“Do you know why?” Gabriel asked despite his fear of the answer.
“People died because of you and the King must decide if you will live. I hope he has you strung up in the town square.” The last sentence came out in a rush.
Aha, Gabriel thought, there is the anger. It seemed to surprise even Pierre, who turned red and mumbled something as he pressed a hand to his stomach.
“Do you say that because I am enjoying this trip and you are not? Or because you think being caught is a crime worthy of death?”
“I think you must have done something awful to be put into prison. Killed someone. Or betrayed your country. I think Madame was being kind when she said that the French trapped you.”
No matter how free he felt in an open boat headed for home, this was the way it would be. A traitor carried the burden with him forever. “If you feel that strongly, why are you willing to talk with me?”
“If I am thinking about you, then I will not be thinking about being in this boat.”
“How practical you are, Pierre.”
“One must be to live, monsieur.”
“Yes, one must. I suppose that is something we both have learned even if we came to it by different paths.” Pierre had lost his innocence. Gabriel had lost his faith in everything but the way the stars glowed at night.
One learned so much in war that was better forgotten. Or at least not shared with someone so young. Surely there was a less difficult subject he and Pierre could discuss. Something that would distract the boy. It was in his best interest as well as Pierre’s that the child not become ill.
“Tell me,” Gabriel began, “have you ever examined the stars?”
“We were in the city and rarely out-of-doors at night, monsieur.”
“What a shame.” What else? Something that would not remind him that Madame Mama did not want them sharing confidences. “Did they have rats in your orphanage?”
“Yes, of course. I named some of them.”
“I had four that visited me regularly in prison. Only one that showed any boldness. Tell me what you observed of them at the orphanage.”
They were in the midst of a very satisfactory discussion of the rats’ eating habits when Georges called out.
“Regardez, madame.” Georges raised his chin to direct her attention. He had spoken quietly, since Claire had fallen asleep.
Pierre had the makings of a man of science. How else could you explain a discussion of rats so intense that they both failed to see the ship, easily in sight? It was surely less than a mile away. The British colors flew from the stern. A punch of relief made Gabriel draw in a quick breath.
He studied the sea out to the horizon. Then he looked back toward shore. Being caught between two enemy ships was in keeping with their day’s luck. Not another boat, ship or dinghy within sight. The land itself was no longer visible. The sea was the only reference point besides the sun, which was moving lower in the sky.
The British ship did not have many sails rigged. She moved slowly, as a ship on a blockade might do, even as it turned slightly, heading in their direction. Neither Georges nor Charlotte showed any concern. “Is that ship expecting us?”
“It is part of the blockade of French ports. They will stop anyone they see.” Georges spoke even as he ran a small orange pennant out the halyard. The ship responded by lowering the British flag to half-staff. Then raising it again. Georges nodded and set the tiller to bring them alongside the ship.
“This is how we are to reach England.” Charlotte was looking at Claire as she spoke, but the little girl was still asleep.
“I have always wanted to see a ship on the blockade,” Pierre said, his enthusiasm at odds with his inclination to sea-sickness. “I think it must be very exciting.”
“They have been patrolling the Channel for years, Pierre,” Gabe said. “Since before you were born. Boring is probably the best word to describe it.”
The boy nodded. “But there is always the chance a French ship will come along. Then it would not be boring.”
They debated the subject for twenty minutes, until the two vessels were cozied together. Gabriel added “skilled seaman” to Georges’s list of talents.
Once they were alongside the British ship, they stopped talking; it was a distraction the boy no longer needed. The crew was as noisy as their own small group was silent.
For his part, Gabriel was lending his whole mind and heart to the operation at hand. Moving them from the much smaller boat to the larger ship was a simple if delicate procedure. He would not cheer their escape until they were aboard.
A few minutes more and he could stop listing all the things that could still go wrong. His future was not that promising, but whatever it was would be more secure on a British naval vessel than a faux French fishing boat.
Calling actions to each other, two men from the ship lowered a rope ladder and a sling that Gabriel guessed was for those who were not up to a climb. Charlotte and the little girl were first. They did use the slinglike device. Charlotte and Georges talked with each other as he secured her and Claire in the seat, his movements sure and practical. How many times had they done this?
As the chair was raised the girl kept a stranglehold on Charlotte’s neck despite the constant stream of words her “mama” was whispering into the little one’s ear. She was an unconventional Madonna. As he watched, the thought flitted through his mind: Could it be, in this case at least, that Charlotte was not acting at all?
He lost the thought as Pierre startled him with a cheer when his sister was safely aboard. The boy was next. Pierre grabbed on to the rope ladder and hurried up the side as though the size of the British ship would ease his mal de mer. Gabriel followed him, without as much grace, but without embarrassing himself either. It was not until the crew began to pull the ladder up that he realized Georges was not coming with them.
He watched Georges steer the boat toward Le Havre. Not once did he look back. Why would he? The clutch of regret Gabriel felt surprised him. There would be no good-byes between them.
He turned to ask Charlotte what Georges would do, but she was on her knees comforting Claire, who was clearly exhausted, and most likely hungry. There was no sign of Pierre. Did that mean he was busy puking over the side?
A man in an officer’s uniform came up to Gabriel. “I am Mr. Burke, the first lieutenant. The captain and crew of the Diplomat are happy to welcome you and your family aboard, Mr. Parnell.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Gabriel said. So they were to maintain their masquerade as a family. “I thank you and all the crew for coming to our rescue.”
The lieutenant acknowledged the comment with a nod. “If the winds and tide cooperate, we should drop anchor in Portsmouth in less than a day.” Someone called to him and, with a word of apology, the lieutenant left them “only for a moment.”
Gabriel turned to Charlotte. “Thank you.” His heart was so full of feeling that he could not think of anything more to say.
“You are welcome, Lord Gabriel. Though I am not sure that returning you home is doing you any great favor.” She smiled at him with an affection that could not entirely be an act. He took her hand.
“Thank you,” he said more firmly. He squeezed her hand and ran his thumb over the knuckles. He wanted to kiss her. To sweep her into his arms and let her know exactly how grateful he was. “Because of you, I will see my family. I will be allowed to plead my case. It is a greater gift than you give yourself credit for.”
Was she embarrassed? She would not look at him, though she did not pull away.
The lieutenant came back to them. Gabriel tucked her hand into his arm. “As I said, we should reach Portsmouth within a day. This ship is your bit of England until then. Welcome home, sir.”
BOOK TWO
A Private Peace
England
Winter to Spring 1814
17
WELCOME HOME. Gabriel accepted the words with a smile. Let them run riot through his head and heart.
He blamed the water in his eyes on the wind. When his legs felt weak he did his best to rein in the maelstrom of sensibilities that ran the gamut from elation to despair. What he really wanted to do was race up to the foretop and shout his gratitude.
The lieutenant was kind enough to give him a moment to entertain his thoughts. Then he cleared his throat. “If you will collect your family, sir, I will show you to your quarters. I am sure all of you are hungry and tired.”
Tired. Yes, they were, especially since that sounded like an order. Gabriel crossed the deck. He spoke to Charlotte. He discovered that Pierre was so far from unwell that he had found a bunch of boys his age and was climbing the lower rigging. Gabriel herded his group back to the lieutenant.
Amidst a flurry of introductions and an audience of curious seamen, they were shown to a cabin that must be the lieutenant’s own.
“Are we displacing you, Lieutenant? My apologies,” Gabriel said. In fact, it was an amazing amount of space on a ship that crammed the seamen in hammocks belowdecks. It was two rooms actually: a working space, and through a door a smaller sleeping area, with a bunk that filled most of the room.
“No, sir, this is not mine. This ship normally carries diplomats, and this cabin is designated for the head of the party. The captain thought you would be more comfortable here.”
“Please thank him for us,” Charlotte said, speaking to the lieutenant for the first time. “And I would also appreciate it if you would ask someone to rig a hammock in the other room.”
She gave no reason for her request and the lieutenant was apparently too much of a gentleman to ask. “Of course, Mrs. Parnell” was all he said without so much as a curious look as to why a wife would not wish to sleep with her husband. The lieutenant gave all his attention to Gabriel. “We have some food on the table for you and your family, sir.” Gabriel lifted the napkin covering a plate and found, of course, cheese and the Royal Navy version of bread.
“Thank you,” Gabriel said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.
“I will leave you to eat and then show you how to rig the hammocks so you can rest. The captain wants you to stay below until we are well away from these waters.” With a nod, the lieutenant left the cabin.
Gabriel walked to the door.
“Are you waiting to see if he locks it?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes,” he admitted. He was feeling generous at the moment. If he could make her laugh, even if it was at his expense, then he would allow it. “How long before I stop wondering who trusts me and who does not? A year? Never?”
“No one will trust you until you trust yourself,” she said, walking closer.
“You mean that not all prisons have walls and locks?”
“Very good, my lord.” Her face was set, her eyes unforgiving. “We know better than most that regret can hold the heart prisoner as sure as chains.”
“I would not wish it on anyone.”
“Oh, you are more generous than I am.” Charlotte spoke with a quiet anger. “But it was an empty wish. He had no heart to be so burdened.”
She turned to the children as if one had called her. It was more likely that she had regretted the words as soon as they were spoken.
“Is it odd that we have not yet met the captain?”
She was cutting the ship’s biscuit into small bits and adding a little milk to it.
“I am sure the captain has more important matters to attend to.”
“A mutiny to quell? A daily report to complete? They were obviously sent to collect us from Georges. We are the important matters, Charlotte.”
She shrugged and shook her head, her Gallic version of “Leave me alone.”
“Here, Claire,” she said, “have some bread and milk and then a little bit of cheese.”
“I hate bread and milk. I never want to eat it again.” The tyke covered her mouth with her hands even as she spoke.
“When we reach home you may eat just the food you wish, but for now you must stay strong. Eat.” Charlotte looked at Gabriel as she spoke.
“Yes, Mama,” Gabriel said, hoping she was the only one who heard his sarcasm. He agreed completely with Claire. He reached for his own portion. He hoped there were no weevils, even if he did need the nourishment.
Pierre wanted only the crumbly biscuit. Gabriel took his side when Charlotte wanted the boy to eat more.
Even as they bickered over the details of their supper he marveled at how much like a family they sounded. The sulking, tired little one. The boy who wanted to play. The papa who picked his battles so carefully. The mama who was the one truly in charge.
He thought of his own mother. She’d been gone for so long he could barely recall her face. What he could remember was her infinite patience, one virtue none of them had inherited.
He saw some of that in Charlotte as she badgered the children to eat a little more. He suspected her longing to love had been buried so deep that it only showed in a loving gesture. The sweep of her hand over the child’s hair. The gift of her body to a lover.
That she had the capacity to love, he had no doubt. Would she ever speak the words I love you? Had his mother heard them from his father, he wondered. Not likely.
They finished the food with some effort. The children drank the milk. Charlotte and Gabriel finished the grog that had been left for them.
When Gabriel opened the door to find the lieutenant, he saw a rough-looking fellow standing to the side in the passageway. With a knuckle to his forehead the man asked permission to come in. He proceeded to clear away the plates and bowls.
Another seaman raised the table, fastening it so that it lay against the hull. The first came back. He began to hang the hammocks from bolts overhead.
Charlotte picked up Claire. She settled the child in the first hammock. Claire was asleep before she could choose between terror and curiosity. Hopefully there would be no bad dreams. Pierre was fascinated. He scrambled into his hammock with no help. Gabriel could not imagine that the swinging motion would be good for the boy’s sensitive stomach. Hopefully Pierre would fall asleep as quickly as his sister had.
The first seaman moved into the small sleeping space, rigging a third hammock.
Gabriel sat in it, pulled off his jacket and pushed off his shoes. He swung his feet up and stretched out, struggling to put his jacket behind his head to use as a pillow.
He settled, watching as Charlotte pulled her dress over her head and loosed the front-lacing stays. Draping the two garments carefully at the foot of the bed, she slid between the blankets, using her chemise as a nightgown.
“I am thinking the hammock is much more comfortable than that bed,” he said.
“Is that an invitation?”
“No, Charlotte,” he said, more sharply than he intended. “I was asking if you would prefer to trade.”
“I have had the chance to sleep in one before. I imagine that the swing of the hammock is the one sweet comfort of a sailor’s life, but the bunk will suit me well enough.”
“There must be comforts besides this one. The stars at night?”
“Is that enough to make up for the crowded quarters, the uncertainty of life at sea, the possibility of attack?”
“How different is that from men who live ashore? There is the same order of men aboard ship. The one with the greatest responsibility eats and sleeps better than the others. In the end, however, they all must face death with nothing but their immortal soul.”
She was quiet so long, he thought she might have fallen asleep. “For some people that would be a comfort, my lord.”
“Who faces death without fear?”
“Those who have sought forgiveness for their wrongs, lived a just life, always done the best they could, honored the greatest commandment.” She was quiet, then added in a whisper, “Love one another.”
“If any such people exist, do introduce them to me.” He stifled a laugh. Her cynicism was contagious.
“There are more than you can know. If one believes your stor
y, Gabriel Pennistan, then you are one.”
He turned to see if she was joking.
She was watching him through eyes that were wet with tears. “You are one. And so am I.”
“Yes, you are one, Charlotte. But the penance of this life is surely more than God would ever demand.”
She turned her head away and was silent a long time. “There are times,” she said, facing him again, her eyes dry, “there are times when a lie can represent a greater truth. I hope,” she paused, “no, I have faith that God is not a prisoner of our beliefs or our limited imaginations.”
“Not a prisoner of our beliefs,” he repeated, trying to grasp her meaning. “It is as liberating a concept as I have ever heard, Charlotte Parnell.” Put into words by someone most would not think to listen to.
“Liberating? Or possibly a damning one.” This time she turned fully away from him. “Go to sleep, Gabriel.”
“Only if you will too, Charlotte.” He fell asleep before she answered him, with the thought that her command had cast a spell.
18
HE AWOKE TO dark and the sense of being bound and carried. Where was he, what was this? Fighting against the covering, he pushed up with a gasp. A hammock, he realized. He was in a hammock; the movement was the ship, taking him away from France. He was closer to home than he had been since that misguided trip with Rhys Braedon more than two years ago.
Gabriel’s heartbeat steadied. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dark. Night light drifted through the overhead transom. He needed to be outside. To breathe in fresh air. He grabbed his jacket and swung himself out of the hammock, determined to sneak out without waking Charlotte. He looked to her bed to see how soundly she slept.
Her bed was empty. Her stays and dress were gone as well. Gabriel ripped the blanket from her bed, bundled it into a ball and threw it. Who was she trysting with now?
CHARLOTTE KNOCKED on the door of the captain’s cabin and, at the “Enter,” opened it and slipped in, closing the door as quietly as she could.
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