Emma is unquestionable. He didn’t have to choose between Emma and the sea. He would love and serve them both equally. 

For Emma’s part, she had enough heart and soul for the entire hamlet. He need not fear lack of constancy or her independent spirit in his absence. She loved him, he knew it. He’d suspected it since his seventeenth year. 

Now, five years later, the only thing to fear was fear itself. At twenty-one, Emma was in her prime, a woman sought by suitors wealthier and more established than he.

I should leave before the night ends. Take my feelings for Emma with me before I doom her to a life of waiting and waiting and waiting.

A fine predicament! He was about to walk out of the ballroom when her laughter pulled up around him sharply, captivating him. Her melodious voice, lovely and seductive, drifted to him on a sensual veil, beckoning like a sure breeze to becalmed sails, reminding him of nights they’d spent gazing at the stars, wondering if they held some sort of power over the Earth. 

He’d had it all wrong. He needn’t have worried about the stars. Emma controlled them. They would always lead back to her.

By crock, he would not walk away without declaring himself. But would Emma accept his offer? Would she wait for his return, however long and distant in the future? 

If she said yes, would he be dooming her to a life of expectation?

No one can know the future. That would prevent us from doing what came from the heart, would it not? His father’s advice when he’d joined the navy had hit the same chord of truth. 

Blood and gall! No more ruminating. 

He relinquished his stubborn nature and allowed Emma’s essence to pull him through the crush. Light from a candelabra illuminated her face, overlaying her blond hair in luminescence, and rendering her lashes, cheeks, and lips hard to resist. He wanted to kiss her cheeks, her pert nose, her dainty chin, her lips— Tack northward, fool! 

Sword withdrawn, he made his way toward her, pinched with frustration. Heads bobbed courteously as he passed and, impatiently but politely, he responded in kind, making sure his parents’ guests enjoyed themselves as he closed the distance. 

Emma. Her countenance mirrored decency and enchantment. Her loveliness added import and charm to Milne Manor, complimenting her family, his family, and his determination to become a wealthy naval officer. 

But did she fancy him? He stopped before a dancing couple. 

What if she declined his devotion? The timing of his proposal was troublesome, indeed. How would she view it? His mind argued against prejudice and pointlessness, grasping hold of the natural order of things. And yet . . . his heart pined. He wanted Emma. Needed something to hold on to, to live for, a reason to return. But given the hour, and the state of his orders, he would be forced to convince her that his feelings were genuine, steady, and persuasive quickly. Was that even possible?

If only I’d been firstborn, with land and prestige at the tips of my fingers. Perhaps then— 

No. Fate had blessed his brother, Noel. That is Noel’s destiny, not mine. I envy him not. Noel was a good man, well-educated and generous, compassionate, and accomplished. No one need agonize over the welfare of Milne Manor or its tenants. His father’s legacy would live on in his brother’s capable hands.

As second son, Chris had been forced to forge his own path, declining to join the church as so many had urged him to do. Though the living was respectable, he had no notion of being a landlubber and snubbing the souls of the men who’d volunteered to defend Britannia. Besides, he was much too daring for the pulpit. 

The sea . . . Ah, it lured him into trouble like the serpent that had goaded Eve. And like the mother of all humanity, he’d made a choice. He’d nibbled what was offered, taking it upon himself to honor his father, the king, and England, by taking up arms against Napoleon. The salvation of souls he’d leave in the local vicar, Mr. Havisham’s capable hands. 

If only I had more time. Perhaps then, after the banns had been read and Havisham espoused them on a bright sunny morning, he’d be less likely to sail away consumed by gloom.

There would never be a more perfect moment to open his heart than now.

A tremendous weight lifted off his shoulders, unburdening his heart. Opening up, revealing his emotions, had never been an easy feat. Perhaps if he could escort her to a quiet place without anyone suspecting foul play . . . Rounding two women engaged in gossip, he brought himself up sharply as he discovered why Emma was laughing. Her good humor was aimed at his nemesis, Geoffrey, Baron of Lyddon. 

Bollocks! The man was hedonistic, a troll, a pompous arse. If Lyddon and Emma came to an understanding— She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. That foppish dandy selfishly loved one thing and one thing only: control. 

He'll taste my wrath first! 

Emboldened, he charged forward to Emma’s rescue. Lyddon could trap any other fish in his cunning net but Emma. Not the love of his life.

Mr. Astley-Milne, Emma’s sweet voice formally greeted him upon his arrival. She turned to the baron. Lord Lyddon, you are acquainted with the viscount’s son, are you not?

Yes. The roguish dandy shot Chris a vexing glower. The two of them were not on good terms. Had not been since Lyddon had been caught trying to swindle one of Milne Manor’s tenants. How soon do you sail? . . Figgy? Lyddon asked, brow cocked and a steady smirk deepening the dimple in his debonair cheek.

Tomorrow, Chris said, fully understanding Lyddon’s purpose. He grinned back, inwardly smiling at the artful cheat and cursing the man for not knowing him at all. Figgy was a shortened nickname for Figgy Pudding, the sweet and savory treat that failed to be as rich or complex as the favored indulgence, Plum Pudding. Lyddon was insulting him. Long ago, Chris had been chubby. Figgy was an obvious nod to his appetite and the jolly names his mother had bestowed upon him and Noel when they were born. 

Chris shot the man a look that said, Bugger off! 

Lyddon visibly winced, the swine. Well then, he said, twirling his looking glass between his fingers. The perceptive man sneered as if to say, I’ll bide my time and when you’re gone— 

Have you received orders? Emma asked Chris sullenly.

I must beg your leave. the baron said smartly, turning to Emma and slowly appraising her. I see my aunt requires my attention. I must away. But do not forget we’re to dance the last set, Miss Clavering. 

The last set? Emma’s voice audibly cracked. The expression on her face when she looked at her dance card said she knew nothing about this. Rebutting the baron was unthinkable, however, unless she could prove otherwise. She dropped her hand and looked up. Of course, she added, exhibiting charity and propriety. I shall look forward to it. 

Until then. Lyddon had the presence of mind to retreat in false victory before it could be revoked. I bid you adieu, for now.

Chris felt obliged to manage Lyddon. He set out to follow him, but Emma laid her hand on his arm. Stay, she whispered. He is of no consequence.

When have you ever fallen into a man’s trap? he snapped more abruptly than he intended.

Lyddon’s veneer is paper thin. She harumphed, her stare accusing him of not knowing her at all. I see through him. Which begs me to ask, why does he insist on annoying you at every opportunity?

He went still. Growing more restless, gazing into her beautiful blue eyes incredulously. You do not know? 

Know what? She shook her head and bit her lip, plumping the delicate tissue in a tempting fashion. I am at sixes and sevens.

He searched for her soul. Her face seemed to brighten under his inspection, the corners of her lips drawing into a bow. Minx. She knew exactly why Lyddon hated him. The man had launched an assault on her senses out of jealousy for that which he did not have. 

And so am I. I’m eager to kiss your charming mouth. I yearn to feel you quiver in my arms as you—

Did she sense his desire? Couldn’t she see that he only had eyes for her? He made a mental note to alleviate any doubt she possessed before the night was over. Lyddon’s an odd sort of goat. Nothing in his path is safe. He tweaked her nose. Remember, the grass is not always—

Greener? Emma blinked, her heavy lashes fluttering against her high cheekbones. Are you referring to Milne Manor or me? 

She knew him better than he knew himself. You.

Ah! She looked away swiftly, pretending to smile at something someone said. I knew he was a toad, but I never expected—

He is not the only man smitten with you. Her smile quickly vanished. Chris reached out, barely touching the tips of her fingers before withdrawing his hand, bursting with pleasure at the contact with her glove. 

She offered a wry smile and stared up at him. He isn’t?

Do you not know that you are the prettiest lady in attendance? he asked without shame. 

I am not a lady, she insisted.

Not yet, he offered with a grin. And yet, people cannot help but be drawn to your goodness and strength.

People? she asked, her voice sultry and smooth.

Particularly me. He drew in a slow and steady breath. Emma. He swallowed thickly, searching for the appropriate forte the situation called for. The truth is, I would like to declare myself to you, body and soul. Her smile, as intimate as a kiss, widened, and then it was gone, reminding him of the first time he’d fed her a strawberry, that intimate moment stoking his ardor and pulling him to her like a light from a distant shore. 

Would like to? she asked.

He cocked his brow. I am to leave at once.

This very night? She clasped his hand.

He glanced around them, hoping no one had overheard their conversation. For the first time in my life, I find it hard to say that I am off to war and whatever Fate has in store.

No! She squeezed his hand harder. You’ve only been home for four days.

Aye, he said. And now, I find myself full of regret, questioning why I have not revealed myself to you sooner. I cannot leave without—

She led him to the hearth, where the yule triumphed in exceptional splendor. Ask. Amusement flickering in her eyes. 

I have struggled in vain, desiring to keep your friendship and longing for more. He rushed on before he lost his nerve. Emma. It would give me the greatest honor if you consented to be my bride. Permit me to depart with an understanding and a hope for our future in my heart.

Her face appeared to illuminate from within. She glanced over his shoulder, then fixed her eyes on his face. Ask.

I have little to offer. You know the truth of this. I must make my way. I joined the navy in the hope of securing prize money. Nevertheless, no matter what it takes, if you agree to marry me, I will spend every day proving myself worthy of you and your love. He caressed her face with the back of his hand, despising the burden he handed to her. Allow me to sail away, knowing that you will be waiting for me when I return.

Ask, she whispered with a smile.

Emma Clavering, will you marry me, no matter how long it takes? Will you take my hand, my oath, my troth, and wait for my return? She nodded, giving him the will to say the words branded in his brain. Will you take my hand?

She looked down. I have your hand, Christmas. Her laughter ignited another spark, bringing his dry bones to life. 

Then . . . will you be my wife?

Yes, she responded happily. I would be honored to marry you.

His heart took a perilous leap. He didn’t have much to offer. Not yet. But his mother had provided him with a ring, something Emma could remember him by. He reached into his coat, retrieved the bauble, then reached for Emma’s hand. I do not have much. But love and loyalty aplenty, I do have. He placed the sapphire ring on her gloved finger. Will you promise to wear this until I return?

She glanced at the jewel. But this is your mother’s ring. 

Yes. Her apprehension to take something of his mother’s only magnified the love he bore her. My mother gave it to me with her blessing.

And you have given it to me, she said breathlessly, as if only now comprehending that fact. She raised her hand to the light, turning her fingers to and fro. The sapphire glinted in the candlelight. If you change your mind, she said haughtily, you shall have to pry it off my dead finger.

He groaned inwardly, knowing his love for her was constant and pure. Never!

Aye, they would suit each other well. They would wed when he returned. Until then, he vowed to remember this moment in its entirety—Emma. Her touch; her beautiful eyes; the gilded décor, joyous voices, and harmonious violin strings; the dancers, revelry, and the pleased look in his mother’s eyes as she watched them from across the room. His gaze dropped from Emma’s face to her shoulders and breasts, where delicate lace and embroidered indigo flowers complimented her skin. 

Emma Clavering was a breathtaking young woman, proud and untamed, strong and compassionate, committed and courageous. She excelled in all the female graces: elegance, beauty, and poise. But it was her adventurous spirit he craved to know. And he would. 

She’d vowed to wait for him. 

A man couldn’t ask for anything more.

CHAPTER 1

Claverfield, Hillborough, May 1806

Sir Christmas,

We are delighted that the Atlantic Campaign has been a decisive victory. Congratulations are in order, not only for England, but it’s been reported that you took part in capturing the ship of the line, Belle Poule, and the frigate, Marengo, at Santo Domingo, and that Vice-Admiral Warren ordered HMS London to return to England for the prize money. It has also been relayed to us that you were invested as a Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath alongside your captain. This news brings great pleasure to Lord and Lady Astley-Milne, your brother Noel, and to me and my family. What’s more, I cannot express enough my appreciation for the ingenious display of Lord Nelson’s portrait from the mast at a moment when the fleet required encouragement. That brings to mind Nelson’s greatest legacy: England expects that every man will do his duty. 

High tides and strong winds destroyed more houses in Reculver. My heart is heavy seeing history erased and families displaced. Nonetheless, it’s light in celebration of your brave and proper military action, and the hope of seeing you again. Are you accompanying Vice-Admiral Warren to England? If so, will you be returning home so that the banns may be read and our vows exchanged? I am looking forward to standing by your side, come what may.

With all of my greatest esteem and love,

Your Emma

CHAPTER 2

Claverfield, Hillborough, December 1807

Sir Christmas,

Much excitement was had when news of your promotion to captain reached us at Michaelmas. Your parents hosted a dinner in your honor, and Noel offered a long-winded toast to your good fortune. Your cousin, Mr. Townsbridge, and his mother were in attendance, along with Lord Lyddon and my parents. It was a grand event with no fault of being found throughout the evening. Only one thing was missing—the guest of honor, you. 

Oh, how I wish you could see your father. You would be amazed at the change that’s come over him. He is ever so happy and keeps a sharp eye on the papers, scouring them for news of your whereabouts, as do so many other admirers in the village. Your dedication to our king and your valor is well known. I am ever so proud to be your betrothed, and of all you have accomplished in your short tenure as a naval officer. My only wish is that I could be by your side, celebrating each victory with you. In the meantime, I venture to Black Rock at low tide to lark in the relics abandoned by our ancestors.

My courageous captain, another year has passed without you. I tremble to think of the time and distance that’s grown between us. My prayer is that our love continues to grow across the miles. 

When will you be able to travel home? Nothing would delight us more than spending Twelfth Night with you. 

Your Emma

CHAPTER 3

Claverfield, Hillborough, May 1808

Sir Christmas,

Milne Manor is abuzz with activity. We are in the midst of breeding season. Papa has always wanted to rear horses, and he promised to purchase one of Zeus’s offspring for me. He insists riding will be a brilliant distraction and hopes the activity will keep me from requesting information about you as often as I do. Foolish man! Little does he know, I promised no such thing, and I never shall. In you, I place all my hopes and dreams.

The Hoy and Anchor Inn’s foundations were compromised in January and the old vicarage has replaced it. Occasionally, I think back on our childhood and the years that passed by without either of us being aware that we’d one day pledge our love to one another. So much time wasted . . . Sometimes I find myself wondering what our lives would be like if we had married four years ago instead of waiting for the right moment. It grieves me, my darling, that I cannot be by your side.

Thus far, no letters have arrived to console my vanity. I cling to any news the Admiralty relays to your mother and father, knowing that your letters may have become lost in transit. How I long to hear your voice once more, to see you arriving by steed or coach. Perhaps you will be given shore leave after the French fleet has been isolated along the Biscay Coast. Until then, I shall pray for your safe return every day.

Your Emma

CHAPTER 4

Claverfield, Hillborough, August 1809

Sir Christmas,

I am all anxiety. It has been nearly two long years since I last saw you and I am full of lamentation and entreaties, for I must confess I cannot know whether you are alive or dead, or whether you have received my letters. One dispatch we received from the Admiralty states that you were last seen at the Battle of the Basque Roads, where Lord Cochrane triumphed and was knighted. They say that Cochrane, annoyed with his commander, charged Lord Gambier with negligence, but Gambier was exonerated? It pays to have friends in the right places, does it not? 

Construction has begun on a new Hoy and Anchor Inn. Erosion has come within twelve feet of St. Mary’s. The soft sandy base of the bluff continues to recede and we fear the worst. My dearest love, like the centuries old church, I grieve for your safety. Rest assured, your mother and father are well, and have been extremely generous, treating me as if I was already their daughter. Every advantage has been given to my parents, and my cousin—you remember him, Ansell Ransome—has entered into a profitable business with Mama to help the sick and starving in Kent. I support Mama fully. No greater humanitarian has Kent ever seen. I only lament that poor Mama has exhausted herself in her endeavors, and I worry about her state of being. 

As always, I await news of you and pray each day for your safe return. I am not without apprehension.

As ever,

Emma

CHAPTER 5

Milne Manor, Herne Bay, October 1809

Sir Christmas,

Are you getting my letters? This is one you may not wish to receive. Oh, how I wish you were here. I fear you are either dead or held captive somewhere in France, but I cannot know for certain and my cousin is decided to discover the truth for my peace of mind.

The inexplicable happened and I have never felt lonelier. Coastal erosion is still wreaking havoc, stealing Reculver’s buildings and history. St. Mary’s was demolished. That act of vandalism left the Two Sisters as navigational landmarks. Mama took sick, and she and Papa died last week of the malady afflicting Hillborough. We buried them together on a foggy Sunday. I also regret to inform you that is not all the terrible news I bear. Your brother, Noel, did not survive his malaise, and your mother, who never left his side, weakens by the day. She, being the compassionate woman that she is, attended my parents until their deaths, refusing to allow me near them because