Heirs of Acadia - 03 - The Noble Fugitive (40 page)

He held her for a time, until the sobbing eased and her mother leaned forward to touch her arm. “Come, dear. Come to me.”

Hannah transferred her embrace to her mother but kept her tear-streaked face turned toward Falconer. “Must you go?”

“Aye, lass. I must.”

“And Serafina?” Erica asked softly. “What of her?”

Falconer took a hard breath. “She is beginning to recover. She is growing into her own. She is slowly regaining her confidence.” Every word fell from his mouth as heavy as bricks. He pressed them carefully into place, forming a wall between himself and a future he knew had never been his to claim. “She will remember who she is soon enough. She will be restored to her family. She will find her future.”

Erica examined him with a woman’s wisdom. “You must not take the easy road here. You cannot simply leave without a word.”

This was precisely what Falconer had intended. His heart quaked at the prospect of facing her.

“You know how fragile she is,” Erica continued. “You must be gentle with her. But you must let her hear this from you and not another.”

“She will be as sad as I am,” Hannah added.

Falconer nodded his acceptance to their words and rose slowly to his feet. “I shall do as you say.”

“Falconer.” Gareth rose from the daybed and crossed the room. “I wish to share with you something that has been on my heart for some time. We have, all of us, been struck by events which both harmed us and stood in our way. We were all brought to a place where we did not wish to be. We were held there for reasons none of us understood. Yet we have grown from it. And God’s work has been furthered by our being there. I for one have found myself enriched by learning to accept God’s timing and direction.”

“Your words mean a great deal, sir.”

Gareth offered his hand. “As we move on from there, we do so with something for which we can all be thankful.”

Falconer accepted the handshake and felt the renewed strength within the grip. “New friends.”

Chapter 30

Falconer retreated upstairs, for he had no idea what he should say to the young lady still seated with Sedgwick in the front parlor. He knew because he had passed by the open doorway and seen their heads close together. No doubt Sedgwick was describing the intricacies of Parliament. Falconer thumped up the stairs, fighting bitterness at all the twists of heritage and fate that kept him from being seated in the gentleman’s place.

Packing his few belongings did not take long. But during that brief period several of the staff stopped by to shake his hand and thank him. They took their leave in the manner of shipmates who had survived foul weather and harsh attacks. Falconer gripped his satchel with his sword and scabbard lashed to its top and faced another trio of faces. He found himself pleased with what saw. The sick old man was well served by this fresh-faced battalion. They were dedicated, aware, and in for the long haul. The future belonged to such as these, God bless them.

Hannah stood at the base of the stairs and watched him descend. “You told them of my departure?” Falconer asked.

“I saw you didn’t want to. Friends help each other in the hard times. That’s something you taught me. Mama said I could.”

“Thank you, Hannah.” Though he had planned to just slip away from the household, he saw the moment’s rightness. “You did well.”

“Besides, you forgot to tell Ferdinand farewell. He would be most upset.”

He hefted the cat from her embrace. The animal was a purring bundle of soft golden fur. Falconer nuzzled the cat to his cheek. “The beast is a kitten no longer.”

“Mama said you should take Serafina into the back garden.” She accepted her kitten back into her arms. “That is
a special place for my parents, you know. They fell in love there and decided to travel together back to America, where they got married.”

“It makes for a nice tale,” Falconer said, knowing there was no such promise to be found there for himself.

He heard a light tread behind him. He knew before turning who it was. He tried to steel himself for what he would surely find, an open gaze in eyes like sunlit smoke.

She looked up at him, and he saw that her expression was still touched with lingering sorrow. But the shattered quality he had seen earlier was gradually fading. He now saw the power of God to restore and heal.

“You’re leaving,” she said.

Serafina walked alongside Falconer as they traversed the paths that coursed through the rear garden. The gravel was almost lost in places to the weeds. Birds chirped gaily from the surrounding trees. One elm stood out from its neighbors with the first early hint of autumnal colors. Serafina shivered at the thought of life’s changing seasons. “Explain to me again, please, this urgency of yours.”

“The man who brought me to Christ is a curate on Trinidad. He not only plucked me from the mire of my own making, he gave a direction to my days.”

“The fight against slavery, yes?”

“Just so. I acted as Felix’s eyes and ears. I must do what I can to ensure his safety.”

Serafina knew a moment’s desire to argue that such a man would have many friends. Others who would keep him safe. Others who were not needed by her. But she stopped the thought before it was fully formed. She would show no such selfishness. No matter how much she wished for Falconer to stay and offer her his strength.

All she said was, “I do understand, John Falconer.”

His breath flowed out in a constant stream. Serafina sensed
that he had readied himself for an argument, and her acceptance had left him finally able to relax. She added quietly, “I shall miss you very much.”

“Lass . . .”

She saw how he caught himself then. And knew she could not draw him out. For she was aware of what he yearned to say. Though he fought against revealing himself, she saw his affection for her. The strong features of his face shone with all that remained locked inside his heart.

Finally she said, “I would ask a favor of you, John Falconer.”

“You need but say it.”

Serafina saw clearly how poised he stood to do her bidding. Whatever she asked, so long as it was in his power. A woman not bound by God’s edicts could easily abuse such a gift.

She waited until his eyes met hers. She saw the love there, and the sorrow borne upon his intention to walk away. That was how much he loved her. Enough to declare that she was better off without him.

She knew she did not deserve this love. The fact that her wounded heart was unable to give anything in return only made it worse.

“How long does it take a letter to reach America?” she asked.

“From England?”

“Yes.”

He gave it careful thought. “Is the writer a person of authority?”

“Far from it. My aunt at Harrow Hall wrote to my parents in Washington.”

“Then it could take months.” Falconer spoke with the expertise of one who knew the sea’s ways. “Postal commerce is notoriously slow. From Harrow it must go to Bath, then the London sorting house, then postal coach to Portsmouth, and from there await a merchant naval vessel commissioned
by the postal service. Four months if all goes perfectly, which it seldom does. More likely twice that.”

“And if I requested the help of my new friends here? What then?”

“Even if they appointed a dispatch rider at each end, at least a month—most likely six weeks or more.”

“I cannot force my parents to wait that long,” she mused aloud.

Falconer’s gaze tightened with the awareness of what she was about. “Serafina, it would not be fitting for us to travel together.”

“You have just said you would do whatever I asked.”

“Aye. But for me to escort you across the Atlantic . . .”

“But if I were to have a woman companion, what then?”

“You must realize, lass, my first port of call is nigh on two thousand miles south of Washington.”

“John Falconer . . . I just do not think my own strength is enough. I need to apologize to my mother and my father. I need to beg their forgiveness. Though why they should ever—”

“Put that fear aside,” he said. “They already have. Of that I am certain.”

“I have hurt them so very badly.”

“No doubt. But they love you, and they shall see your remorse, and they will forgive.”

His confidence calmed her as nothing had. She started to reach for him again, then realized it was not fitting. She must not take advantage of his openness nor pretend affection that she could not truly fulfill. “This feeling of utter safety you give me is why I would seek to travel with you.”

Falconer turned from her and mused to the distant trees, “I have been offered an alliance by Erica’s brother, Reginald Langston. He owns merchant ships. I must seek swift passage to Trinidad. I must ensure the safety of my friend the curate. But ship traffic between Trinidad and America’s eastern ports is constant. I could act as your manservant—”

“You shall do no such thing!”

Her outburst startled them both. Serafina’s hand flew to her mouth. “Forgive me. I should not have spoken as I did.”

“Ah, lass.” He smiled then. The weight and the shadows lifted. “It is good to see your spirit being restored.”

“Your help would be a gift beyond measure. But I should not accept it if you insist upon traveling as a servant. No. I will not.”

Falconer’s smile did her heart a great deal of good. “I can see that you would be a most difficult adversary in a quarrel.”

“And I for one hope that we should never need to confirm that.”

“No. Quite.” He resumed thinking aloud. “Certainly the folk here could help find you a suitable female companion for the journey.”

She studied him with an openness that surprised even herself. For it seemed to her that she could sense a communication between them, one that went far deeper than mere words. “There is one other problem.”

“Yes?”

“I have no money.”

“Do not concern yourself with that.”

“I cannot promise that my father will repay you.”

“Coin has never held much importance to me.”

Serafina studied this man of humble birth, struck anew by his nobility. “It is not nearly enough to thank you, John Falconer. But it is all I have to offer.”

Chapter 31

Falconer stood outside a white stone manor off Pennsylvania Avenue. It was an official sort of residence. A place where someone of Falconer’s class would never be welcome.

He had refused to accompany Serafina inside. He had felt cowardly, but he had declined just the same. She had stared at him a long moment, the appeal clear in her gaze. But she had said nothing. And Falconer had been very grateful for that.

The day was crisp but clear, the sky a deep blue. The wind was brisk and tasted faintly of winter. The trees along the boulevard boasted a multitude of autumnal colors. A number of well-heeled ladies and gentlemen passed along the brick sidewalks. The men wore tall hats and high collars, and the women’s bright coats and matching hats suggested a genteel way of life. Falconer noticed various accents and languages, confirming that Washington was indeed growing into a citadel of power.

The house before him was designed with classic European flair. Corinthian columns graced the broad façade. Tall windows were framed by gold drapes. Through them Falconer observed men clustering in groups and smoking long clay pipes. Falconer did not need to overhear them to know they spoke of politics and money.

In the distance, a church bell chimed four o’clock. He had been waiting there for over three hours. He glanced up at the driver, who was relaxing in the manner of one who would be paid for his time whether he worked or not. Falconer debated off-loading Serafina’s baggage, then decided against it. He was in no hurry either.

He had a place to go, of course. He still had the Langstons’ offer of employment. His impression of Reginald and Lillian Langston was that they were people of their word. They had
sought him out and made a point of wanting him to return. He should take great satisfaction in having such a future.

Instead, he felt so bereft he could easily have fallen to his knees there in the street. Sooner or later, Serafina would come out that door. She would have made peace with her family. Of that Falconer had no doubt whatsoever. A family in which there was no place for John Falconer.

The young lady seated inside the carriage looked through the window. “Begging your pardon, sir. I was just wondering how much longer we’d be waiting here.”

“I have no idea.”

Mary Ewes was a likely enough young woman, and she had done well as a traveling companion for Serafina. She had been in service to the Harrow household, widowed early and left childless, and had been seeking a change. “It’s just, well, I haven’t had a bite since we left the ship this morning.”

“Forgive me, Miss Ewes. Of course you haven’t.” He reached for his coin purse and handed her several pieces of silver. He asked the driver, “Do you know a good place where the lady might find a decent meal at this hour?”

“There’s one not three blocks from where we sit.”

“Take her and bring her back, that’s a good man.”

“Shall I bring you something, sir?” Mary asked.

“A capital idea,” he agreed, though in truth he doubted very much that he would be able to swallow a mouthful. “A portion of bread and cheese would do me splendidly.”