The Solitary Envoy (11 page)

The two communities that rose to Washington’s either side also prospered. Alexandria was the older village, full of prosperous shops and fine homes. Georgetown remained a port city, bustling and crowded and noisy. The Potomac harbors had been expanded greatly during the war, so that the Georgetown port now provided almost all the materials required for Washington’s rebuilding, as well as supplying most of the military’s needs. Washington’s own military garrison was also the nation’s largest, used both to protect the capital from a second attack and to maintain a close connection between the generals and the elected politicians.

Erica heard a tap on her door. “Yes?”

Reggie opened the door. “Good morning, sister.”

“Is Mrs. Cutter here?”

“Seated in the first alcove downstairs, just as you requested.”

Erica rose from her desk and stepped in front of the tall oval mirror. There was no indication of the worries she carried over this coming day or of the burdens she had taken on since the British invaded Washington. She still had her mother’s proud carriage. Her hair was a rich m
lange of black and brown. Her eyes were clear, her lips full, and her chin had a slight cleft just like her father’s. The dress she wore was her finest, frayed somewhat from too many washings, but never worn like the others when working the coffeehouse auctions or tending the ledgers. She studied her features and was pleased with her resolute expression.

“I am ready,” she said to her reflection and wished it were so.

She took the staircase by her brother’s room so as not to risk having her mother call her in. Mildred Langston was extremely perceptive. She would recognize what Erica managed to hide from the rest of the world. Erica had no intention of concealing her plans from the family, but she could not speak of them now. Not even Reggie had any idea why he had been enlisted to help. For the moment, Erica needed to focus exclusively upon the task at hand.

But what if Abigail Cutter refused to help her? Erica was a merchant’s daughter. Merchants succeeded because they never placed their hope in just one venture. They spread out their resources and their risk. If one project failed, another was there to keep them afloat. Erica hated the fact that she had no second option. Her family’s future rode upon this coming conversation. The coffeehouse’s rear wall had been scorched by the British fire. In rebuilding, Reggie had suggested they include three small alcoves. These were shaped like glass-fronted rotundas, with rich velvet curtains that could be drawn for privacy. A number of politicians continued to take their afternoon coffee at Langston’s, enjoying the private elegance, even on days when the next auction was far off and there were few wares on display.

Erica swept open the red drapes of one of these alcoves and could not quite hold back a gasp of surprise. She knew that some merchant families, including the Cutters, had prospered greatly as her own had fallen. It was not something she dwelt on, for that only led to bitter regret. But even so, she was startled to see Abigail Cutter dressed in the height of fashion. Her dress was of layered silk in shades of cream and ivory, with black onyx buttons and black laces across her bodice that were tipped with what appeared to be tiny gemstones. Her hair was piled high and held in place with tortoiseshell pins. Around her neck dangled a ruby pendant the size of a quail’s egg.

“My dear Erica, what a delight it is to see you again! You cannot imagine what a pleasure it was to receive your note.”

“I am very grateful that you would come, Mrs. Cutter.”

“I asked you years ago to call me Abigail. Why on earth have you waited so long to contact me?”

Erica’s tone sounded stiff and forced to her own ears. “I assumed your interest in my family had dimmed. Especially after Horace became engaged to the Wilkins girl.”

“That was neither Horace’s doing nor my desire. My dear husband and I had quite a tiff over it, I don’t mind telling you.”

Erica seated herself facing Abigail. “Would you take coffee? Or hot cocoa, perhaps?”

“Your dear brother has already been by twice offering everything under the sun. I shall have nothing, thank you. And you must excuse how I am fitted out, but I am due to meet my husband for a luncheon with visiting French dignitaries. He insisted I dress for the occasion.”

“Then I shall not keep you a moment longer than necessary.”

“Erica, look at me. This is Abigail Cutter. Do you remember what we spoke of at the last tea party we both attended?”

“It seems like another lifetime.”

“That it does. But some things do not change with time. At least they should not. I offered to be your friend. Do you remember that?”

Erica wanted to respond with a shred of pride.
Vaguely, yes, I remember something to that effect,
she wanted to say. But she could not. Too much depended upon this woman and this conversation. She stared down at her hands. They were stained now, the India ink so deeply imbedded she wondered if she would ever manage to clear it from around her nails. And her dress. Upstairs it had seemed adequate. But here in the sunlit alcove, seated next to this elegantly clad woman, she felt shabby and faded.

“You do remember, don’t you?” When Erica said nothing, Abigail continued. “I wrote you three times, asking that you permit me to call upon you. I invited you on countless occasions to our home. Never once did you accept.”

Erica forced herself to raise her head. “How could I?”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“You know perfectly well …” She stopped. No bitter tirades, Erica reminded herself.

But it was Abigail who melted. “Forgive me. Of course. Erica Langston, daughter of one of the finest merchants in all America, a young woman of such pride and determination, brought to her knees. How could I have expected her to enter into our haughty society and endure the stares and comments? No. I knew you would not come. But I hoped. And now we are together again, and I see you strong and able and still very determined. Of course you did not accept.” Abigail fished in her purse and drew out an embroidered hankie. She dabbed at her eyes. “I am very proud of you, my dear.”

“Proud of me?”

“A weaker woman would have folded in upon herself and disappeared into the waiting gloom. She would have fed upon bitterness and gall. She would have accepted the offer of marriage from an unsuitable gentleman and given herself over to a life of regret.”

“I have been tempted.” Merely saying the words brought such a burning to Erica’s throat and eyes that she could not entirely keep it from her voice. “It would have been so easy to give in.”

“But you did not. You are a credit to your father.” Abigail bundled up her hankie and reached for Erica’s hand. “Now you will tell me what it is that you require.”

The barriers were broken now, but the need was so great it threatened to overwhelm her. “I am so desperate I am almost afraid to speak.”

“Then I shall save you the trouble of further worry. I shall tell you yes now. There. Do you feel better? I have already agreed to whatever you wish to ask.”

Erica gave a little laugh. “How can you be so good to me? I have been a stranger for almost two years, and yet you respond so generously.”

“You are a fine woman who shall not be kept down, of that I am certain. One day very soon we shall look back upon this day’s meeting, and you know what we shall say?”

“I cannot possibly look that far forward.”

“We shall say that this was the day we became true friends.”

Abigail squeezed her hand tighter. “Now tell me what you require.”

Erica took a breath. “I have heard that trade between America and Britain is finally to be reestablished.”

“How could you possibly know that? The news is not made public.”

“We have any number of visitors here.”

“Of course. And you are always one to know the value of being first with vital information.” Abigail beamed with such pride she might as well have invented Erica herself. “I am happy to confirm that your information is true. The president will announce this tomorrow. Although it is hardly a triumph in any true sense of the word. We should never have entered into this tiresome conflict that neither side could hope to win.”

“But trade,” Erica pressed, wanting to make sure her information had been correct. “And political ties?”

Abigail studied her anew. “You can’t possibly have heard that as well.”

“Then it’s true? John Quincy Adams is to become the new ambassador to the Court of St. James? And your son-in-law is to be his deputy minister plenipotentiary?”

“Tell me what this is all about, Erica.”

She took another breath, the hardest of all. Then she launched in. Not as she had planned, however. She had intended to take a roundabout course, but she sensed there was nothing to be gained by subterfuge. So she told Abigail everything. About Bartholomew Merchant Bank and the two ships that had never arrived. About the gold in the account, still sitting there in London in her father’s name. Of course it was, since the ships had never arrived and the papers expressly forbade the bankers to touch one gold coin until the goods had been received and the bills of lading initialed. Erica had all the documents upstairs, everything signed by her father and the bankers. Everything properly witnessed.

She concluded, “I have spoken to several lawyers here. There is no hope of doing anything from this end, especially since we have neither the money nor the time to press the case.”

“It is becoming clear to me now.”

“I need to travel to England as an envoy for my family. I will carry these documents and demand what is rightfully ours.”

Abigail had long since removed her hand from Erica’s. She sat and listened with an intensity that had her eyes glittering like the ruby dangling about her neck. “I can well understand why my husband does not like you,” she said. “You would make a most formidable adversary.”

Erica wanted to know what she meant, especially now, when the Langston house was on its knees. “But Mother would never permit me to make such a journey unless someone of proper standing were willing to act as my host.”

“I shall speak with my son-in-law, Samuel Aldridge, this very day.”

“But your husband—”

“Did I not already agree to whatever it was you required of me? Did I not claim you as my friend?”

This time Erica could not hold back the tears. She never cried these days, which meant she had not brought a handkerchief with her.

Abigail pressed her own hankie into Erica’s hands. “Here, my dear.”

“Please excuse me.”

“There is nothing for you to apologize over. I cannot imagine the strain you have endured.”

“No.” Erica forced herself to straighten once more. She pressed the hankie to the corner of each eye. “You cannot.”

“So, that is done. All I can say is I am glad that what you require is within my reach to give.”

“What if they refuse? I have never even met Horace’s sister.” Lavinia Aldridge, Abigail’s daughter, was ten years older than her brother. She had married the son of a senior New York merchant.

“They will not refuse.” Abigail revealed a very different side, one of steely resolve. “In that you may have utter confidence.”

“I do. Have confidence.” Erica looked around her. The unseen weight had been lifted from her heart so suddenly she could scarcely believe it was gone. The sunlight through the lead-pane windows was far brighter now. The hedge marking the rear of their property shimmered with an emerald glow. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you for this.”

“You will take advice if offered?”

“From you? Always.”

Abigail leaned forward. “You are a strong woman, Erica Langston. One of the strongest and finest it has ever been my pleasure to know. And though you cannot see it yet, these years of trial and testing have served you well.”

“I cannot possibly see how these days have served any good purpose whatsoever.”

“In time, you shall. Now hear me out. One of the great risks of strength like yours is thinking that you can proceed on your own. It has taken a moment of dire need for you to seek me out. This should not have happened.”

“I was wrong.”

“No, child. You were proud. You saw coming to me as a humiliation. Were we not friends, it would have been so. But I offered you my alliance. I demonstrated this by granting you highly confidential information. You should have accepted me at my word and come to me.”

“Again, I can only apologize, Mrs…. Abigail.”

“I am not after your apologies, my dear young lady. I am speaking here of things to come. Never see yourself as too strong to need help. None of us is. Find allies you can trust. Do not let pride or your own strength stand in the way of this. Develop friends, and offer to them the same gift that I have offered you.”

Chapter 9

Erica’s conversation with her mother was as great a surprise as her meeting with Abigail. When she returned to their apartment, Erica found Mildred seated in the upstairs parlor, the one formerly used by Forrest and his business guests. Now it contained a number of their most treasured belongings. Every surface held pictures and mementos. Upon the walls hung paintings of her father, her grandmother, and a ship now sailing under a different name. The room overwhelmed Erica with memories.