The Night Angel

by T. Davis Bunn

  When she finally stopped, the kitchen was filled with the fragrances of roasting meat and fresh spices. Her mother toyed with her tiny spoon and avoided her daughter’s eyes. “Stories upon stories,” she murmured.

  “I did not mean to disturb you, Mama. Perhaps I should not have spoken so.” Serafina saw anew the fresh lines of age and worry in her mother’s lovely features and blinked back tears over being the cause. “If only I could change all the mistakes I have made.”

  “Daughter, if I could wind back the hands of time, I would have done so long ago. We do not regret the past mistakes. We move on.” The way her mother spoke left Serafina in no doubt that she had often repeated the words to herself. Bettina met her daughter’s gaze. “I was just thinking on how you have grown in these past few months.”

  Serafina could not help but release tears. “Never did I imagine that the world could hold such sorrow.”

  “Or joy,” her mother admonished. “Never forget that.”

  “No, Mama. You are right. Or joy.”

  Serafina was startled to hear her father say, “The Vienna royals are involved in the slave trade.”

  “Papa, I did not know you were there.”

  Bettina obviously did not share her daughter’s surprise, for she merely said, “Would you care for coffee, husband?”

  “Half a cup, perhaps.”

  She rose to fetch a cup and saucer. “Join us, dear.”

  “Thank you.” He seated himself at the head of the table. “I did not want to disturb your conversation, but I could not help but listen.”

  “I have no secrets from you, Papa.” The contrast her simple statement made to the previous summer, when she had lived for a secret love, one that tore their family apart, almost reduced her to tears.

  “There, there. None of that. We are here, we are together, and as your mother has said, you have indeed grown.” Alessandro patted his daughter’s hand, then continued to the two women, “The Hapsburgs have no direct holdings in Africa. But they are partnered with their Belgian cousins.”

  “And the Portuguese,” her mother added, pouring her husband a cup of coffee. “In Africa and Brazil both.”

  A thought struck her. “The legate, Prince Fritz-Heinrich?”

  “His family partners with others whose empire is based upon sugar and slaves. He accepted this posting so as to keep an eye on their American buyers,” Alessandro said, stirring in sugar. “As vile a business as ever there was.”

  Serafina recalled the confrontation with the legate. “I meant no harm to your concerns, Father.”

  “Slavery has never been a concern of mine, nor of any on the merchant council. I have made sure of that.” He sipped his coffee. “I am proud of you, daughter.”

  Her mother asked, “Are you bored here, Serafina?”

  “How could I be, Mama? I am here with you!”

  “It is a valid question,” Alessandro said. “You have played a role in mighty deeds. You have traveled and you have matured. Yet here in Washington you have remained hidden away in the back rooms of the legate’s manor.”

  “I have used the time to sketch and draw,” Serafina said. She heard more than the question. She heard the tone in which they spoke to her. As a beloved daughter, yes. But also as an adult. She gave the question the attention it deserved. Serafina had no idea what she wanted or did not want, which was very odd, for previously she had been a headstrong and independent young lady. Just now, she was content to remain at her parents’ side. “All I have thought of up to now is being with you both again. And healing. And restoring our family.”

  Bettina gripped her daughter’s hands with both of hers, sharing a long look with her husband. But before she could speak, the front door crashed back and they heard Mary cry, “Miss Gavi!”

  “In the kitchen.”

  The young maid who had accompanied her from London came rushing back, followed by Gerald Rivens. Her eyes were as wild as her hair. “I have terrible news!”

  Chapter 6

  They were still deep in worry and discussion when Falconer returned. That is, Serafina’s father and mother were talking. Serafina had little to say. Gerald Rivens was naturally silent. Alessandro Gavi paced while his wife alternated between checking on the meal and wringing her hands in a most Italian fashion. Mary stood by the back window alongside Rivens while she took tentative sips from her cup.

  Her parents were clearly displeased when Falconer appeared with a stranger in tow. It took Serafina a moment to recognize the newcomer as the young man from the hotel lobby. After Falconer had introduced him as Nathan Baring, her father gave a perfunctory bow and said, “You must forgive us, sir, but now is not at all a good time. We have urgent matters to discuss with Falconer.”

  Falconer inspected each face in turn. “You’ve heard, then.”

  “Heard?”

  “About the legate’s new threat.”

  Alessandro sank down into a chair. “How . . .”

  Nathan Baring held his dark hat with the black silk stripe in both hands. “You will not remember me, sir, but I was in attendance at the legate’s court last Saturday.”

  Her father’s gaze tightened. “I don’t understand. You are a courtier?”

  “Diplomat, sir,” Baring corrected. “My present duties require that I attend the legate on occasion.”

  “Nathan has friends in court,” Falconer added.

  “Allies,” Baring said. “I would hardly call them friends.”

  “You mean spies,” Alessandro interpreted.

  Baring’s only response was to twist the rim of his hat in his hands.

  Serafina offered, “Mary gave us the warning.”

  Falconer noticed the young woman’s nervousness in this company. He gestured Nathan into a chair, then pulled another near Mary. He slipped off his coat and pulled in close. “I’d be most grateful if you’d tell me what you heard.”

  “I already told them everything I know, sir.”

  “I’m not a sir, lass. You know that full well, don’t you? I’m just a man trying to do his duty to the Gavis and to God, just as you.” His gentle tone and his sheer presence shut out the others in the room. “It would help me a great deal if I could hear it straight from you.”

  Gerald Rivens patted the young woman’s arm. “Go on, Mary. We’re among friends here.”

  “Well, sir. I made friends belowstairs at the legate’s. Not many, mind. Just two. One works in the kitchen. The other is maid to the princess.”

  “She and the legate do not see much of one another,” Falconer commented.

  “That they do not, sir. It was an arranged marriage, so it was. And the legate, well, he’s not what you might call a gentleman.” She blushed and twisted her fingers together.

  Falconer nodded encouragement. “So you heard something from the upstairs maid.”

  “She attends the same church as us, sir. She came to me today with the most dreadful news.” She cast a nervous glance at Nathan Baring.

  Falconer understood perfectly. “I trust this gentleman, Mary. I suggest you do the same. He will not say a word that might endanger anyone.”

  “I will speak of this to no one,” Nathan promised.

  “Well, sir. She told me of a conversation. One the princess heard. Between the legate and another man. The prince, sir, he has a man on his staff. A man the others don’t care to talk about. He chills the blood, so they say.”

  “His name?”

  “My friend doesn’t know, sir. I asked her the very same thing. She said it was best not to know too much about this man.”

  “So the legate has a frightening man who does his bidding,” Falconer repeated, his voice low and very assuring. “This is most helpful, Mary. I am ever so grateful to you for this information. Did your friend happen to say anything about the man’s appearance?”

  “Tall, he is. Tall and slender. He wears a hooded dark cloak when he comes. And he only comes at night. That’s all she said.”

  “He’s a mercenary,
” Gerald Rivens put in. “His name is Vladimir.”

  Mary shivered at the way Gerald said the name.

  “You’ve seen him?” Falconer asked.

  “Never had the chance,” Gerald replied. “Never sought one either.”

  Gerald Rivens was so spare Serafina would not have imagined it possible for his features to tighten further. But she observed his face become even more taut and pale. Serafina was struck by the impression that these two men, Falconer and Rivens, held a common quality. It was not in physical appearance, for Rivens was as slight as Falconer was massive. Yet they understood each other so well a subtle communication passed between the two men at a level far below words.

  “A ghost, is he,” Falconer said.

  “By training and preference,” Rivens confirmed. “I’ve heard tell he was on the king’s staff back in Vienna. He came from somewhere else. He did the king’s bidding, and afterward he had to flee.”

  “An act so vile not even a king could protect him,” Falconer mused. “Vladimir must be an evil man indeed.”

  “You know how people belowstairs are given to talk,” Riv-ens said. “They’ll make dervishes of anything they don’t understand.”

  “But you don’t think that’s the case here. Do you.”

  Rivens gave Mary a glance, then looked back to Falconer, saying in gesture more clearly than words what he thought. “I saw his horse once. Biggest steed I’ve ever come across. Must have been all of twenty-one hands. Black as night. Saddle to match. Long-bore musket holster. Carried three blades. A saber in a special scabbard, one that tied to his girdle so as not to flap about. Two small knives hidden in the saddle itself.”

  “Throwing blades?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  Falconer nodded once, then turned back to Mary. “We know what comes next, lass. So you mustn’t be worried over what you have to say.”

  But the conversation between Falconer and Rivens had left the young woman so rattled she clung to Serafina’s hand and said nothing. Falconer nodded, as though he both understood and accepted. He said softly, “The legate and this strange man, they talked about doing someone harm, didn’t they.” He waited through a time, then continued at slightly more than a whisper. “And it wasn’t the Gavis they were discussing. Was it.”

  She shook her head in a slow sweep back and forth.

  “Who did the prince tell his man to go after, Mary?”

  She whispered, “You.”

  The difference between her parents and Falconer was brought into sharpest contrast during the next hour. Alessandro Gavi and Nathan Baring talked the language of diplomacy, working through what the discussions meant. How the words might have been misinterpreted. What the legate was after. How they might proceed. Falconer said nothing, not even to respond when asked a direct question. Instead, he leaned forward and had a very quiet word with Gerald Rivens. The man nodded, then drew Mary from her seat and together they left the kitchen. When Alessandro demanded to know where they were going, Falconer replied simply, “They’ll be back shortly.”

  Serafina rose to help her mother with the meal. Bettina Gavi was so distracted she accomplished very little save get in the way. Her clearest impression from the discussion was that Nathan Baring was a remarkable gentleman. He was handsome, yes, but Serafina had met so many handsome men the physical aspects had come to mean very little to her. The young lord at Harrow Hall had been attractive in a coarse and loutish way. As had her lying paramour in Venice. Luca. She shivered at the recollection of that man.

  “I do not know what your secret mission may be,” Nathan Baring was saying. “Nor do I ask. I might suggest, however, how the legate could fit in to this.”

  “By all means,” Alessandro Gavi replied.

  “I do not know where your own sentiments lie, sir. And I mean no offense. I must tell you, though, straight out, that I stand in lifelong opposition to the slave trade. Were I called, I would offer my own life in sacrifice to this cause.”

  The meal’s preparations were almost complete. Serafina slipped the rosemary-flecked panini into the oven, just as her mother had taught her during the months since she had joined them in Washington. Back in Venice she had done no kitchen work at all. In fact, she would have been hard put to boil water. Serafina smiled wryly as she checked the fire grate to ensure the coals were cooked down to a steady heat. She adjusted the bread tray and slid it in beside the high-edged pan of cannelloni alla primavera that she and her mother had prepared that morning. And she listened.

  “The Gavis are opposed to slavery,” Alessandro stated gravely. “Now, in the past, and for all our days to come.”

  “I am most heartened, sir. Falconer had assured me of it, but still I am very glad to hear this from your own lips. For I must tell you, the legate is deeply involved.”

  “We know of this.”

  “Of course you do. What you may not realize, sir, is that the issue has become a dividing line among the nations we call allies.” Nathan Baring’s tone hardened to the sound of stone striking stone. “Mark my words, sir. A war is coming.”

  Serafina felt a shiver down her spine at the dire prediction.

  “I can only hope you are wrong,” her father responded.

  “I offer my own prayers every night that this is the case. But the southern states have come to rely on this source of cheap labor and easy profit. We men of conscience cannot abide this poison within the body of our good nation. The slave owners say they will never relinquish this power. And we say they must.”

  “War,” Alessandro sighed, shaking his head.

  “Allies are being sought by both sides. Lines are being drawn in the sand. It will not come this year, or next. Perhaps not for a decade. But come it will.”

  Serafina used the soft towel to lift the coffee pot from the stove’s warming corner. She moved around the table, filling the demitasses. She used the opportunity to study this young gentleman. Nathan Baring had the intent focus she had come to associate with others who had influenced her past—Falconer, Gareth and Erica Powers, and many of those who had worked among the Wilberforce community. He spoke with the determination of a man who was committed heart and soul. A man who knew his calling, and obeyed. She shivered again and this time did not understand why.

  “Our current mission must remain confidential, sir,” her father was saying. “I must tell you, though, that it is not tied to the slave issue. Not at all.”

  As she turned away, Serafina felt eyes upon her. She looked over and saw that Falconer had observed her studying Nathan Baring. His dark gaze held a multitude of emotions and silent communications. How well he could read her. And she him.

  Nathan Baring countered, “If your mission has anything to do with money or power, the legate will judge you as either friend or foe. Are you an ally or an adversary, sir? That is the simple question before the legate.”

  “Venice has been a part of the Austrian Empire for a hundred years,” Alessandro Gavi replied. “Napoleon conquered us, and when the Hapsburg king swore allegiance, Napoleon gave us back. That is the simple answer.”

  “It is a diplomat’s answer,” Baring stated, then rose to his feet. He set a calling card before Falconer. “Mr. Falconer, if there is anything I can do, you must please call upon me. My private address is on the back. Day or night, sir. Day or night.”

  Alessandro rose with his guest. “Might I ask what draws such allegiance from you for our household, sir? We are, after all, complete strangers.”

  “I feel I have known of Falconer and your daughter since last summer’s triumph, sir.”

  “Excuse me, my daughter?”

  “The pamphlet drawings,” Bettina Gavi said. “The acts of the British Parliament to abolish slavery.”

  “Just so. The impact of your daughter’s artwork and Falconer’s testimony before Parliament could not be overestimated.” He bowed. “Falconer, Miss Gavi, I am your servant. Good day, all.”

  There was a long moment of silence after Alessand
ro Gavi saw their guest out of the house. He returned to the kitchen table and studied his hands. Serafina walked over and seated herself beside him. All eyes were upon the older gentleman when he said, “Wheels within wheels, threats from all sides.” He looked at Falconer and demanded, “What do you make of this?”

  “They have decided you are too protected. I am the natural target.”

  “Natural,” Bettina repeated softly, shaking her head. “Oh, this is so disturbing.”

  Falconer was unperturbed. “They want to stop this threat to their profitable gold trade. They also know the Venice merchants oppose their slave ventures. They want to halt any such opposition. They assume I am here to help you. Clearly I am not simply a guard. Plus, if Nathan knows of my actions in England, so will others.”

  Serafina could tell her father was deeply torn between the danger and the need. She asked for them all, “What will you do?”

  “That is simple enough,” Falconer said. “I shall leave tonight.”

  There was a general cry of protest from those at the table. Finally Alessandro said, “They have threatened you!”

  “Sir,” Falconer replied calmly. “This is what I do.”

  Alessandro Gavi leaned back in his seat. “What of my lawyer’s struggle?”

  “Give me the documents. I will carry them with me to that town you mentioned.”

  “Charlotte.”

  “Let me see what I can discover. That is what we want above all, is it not? Answers. Answers and gold.”

  Serafina could not recall seeing her father so distressed as he replied, “We pile one debt upon another. And now we put your life in peril.”

  Chapter 7

  As the result of a note from Falconer, Reginald and Lillian Langston arrived early that evening. Bettina Gavi’s worry over Falconer was tangled with concerns that her first dinner party in her new home was to be disrupted. Other than Serafina, however, it was doubtful that anyone else noticed. Their guests were accompanied by a doctor named Rutherford, a stern-looking gentleman with a silver handlebar moustache and the reddest cheeks Serafina had ever seen. He took one look at Falconer and declared, “I do believe the Lord God gave you a double measure of substance, sir.”