The Falcon and the Sparrow (38 page)

Dominique could not get warm. No amount of pacing, no amount of quilts tossed about her shoulders could drive away the chill that covered her like a morning frost. Flinging the blankets back onto her bed, she rubbed her arms. The smell of the Thames rose from her sodden gown.
Oh, my dear Marcel. What have I done? I have failed you.
Agony constricted her throat.
Oh God, I told You I could not do this.

Darkness clung to her chamber, defiantly refusing to give up
its hold as a new day dawned outside her window. After she had run into the admiral last night, he had grabbed the documents, immediately turned his back to her, and ordered the man with him to escort her back to her chamber and lock her within. That was nigh five hours ago and she had heard no sound in the house save the pattering of mice and whispers of maids. Why she had not been thrown into the corner of some prison cell, she could not say.

Dominique sank onto the bed. The fear that had suffocated her all night had dissipated the moment she had looked up into the admiral’s brown eyes, eyes burning with both shock and pain, eyes that tore through her heart like a hot sword.

Then he had turned away.

Why was she no longer afraid? Perhaps terror reaches a pinnacle, a place where it can go no further—where it loses consciousness. If that were the case, then either her fear was finally dead or it would come back to life soon enough. But for now, all she felt was emptiness, resignation, much like a prisoner must feel while being led to the gallows.

All was lost. Marcel would die. And she would be hanged as a spy.

A jingle of keys, a clank, and her door creaked open to reveal Larena carrying a tray of food. The scent of spicy hot tea and creamy breakfast porridge rose like a tantalizing aroma—the aroma of a last meal.

A look of horror paled Larena’s face and widened her blue eyes. Even the freckles on her cheeks shrank in fear. “Are you all right, miss?” She set the tray down and scurried to the stove, not waiting for an answer.

“Where is the admiral?” Dominique asked.

“In his chamber.” Larena ignited the coals and grabbed the poker, keeping her back toward Dominique.

“Come over to the stove, miss,” Larena beckoned her. “You will catch your death.”

Dominique stared at the chambermaid poking at the coals, her red curls springing from underneath her cap. “ ’Tis what I deserve.”

“Oh, what nonsense is this?” Larena replaced the poker and rushed to Dominique, taking her hands in hers.

“Do you not know what I have done?” Dominique snatched her hands back and hung her head. “Why are you attending to me?”

“The admiral instructed me to see to your needs, same as always.” She gestured toward the food. “You should eat something.”

Dominique shook her head. For once, she had no appetite. At any minute the admiral would burst through that door and have her arrested. What choice did he have? she had been caught spying, and she must pay the price.

“Whatever the admiral believes you have done…” Larena sat on the bed and leaned toward her. “Whatever reason he has for locking you in here, it cannot be true, miss. He will come to his senses soon, to be sure.”

“Not this time, Larena. I fear he has finally come to his senses, after all.”

Larena brushed a strand of Dominique’s hair over her shoulder and shook her head. “I have grown fond of you, miss. You are good for him, for William. You belong with them.”

“I wish that were true. But I find I am no good for anyone.” Dominique squeezed her eyes shut, willing tears to flow, if only to alleviate the burning behind her eyes, but not one drop fell. She had no more tears left. “I have failed everyone.”

“You have not failed me. You have befriended me. Been kind to me.” Larena set her warm hand upon Dominique’s. “My word, you are freezing.” She touched her sleeve. “Your dress is wet. We must get you out of these clothes immediately.” She stood and began tugging on Dominique’s arm.

“I am a spy for France,” Dominique blurted out, wanting to stop this outpouring of undeserved kindness from the maid.

Larena froze, her blue eyes stark against the red curls framing her face. “A spy? For France? Absurd. You are talking nonsense.”

“ ’Tis true. Chase…the admiral will turn me over to the Admiralty today, no doubt.”

Larena blinked. “I scarce can believe it.”

Dominique kept her eyes lowered, almost wishing that the
chambermaid would yell at her, curse at her, or better yet, just leave her be.

Larena took a step back. “Why would you do such a thing?” Her mouth hung open.

“I had no choice. They threatened to kill my brother.”

“My heavens, all this time.” Larena’s pretty features wrinkled. “That is why you came here? not to be William’s governess?”

Dominique nodded and stared out the window, unable to face her. “I should never have come. I have only made things worse.”

Silence cloaked the room, save for the crackle of coals and Larena’s frantic breathing. Dominique turned to find the maid’s face a blanket of white. She twisted her hands together as if trying to remove them from her arms.

“But your faith, your devotion to God?” She took another step back as if Dominique suffered from some sort of espionage contagion. “Because of you, I have begun to pray again and read my bible. You showed me that God loves me and He is worthy to be trusted.”

Dominique flinched. “How could I have done so when my own faith wavered daily?” Yet as she studied the chambermaid’s eyes, she could not deny the new spark twinkling within them.

“On the contrary, miss. We all struggle with our faith. Mine has suffered these past years under so much neglect it barely existed— until you came along.”

Alarm bristled over Dominique, only adding to her guilt. “Please do not allow my weakness to keep you from pursuing a relationship with God, Larena. What I did has nothing to do with His goodness, His faithfulness, and His love for you.”

“Never fear, miss. I know that.”

Dominique released a sigh. At least there was one life she had not completely destroyed.

“You lied to the admiral.” Larena flung a hand to her mouth as if all of a sudden realizing the magnitude of Dominique’s crime. “You would have left William?” She gave Dominique a look of complete reproach. “How could you hurt them so?”

“I am sorry, Larena. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

Dominique felt her insides start to crumble. “I love my country. I love William”—she swallowed—“and the admiral. But as it turns out, I love my brother even more.”

“You should have trusted God, miss. There will always be wars.” She waved a hand in the air. “God is in control of such things. I doubt a few documents in the wrong hands will change His plans.”

Heat flushed over Dominique. Such faith put her to shame.

Larena started for the door as if she couldn’t get away fast enough, then spun around. “Does the admiral know your reason for spying?”

Dominique shrugged. “What does it matter? He is a man, an admiral. He will only see the crime.”

“He will never forgive you, miss.” The chambermaid flattened her lips and shook her head, giving her declaration a seal of finality.

Dominique nodded. She had already come to that conclusion, but her heart shriveled at the words nonetheless.

Larena opened the door. “I will pray for you, miss,” she said with true concern before closing it and locking the bolt.

Thank you, my friend. I will need it.

“Chase, I daresay you look terrible.” Katharine stood aghast as her brother plodded into the drawing room, stubble shadowing his chin and neck, wrinkled breeches hanging loose upon his hips, a white shirt streaked with yellow stains tossed haphazardly over his chest. No navy waistcoat, no cravat, no crisp, clean pantaloons and shiny boots. Certainly not proper attire to entertain company, even if that company was only his sister and Mr. Atherton.

“I am sorry you find the sight of me so despicable.” He bowed with a huff. “Perhaps you should leave.”

“No,” she snapped. “I wish to see you.” It had been five days since word had reached her that some travesty had befallen the Randal home. Of course, she had made haste to see what had occurred, only to discover a brother who would not see her, a governess locked
in her chamber, and a houseful of gossiping servants. Obviously the French tart was involved in some scandal—as Katharine had predicted. She just hadn’t known what it was, nor its effect on her brother—not until now. She barely recognized the man standing before her.

Mr. Atherton poured himself a glass of port. “Really, Randal, ’tis not like you to be caught in such a state.”

Katharine took a step toward Chase, drawing in a whiff of his scent. Spice, sweat, and tobacco tickled her nose, but no alcohol, yet she could think of no other explanation for his condition. “Have you been drinking?”

“To my great dismay, madam, I have not.” He gazed at her with eyes devoid of any spark. “I find I have developed an aversion to it.”

Percy stormed toward the open door. “For God’s sake, Randal, where is Sebastian? You are no doubt quite ill. We must call for the physician at once.”

Chase sank onto the couch, not a glimmer of a smirk at Percy’s sarcasm gracing his lips.

Katharine eased beside him, assessing his mood and tempering her inquiries. “Chase, pray tell, what has happened? Why is Miss Dawson locked in her chamber? Why have you not seen me in five days?”

“Is that why you disturbed my rest? To bombard me with questions?”

“Rest? Good heavens, Chase, the servants tell me you have neither eaten nor slept all this week.” Katharine examined his sallow skin, sunken cheeks, and the dark circles around his eyes, and a dull ache pressed upon her heart. He had seemed so happy the last time she’d seen him.

Percy took a seat on a chair across from them and eyed Chase. “You really do appear the wastrel.”

Chase raised a brow. “Very well, I believe we have all confirmed that my appearance is lacking. Is there anything else you both wish to discuss?”

Katharine laid a hand over his. “What is it, Chase? What can we do?”

He shook his head but did not reply as he stared off into the room, eyes transfixed on nothing in particular. Finally, he shifted his haunted gaze her way. “Alas, my pride forbade me to tell you what I must tell you now, that you were correct in your assessment of Miss Dawson.”

As she suspected. Though she should have felt elated that her suspicions were confirmed, Katharine felt only despair as she looked at the sorrow tugging upon her brother’s face and the emptiness in his eyes. “Whatever do you mean?”

“She is the spy the Admiralty was searching for in my house.” He tore his gaze from her.

“Spy? For the French?” Katharine gasped as his words flew through her mind, searching for a perch to land upon. She had thought Miss Dawson was hiding something, but never this. “I cannot believe it.”

“Nor can I.” Percy shot to the edge of his seat, brows furrowed. “There must be some mistake.”

“No mistake, I assure you. I caught her with documents in hand.”

“This is balderdash!” Percy sprang to his feet. “I am sure she can provide an explanation. Did you ask her?”

“I do not chitchat with spies.”

“So you have not heard her explanation?” Mr. Atherton shoved his reddening face toward Chase.

Chase glared at him, his eyes simmering like burning coals.

Mr. Atherton flicked the remaining port down his throat then slammed the glass on the table. “Surely there is some reason for her treachery. You have come to know her, Randal. We all have. I have found nothing cruel or deceitful in her. Quite the opposite. Egad, she is so faithful to her God and her beliefs,
I
could not even tempt her.” He gestured toward himself as if he were God’s gift to the female gender. And dressed in a green velvet coat, complete with gold embroidered trim, grazed by the curled tips of his blond hair, Katharine could see his point.

“She had us all fooled,” Chase said listlessly. “Can you not admit to it?”

“I, for one, will admit to no such thing.” Percy brushed a speck of dust from his coat and began pacing. “And I am ashamed that your loyalty falters so easily under the slightest suspicion. Look what she has done in this house.” He gestured out the door. “Look how William loves her, how the boy has come to life again under her care and tutelage. Even the servants adore her. She has affected the whole house. Not to mention the change in you. I have never seen you so happy. Egad, man, are you blind? If she had Admiralty documents in her possession, upon my word, there must be a reason for it.”

As Katharine listened to Mr. Atherton’s soliloquy, she could not help but see the truth embedded in his words. The house had indeed changed since Miss Dawson’s appearance—and for the better. Why had she not seen it before? She had been too caught up in her hatred of the Frenchwoman who had stolen her husband…yet Miss Dawson was not that woman. She was nothing like the thieving tramp Katharine had imagined the woman to be like.

And Chase. She glanced his way as he sat on the couch beside her, hands fisted across his chest, a caldron of anger and sorrow. Had he not become a better father, happier and more excited about his life than she had seen him in years? so unlike the dark, empty man who sat before her now.