The Sacred Shore (14 page)

Andrew looked down at her and smiled. He understood. Of course he did. This was not a gift to her. This was an
answer
. One granted to them both.

Andrew's glance shifted, and she turned with him to look at his brother. Charles stared up at the pulpit with an expression of confusion. His brow was wrinkled, his eyes squinted, seeking to focus upon what he did not understand. Catherine did the thing that seemed right at that moment, which was to reach over and take his hand, the first time she had ever touched him. Startled, Charles looked at her, and she gave to him a smile drawn from the love and the peace that filled her heart—not her own smile at all, but God's gift, given first to her and now shared with Charles. They had their answer.

Chapter 13

“Lord Charles, welcome, welcome.” The owner of the largest bank in Halifax wore muttonchop sideburns and a smile as lopsided as his powdered wig. “What an honor it is, sir. An honor, yes indeed. No, please, take this seat, you'll find it more comfortable. A coffee, sir?”

“Thank you.”

“A newly arrived vessel has brought fresh coffee beans straight from Curacao, the finest I've had in years.” He turned to the door and said, “Coffee for two. Use the silver service.”

Charles allowed himself to be ushered to the padded chair by the windows. “It is actually about a ship that I have come to see you.”

“Then you have come to the right place, your lordship. No other house in all the colonies does as much trading business—”

Charles stopped the man's enthusiastic flow with his palm upraised. “Can you tell me which is the fastest ship in Nova Scotia?”

The man stared at him. “The fastest, Lord Charles?”

“Other than the military, of course.” He had already spent a fruitless period at the Admiralty, seeking to borrow or rent or otherwise gain the use of one of their clippers. But with the rumors of troubles farther south, the officer in charge had the perfect excuse to refuse him, even the king's envoy. “I am not interested so much with its size, so long as it is able to carry me safely. My concern is speed.”

“Speed, yes, of course.” The banker clearly struggled to hold back his torrent of questions. “May I ask your destination?”

“Points south,” Charles replied tersely. “I may require the vessel for some time. Perhaps the entire season. Rest assured I will pay well, and in gold.”

The banker rose to his feet. “You will excuse me for a moment?”

“Certainly.”

“My assistant will be in directly with coffee.” The banker hastened from the room.

Charles stared at the bustling scene beyond the ornate bay windows, but in truth he saw little. He was too caught up in the conflicting images and emotions that struggled within his mind and heart. He
should
be impatient. He had a destination. He had a purpose. He was getting on with his business. And yet what he felt most of all was confusion.

The bank sat on the corner where Halifax's main street entered the harbor's market square. Traffic was heavy, and sheep and cattle and horses and chickens and children all added to the clamor of cracking whips and creaking wagons and hawking stall holders. But Charles's attention remained held by a different scene, one from the previous Sabbath afternoon.

The church service had been one of the most baffling experiences of his entire life. Andrew had stumbled over his sermon, and he seemed at several points to lose his place entirely.

And then, in the middle of the service, a change had come. Charles would have liked to attribute the change to Andrew alone. It would have been less mysterious and disconcerting. But, no, the change had come upon them all. One moment Andrew had been uncomfortable and distracted, and the next moment a calm had descended upon the entire gathering. Charles had felt almost overwhelmed by what he still could not fathom.

After church, Andrew had pulled him aside and asked if they might walk together. When Catherine approached and bestowed upon Charles a smile of warmth and cheer, it had wrenched his heart. No one had ever looked at him like that before. Neither of his wives, certainly. Not even his mother that he could recall.

Catherine had reached forward, spanning the impossible gap between them with a gentle hand on his arm, and said, “My husband speaks for both of us.”

The confusion had only heightened then. He wanted to ask how she knew what Andrew was going to say. But she had already turned away, placing the same gentle hand upon her husband. And Charles had seen how her gaze had been returned by Andrew.

Charles could only stare in unbelieving wonder as Andrew also gave him a smile of love and acceptance. Charles could no longer deny the simple fact that his very presence was a threat to Andrew's family. Everything Anne had said to him earlier he had come to see as true. His quest for his own selfish ends could destroy everything they had carefully built and maintained for almost twenty years now.

Andrew accepted greetings from his congregation with gentle words and smiles, gradually drawing the two of them farther down the lane. When they were isolated by the trees and the twisting path, he had said, “I will help you in your quest.”

Charles found himself rocked again, both by the statement and by the ease with which Andrew spoke. But he was not about to refuse his brother's offer, even though he was sure the price must be high. “In exchange for what?”

“I want nothing from you, brother. In truth, I am doing this for God, not for you.” Andrew's smile held the confidence of one utterly at peace with his decision. “I no longer have any choice in the matter.”

“I fail to see—”

“Yes, I would imagine that to be the case.” But his smile did not waver. “Catherine and I spent years searching for Elspeth. If you find her now, it will not be because of anything you yourself do.”

“Again, brother, I fail to understand your reasoning.”

“Think on this, will you?” Andrew opened the gate to his home. Charles looked across the garden and saw Anne standing in the doorway, once more greeting him with a smile. “Perhaps you are here because of a much greater purpose than the one you suppose. Perhaps you have been selected as God's instrument to accomplish something we cannot even imagine.” Andrew halted midway down the path and stared at Charles intently. “And perhaps your true quest is actually a search for something far greater than an heir, something far more lasting. Something eternal.”

“Lord Charles, may I have the pleasure of introducing Captain Kedrick Dillon.”

“M'lord.”

“Captain.” A handshake and an instant's inspection were enough to know the mettle of this officer. Charles had the experience in sizing up men that comes with wealth. He was also well aware of how things worked in the navy. The captain was lean and battle hard, in his late thirties, and had the direct gaze of one used to the endless vistas of the sea. “An honor to meet you, sir.”

“The honor is mine.” The officer gave the proper stiff bow of one trained not as a merchant shipper but rather by the Admiralty.

The banker bustled about. “Come, come, let us sit. I have ordered another pot of this excellent coffee, and then we'll follow that with a lunch in our dining salon. You will be able to join us, m'lord?”

“That depends upon the captain here.” Charles resumed his seat by the window, took note of the younger man's involuntary gesture toward his side with his right hand. “I warrant you have recently left the navy.”

The gaze turned keener. “How did you know, sir?”

“As you seated yourself, you sought to adjust a sword you no longer wear.”

The smile was tight, as measuring as the gaze. “There are few postings for captaincy these days. …”

“Unless, of course, one is born into a title,” Charles finished for the officer.

The captain seemed to relax a trifle. “Just so, m'lord.”

“I understand you now skipper a fast ship, sir.”

“A swifter vessel you will not find in these waters. A clipper out of Southampton, the keel laid just five years past.” The fire of pride shone in his eyes. “She is a sweet one, m'lord, holding steady at five degrees off the wind even in the belly of a gale.”

Charles had spent the endless days of his recent crossing talking sea and ships with the naval captain and thus understood. “Which is vital if we are to head down the eastern coastline this time of year, is it not?”

“Indeed.” The man's gaze held the grim wisdom of one who had seen his share of hardship and hard weather. “Where exactly were you intending to sail, m'lord?”

Andrew and he had discussed that very matter. After giving it considerable thought, Andrew's best estimate of where Charles might begin his search had been in New Orleans. Because of the current difficulties between France and England, letters sent to unknown authorities or to secondhand contacts with vague addresses were either not received or not responded to. Andrew had written for years and received nothing in reply. But he now explained to Charles that a decade earlier the Spanish had taken over control of the region from their French allies and had issued a decree inviting Acadians to come and settle. Over the past ten years, ships had arrived from all over the world—Africa, France, South America, the West Indies, and the American colonies—all containing Acadians desperate to find someplace they might call home. So it was in Louisiana that he would begin his search.

“To begin with—the colony of Louisiana. Do you know it?”

“I sailed there last year on my way to Mexico.”

“Excellent.” Charles had heard enough to make a decision. “Captain, I wish to employ your vessel.”

“We are contracted to take on a shipment of timber, furs, and raw gold,” the man replied cautiously.

“But you are free to accept new cargo and destinations?”

“My owners are Portsmouth and Boston traders, m'lord. They would be happy to consider any offer that promises additional profit.”

“As your owners are so distant, I shall discuss my needs with you.” Charles leaned forward. “I wish to hire your vessel for the entire season. It may not be required for so long, but I cannot take that chance. You will first take me to Louisiana, then perhaps call on other ports in the American colonies or the West Indies. You may trade as you see fit, so long as I have the authority to change destinations and departures. Eventually, you shall transport me back to England.”

The officer measured him carefully, finally murmuring, “Most irregular.”

“But profitable, I assure you.” He turned to the banker. “I assume my paper is good?”

The plump financier nearly rubbed his hands in glee. “Most certainly, Lord Charles. Most certainly.”

“Excellent. I wish to appoint you as my agent in these proceedings. Be shrewd, but be fair.” Charles rose to his feet. “I shall take a turn around the town while you conclude these negotiations.”

The captain rose cautiously to his feet. “This is rather sudden, is it not?”

“By necessity, Captain. I wish to depart as swiftly as possible.”

“Might I ask the nature of your quest?”

Charles hesitated, not through a reluctance to divulge his information, but rather because of the captain's final word.
Quest
. It reminded him once more of Andrew's words and how he might be searching for something else entirely. With an effort he pushed aside the reminder of his confusion and replied, “I seek Lady Elspeth, the future viscountess of Harrow Hall.”

Chapter 14

Charles walked the deck and listened to sounds that had become so familiar they seemed to form the song of his life. The wind was taught a man-made tune by the halyards and the masts and the sails. While the waves rose with crests decorated in white salty lace, the lookout shouted into the wind, the words sounding like a copy of the cawing gulls. The sailors' bare feet padded swiftly about the deck, compelled to labor by the officers' bellowed orders. Only Charles was silent, aloof, alone.

He stared westward, across the high seas with their wind-whipped froth. Somewhere beyond the horizon lay land. Two weeks and two days they had chased their way south, the days growing ever warmer. Though the land was never seen, it was always there, haunting his dreams and lacing the offshore breeze with hints of green and life that was alien out on the salty depths. He had taken to spending hours standing by the landward rail, feeling his troubled heart plucked and unstrung by the constant wind.

He had not yet achieved what he had left England to do, no, yet the time in Nova Scotia had gone far better than he could have ever expected. Instead of the battles and the shame and the bitter feuding Charles had been prepared to face, Andrew had granted him a family welcome. The memory stung his eyes still, the hugs and the hospitality and the openhearted reception. The Harrows had showered him with such a richness of affection that here and now, a thousand leagues south, he remained bound by it still.