The Solitary Envoy, page 15
“Thank you.” Everything about this system was so confusing. She was entering a place called Lincoln’s Inn, but it was not an inn at all. Instead it was one of a collection of ancient structures called the Inns of Court, where the London attorneys had their offices. Which, as she had just learned, were not called offices at all. The inn’s center was a narrow square with an emerald green lawn and a stone fountain in the middle. To her left stood a small chapel from a time beyond time. The other three sides were lined with peaked medieval doors, the wood blackened by age.
She entered the proper door. A clerk so young he could not shave yet stood in striped pants and long black coat. “May I assist you, my lady?”
“I wish to have a word with Mr. Richmond, Senior.”
The lad had been carefully trained, for he responded formally, “Might I ask the good lady’s name?”
“Please tell Mr. Richmond that I come on behalf of the United States Embassy.”
“One minute, my lady.”
She stood in the tiny front alcove for quite some time before a portly gentleman in half-moon Franklin spectacles and a stained morning coat appeared at the head of the stairs. “I do so hope this is not leading to more empty promises.”
“I assure you not, sir.”
“Because my patience is at an end, I tell you. I won’t stand for another letter, another false payment, nor another worthless chit. I am taking this matter up with the proper officials, and it is my intention to publicly denounce—”
“I bring gold.”
The solicitor’s mouth shut with a snap. He lowered his head so as to inspect her over the top of his spectacles. “Your name?”
“Erica Langston, at your service.”
“That is not the name I recall from earlier correspondence.”
“That particular gentleman is no longer in the embassy’s employ.”
“Ah. A thief, was he?”
“That is not for me to say, sir.”
“No, I suppose not.” The man seemed reluctant to believe his troubles were at an end. “I don’t mind telling you, another two of your creditors have come to me this very morning, seeking a writ against the embassy.”
“Then I shall offer payment in full to them as well if you would be so good as to tell me the total amount owed.”
He studied her a moment longer, then seemed to collect himself. “Perhaps you would care to sit down?”
“Thank you, sir. But we are involved in matters of some urgency here, as you can no doubt understand.”
“Very well.” He turned to a clerk standing in the open doorway. “You have the accounts?”
“Yes, Mr. Richmond.”
“Well, let’s be having them, man. Don’t keep the lady waiting.”
“Two hundred and seventeen guineas, fifteen shillings and four pence.”
Erica said to Jacob, “Pay the gentleman, please.”
As Harwell counted the money into the clerk’s hands, Erica said, “I must extend Minister Aldridge’s most sincere apologies, both to you and to the creditors you represent. This entire matter has been a most serious affront, and we can only hope that no lasting damage has been caused to his good name.”
Mr. Richmond continued to examine her over the top of his spectacles. “You will excuse an old gentleman for observing that you look exhausted, miss.”
“We did not discover the fault until just before dawn.” Erica steadied herself with a gloved hand upon the side wall. The coins made a musical clink as they were counted. “Perhaps you would be so good as to sign a receipt.”
“One moment.” When he returned with the chit, he offered, “The Inns are terrible places for rumors. It’s hard to tell what is real until it is written in the books. But some rumors show a certain strength, if only through how long they hang about. One such is in regard to your employer. Apparently there are some within the royal circle who would rather see him fail.”
Erica knew she should be paying stricter attention and asking intelligent questions. But all she could think of just then was how much she yearned for her pillow. “I shall pass on your helpful observations, sir. And now I must wish you a good day.”
She did not recall the second appointment, nor the journey home, nor even how she climbed the back stairs and entered her little room. She worked at her dress stays and buttons, then decided it was all just too much bother and fell into bed still clothed. She awoke in the middle of the night, feeling famished. She found a plate of food waiting for her on the kitchen table. She ate hungrily, then undressed and slept until dawn.
Erica and Jacob Harwell spent all Friday and Saturday making the rounds. By the close of business on Saturday, all but three of the creditors had been paid. Word had circulated of the young lady bearing gold and the embassy’s apologies. Her carriage was met by butchers and stationers and silversmiths and carpenters, all wreathed in smiles. To each one Erica offered full payment and sincere apologies. Both nights she slept like the dead.
Sunday morning dawned clear and bright. Erica had slept ten hours. Yet she awoke still feeling as though her head were encased in a fog of weariness. Her dreams had been a constant chase from one creditor to the next, a never-ending array of eager creditors with outstretched hands.
Sunday was the one breakfast all the family took together. She washed and dressed in her one remaining clean frock, then joined the others at the big breakfast table in the kitchen. Only when she saw the piles of papers stacked beneath the window did Erica realize that she had never tidied up after her discovery. “Oh, sir, I am so sorry.”
Samuel looked up from his tea and bread. “Sorry? Sorry for what?”
“Sit down, my dear.” Lavinia patted her shoulder as she passed. “Let me serve you this morning.”
“But this mess I’ve left lying around,” Erica protested. She could scarcely believe she had let it sit about their beautiful kitchen for three days. “I feel so ashamed.”
Samuel dabbed his lips with his napkin and rose from his chair. He scraped back the one alongside his own and said, “Allow me, Erica. May I call you that?”
“Sir, of course, but …”
“Please. Sit yourself down, my dear.” He returned to his seat. “Did you sleep well?”
“All right, I suppose. Sir, about the papers, I shall clean them all up immediately after breakfast.”
“You shall do no such thing.”
“But—”
“Rest yourself, Erica. Have a bite to eat and be calm.” He spoke to her with the same tone he used with his children, serene and strong and deep. “Won’t you have some of these strawberry preserves? How about a slice of Wesleyan cheese?”
“Y-yes. Thank you.” Being served by the minister’s own hand, while his wife poured her a steaming cup of tea, was most disconcerting. “Really, I can manage quite well on my own.”
For some reason the two other adults found that most amusing. Lavinia said, “Of that I have no doubt whatsoever.”
Samuel slid his chair back a fraction. “Now, then. I hope that in the days to come I shall find a way to express my gratitude. Just at the moment I find anything that comes to mind most inadequate.”
“Sir …” Erica hesitated, feeling Lavinia’s hand upon her shoulder. A gentle squeeze, then gone. But enough of a message for Erica to still her tongue.
“You may well have saved our family’s good name. What is more, our fledgling embassy is also protected. We have had a stream of visitors come by the office already. People who have avoided my requests for business, traders with whom we would like to establish relations, merchants from different nations. The business of America is business, as you well know. The royal court may frown upon merchants, but we know their worth and thus are granted a level of access and welcome seldom if ever given even to the prince regent. Or we would be, so long as our good name remains unsullied.”
Erica found herself following his direction. “To damage our credit means cutting off our access and thus our ability to serve our country.”
Samuel’s look was as strong a compliment as Erica had ever received. “Precisely. And thus you can see why your work over the past few days has been so vital.” He reached over and patted Erica’s hand. “I, my family, and the country we serve owe you a great debt. You are indeed a friend.”
Abbie could contain herself no longer. The little girl had sat wide-eyed and beaming throughout the exchange. Now from across the table her little voice piped up, “I said it first, Papa! The day Erica arrived, that’s what I said. That she was going to be our very good friend.”
Chapter 16
A lovely June Sunday greeted them when they entered the manor’s forecourt. Samuel Aldridge plucked the timepiece from his waistcoat and flicked open the gold face. “I believe we have time to walk. My dear, would you care to take a turn?”
“Nothing would suit me more,” Lavinia replied.
Samuel pushed the perambulator while his wife held his arm. The pram was built with the precision of an elegant carriage. The wheels joined a complex spring system that gentled the baby over rough spots. The apparatus was framed in gilded mahogany and covered with a starched linen skirt that matched the blanket laid over the sleeping infant. Erica walked behind the couple with Abbie attached to her hand like a bouncing balloon.
Abbie’s chatter had a musical gaiety to match the birdsong rising from Green Park. “Winter was ever so long here. Wasn’t it, Mama? We arrived in a storm that lasted for months and months.”
“I wish my daughter were exaggerating,” Lavinia said over her shoulder. “But I must say the weather was quite vile. The worst winter in years, or so we were told.”
“It’s all the little smokestacks,” Abbie confided to Erica. “All the little chimneys, they go all the time. Just puff and puff, night and day, and they feed the clouds. You can see it if you look closely. The clouds eat up all the new smoke, and it comes back down as rain.”
The child looked from one adult to another. “Why is everybody laughing?”
They all grew quiet as they neared a manor, one far larger than the embassy. Sounds of revelry emerged from a number of open windows. Lavinia said uncertainly, “Perhaps we should cross to the other side.”
“Certainly not,” said her husband.
“But Samuel, the child.”
“It’s all right, Mama. I know not to look.” And she didn’t. Abbie kept her face pointed straight ahead as they passed before the high metal fence fronting the road.
But Erica was not so resolute. A peal of female laughter was followed by a shriek and a higher sound—perhaps words, she could not be certain. She looked over to see two women seated upon an upstairs windowsill, glasses and thin cigars in their hands. Erica had never seen women smoke before. Through a downstairs window she could see a large crowd of people encircling a table. A man slapped something down hard upon the table, and there came another great shout of laughter. Gambling, Erica realized. They were gambling on the Sabbath. She was so shocked she would have halted in her tracks had Abbie not tugged her forward.
“It’s not nice to stare,” the little girl reminded her.
“No, we must allow Erica to see this.” Samuel’s tone was as grim and cold as Erica had ever heard it. “Let her observe the state of this realm. It is only right and just that she understand. Is Erica not a valued member of our little band? Of course she must see. Are we not passing the residence of a prince of the realm?”
“Samuel, please.”
“King George the Third was most certainly America’s enemy,” Samuel continued to Erica. “He forced us to pay taxes without representation, which led to our colonies revolting and becoming a nation under God. He then tried to choke off trade with us and finally attacked us a second time. All this is most certainly true. But George the Third was also a moral man. No friend to America, certainly, yet a man who valued family and church. His son, the prince regent, is another matter entirely. Since his father became ill, the prince regent and his little clan of wastrels have made a mockery of decent men. And of God.”
“Enough,” Lavinia said firmly. “It is the Lord’s Day, and we are enjoying a stroll in this glorious sunshine.”
Erica’s last glimpse of the manor was of a woman leaning out an upstairs window to speak with someone in the front garden. Erica was not certain, but she thought the woman wore nothing save a petticoat. No. It must be her imagination.
They rounded a corner and passed from Piccadilly onto Audley Street, walking past an odd assortment of ancient farms and beautiful manors. Everywhere there were signs of new construction. Off to her right she could see the northern border of Shepherds Market, where she went each morning for fresh milk. The older buildings were Tudor inns and merchants’ houses with lime-washed walls and beamed upper floors. These were dwarfed by newer structures in the style known as Georgian, named after the king who was now gravely ill and his father and grandfather. They looked just as Samuel Aldridge had described the monarch—stolid and square and ponderous.
The church up ahead was drawn from an earlier era. On the previous two Sundays since Erica’s arrival, the family had been once to St. Paul’s Cathedral and once to Westminster Abbey, which was very close to the Houses of Parliament. This church was something else entirely. The people milling about outside were dressed in a severe manner that reminded Erica of the Mennonites she had seen about Washington. The difference was that the men here were clean shaven, and the clothing was not homespun but simply unembellished. The men wore black overcoats and breeches and polished black shoes. The women were in either black or dove-gray dresses with starched crinoline sleeves and matching white caps. The children were miniatures of their parents. They played little games on the stairs leading up to the church but kept close to their parents, and for good reason. Farther along Audley Street was another establishment, this one lined with elegant carriages and benches full of rowdy folk.
A man with gray muttonchop sideburns moved down to greet them. “Your lordship, you do us a great honor by joining us for the Sabbath.”
“I am not a lord, and it is you who do us the honor,” Mr. Aldridge replied. “Might I introduce you to my wife? My dear, this is the elder of whom I spoke, Mr. Clarkson.”
The gentleman bowed over Lavinia’s hand. “Your humble servant, my lady.”
“Please, sir. We are all servants of the one true God; I ask that you not set any titles before my name.”
Mr. Clarkson bowed a second time, then turned to Erica and Abbie. Before Samuel could make the introductions, Abbie piped up.
“I’m Abbie. I’m eight years old. And this is Erica. She’s come all the way from America, just as we did, to be our friend.”
Mr. Clarkson smiled tolerantly. “I am pleased to meet you both. Our Lord was good to send you such a special friend, was He not?”
“Oh yes,” Abbie continued. “Papa says she was an answer to prayer.” Before the elder could think of a suitable reply, Abbie spoke again. “Have you lost all the hair on your chin because you’re so old?”
The man’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon, miss?”
“I was just wondering, because you have the space there between your sideburns.” She rubbed her own little pointed chin. “My papa has lost some of the hair on the top of his head. I thought perhaps that was why you couldn’t grow your beard all the way around.”
Samuel Aldridge coughed as Lavinia placed a gentle restraining hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “My apologies, sir. My daughter has a most remarkable manner of viewing the world.”
“On the contrary, I find her most charming.” Stiffly Mr. Clarkson bent in closer to Abbie. “What did you say your name is, young lady?”
“Abigail, sir.” She gave a little curtsy, glancing at her mother for assurance. “I’m named after my grandmother. But everyone calls me Abbie.”
“Well, Abbie, my manner of sideburns was that of a very famous theologian. A man I admire so much I choose to emulate both his dress and his style.”
“My daughter meant no disrespect, sir,” Lavinia offered.
“Of that I have no doubt.” He offered the child a hand coarsened by age and hard work. “Might I have the honor of escorting you inside, Miss Abbie?”
A lady from the children’s nursery relieved Samuel Aldridge of the pram. The other families on the church’s forecourt made a passage through which they might enter. As they started up the stairs, however, a raucous cheer erupted from the inn next door.
Samuel Aldridge glanced over. “I confess to thinking little of your neighbors, sir.”
“I do my best not to think of them at all,” the elder replied, keeping his gaze fastened upon the doors ahead.
So it was that Erica walked up the church’s outer stairs by herself. Mr. Aldridge and his family had already entered the central doors before she realized who it was standing just inside the entrance, acting as greeter.
She recoiled from the man’s hand.
The man was equally shocked by her appearance but managed to recover more swiftly. He dropped his hand to his side and bowed stiffly. “Miss Langston. Do I recall the name correctly?”
“You do indeed, sir.”
Gareth Powers wore his black suit as he would an officer’s uniform. The severe cut and shading suited him well. He was tall and striking, with the stern jaw of a man used to leading men in the harshest of circumstances. Yet his gaze held the same calm wounded state that Erica recalled from their last encounter, as she had stormed away from his carriage on the day of her arrival.
He bowed a second time. Only then did she notice the scar that traced its way along his hairline to his right ear. “It is an honor to welcome you into the Lord’s house.”
She knew she should thank him, but her tongue felt wooden. She made do with a stiff nod and turned away. Only then did she notice how Samuel Aldridge was watching her. For an instant she feared he was upset that she had been no warmer in her greeting. Evidently this church held some importance beyond a Sabbath visit. Yet there seemed to be no censure in the man’s expression. He did not look angry with her at all. No, on the contrary. He seemed quite pleased.
