The Night Angel (7 page)

Falconer slipped off the pew and onto his knees. A few glanced over, but attention soon turned away. He covered his face with battle-scarred hands and offered a warrior’s prayer, as direct and well-aimed as a stabbing sword.
Give me your purpose,
Lord. Make gold of my dross. I am your man, and I am ready. Amen
.

Falconer spotted Nathan Baring as he exited the church. The young man made his way through the black-frocked crowd. “Falconer, how good of you to join us,” he said in his genial way.

He saw Nathan scout about and saved him the trouble of asking about Serafina. “She is not here.”

“Pardon?”

“Miss Gavi. She accompanied her parents to mass.”

To Falconer’s surprise, the young man did not seem that interested. Nor did he halt his perusal of the crowd. “Ah. The Gavis are papists, are they?”

“Actually, on Wednesday evenings Miss Gavi worships with the Methodists in Georgetown. She attends Sunday mass out of respect for her parents.”

“How extraordinary.” The young man’s attention was now riveted upon Falconer. “You mean to say she is genuinely devout?”

“She is.”

“Forgive me, sir. It was an impudent question. But one so lovely as Miss Gavi, particularly a European from a titled family . . . well . . . Never mind.”

Despite his own initial hostility, Falconer found himself liking the gentleman. “I understand perfectly.”

“Yes, a gentleman of the world like yourself, I should imagine you do.” He went back to searching the crowd. “There was someone I wished for you to meet, though I fear he did not wish to be seen with us.”

Falconer remained caught up in all he had experienced within the church. “Might I ask you a question?”

“By all means.”

“Have you ever heard God speak to you?”

“What, you mean audibly?” His focus came back once more, calm and penetrating. “What a remarkable question.”

“I take that as a no.”

“In a sense. My father, God rest his soul, knew I wished to become a pastor. I took aim at the pulpit when I was just thirteen. All my young life I wanted nothing else. But the morning after my seventeenth birthday, my father brought me into his study and announced that God had spoken to him in the night. I should enter government service, and my brother would be going into the family business. My father asked me to trust him and trust God. But if I refused, he would not object.”

Nathan Baring turned to let an approaching woman pass, closing the gap between them so they would not be interrupted. “Because I loved him, Mr. Falconer, I could not refuse my father’s request. Though it left me heartsore and wretched.”

At this close range, Falconer could see the shadow still in the man’s smoky green eyes. “Was your father right?”

“Upon his deathbed, my father asked me the very same thing. Had he been correct in speaking as he had? I could not lie, not then. I told him I did not yet know. Though eight years had passed since that morning, still God had not revealed to me a purpose I could not also have accomplished through the ministry. Or so it seemed to me. My father said merely, ‘Everything in God’s time.’ Those were his last words, Mr. Falconer. I hope and pray he was right.”

Falconer felt a sudden bond with the gentleman. “I am not as patient a man as you, Mr. Baring.”

“I would ask that you call me Nathan.”

“My friends know me simply as Falconer.” He paused and looked into the face near his. “I could not endure eight years of waiting.”

Nathan had a diplomat’s manner of saying nothing with great volume. He asked, “What did God say to you, Falconer?”

“To wait.” Falconer shuddered.
Eight years
.

“Will you take advice?”

“Gladly.”

“Three things. First, God will not send to you more than you can endure. Second, you will learn immense lessons in your fallow time.”

“That much I can already attest to. And third?”

“Thirdly, yes. I should encourage you to not wait in solitude. Speak of your hardship and your need. Pray with others. Find comfort in the company of believers.”

Falconer offered his hand. “God brought me here this morning with a purpose, Nathan. I am grateful for your advice.”

“Your words do me great honor.” Nathan Baring did not release his hand. “I apologize for speaking of such matters here on hallowed ground. But the gentleman who has vanished, he carried with him a warning. Of danger and peril.”

“Against the Gavis,” Falconer said. “Yes. Thank you. I already know of this.”

“Not the Gavis,” Nathan corrected. “Against you.”

Serafina returned from church with plenty to accomplish. Other than Mary, they had no female help around the house. Finding a suitable cook was going to be very difficult. Lillian Langston knew no one who had even the slightest idea of Italian cooking. And like most Italian men, Serafina’s father was very particular about his food. So Bettina said she would cook and teach her daughter at the same time. That evening they were playing host to Reginald and Lillian Langston. No proper Italian could say thanks without spreading a feast.

Serafina found great pleasure in the shopping and the preparations. The previous evening Serafina and her mother had spent hours making long sheets of pasta. The fresh dough was featherlight as they rolled it flat. Serafina had laid out streams of finely milled flour before her mother’s rolling pin, and the table upon which they had worked was covered with a wet cheesecloth, such that the pasta would adhere to the cloth and not peel or tear. Overnight the pasta and the cloth had dried together. Now Bettina peeled it away from the cloth and sliced the hardened pasta, rolling it gently so it would not break, as Serafina ladled in the fresh tomato sauce they had made that morning. They would then add spinach cooked with fresh basil and some cheese. The
reggiano
and
mozzarella
they would have used in Venice were not available. But they had bought an aged cheese made from cows’ milk by a German dairy farmer. They could only hope it would prove adequate.

Serafina loved the work and the closeness to her mother. It was a return to her happiest recollections. She recalled other such times, the two of them making pastries in the kitchen fronting the Venetian street or setting the table while gondoliers sang their way through sunlit waters in the canal beyond their dining room window. They laughed over such memories, as though the interim tragedy had never happened. They tasted sauces and kneaded dough for
panini
. Eventually her mother asked how she had fared in England. The question came naturally, two friends wishing to catch up on each other’s lives. Finally managing to speak of the lost weeks and months.

Serafina’s tale about Aunt Agatha and Harrow Hall took them through the rolling of the veal in ground pepper and sage and setting it in the oven to roast. She cleaned potatoes while her mother sliced carrots, and Serafina described the young lord’s attack and how Falconer had saved her. How he had taken her to church. How he had reintroduced her to hope.

Together they set the table as Serafina described Gareth and Erica Powers and their mission to abolish slavery on both sides of the Atlantic. Bettina Gavi made coffee as Serafina scrubbed the kitchen table and related their travels to the home of William Wilberforce and her two drawings for the pamphlet—the one of Falconer and the one politicizing the slave trade. She and her mother dipped
biscotti
into their demitasse cups as Serafina told of the pamphlet’s impact, the passage of the bill eradicating slavery within the British Empire.

When she finally stopped, the kitchen was filled with the fragrances of roasting meat and fresh spices. Her mother toyed with her tiny spoon and avoided her daughter’s eyes. “Stories upon stories,” she murmured.

“I did not mean to disturb you, Mama. Perhaps I should not have spoken so.” Serafina saw anew the fresh lines of age and worry in her mother’s lovely features and blinked back tears over being the cause. “If only I could change all the mistakes I have made.”

“Daughter, if I could wind back the hands of time, I would have done so long ago. We do not regret the past mistakes. We move on.” The way her mother spoke left Serafina in no doubt that she had often repeated the words to herself. Bettina met her daughter’s gaze. “I was just thinking on how you have grown in these past few months.”

Serafina could not help but release tears. “Never did I imagine that the world could hold such sorrow.”

“Or joy,” her mother admonished. “Never forget that.”

“No, Mama. You are right. Or
joy
.”

Serafina was startled to hear her father say, “The Vienna royals are involved in the slave trade.”

“Papa, I did not know you were there.”

Bettina obviously did not share her daughter’s surprise, for she merely said, “Would you care for coffee, husband?”

“Half a cup, perhaps.”

She rose to fetch a cup and saucer. “Join us, dear.”

“Thank you.” He seated himself at the head of the table. “I did not want to disturb your conversation, but I could not help but listen.”

“I have no secrets from you, Papa.” The contrast her simple statement made to the previous summer, when she had lived for a secret love, one that tore their family apart, almost reduced her to tears.

“There, there. None of that. We are here, we are together, and as your mother has said, you have indeed grown.” Alessandro patted his daughter’s hand, then continued to the two women, “The Hapsburgs have no direct holdings in Africa. But they are partnered with their Belgian cousins.”

“And the Portuguese,” her mother added, pouring her husband a cup of coffee. “In Africa and Brazil both.”

A thought struck her. “The legate, Prince Fritz-Heinrich?”

“His family partners with others whose empire is based upon sugar and slaves. He accepted this posting so as to keep an eye on their American buyers,” Alessandro said, stirring in sugar. “As vile a business as ever there was.”

Serafina recalled the confrontation with the legate. “I meant no harm to your concerns, Father.”

“Slavery has never been a concern of mine, nor of any on the merchant council. I have made sure of that.” He sipped his coffee. “I am proud of you, daughter.”

Her mother asked, “Are you bored here, Serafina?”

“How could I be, Mama? I am here with you!”

“It is a valid question,” Alessandro said. “You have played a role in mighty deeds. You have traveled and you have matured. Yet here in Washington you have remained hidden away in the back rooms of the legate’s manor.”

“I have used the time to sketch and draw,” Serafina said. She heard more than the question. She heard the tone in which they spoke to her. As a beloved daughter, yes. But also as an adult. She gave the question the attention it deserved. Serafina had no idea what she wanted or did not want, which was very odd, for previously she had been a headstrong and independent young lady. Just now, she was content to remain at her parents’ side. “All I have thought of up to now is being with you both again. And healing. And restoring our family.”

Bettina gripped her daughter’s hands with both of hers, sharing a long look with her husband. But before she could speak, the front door crashed back and they heard Mary cry, “Miss Gavi!”

“In the kitchen.”

The young maid who had accompanied her from London came rushing back, followed by Gerald Rivens. Her eyes were as wild as her hair. “I have terrible news!”

Chapter 6

They were still deep in worry and discussion when Falconer returned. That is, Serafina’s father and mother were talking. Serafina had little to say. Gerald Rivens was naturally silent. Alessandro Gavi paced while his wife alternated between checking on the meal and wringing her hands in a most Italian fashion. Mary stood by the back window alongside Rivens while she took tentative sips from her cup.

Her parents were clearly displeased when Falconer appeared with a stranger in tow. It took Serafina a moment to recognize the newcomer as the young man from the hotel lobby. After Falconer had introduced him as Nathan Baring, her father gave a perfunctory bow and said, “You must forgive us, sir, but now is not at all a good time. We have urgent matters to discuss with Falconer.”

Falconer inspected each face in turn. “You’ve heard, then.”

“Heard?”

“About the legate’s new threat.”

Alessandro sank down into a chair. “How . . .”

Nathan Baring held his dark hat with the black silk stripe in both hands. “You will not remember me, sir, but I was in attendance at the legate’s court last Saturday.”

Her father’s gaze tightened. “I don’t understand. You are a courtier?”

“Diplomat, sir,” Baring corrected. “My present duties require that I attend the legate on occasion.”

“Nathan has friends in court,” Falconer added.

“Allies,” Baring said. “I would hardly call them friends.”

“You mean spies,” Alessandro interpreted.

Baring’s only response was to twist the rim of his hat in his hands.

Serafina offered, “Mary gave us the warning.”

Falconer noticed the young woman’s nervousness in this company. He gestured Nathan into a chair, then pulled another near Mary. He slipped off his coat and pulled in close. “I’d be most grateful if you’d tell me what you heard.”

“I already told them everything I know, sir.”

“I’m not a sir, lass. You know that full well, don’t you? I’m just a man trying to do his duty to the Gavis and to God, just as you.” His gentle tone and his sheer presence shut out the others in the room. “It would help me a great deal if I could hear it straight from you.”

Gerald Rivens patted the young woman’s arm. “Go on, Mary. We’re among friends here.”

“Well, sir. I made friends belowstairs at the legate’s. Not many, mind. Just two. One works in the kitchen. The other is maid to the princess.”

“She and the legate do not see much of one another,” Falconer commented.

“That they do not, sir. It was an arranged marriage, so it was. And the legate, well, he’s not what you might call a gentleman.” She blushed and twisted her fingers together.

Falconer nodded encouragement. “So you heard something from the upstairs maid.”