Alastair felt more and more cold as the calm detached voice continued. His wife, his Sonia, to be involved in this scheme! This horribly dangerous scheme!
“I have devised various methods of getting the gold through. I shall not divulge them to you, of course. You need only know that I had planned with Jacob Goldfine to go with his good wife on a coach through France to Spain, and then to Portugal. Mrs Goldfine had recently borne a child, and she was not strong. It might have killed her if she had gone. The trip was rugged and dangerous. Also, I had met Lady Fairley — she had the necessary quick intelligence, and the knowledge of French, Spanish and Portuguese. When she was asked to go, she did not hesitate — though she risked her life — and her marriage. You see, she does love her adopted country very much,” and the tone was ironic.
“She went on that — very — dangerous — adventure?” Alastair felt light-headed, as though in a fever, but his hands were clammy cold. Sonia, in such danger… And when she returned, she had been so thin, so ill…
“She went. They took one of my ships by night and landed in north-western France, to take a coach loaded with gold and specie down through France into Spain. They were met, and helped, but of course, it was dangerous, and full of hardships. They did get to their destination. They met Wellington and delivered the gold and specie. The British soldiers were paid, and soon after, they defeated the French in the Battle of Bussaco. Mr Goldfine and Lady Fairley then proceeded to Lisbon, with the aid of some Portuguese guerrillas — among them Paulo de Mondego. I would appreciate it if you did not repeat his name. We still use his aid in getting the money through.” The dry voice finished, and he was still, contemplating Alastair’s face.
“How could you — how could you — use my wife — in such a manner? It was intensely dangerous for her —”
“She agreed of her will,” said Mr Rothschild.
“She will never go again!” flashed Alastair.
“No, of course not, she might be recognized,” said the financier, with an ironic smile, pressing a bell. “You may go now. I will not forget that you have promised to keep silent about all of this!”
Alastair went to his home, to lock himself in the study for hours. He paced the floor, wiping his wet forehead. That Sonia had done this — and kept loyal silence — no matter how he taunted and attacked her! That she had dared — that she had performed such a courageous brilliant act… He balanced pride in her against fury with the men who had involved her in the scheme.
When he left the room, he felt himself to be a changed man. Edwina eyed him apprehensively as he went quietly about the house, scarcely speaking. Henrietta was frankly worried; it was so unlike him. Maurice thought he had a fever, and should be bled.
Only Meyer Goldfine seemed to understand. Alastair could not bear the bright chatter and frivolity of Society that month. He often went in the afternoon to talk with Meyer Goldfine about Sonia’s youth, her early childhood, and from there to the history of the Jewish people, philosophy and religion. From there they drifted to talk of events in politics, of the Regency Act which had been passed in early February, to the amazing hold that the Prince Regent had on the loyalty of his subjects, and the good he could do for the Jews in Europe.
Alastair began to appreciate Meyer’s intelligence and humane qualities, his ambitions for his people, even the use he had made of Alastair and of Sonia in marrying them. In turn, Meyer realized that the young man had grown up, that he could do the Jews active good in Parliament and in society, and that his feelings for Sonia were deep and true. He thanked God every night for that, and added a hope that Sonia would return soon.
March roared out, and April came in, and the weeks went on. The flowers bloomed in the gardens of London, the sellers of lavender thrust their scented bouquets in Alastair’s face as he strode briskly through the streets to the home of Meyer, which was Sonia’s townhouse. He always hoped for news, and was always disappointed.
For April came and went, and still no word came from Sonia.
CHAPTER 20
Alastair’s mood continued grave. He devoted more time to his duties in Parliament, giving two speeches which were well received in the House of Lords. Edwina continued to be his hostess, though her plans for marriage to Ralph Hastings were going ahead. They planned to marry in mid-summer.
Society held little appeal any more for Alastair. He was rarely seen at fashionable gatherings, rarely at balls. He sent Maurice to escort his sisters. Only Lady Barnstable was able to get him with any regularity to attend her dinners. She had liked and appreciated Sonia; he could talk to Henrietta’s godmother about Sonia frankly.
Sir Philip Ryan had tired of Daphne Porter’s demands on him. She was now under some other gentleman’s protection. She was cut by many in Society, for they considered her coarse, and her affairs occasioned gossip.
Alastair returned early one day to his townhouse to find a messenger waiting for him. He took the brief note from the man and read:
I pray you, come to me, my dear lord. It is urgent.
Meyer Goldfine
As the scrawl was shaken and uncertain, Alastair feared the man had become gravely ill. Without delay, he told Edwina, and set out in his carriage, which had not yet been put in the stables.
At Sonia’s townhouse he went inside, and was shocked at the pallor of Meyer Goldfine and the shaking of his limbs. He was crumpled into a deep armchair, the black of his garments setting off the fragility of his white hands.
He begged the old man not to rise, and sat down near to him.
“Forgive me for sending for you so abruptly, and for not going to you myself,” quavered Meyer.
“No, no, it is my pleasure to come to you. We have not talked for a week,” said Alastair, wondering if it would not be amiss to send for a doctor.
“It is this letter — you must read it —” The old man started to hand it to Alastair, then held it back. “No, I forget. It is in Yiddish, you will not comprehend. I must read it to you.”
Alastair contained his patience. He was learning patience the hard way. It was difficult for him, like an unfamiliar yoke which must be endured in this life. Matters did not always go the way he wished — events would not proceed on order — people did not act predictably — one must wait, watch, and be patient. He leaned back with a sigh, sitting up sharply as Meyer continued.
“The letter is from a woman named Rosa Bartel. She was the nurse of my dearest Sonia. When she became older, Sonia bought a cottage for her on the coast of Cornwall, near the village of — let me see —” He peered at the letter and read out the name slowly. “The cottage is just beyond the village. You take the turn to the right lane. She has lived there long enough — you will not have difficulty in finding it.”
“Is Sonia there?” asked Alastair sharply.
Meyer nodded, and began to read.
My dear Mr Goldfine:
I write to you in distress. Sonia begged me to keep silence, and I did for a time. But now I fear for her life, and for that of her unborn child.
My dear little Sonia is so ill and despondent. She was ill much of the winter. Our weather was bad, and she did but sit at the fire and weep. If there is aught you can do, I pray you to do it. Does her husband not care about her? I beg your advice. She is too weak to be moved, or I would bring her to London to the physicians.
I beg pardon for disturbing you, but if you can offer some advice, I shall be most grateful.
Your faithful,
Rosa Bartel
Meyer set down the letter and removed his narrow-framed glasses to peer at Alastair, who had risen to walk about in agitation. “Will you go to her?” he asked wistfully.
Alastair went over to the desk and rummaged for paper and pen. “What is the name of the woman again? And the village and directions?”
Meyer told him, and Alastair wrote it down. “I will go at once,” he said resolutely.
As he went towards the door, Meyer said, “I beg you, Alastair, be gentle with her! She is
a proud woman, she has been most hurt. It is my fault, I know, that I encouraged the marriage —”
Alastair came back to take the frail fingers and press them gratefully. “Do not fear. I love her, and will take care of her. That does not mean I shall not scold her for leaving me!” He raced out of the house.
Alastair went home to pack trunks of his clothes and blankets. He ordered the heavy carriage be made ready. He had been thinking rapidly: he would take Sonia to Fairley. It was not far from Rosa’s, and the doctor there was as good as any in London.
Edwina followed him about anxiously. “Have you discovered Sonia? What are you doing? I beg you, Alastair — tell me!”
He kissed her cheek and said gaily, “She is discovered! And I shall take her to Fairley. Tell Maurice that I shall expect him to look after you all, and I will write when we are settled again.”
She looked much relieved, and said, “Give Sonia our love. Tell her we wish her well, and hope to see her soon.”
It was evening when he set out, but the spring night was bright and cloudless. They travelled much of the night, then stopped to change horses and eat at an inn.
On the morning of the third day, they arrived at the Cornish village, and went through it. It was charming, with young roses clambering the stone walls and the scent of the salt sea in his nostrils. The waves were blue, the sun golden-yellow. It looked like a bright new world to Alastair. He was humming as he rode along, and broke out in song from time to time in his off-key, happy way. The coachman gave the valet a nudge and nodded wisely.
As it passed through the village, the fisherfolk gazed curiously at the barouche as it lumbered along the cobbled streets, up the hill and to the country lane outside. He noted the women with their laundry baskets under their arms. Out at sea, the bright sails of the ship sparkled as the men cast their nets for the daily task of fishing.
He had the coachman turn into the country lane, and discovered at once the huge barouche gathering dust in the grassy yard behind the small cottage. He nodded in satisfaction. Sonia must be here!
He sprang down, forgetting the weariness of the long ride, eager as a boy to see her. Someone came from the cottage — an older woman with white hair and rosy cheeks, peering at him.
“ Mrs Bartel? Where is Sonia?” he demanded.
She stared, then began to smile, glanced at the crested panels on his carriage, and curtsied, her white apron fluttering. “Oh, my lord, you came! I am so happy!”
He remembered his manners enough to introduce himself, then asked again, “Where is Sonia?” He glanced beyond her to the small rose-covered stone cottage, the pretty small-paned windows, and the curtains that blew in the breeze at the two open windows.
“She went down to the sea this morning, with Mrs Stein. They often walk along the sands, now that the weather has turned fine,” said Mrs Bartel simply. “I told her that she must get out into the air and gain her strength. But she does not eat much, not enough for herself and the child. You will encourage her, my lord?”
“Yes, yes, I will go look for her.” He gave orders to the coachman to unload one of his valises and take the rest to the village. They could wait for him there in an inn where they might get lodging. He thought the tiny house would not hold them.
Then he made his way happily down the cliff path to the beach. Stones, dislodged by his heavy boots, rolled down the path, making a light crackling sound as he walked. Alastair saw the strolling pair before they saw him.
Sonia was wrapped in her Scottish blue-green wool cloak, her arm in that of Leah Stein, as they slowly trudged along the sandy beach. They were gazing out at sea, Leah’s free hand lifted to point to a sailboat in the distance. Alastair strode closer, watching eagerly for the expression on Sonia’s face when she saw him.
Leah spotted him first, and gave him a great smile of unqualified approval, a rare thing for her to do. “There, now, here is my lord!” she cried happily.
The two women stopped, Sonia’s head lifted. Alastair stared at the white face, the darkly shadowed grey eyes. She gazed at him, as though in a dream, not uttering a word.
Leah nudged her forwards. Alastair came forwards to meet her, but could say nothing. His arms closed about her. He felt the slight bulk of her figure, growing big with the child. He felt suddenly overwhelmed by the fact. She was going to have his child! She was ill because of it, and his behaviour…
He enfolded her in his arms and rocked her back and forth. “Sonia, Sonia, Sonia,” he said.
Leah discreetly retreated up the cliff path, leaving them alone.
“Oh — Alastair,” said Sonia, very faintly.
He loosened his grip, to tip back her face and gaze down at her. “My dearest Sonia. How could you leave me? I have fretted this whole time! I have gone mad, storming about London and raging at everyone, but no one could tell me where you were.”
She tried to pull back even more, but he would not let her go. “You — you wish a divorce?” she asked dully. “I will sign any papers —”
“No, you goose!” he said huskily. “I want you, and my child! What a bad-tempered pair we are! Our child will be a demon, I am sure! Oh, my dearest Sonia, I have so much to tell you!”
The wind whipped in off the sea in a sudden chilly burst.
“I will take you back to the cottage presently,” said Alastair, and drew the Scottish cloak carefully about her. “Oh, my darling, you are so thin and pale! We shall take great care of you!”
“I cannot come back to you,” said Sonia, with an effort.
“Of course you must,” said Alastair. Then he relented. “Come, sit down with me. There is a bit of sand here that looks clean. We shall shelter in the lee of the cliffs.”
He drew her to him, and they sat down beside a great grey rock, which had been whitewashed and scrubbed clean by the ceaseless tides which swept the coast. He put his arm about her, drawing her close, and put her head on his chest. He was content — he had her at last, he had found her. But there was much to clear up. She would not be happy until he explained.
“First of all, I did not go to — the hunting lodge in Scotland. I was furious, but as the days passed, and the journey took me further from you, I regained my temper. Halfway there, I turned about and came back to London. But you had fled!”
“ Mrs Porter was probably furious,” said the coolly haughty voice of his wife.
He smiled over her head “I don’t know, I haven’t seen her,” he said blithely. “We parted long ago, before my marriage to you, Sonia, and that is the truth of it.”
She was silent, but he still felt her slight resistance when he attempted to draw her closer.
“I see I must tell you the whole of it,” he said, more quietly. “When I first returned from the service, I was — a bit wild. Mrs Porter seemed amiable, charming. I did — make her my mistress. I was enchanted by her… I could not see her true nature, her greed. Then — I met you, and we married. I swear to you, Sonia, by all I hold dear, that I did not… have… her again after our marriage. She turned to Sir Philip Ryan to pay her many bills. She has now drifted on to some other poor chap.”
“Oh,” said Sonia, and unexpectedly added, “That was why you didn’t want Edwina to receive him!”
“Exactly,” he said, encouraged by her quick understanding. “I thought if he had true regard for Edwina, he would not have become enamoured of Mrs Porter. After all, he had met Edwina first, and had the opportunity to come to know and appreciate her sweet nature. If he then turned to Mrs Porter, he was a fool, and I shan’t have my sisters marrying fools.”
Her body seemed to relax a little against his. Encouraged, he went on.
“It seems to me from the first, my love, we did not trust each other. That has been the cause of much heartache, and our pride was such that we could not speak frankly about this. I hope in the future we shall always deal honestly with each other.”
“But — I cannot tell you — about those three months,” said Sonia, in a mournful tone.
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br /> “No, but I know about it,” he said quickly. “You must forgive me, darling, in your generosity. I was so furious, so upset by your leaving, I went to your uncle, and Jacob, and anyone I could think of. Jacob threatened to throw me out, your uncle insisted his lips were sealed. However, your kind uncle finally sent me to Nathan Rothschild.”
“You — know?” she whispered.
“Yes. He told me the whole story. Oh, Sonia, how could you have consented to such a mad undertaking? Your courage is as strong as your wilfulness! If I had known what you contemplated —” He paused and shuddered. “When I think of that dreadful journey, the dangers you encountered — I have had nightmares about them.”
“I had to go, for Beryl could not,” said Sonia. “And you — you did not seem to care — about me —”
He caressed her soft thin cheek, pressing back a lock of dark hair that had escaped her lace bonnet. “I understand, my love. But it must never, never, never happen again! There must be truth between us at all times. And I shall never let you risk such a journey again. No matter how worthy the cause,” he added grimly.
“I am so glad — that you know. I could not tell you, Alastair,” she said, with such wistful sadness that he had to tilt up her face and kiss her lips. He touched them with tenderness and gentleness. She seemed so fragile she might break.
“So — it will all be straightened out between us,” he said happily. “I shall take you to Fairley and you shall recover there, and our child will be born there. Will that make you happy, my love?”
“But you do not want — my child,” she whispered.
He frowned. “Not want it? What nonsense is this?” he snapped, forgetting his vow to be understanding and calm.
“Because — because — I am — who I am —”
“You are my Sonia,” he whispered against her lips, and kissed her passionately. “I love you, I adore you, and you shall not leave me again! We shall have the child, and another, and another —”
Now her cheeks began to turn pink, and the heat burned in them. She glanced once at his blazing blue eyes, and then away, shyly — it could not be true! She had lived so long with the idea that he detested her, distrusted her, hated her. Could he possibly love her?
Star Sapphire: Love and wild adventure in Regency England Page 25
