Heirs of Acadia - 03 - The Noble Fugitive (35 page)

The station from which the train departed was enough to frighten both beast and man. The horses jerked nervously as they approached, made skittish by the steam rising from the building’s other side. The wind picked at the manmade clouds and sent them billowing out over the station and the carriages. Horses whinnied in real fear at the smell of smoke.

The train itself was hardly better. The group had a compartment to themselves, with Daniel stationed in the hall outside. The window was shut against the fumes and the glowing cinders that drifted in the wind. The train started off twenty minutes late, with a grinding squeal and chuffing noises from far in front. The town was soon left behind, and the train accelerated into a long series of curves. Speed and more speed as they swept through one green-sided valley after another. Falconer watched with alarm as the rattling contraption carried them ever faster, until he was certain they were close to flying off the earth itself.

The Powers family, however, had ridden on the train any number of times. Neither the clattering din nor the speed seemed to affect them in the slightest. Even Hannah enjoyed watching the world whoosh by. She delighted in pointing out items that were gone before Falconer could properly see them.

Once clear of the Wiltshire hills, they entered verdant fields. The train’s rude vibrations calmed somewhat, and Gareth
settled into his corner seat and fell asleep. Mrs. Powers opened the window a fraction, for the wind now blew the smoke away from them. She sat next to Serafina, with Hannah to their other side. Falconer sat beside the compartment door, both to block any entry and to leave the middle seat free for Gareth to stretch out in slumber. The man looked wan but not unwell. Clearly, the days at Harrow Hall had done him good. Pity there had not been more of them.

Mrs. Powers cleared her throat and adopted a formal manner. “Serafina, I hope you will forgive me for prying. But I feel a rather urgent need to know more about you than I do.”

Serafina’s gaze widened in the manner of a startled fawn. But she said, “I understand.”

“I believe you told me you are from Venice, is that correct?”

“Yes. My father’s family is old Venetian.” She pronounced it in the Italian manner.
Veneziàna
. Yet the lilting manner belied a growing sorrow. “My mother is from the hills.”

“Hills?”

“To the north. The mountains.”

“Ah. You mean the Alps.”

“Yes. Her family are
Dolomiti
. You understand?”

As Falconer observed the two women, he saw in them a great similarity of manner, one that overcame the difference in age and nationality. A former captain he had served under, a hard-bitten merchant seaman who had clawed his way up the ranks in the same manner as Falconer, had scorned such traits. The old captain had called them parlor antics and claimed that they could be taught to any intelligent monkey. The old captain had loathed such people and the class they represented, and the way he had forever been shut out of their ranks by the mistake of birth. But Falconer observed the two ladies and saw something different. He saw the ability to express breeding and custom before even opening their mouths. He saw a different world. One in which Falconer knew he would never belong.

“You said your family’s name was Gavi, is that correct?”

“Gavi, yes.” Just saying the word caused Serafina to wince, as though pierced by some unseen weapon.

Mrs. Powers clearly noticed the young woman’s distress. Her manner was gentle but insistent. “Your father, is he alive?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“What does he do, may I ask?”

“He is a merchant. And a doge.”

“Excuse me, I am unfamiliar with that term. What was it again?”

“Doge. It means prince in the Venetian dialect.”

Falconer noticed that Gareth opened his eyes to that, then swiftly shut them again. And pretended to sleep.

“Y-your f-father is royalty?” Erica stammered.

“Once. A long time ago. Now the title is a, how do you say it,
formalità
.”

“A formality.”

“Yes. Venice is now part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The merchant princes still have their council, but all power is held by the king’s commissioner.”

Neither Erica nor Hannah seemed aware that Serafina’s accent had thickened. From Hannah’s lap, the kitten complained over how Hannah ignored it. Hannah silenced the animal without taking her eyes from Serafina.

“And where is your father now?” Erica asked.

“America.” Serafina turned her face to the window. “My father and my mother, they are in Washington.”

“America,” Erica repeated.

“The council sent him. They are on some secret mission for the council. I do not think the governor knows. My father, he serves as consiglière.”

This time Erica did not ask for a translation. Instead, she glanced at her husband, whose eyes were once more open. “And they sent your father.”

“Yes.”

The question settled heavily upon the compartment’s
atmosphere even before Erica spoke the words. “Why are you not with them?”

Tears began to course down Serafina’s face. Before the question had been framed, she had started to weep. “I thought . . . I thought I had fallen in love.”

Falconer drew a clean handkerchief from his pocket, reached forward, and pressed it into her hand. Serafina looked down uncomprehendingly. She blinked, dropping tears onto the cloth.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Erica said very softly.

“I fell in love,” Serafina repeated, talking now to the hands in her lap. “Luca was my instructor at the academy. For art. He was military. He said . . .”

This time no one spoke. The train rattled and drummed. Sunlight dashed upon the rail car and the weeping young lady. Finally Serafina was able to continue. “He said he wanted to marry me. I ran away. My parents brought me back. I became ill. They carried me onto the ship. It was an English vessel. We stopped in Portsmouth. I ran away again. I came to Harrow, where my aunt lives. She is ill. She had received a letter from my mother. Luca lied about everything. . . .” Serafina could go no further.

Gareth was no longer pretending to sleep. Erica gave her husband a long look. This one saying that she was both confused and very concerned. But she could not bring herself to ask anything more of poor Serafina. Instead, she reached her arm around the shaking shoulders and drew the girl close.

They traveled on for a time, until the silence grew strained. For all eyes remained upon Serafina as she struggled to regain her composure. Falconer found himself filling in all that remained unsaid. He did not know everything, but he knew enough to see her future. Serafina was at heart a very good woman. She would eventually be reconciled with her family. Her parents, however angry and hurt they might be now, would reunite with their daughter. Serafina would be drawn back into the fold of a rich and powerful clan. A clan within
which he had no place. Falconer would be seen as merely another usurper. A man scarcely better than this Luca. And in truth Falconer understood the thief. That was how he thought of Luca now. A thief who had ripped the heart out of this beautiful young woman. Falconer felt drawn by the same hunger the thief had no doubt felt. That he restrained himself was of little worth. Falconer felt gouged by the fact that Serafina deserved a man far better than him. One who was not dogged by such a dark and desperate past.

Gareth shifted, as though coming awake. He spoke to Falconer, clearly wishing to divert the attention away from Serafina. “I don’t believe you have ever told me where you hail from.”

“I come from nowhere and nothing.” Falconer heard the acid of disappointment etched into his every word. But he spoke just the same, talking of what had not been revealed for years. He spoke not to Gareth but Serafina. Now was as good a time as any to remind them both that he understood he was not for her. “My beginnings form a wretched story that does not deserve the telling.”

“Nonetheless I would like to know.”

“My mother was a serving wench in a roadside tavern. My father left when I was four. I am told he was a blacksmith. I remember him not. When I was seven, I was apprenticed to a wandering chimney sweep and ratter. He paid my mother five silver pennies for eight years of my service. When he beat me he always claimed he had overpaid.”

It was Falconer’s turn to seek solace out the window. “When I was twelve or thereabouts I ran away to sea. The merchant navy isn’t so particular about where they recruit their midshipmen. They took me for a likely lad, lied about my age on the signing-up papers, and sent me aloft. What education I received was at the hands of my skippers. I served under ten of them. Six were good men. Four were not. Two of these I hope and pray never to set eyes upon again, for to be in their company would strain the fabric of my oath to God.”

He stopped then and realized the entire cabin was watching him. “Have you prayed on this?” Gareth asked.

“Aye. And asked for a healing of wounds that pain me still.”

Hannah surprised them all by asking, “Is that why you have nightmares? What those two men did to you?”

Falconer leaned across the compartment. “No, lass, it is not. And I apologize for speaking of them at all. It was a mistake.”

She tilted her head slightly and inspected him for a time before saying, “You are very hard on yourself.”

He found himself rocked back into his seat. “Another friend once told me the very same thing.”

It was Hannah’s mother who asked, “Why is that, do you think?”

Falconer retreated to another inspection of the vista that rattled along outside their window. Only now Serafina’s face was within sight, and he felt captured anew by his helplessness. “I can only suppose it is because of all the wrong I have done.” He could not help himself. He met the loveliest gaze in all the world. He felt her pain as his own. Falconer stared at her so intently he felt able to reach across the distance and touch her cheek with his eyes alone. “And all the mistakes I continue to make.”

“It wasn’t wrong asking me to help you.” Serafina’s voice remained hoarse with her tears and confession.

Falconer could only respond with a sigh.

“They were intent upon attacking our daughter,” Gareth quietly pointed out.

“We have been through all that.” Erica’s internal distress was revealed in her voice and the way she drew Hannah close. “Even Falconer recognizes he was in error.”

Gareth coughed. “I personally have always seen our own efforts as a battle against evil.”

“But with the pen, Gareth. Not with violence.”

“Just so. Just so.” And yet it was to Falconer that he looked before closing his eyes and resting his head upon the side wall.

Chapter 26

Within the first hour of their arrival, Falconer understood why Gareth Powers had initially refrained from coming to Wilberforce’s home. Though the great man himself lay isolated in his chambers, the manor pulsed with energy. Even before they had finished unloading the carriage, word had spread far and wide that Gareth and Erica Powers had returned. People began drawing near, offering a report, seeking a word, a bit of advice, a request for them to help with one matter or another.

Erica saw the large group developing around her husband and took charge. “Daniel.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You are to escort my husband to our assigned chamber.” She pitched her voice loud enough for all to hear. “Please see that he is not disturbed.”

“That I will, Mrs. Powers.”

By the time Falconer had dropped his meager belongings into his upstairs room and had a walk around the home’s interior, the staff was being called to dinner. The manor was a far cry from Harrow Hall in every imaginable way. All the folk, whether staff or guest or notable, gathered together in no particular order. The dining hall opened into the front parlor to accommodate the one long table. Everyone helped serve the meal, and then they all took their seats together. The prayer was long and ardent. Fervent murmurs of agreement arose as the prayer moved on to a request for healing for Gareth and for Hannah and for Wilberforce himself.

The meal itself was a lively din of animated chatter. Falconer retreated into his customary shell, observing Hannah, who sat across from him, her cheeks flushed with the pleasure of being included among the adults.

As they were cleaning up, Hannah said to him, “Serafina is in the room directly above yours. Isn’t that romantic?”

“Lass . . .” Falconer felt the heat in his face. He couldn’t help but glance over to Serafina, surrounded by six other young ladies, in hopes she had not heard the comment. He also noticed the young men who gaped in her direction. Serafina chose that moment to look his way and offer her sorrowfilled smile. Falconer’s flush deepened. He said to Hannah, “Shouldn’t you be in bed like your father?”

“I rested upon our arrival. And I feel fine. See?” She twirled about, all shining eyes and flowing tresses. “I do think Serafina likes you immensely.”

Falconer ducked his red face and lowered himself down to her level. “What I see is a young imp who talks when she should perhaps remain silent.”

This only made Hannah’s smile grow more brilliant. “Do you suppose that you are falling in love?”

“I—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Falconer?”

“Eh, yes?” He rose to his full height. “Mr. Powers is wishing to have a word, sir,” a young man said.

Falconer made his way to the room at the rear of the house overlooking an untended garden. A small fountain was almost lost to the weeds. Yet the vista held an air of contented welcome, as though part of its very charm lay in how little care it was given. Gareth sat in a velvet robe, obviously borrowed from someone else in the house, upon a horsehair settee drawn up close to the tall windows. The drapes were drawn back to reveal the slowly waning light. The clouds overhead were colored a riot of golds.

“Draw up a chair, please,” Gareth invited.

“You look stronger.”

“It is exhilarating to be here once more. If only my friend were better.”

“You have seen Mr. Wilberforce?”

“Briefly. We had a few words only, Erica and I.” Gareth clenched his jaw tightly. “He is not well.”