The Falcon and the Sparrow (39 page)

He turned to her. “Why so quiet, Katharine? I would expect you to be gloating in your victory, wagging your superior finger at me with an ‘I told you so.’ ”

Did he really believe she was so cruel as to do such a thing in the face of his agony? Had she truly been that type of person?

She lowered her gaze against the tears that filled her eyes. “What will you do with her?”

“I will turn her over to the authorities—today, in fact. I have already sent word to the Admiralty.”

“Blast, Chase! This is incorrigible!” Mr. Atherton shouted, jabbing his hands through his hair and storming across the room like a madman. “They will hang her, and you know it. You throw her to the dogs without so much as an explanation or a by-your-leave. You owe her that much.”

Chase clenched his jaw and slowly raised his gaze to Percy. “I owe her nothing,” he hissed. “And I will hear no more about it!” He gave Mr. Atherton such a spiteful look as to silence him immediately.

“And then what will you do, Chase?” Katharine interjected before the two men could come to blows.

“Admiral Troubridge is nearly recovered. I will return to sea.”

A sharp pain gripped her from within, sending a lump to her throat. “But what of William? You have made such strides with the boy. It will break his heart to see you leave again.”

“He will survive,” Chase said bluntly. “I will hire another governess.”

Shame and sorrow rose like bile in Katharine’s throat as she stood and walked to the window. A barrage of dark clouds advanced across the sky and engulfed the bright morning sun, just as she had blighted Chase’s happiness. The more she had tried to control her brother’s life, the worse it had become. She had transformed her own pain and fears into a sword of revenge and had planted it in the heart of an innocent woman, and in the process, she had stabbed her own brother, as well.
What have I done, Lord?

“It is what you prayed for.”

“No.” She raised the back of her hand to her nose, stifling a sob.

“No, what?” she heard Chase ask behind her.

She spun on her heels and gave her brother a pleading look. “This is not right, Chase. I am quite sure there is a valid reason for her actions.”

“For once, I concur with Katharine,” Percy added. “Let us bring Miss Dawson down here. Talk with her.”

Chase stood and rose to his full height, clenching his fists at his sides. He stared at them with a look that would send even the bravest of officers aboard his ship scurrying off to do his bidding. “I never wish to see her again. It is done. Now be off, the both of you, and leave me alone.” He swung away, shouldered past Percy, and marched from the room, the usual lift in his walk gone along with everything else.

Rumors among the servants had reached Dominique’s ears—rumors that she would be sent to prison that very night. Truth be told, the thought brought her some relief, for she would be glad to leave this room, this house, and all its memories. She had just endured five of the longest, most miserable days of her life. Even the time she and Marcel had spent starving and dodging villains on the streets of Paris could not compare with the agony of these past days—the torture of hearing William’s sweet voice in the hall asking for her…and then his retreating sobs as the housekeeper ushered him away; the ache that nearly tore her heart in two when she heard the admiral halt at her door during the night and hesitate as if contemplating whether to speak to her.

On one such occasion, she had rushed to the door and leaned her head against it, if only to hear his breathing. Quietly she had pleaded with him to open the door, hoping he would allow her to at least tell him how sorry she was—for everything. But no sooner did she call his name than she heard his footsteps retreating down the hall.

Reaching up, she brushed her fingertips over her throat and swallowed, wondering what it would feel like to be hung. Would her neck break right away? Or would she dangle there in agony, suffocating until God finally took her home?

Sinking to the floor, Dominique crumpled into a heap and sobbed.
Oh God, why did You bother to send me here? What good have I done? Naught but hurt all the people I love, including Marcel.
She had been unable to save him, after all, even though he had saved her so many times. Squeezing her eyes shut, she allowed a flood of tears to pour down her face and land on the wooden floor below. She watched them bead into tiny pools before soaking into the wood. Then, leaning her cheek against the sodden boards, she hugged herself and gave into the sobs that now wracked her body.

Minutes later, she sat and took a deep breath, trying to quiet the uncontrollable whimpers that continued to rise to her lips. Crying would solve nothing. She knew that. Maybe her real purpose here
had been only to help Larena find her way back to God.

Dominique glanced over the room she had come to know so well. During the past days, voices had slithered out to her from the dark corners, telling her God had abandoned her, but she knew she only had herself to blame—for her weakness, her fear. In just one week, when she did not make it to the rendezvous spot, Marcel would die. She only prayed his death would be quick and painless.

Moving to the bed, she knelt beside it and folded her hands over the coverlet. She prayed for the admiral, for the healing of his heart. She prayed that someday he would be able to love again— although her own jealous heart shriveled at the thought. “And, Lord, send William a mother who will truly love him and care for him as if he were her own.”

When the lock clicked and the door creaked open, Dominique assumed it was Larena with her supper, so she did not rise, did not make an attempt to wipe the tears streaming down her face.

Light footsteps echoed through the room. The door thudded shut, but no other sounds reached Dominique’s ears. Slowly she raised her gaze to the doorway.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Barton.” Dominique shot to her feet and swiped at her moist face. “I did not know it was you.”

“You were praying?”

“Yes.”

“For William and my brother?” Her tone was incredulous.

Dominique nodded.

Mrs. Barton drew a deep breath, shifted her gaze away, and wrung her hands together, staring out the window. She swallowed as if fighting back some deep emotion. When her eyes met Dominique’s again, a moist sheen covered them.

Dominique approached her. “Something troubles you, Mrs. Barton? Has something happened to the admiral or to William?” She could find no other reason for Mrs. Barton’s distress, or for her presence here, and the thought that some harm had come to either of them sent Dominique’s heart pounding.

“No, my dear. They are well.” She reached out for Dominique’s hands.

Dominique shrank back at first, unsure of the woman’s intentions, but the gentle look in Mrs. Barton’s eyes bade her to comply. Squeezing her hands, Mrs. Barton gave a soft chuckle and shook her head. “You think only of others—even in the face of death.” The seeming kindness pouring from a woman who had done nothing but spit vile lies and insults toward Dominique caused the hairs on her skin to bristle. What was she up to? surely she knew what Dominique was, what she had done.

“I must know,” Mrs. Barton began in a sharp tone. “Why did you steal those documents?”

Dominique withdrew her hands and sighed. Yes, here was the woman she knew so well. “Did the admiral send you?”

“No. It is I who wish to know.” Her brown eyes seemed to pierce through Dominique. “Please, you must tell me.”

“It is as you have been told. I intended to give them to the French.” Dominique moved to the bed and gripped the post, unable to look at the displeasure she was sure burned in Mrs. Barton’s eyes.

“But why?”

“They have my brother. They threatened to kill him if I did not do what they said.”

“Who has your brother?”

“Lucien Bonaparte.”

Mrs. Barton gasped. “Napoleon’s brother?”

“Yes.” Dominique gave a reluctant nod. “By some strange twist of fate, I find we are related—cousins third removed.”

Mrs. Barton walked toward the coal grate and stood staring at it for several seconds.

The silence grated over Dominique. “You have what you came for. You were right about me all along. Now if you would be so kind as to leave.” She nodded toward the door, turned her face away from Mrs. Barton, and then wrapped her arms about her chest. The last thing she needed was to suffer the vainglorious gloating of a woman who despised her.

The silk of Mrs. Barton’s gown shuffled, but the sound grew louder, not softer. “I have come to offer you my apology.”

Dominique snapped her gaze around, wondering whether she had finally lost her mind or perhaps fallen asleep on the floor, her dreams fabricating a lie born of desperation. “I do not understand.”

“I have come to see that I have been wrong about you.” Mrs. Barton patted her cinnamon hair that always reminded Dominique of dark, polished wood. “You made my brother happy, and you loved William as if he were your own son.”

She made the statement matter-of-factly, as if it were the only logical conclusion to a long experiment. Except her experiment had given no quarter for an opinion other than her own—an opinion that had thrashed Dominique with distrust and cruelty.

“Besides,” she added, “you have shown me that character and morality are far more important than title and nationality. In addition”—her tone softened, and there was a slight wobble in her voice—“you have shown me forgiveness, the type of forgiveness that can only come from God.”

“But I am a spy.” Dominique wrinkled her brow, still unable to grasp the change in Mrs. Barton’s attitude.

“With good cause, my dear. It proves you are loyal to your family. This is all I ever wanted for Chase. Someone who will love him, make him happy, and remain loyal to him.” She chuckled, and a faint smile broke onto her lips. “There you were, right under my nose all the time, and I could not see you because of my prejudice.”

Dominique regarded Mrs. Barton, unable to utter a word, unable to make sense of the drastic change in her.

Mrs. Barton withdrew a wad of papers from a pocket in her gown and shoved them toward Dominique. “Here.”

“What are these?” But as soon as Dominique grabbed them, she knew. They were the documents. She shook her head. “What?”

“Go save your brother, mademoiselle.” Mrs. Barton grinned and folded her hands over Dominique’s.

Dominique’s eyes widened. “I do not understand.”

“ ’Tis my fault you are in this mess. I do not want to see you hanged, nor your brother die because of me.”

“But I am trapped here. And the admiral will throw me in prison tonight.”

“I know. That is why I have come. We haven’t a moment to lose.”

“You will help me escape?” Hope began to rise above the despair shrouding Dominique’s heart.

Mrs. Barton nodded, her eyes alight with excitement.

“How will I…I have only a week, and I must find a ship to Lihou. And I have no money.”

“I anticipated that.” Mrs. Barton reached into her pocket and pulled out a velvet satchel clanking with coins. “Take this.”

“I cannot.” Dominique shook her head and backed away.

“Please. I insist.” Mrs. Barton thrust it toward her.

Dominique grabbed the satchel, nearly dropping it for the weight of the coins within. “Does this not make you a spy, as well? How can you betray your country, your brother?”

“Chase will forgive me.” Mrs. Barton shrugged. “You know these skirmishes. Napoleon will never dare attack britain. ’Twould be naught but a fool’s errand, and he knows it. And your brother’s life is far more important.”

Dominique was not as sure about Napoleon’s intentions as her new friend seemed to be. She gazed into Mrs. Barton’s eyes. “I cannot come back. You understand?”

“Yes, I do.” Mrs. Barton swallowed and lowered her gaze. “And it grieves me greatly. I wish with all my heart that you could stay and make my brother happy. But it is not to be.”

Dominique’s heart shrank at the thought she would never see Chase again. “Please take care of him.”

Mrs. Barton squeezed her hand and smiled. “You know I will. But…I believe God is in control.”

Dominique blinked. That made two. Two members of this household, both of whom had previously denied a need for God, now encouraging Dominique in her faith. A tiny burst of joy erupted within her but was quickly smothered by shame at her own weak faith. Hadn’t Rev. Newton encouraged her to believe—to truly believe in the power and presence of God?

“I will return shortly.” Mrs. Barton headed toward the door. “Pack your things.”

“Where are you going?”

“Never you mind that.” Hand on the doorknob, Mrs. Barton turned, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “If what I am about to do does not succeed, then when I return, I intend to break you out of this house.”