Heirs of Acadia - 03 - The Noble Fugitive (20 page)

In truth, Serafina had not made sense of the words at all. She gave her head a small shake.

“You’re not mute.” The words were like cold water dashed in her face. “I shan’t tell you this again. You will address me aloud and end your sentence with
ma’am
or
Mrs. Marcham
.”

“Yes, ma’am. I-I mean, no, I didn’t—”

“That’s better. There is never a shame in admitting you don’t know something. Just as long as you listen carefully when instructed.” Her words had a practiced manner, as though spoken a hundred times before. “You strike me as an intelligent young woman.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Marcham.” Serafina could not believe this was happening. Her entire world was shattered and lying broken at her feet.
Luca is married
.

“The duke’s only son is twenty-six and a wastrel. I would
not speak so to my other staff, but you are Agatha’s niece, and you are also quite beautiful. So I must warn you that if you give him half a chance, he will make trouble for you.”

She waited a moment, granting Serafina an opportunity to speak. When Serafina did not reply, she went on. “If there is trouble, no matter who is to blame, the staff will always be at fault. That is the way it is within a great house. So you must guard yourself well. Dress severely and plainly. Hide your hair and as much of your face as is practical. I will do my best to hold you to duties which keep you out of the public rooms.”

“F-forgive me, ma’am. But I still don’t . . . You said duties?”

She looked askance at Serafina. “Did your aunt tell you nothing?”

“No, ma’am. That is . . .”

“Agatha is gravely ill. It hurts me to say this, but I fear she is not long for this earth. She cannot take care of herself, particularly in that drafty old house of hers. So she is moving into rooms at the back of Harrow Hall. It’s the master’s wishes, and I agree. Agatha has any number of friends among the staff. She will be well cared for.”

Serafina’s mind simply could not make sense of what she was hearing. The woman was kind enough, in the manner of one trained to be severe and standoffish. But to Serafina’s mind the words would simply not come together.

The woman evidently saw Serafina’s confusion, for she grew exasperated. “Well, you can’t simply be allowed to remain on your own! Do you have funds?”

“Money? N-no, not—”

“There, you see? Arrangements must be made. Agatha trained me and raised me to where I am today, managing the staff of a great house. She has asked a favor. A great favor, I must tell you, for it is rare that a woman with no proper background or training would be taken on like this. I shall expect you promptly at four Monday afternoon to show you around the manor and explain your duties.”

Mrs. Marcham rose to her feet, gathered up her basket,
and started to leave. Then she turned back. “I don’t know what your difficulty is, young lady, and I don’t need to know. I will give you some advice that you would be wise to take to heart. There are any number of tragedies among the staff of a great house. I have my own. Agatha . . . well, you see how your aunt is.”

She stopped once more, clearly wishing for some sort of response from Serafina. When the girl remained silent, Mrs. Marcham’s tone became more strident. “I hope you are listening carefully because I shan’t repeat myself. Life is often not how we would like it. Your duty is to get on with your work and not dwell upon whatever misery you might carry. And above all else, you are not to burden others with your woes. Nor are you to give any heed when someone else seeks to bend your ear. There are gossipers among the staff who would love nothing more than to tell you tales, and spread yours about for others to hear. Pay them no mind, do you understand? Work hard and work well. Time and work will cure you.”

“No.” The one word was all she could manage.

Beryl Marcham started to correct her, then stopped and changed course. “One final word. You mustn’t enter service thinking you shall be receiving special attention because of your aunt. And if you want to get along with the others, you will not seek out Agatha every time something does not go your way. The other staff will be watching, as shall I. They can make your life miserable, if they have a mind.” The woman hefted her basket. “You’d be well advised to work hard and learn the value of silence.”

Serafina watched her march away. A number of the stallholders doffed their caps at Mrs. Marcham’s passage. She responded with brisk nods and occasionally a word or two. She did not glance back to where Serafina sat.

Serafina found herself envying the woman and her unfeeling nature. If only she could cast aside her problems and live as though they did not matter.

She sighed her way to her feet and started back toward her aunt’s house, moving unsteadily. No matter what Mrs. Marcham might have said, time would do nothing for her wounds.

She felt a thousand years old.

Chapter 14

Shipboard life was as close to a home as Falconer ever expected to find upon this earth. Bound by water and froth and wind, enclosed by clouds and rain and sun, and surrounded by the close company of others who knew the sea’s moods. Yet not even this could ease Falconer’s predawn wakings. Instead, the nightly terrors seemed to grow worse. That dawn he awakened with the cries of his friend Felix calling to him for help.

He came aloft and released his worry and the nightmare’s last tendrils to the early morning air. His prayers came in the sweeping steadiness of the waves. He leaned upon the railing and watched the morning strengthen, and he prayed for Felix and his own mission, feeling the helplessness that only a strong man can truly know. Then he greeted the mate at the wheel and took a mug of sailor’s tea with the others coming on watch. Sheltering himself by the lee rail, he opened the Bible the curate had given to him soon after his first prayer of repentance.

Falconer knew why his nightmare had cut more deeply than usual. The previous evening Gareth Powers had finally felt strong enough to speak with Falconer about his own quest. The two men had been astounded to find they shared a loathing of the slave trade and a determination to see it ended. Gareth had spoken of his writings, of the frustration they had known on both sides of the Atlantic in working against a tide of evil that seemed at times unstoppable. Falconer had listened and felt less alone than he had since departing Trinidad. Too soon, Gareth’s strength had waned, and Falconer had taken to his own bunk, thrilled by the knowledge that he had gained not just a new ally but another friend in Christ.

The ship’s captain found him there by the lee rail. A storm-hardened man of graying years, his sea-borne coat was salt
encrusted, his cap mildewed from countless seasons. “A good morning to you, John Falconer.”

“Sir.” Falconer used his finger to mark his place and rose to his feet. Passengers were not expected to rise in the presence of officers, but a lifetime’s habit died hard.

“Join me on the quarterdeck, if you have a mind.”

“Honored, Captain.” The captain’s quarter was restricted to the senior officer on deck and those whom he specifically invited. Falconer slipped the Bible into his jacket pocket and took the steps three at a time.

“Reading the Good Book, I see.”

“It anchors my day, sir.”

“As fine a habit as any I could name.” Captain Micah had a seaman’s gaze, clear and far-reaching. “You have on-board experience, I take it.”

“I entered the service at age twelve.”

“What is your age now, if I might be so bold?”

“I shall be thirty this coming winter.”

“I would have taken you for much older.” He studied the younger man. “Command of a vessel ages a man swiftly.”

“That it does, Captain. That it most certainly does.”

“How old were you when you walked your first quarterdeck?”

“I was twenty-five, sir. A truly foul day.”

“A battle?”

“With nature and with man.”

“A storm.” Captain Micah nodded somberly. “You lost your skipper?”

“Washed overboard by a wave so large it snapped his lifeline like it was made of spider webbing.” Falconer could still hear the man’s shrill cry. “Took our mizzenmast and six good mates as well.”

The captain had the sense to turn from the raw emotion on Falconer’s features. He pointed south and east, the quarter from which a squall approached. “What say you about the gauge of this wind?”

Falconer studied the approaching squall line. The sea was a legion of waves, marching in massive unison. The troughs were as deep as the ship was high, but there was no danger to their size. The distance between each was a constant valley, broad enough for the ship to rise and fall in steady rhythm. “The squall will pass by noon, is my guess. The afternoon will blow clear and steady.”

“And farther out?”

“A storm far to the south. A big one.” Falconer took a deep breath. “I can smell it.”

“Aye, I agree with you, sir. I warrant there are sailors praying their last, down below the horizon.” He wiped his eyes clear of the salty mist. “Were this your command, sir, what orders would you give?”

“North by east,” Falconer replied instantly. “Put more miles between us and whatever the nights may hold.”

The captain wheeled about and used a shipboard bellow to reach the lieutenant standing duty by the steersman. “Barnes!”

“Sir!”

“Set a new course ten points north! Send the men aloft!”

“Ten points it is, sir! Bosun!”

“Sir!”

“Pipe the men aloft!”

Falconer assumed the captain would dismiss him then, and made ready to depart. Instead, Captain Micah observed, “I find it uncommon strange that a former shipboard commander would find himself as a landlubber’s manservant. No offense intended.”

“None taken, sir.” Falconer tested several responses before saying, “God’s directions are difficult to fathom at times, Captain.”

“Indeed. Indeed.” Micah fumbled with a loose button on his greatcoat. “Langston’s has a policy that all who command their vessels must be Christians. Most are elders within their home church.”

“I did not know that. But having met Reginald Langston, I am not surprised.”

“I count it an honor to serve the man and the house,” the captain went on. “He told me to pass along to other skippers I meet that we are to aid you if the need arises.”

“I am deeply grateful, both for the man’s offer and your acknowledgment, Captain.”

“Don’t mention it.” He continued to worry the button. “You may have noted that we have no priest nor pastor on board this voyage.”

“I found your Sabbath message last week most inspiring, sir.”

“I was wondering, that is . . .” Micah managed to pluck the button free. He made a business of stowing it into his pocket. “Would you offer us the Sabbath message on the morrow?”

“Sir.” A blow from an unseen foe could not have shocked Falconer more. “I am not good with words.”

“You are a Christian and a sailor. You have known command, and now you serve. All aboard have observed your manner of Scripture reading and prayer.” The captain hesitated, then added, “I would not ask this, sir, except that it came to me as a strong impression in my own morning reflections.”

Falconer felt stricken by the news. “You think God spoke of this?”

“I am certain of it.”

“Then I can hardly refuse.” His entire body felt weighted down. “You will excuse me if I take my leave?”

The rain stopped as predicted just after midday. Falconer carried Hannah upstairs and settled her into a sheltered alcove rimmed by water barrels. The kitten thrived on shipboard life, as did its young mistress. Ferdinand had learned to endure its ribbon leash, save for the occasional bursts of protests when it sought to claw the thing off its neck. The ribbon
had to be replaced every few days. Sailors were notoriously fond of cats and had taken to competing with one another to offer the next bit of leash. But it was not merely the cat that had charmed them. Within minutes of Hannah being settled into her blanket-covered corner, she was visited by two midshipmen, the bosun, the second mate, six seamen, and an off-duty lieutenant. Falconer tolerated their chatty ways and held himself removed from the discourse.

Hannah waited until the last seaman had been sent aloft. “Something is troubling you, I can tell. Is it Papa?”

“No, he seems to be making solid progress.”

“I don’t see how you can say that. All he does is sleep.”

“He is resting well, which is far more than could be said while ashore. His color is good, he eats everything put in front of him.”

“Shouldn’t he be up here taking in the air?”

“Rest,” Falconer repeated. “I heard it any number of times from the doctor. Rest and more rest. If your father can sleep, that is the best thing he can do for himself.”

Hannah nuzzled the kitten to her cheek. “Do you see how Ferdinand is growing?”

“He is becoming a truly fine little beast.”

She dangled and twirled her slender gold necklace for the kitten to bat about. “Will you tell me what it is that bothers you?”

Falconer took a two-handed grip upon the railing. “The captain has asked me to speak at tomorrow’s Sabbath gathering.”