Heirs of Acadia - 03 - The Noble Fugitive

by T. Davis Bunn

  “Others might reply that God’s servant should set his hand to whatever task is placed before him.”

  “Well, I never.” She arranged the loaves for airing, her eyes never leaving him for long. “What do they call you?”

  “Brother John.”

  “I am Mavis. But most around this house know me as Cook.”

  “Your servant, ma’am.”

  “And what brings you to my dusty hearth, Brother John?”

  “I seek a bit of milk and sweetie biscuit.”

  “Is that a fact.” The edges of her mouth tugged upward. “Is that imp out of bed again?”

  “What imp might that be, ma’am?”

  Mavis laughed aloud and waved a finger at him. “You’re no good at playing the innocent, not with that great ragged slice running down your face. So you might as well not try.”

  “I see I am defeated.”

  “Aye, that you are, sir.” The woman drew down a bowl, pulled half a biscuit from a jar, and crumbled that inside. Then she hefted a large white pitcher, removed the cheesecloth from its mouth, and poured the cup half full. “She’s captured your heart, has she?”

  Falconer did not need to ask whom she meant. “Indeed so, ma’am.”

  “I’ve raised five daughters of my own and seen twice that number run through this kitchen in the fourteen years I’ve worked for the family. And never have I known such a one as Hannah.” She took a silver baby spoon from the table drawer and stirred the mixture. “Can’t imagine what it’ll be like ’round here when she returns home. Empty, my poor old heart will be. Empty and missing a little angel with eyes like the noonday sun.”

  “And her smile,” Falconer murmured. “I am fortunate she is not older, for when she smiled at me I should have fallen and never managed to rise.”

  The cook eyed him fondly now, her former reserve gone. “Aye, she’s captured you sure enough.”

  She handed him the cup. “Mind that tiny creature doesn’t eat too much or too fast. If only it could teach the imp to eat a proper meal, I’d count myself satisfied to let her go.”

  The kitten might have been both tiny and very young, but it knew enough to recognize food. The effect of Falconer returning with the bowl and spoon spurred it into action. Hannah opened the curtains so they could enjoy the kitten’s antics. As Falconer lowered himself, careful not to spill the bowl’s contents, the cat danced about him. Had it been a month older and stronger, Falconer was certain it would have climbed him like a tree.

  Falconer offered Hannah the bowl. “Do you want the honors?”

  “Oh no,” she replied, her beaming face brighter than the sunlight streaming through the window beside them. “I want to watch.”

  The cat certainly did make for good theater. Falconer seated himself and crossed his legs in the space between them. The cat appeared boneless as it slid around his legs and crawled about his boots and cried in a most plaintive manner. When Falconer did not act fast enough, the kitten clambered into his lap, planted two paws on his shirt, and cried mournfully up at his face.

  “You little scoundrel,” he said. “What a noisy little beast you are.”

  Hannah clasped both hands over her mouth and giggled.

  He gripped the cat firmly with his left hand and set the bowl on the floor to his right. The cat did not like being held this far from its food and squirmed and protested magnificently. “The cook warned me not to let it eat too fast.”

  “Once I let Ferdinand eat from the bowl, and he almost drowned.”

  Whether the kitten was of the male persuasion, Falconer had no idea. But he liked the cat’s spirit. “You would make a grand ship’s cat.”

  “Oh no,” Hannah said. “Ferdinand is to stay with me.”

  “Of course he will.” Falconer filled the silver spoon with milk and biscuit and brought it to the cat. “Anyone can see the pair of you are inseparable.”

  The cat was intent upon devouring the spoon as well as the food. Moreover it wished to eat with both forepaws as well as its mouth. A good deal of the milk was splashed upon Falconer’s knee. But he did not mind, for the girl’s laughter filled the room with a rare gemlike quality. He gave her surreptitious glances as he spooned milk and biscuit for the kitten. Hannah’s features were so finely drawn as to appear ethereal, too delicate to reside firmly upon this harsh realm. Dark plum-colored smudges encircled her eyes. Her skin was translucent, such that Falconer imagined he could study not merely her face but the flame of life itself.

  He was filled with a sudden illogical desire to do all he possibly could to protect this child from any peril.

  The girl noticed his gaze then. She did not shy away but instead met his stare full on, as would a woman thrice her age. Her soft laughter died away. Her eyes, the color of smoke upon a winter’s sky, seemed to open until he could look straight into her very soul.

  So it was that the pair of them were discovered. The door opened and a man’s voice said, “What’s this, then?”

  Falconer rose swiftly to his feet, cradling the cat in his left arm. “Your pardon, sir.”

  The man bore the same half moons beneath his eyes as his daughter. For father he was, there was no mistaking the resemblance. Despite the day’s growing heat, he wore a quilted robe belted about his waist. Beneath were rumpled nightclothes and slippers. He carried himself at a slight crouch, as though fighting against both his evident weakness and some internal pain. Yet even in this weakened state, he held a remarkable sense of power.

  “I see you have met my Hannah,” the man observed dryly.

  Falconer sensed he faced an officer of one sort or another, a leader of men. And he responded in proper fashion. “I meant no disrespect to you or your family, sir.”

  “Indeed.” The man examined his daughter. “Were you not meant to be asleep?”

  The child remained seated upon the floor. “Ferdinand was hungry.”

  “Any excuse will do in an emergency,” he said, but he was smiling now.

  Falconer hazarded to add softly, “Any port in a storm.”

  The man’s focus returned to him. “You were a ship’s officer?”

  The kitten did not like being ignored like this and began mewing and impatiently patting Falconer’s hand. “At one time, sir.”

  “A pirate?”

  It was a fair question, Falconer knew. The scar on his face was not the only aspect of his demeanor that shouted of such a life. Even so, the query stung. He would have liked to be considered a better man. Not to mention how the child continued to observe him in wide-eyed silence. “I have been many things, sir. Most of them foul. But never a pirate.”

  “My friend tells me he feels God’s hand is upon you.” He glanced down at his daughter. “And clearly my Hannah thinks highly of you. For you are the first outside the family she has let handle her new friend.”

  Falconer glanced down at the squirming kitten. This news made the young child’s calm acceptance even more precious. “I find myself deeply moved by your daughter, sir.”

  “As are many. But in your case the sentiment seems to be reciprocated.”

  Hannah coughed once, then said, “I like him, Papa.”

  “So I gather.” Weak as he was, the man’s eyes held the force of an iron grip. “The question is, can we trust him?”

  “I seek only to serve my Lord, sir.”

  “You will excuse me for saying that coming from a man such as yourself, the words seem astonishing.”

  “Nonetheless they are true.” Falconer took a breath, wishing anew that he had been a better man. “I stand as living testimony that no matter how dark a life, no matter how far a man has strayed, Christ still can offer both salvation and hope.”

  “Amen,” the young pastor murmured over the shoulder of Hannah’s father. “I say, amen.”

  Gareth Powers’s scrutiny bit deep. Falconer felt as though the gentleman examined the very depths of his being. Then, in the space of a mere heartbeat, he faltered. Falconer actually saw his strength fade, li
ke a candle puffed out by a sudden gust of feverish wind. Gareth Powers folded in upon himself.

  Had Falconer not been there to catch him, he would have collapsed to the floor. Hannah cried and rose to her feet. The pastor rushed forward to help, but Falconer already had the man’s weight in his grip. “Allow me to help you.”

  “Papa!”

  “It’s all right, daughter. Nothing save a passing spell,” he murmured, then permitted Falconer to hold him about the chest. “The bedroom at the top of the stairs, if you please.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  The stairway was a tight fit for two men moving together. Falconer turned sideways and hefted his charge until the man’s feet scarcely touched the steps.

  He could hear the man’s labored breathing. Falconer brought him into the bedroom and eased him down onto the bed. But when he made to leave, the man said, “Stay, if you would.”

  “Perhaps you should rest.”

  “I have rested until this bed has become my prison.” But as he spoke, he settled himself beneath the covers. “I find myself sharing my friend’s assessment of you, though I cannot say for certain why. And I fear that my fevered state has left me unable to trust my instincts and clarity of vision.”

  “I can only repeat what I have said before, sir. I seek only to be a worthy servant of our one true Lord.”

  “Your words are a genuine tonic.” The man’s eyelids began to sink. “I find we have need of your strength, my daughter and I. Would you be willing to sign on as our traveling companion?” He forced his eyes open.

  “I could not promise to remain with you for very long, sir. I am on a mission of some urgency.”

  “You seek passage to England, is that not so?”

  “With all possible haste.”

  “You have visited the ship at anchor in Georgetown?”

  “As fleet a vessel as ever I have laid eyes on.”

  “The doctor tells me I should permit the vessel to depart without us and seek passage later in the season. But I am impatient to return to my wife and our own shared mission.” He rounded his eyes in an attempt to remain fully alert. “I feel certain that were we to have a trusted ally on whose strength we could rely, the journey itself would do us a world of good.”

  “On the doctor’s advice I cannot speak, sir. But for myself, nothing would do me more honor than to assist you and your daughter through the journey.”

  The former intensity returned to his gaze. “I don’t believe I have introduced myself. Gareth Powers is my name.”

  Falconer bowed slightly. “Your servant, sir.”

  “And you are?” When Falconer hesitated to respond, Gareth added, “I am known as one who safeguards many secrets.”

  Falconer recognized there was no way forward but in honesty. Not with this man. “John Falconer, at your service. Late of Trinidad and Grenada.”

  “I understand there are men seeking to do you harm.”

  “For crimes I had no hand in, save sharing the same mission as the brother who met an untimely end.”

  “Talk of your mission shall have to wait. For the moment, I would ask that we pray together.”

  The request was utterly unexpected. “Sir?”

  “I find there is much to be learned from how a man addresses his Maker.”

  Slowly Falconer lowered himself, this time to kneel beside the bed. He bowed his head and said, “Father, I know thy mercy has no earthly bounds. The fact that I am here today is all the evidence I require. Thou knowest my mission, and my urgency. If it is thy will that this man and his daughter trust me to serve them, please grant them the clarity of vision to see thy hand at work. I ask forgiveness for all my multitude of failings and weaknesses, so many they are beyond count. I ask for thy wisdom and strength. For without thee, dear Lord, I am nothing. Nothing save dust and mortal loss. Humbly do I pray in the Lord Jesus’ name, amen.”

  Falconer felt not so much ashamed by his words as exposed. Never before had he expressed himself in prayer so openly before a stranger. He was slow in raising his head, fearing what he might find in the man’s gaze.

  But Gareth Powers was sound asleep.

  Chapter 7

  Carla was a slender young woman who moved so silently most people did not even notice her passage. Which was perhaps her intent. Serafina had never thought about such things before. Now, however, when so much rested upon Carla being able to do what she said she would, Serafina found such matters of critical importance. Carla seemed able to float through a room, moving from shadow to shadow in utter silence. When some new chore needing doing, her mother usually found another servant for the task. Carla was, Serafina supposed, quite clever in a strange sort of way.

  Today her cleverness paid off superbly. For when Carla brought the morning tray, she appeared to have gained a substantial amount of weight overnight. Her middle in particular seemed rather distended. But her wraithlike movements meant she had been able to slip through the house unnoticed.

  Even so, the woman was perspiring and breathing heavily. She did not even bother to set the tray down before hissing, “Show me.”

  Serafina drew the pearls from her pocket. “And now you.”

  Carla hefted her apron. Wrapped about her middle was a full set of clothing, the kind a manservant would wear. There were dark breeches and a white shirt with sleeves that tied about the wrists. The matching vest had black cloth buttons. “These were the smallest I could find.” She untied her apron and released the burden at her back. This proved to be a crushed tricorn servant’s hat tied with twine about a pair of buckled shoes. “You can stuff the shoes with your drawing paper.”

  It was a good idea. Serafina liked the fact that Carla had been giving this careful thought. She handed the maid her pearls as if they were of no consequence, only a means to what was truly important. She quickly lifted her own skirts and stepped into the pants. They were loose but would suffice.

  Suddenly the entire affair came into sharp focus. I am going to do this. The air seemed to have been sucked from the room, it was so hard to find breath. “Is the housecleaning schedule the same?” Serafina demanded.

  Carla’s eyes swiveled to the jewel box. “Show me the comb.”

  Serafina did not hesitate. She unlocked the box and withdrew her final treasure. Her finest. It was a hair comb of jade so pale it looked like translucent glass. It had come all the way from China and was very old. The jade was curved slightly, carved into a series of teeth as long as her fingers. At the crest were two doves kissing.

  Serafina held the comb tightly as she lifted it for inspection. Carla’s eyes held a hunger that was almost violent in its intensity. Serafina let Carla look for a long moment, then slipped the comb into her pocket. Carla’s focus remained upon the unseen comb.

  “When do they begin?” Serafina demanded.

  “In an hour.”

  “How will you do this?”

  “The signora used to ask me to return the key every time I brought you your meals. But now she lets me keep it. She only asks for it if she or your father are coming for a visit.”

  This was what Carla had said before. But it was vital to be certain. “You will come for me when they are busiest?”

  Carla nodded slowly. “I will come.”

  The activities of the house grew around her. Serafina knew the rhythm so well she could follow all the actions, confined though she was in her room. The first Wednesday of each month, three footmen from her father’s office arrived. Together with the house staff, they moved all the heavy furniture. They rolled back the carpets, carried them downstairs, and beat the dust out of them. They aired out the mattresses and bed linens. They polished the floors. Then they replaced all the carpets and the mattresses and the furniture. It was a long and arduous day. Everyone knew what was required and moved swiftly about his task with little conversation.

  Serafina dressed in the men’s clothing, using the spare moments to stitch up the shirt and pants so they fit her better. She took her time. T
here was little chance her mother would visit on such a busy day. Her father never ventured near the house on cleaning days. Serafina shredded several sheets of her drawing paper and wadded it into the toes and heels of her shoes. She was careful not to make the fit too tight. She might have to walk for a very long time.

  She knotted her hair and stuffed it down the back of her shirt. She buttoned the vest, fitted the tricorn hat down tightly, then examined her reflection in the mirror. Even in the chamber’s half-light she could see strands of her shimmering hair. She took off the hat and pulled her simplest scarf from her top drawer. Sometimes the footmen knotted a bandanna about their foreheads to keep the sweat from their eyes. She tied the scarf about her head and knotted it at the back. She replaced the hat and inspected her reflection once more. It was not perfect, but it would have to do. She would simply have to move quickly.

  She found herself caught by the gaze looking back at her from the mirror. They did not appear to be her own eyes, any more than the strange young figure in the dark vest and trousers could be herself. Even in the dim room, the eyes looked feverish, glittering at her with an almost manic light. Serafina’s own reflection caused her stomach to churn even worse than before. The frenzied intensity she saw in the mirror shook her to her very core.

  She forced herself to turn away.

  She paced back and forth. The noise outside her chamber reached a new crescendo. Or perhaps it was merely the thunder of her pulse.

  The key scratched in the door. There was a quick knock. A pause, then a second time. Carla’s signal.

  Serafina flew across the room. Carla stood blocking the door and facing away from her. She did not speak. Nor did she move. Instead, her hand rose behind her back.

  Serafina placed the jade comb into the waiting palm. Carla gave it a lightning inspection and slipped it into her pocket. She scouted the upstairs hall in both directions, then stepped aside.

  Serafina heard her mother’s voice call, “No!”

  She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She heard her mother say, “Don’t drag the settee! See the scar you’ve made? Raise it clear of the floor!”