Free A Christmas Conspiracy by Mary Chase Comstock Page A

self-righteously. After only a few more wounded looks cast in their father’s direction, however, they allowed themselves to be mollified.
    “What Mama says is right,” Genie declared with conviction. “Perhaps it would be best if you were ruled by us.”
    Giles and Fanny exchanged a momentary glance of comradely dismay. “Pray explain yourselves,” he requested.
    Here we are being given an unlooked for opportunity, Genie! What shall we say?
    We must be very cautious. We should not want to arouse their suspicions.
    Indeed not! That would ruin everything. They must think we are quite pure in our motives.
    Why so we are, Tavie—almost. Now, what think you of playing the wronged children who long for their parents’ reconciliation?
    That is not playacting. That is merely authenticity. Although, she hesitated for a moment, perhaps we could not suffer by merely telling the truth of it. Not the whole truth, mind you, Genie, but some part of it.
    What a novel concept! Carry on!
    “Father,” Genie began tentatively, lowering her eyes. “Mama. Tavie and I do not wish to give offense. But we feel impelled to tell you the truth of how we feel.”
    “The truth will not offend us,” their father returned gravely. “Pray, proceed.”
    “These years have been . . . difficult . . . for us,” she said, lowering her eyes. When she looked up, tears glistened in them. “We do not know what occurred to make you so unhappy with one another, but know you have not suffered alone. We have felt rent to our very cores by your troubles. Beneath these gay exteriors,” she said wistfully, taking Tavie’s arm, “are concealed the broken hearts of two orphan girls—orphans of the heart!”
    Taking up this tune, Tavie chimed in, “Our imprudent escapades, you must know, have been naught but cries for you to restore our life as a family to us. We need our own Mama, Father!”
    “Not,” Genie said in tones of distress, “a person named Walleye!”
    “Walleye?” Fanny exclaimed with mock incredulity. “There’s a person named Walleye?”
    “We shall speak of Miss Walleye another time,” their father said evenly.
    I fear you have gone too far! Tavie scolded.
    What a tangle! I had not the least intention of saying that noxious name again today, but out it came like an ill-trained dog!
    “Your pardon, Father,” Genie said demurely. “Mama? Have you asked Father yet?”
    Giles turned to her. “What is it you wish to ask me, Fanny?”
    “A favor,” she said softly avoiding his eye. “I had wondered, if it were not possible to revive the Christmas masque—for old time’s sake?”
    “We have not let go the masque,” he replied.
    “Truly? But remember how you and I used to take part. Do you not think we might again?”
    The twins held their breath.
    Their father was silent a moment. “For old time’s sake?” he asked at last. “Why not?”
    The girls clapped their hands. “We shall begin writing at once!”
     

Chapter Nine
     
    “It must be a romantic masque,” Genie mused, staring at the blank sheets of paper before her, “but what is to be the story?”
    “Antony and Cleopatra?” Tavie suggested.
    “Only if we wish our mama to avail herself of an asp!”
    “Abelard and Heloïse?”
    “No. The only letters in this episode are the ones we composed.”
    “Romeo and Juliet?”
    “Too young.”
    Tavie frowned and began to pace. “Pyramus and Thisbe?”
    “Too gruesome.”
    “Tristan and Isolde?”
    “Too gothic! Oh, Tavie,” she cried, throwing down her quill, “it must be something quite original, I am afraid. Something that depicts their particular difficulties—but so subtly they will not guess what we are about.”
    “I believe you have the right of it.” Tavie sighed disconsolately. “It is a shame we must leave out all mention of wagering and bad blood and daughters, for they would surely guess at that. I daresay we might tell the rest of their story, however, if we are but careful to change their