The Solitary Envoy (17 page)

“Are you certain?”

“Soon as I smelled the smoke, I checked the squad what were carrying the firebrands. Your orders were clear as day. None save the government buildings were to get the torch.”

“You’re telling me none of the men had lit their brands?”

“None that I saw, and I checked every one I found.”

“Did you see anyone else around the building?”

“Hard to say, Major. I was trying to watch in all directions at once. People were shouting and ladies screaming, folks rushing about hither and yon. Right mess that was.”

Gareth pondered that hard and long. If Daniel said he had checked the soldiers’ torches, he had done a thorough job of it. Which meant … what? He cast his mind back to that day, but his recollections were as scattered as Daniel’s. They had marched through havoc. Which of course was why McCusker had struck the old man though he had been armed with only two buckets. They had been marching into enemy territory, with orders to fire upon no one save enemy troops, and were surrounded by the chaos of a city in panic.

To have fired the building just as his troops were passing would have required very careful forethought. And a very solid reason. One so important that the attackers would risk being assaulted by the invading soldiers.

He realized Daniel was watching him avidly. “I saw the man’s daughter today.”

“You don’t mean the lovely lass we saved from the harbor riots?”

“The very same.”

“Thought I’d seen her somewhere before.” The man’s eyes gleamed. “That explains why she showed you the sharp edge of her tongue, I suppose.”

“It does indeed.”

“What brings her to old London town?”

“I have no idea. But I wonder …” Gareth rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Pass word around. Ask if anyone recalls seeing who it was that set the fire.”

“Aye, Major, that I will.” The former sergeant grinned. “A fetching lass, if I do say so myself.”

“She is most certainly that.” Not that it would do him any good. Gareth studied the still-empty page, sighed, and set his quill into the inkwell. “If anyone asks for me, I shall be attending the evening service at Audley Chapel.”

Chapter 13

Erica was daily surprised by the household where she now resided. The deputy minister plenipotentiary, Samuel Aldridge, held power more casually than Erica had ever thought possible. Samuel Aldridge was both intelligent and keenly aware, yet patient so long as people did not cross him. He did not suffer fools or manipulative pleaders, not for an instant. But he never revealed such acidic tones before his family. To them he was a man who always had time, always spoke kindly, whose very gaze softened at the sight of his children. Yet so far as Erica could tell, Mr. Aldridge utterly lacked a sense of humor. He never smiled unless it was at the antics of his baby son. In the nine days she had resided with the family, she had never heard him laugh.

It had taken Erica a few days to become accustomed to the unusual layout of the embassy. The middle floor originally had three formal chambers, matching the ones downstairs, with high ceilings and crown moldings about the chandeliers. One of these now saw duty as the family kitchen, another as Mr. Aldridge’s private office, and the third as the family parlor. The sweeping staircase and the landing that had been closed off to give the family privacy resulted in the remaining area being somewhat disjointed.

Erica was often downstairs, running errands for the household and acting as an intermediary between the private world above and this one that was so terribly public. Abigail Cutter’s daughter was many things, but she was most definitely not a public person. Lavinia deplored the way people used her presence as a means of gaining contact with her husband. She disliked the smoke and the noise and the subterfuge of politics. She would far rather remain intent upon the affairs of her home and her children. She was a perfect hostess when necessary. She could command respect from a dozen servants brought in for a large function such as the one they had hosted the night before. But her own home remained free of servants, though it meant a great deal more work for her. And yet, in spite of her having a personality and interests utterly unlike those of Erica, Lavinia showed no sense of resentment toward her young guest and her aims. Instead, Lavinia Aldridge seemed to like the fact that they were so different.

Erica had formed the habit of rising before the rest of the household. She took her breakfast at the large kitchen table where they ate all meals when Mr. Aldridge was not present. Then she did the rounds of the Shepherds Market shops. In the early morning light, the ancient lanes held a comforting air. In bygone centuries, according to Lavinia, this village had stood surrounded by vast pastures. Drovers had brought their animals to feed the ever-hungry city and stayed at the multitude of Shepherds Market inns. But the village had been swallowed by the expanding city, and these inns were now used for more notorious ends. Quite often Erica was awakened late at night by the sounds of boisterous revelry.

In the early mornings, however, the fancy men and their ladies were all abed. The sunlit air was filled with the fragrances of fresh-baked bread and new vegetables, and Erica could imagine herself walking through a medieval English village, far removed from the fears and woes that had brought her halfway round the world.

Erica knew she was in hiding. She involved herself increasingly in the affairs of this household because she did not want to venture out. The farthest she had been from the embassy so far was to this very market. She spent her days cleaning and playing with the children, as no governess had yet been found who satisfied both parents. Erica also knew that the minister and his wife were watching her and waiting for a fuller explanation for her visit. But what could she say? That she was terrified of confronting the banker and being defeated? That the very thought of entering the giant city with its riots and violence and chaos upset her so greatly that she spent most nights staring at the ceiling and wishing she had never come?

Every morning a trio of old drovers brought their cows into Shepherds Market, where they would settle their stools upon a corner and milk their cows into battered metal pails. Erica bought fresh milk from them, along with bread and whatever fruit looked best at the one stall that opened before dawn. She returned home and set the table for breakfast, then sliced the bread and cut a bowl of good English strawberries that she would take down later for Mr. Aldridge. He rarely stopped for breakfast and would often forget to have lunch unless there was some event he was required to attend.

But this morning, as she let herself back into the upstairs apartment, Erica heard the sound of weeping. She found Abbie crouched beneath the stairwell leading to the third floor, sobbing as though her heart was broken. “Abbie, dear, what is the matter?”

The little girl only wept harder.

Erica got down on all fours and crawled into the tiny space. She could not quite make it the entire way in. The stairs were supported by a broad beam that split the gloomy space in two, and Abbie was small enough to move in behind the beam. She was curled up like a calico mouse, her face entirely hidden.

“Have you hurt yourself?”

Abbie gave a tiny shiver that coursed through her entire body. “No.”

Erica breathed a bit easier. She reached out and caressed the silken hair. “Won’t you tell me what’s happened?”

Abbie whimpered words that were so mangled by her sobs that Erica could not understand them. She tugged gently on the one shoulder she could reach. “Come here, Abbie. Please. I can’t make it back in there to you. Wouldn’t you like to be held just now?”

For a moment Erica thought Abbie would refuse, then the little girl swung around, crawled beneath the plank, and flung her arms around Erica’s neck. It was a most uncomfortable position, but Erica dared not move. She held the little girl and eased out one leg so that she was not quite so cramped. If only she knew what to say.

Only one thing came to mind. “There have been many worries and concerns I have brought with me to London. And some new ones I have discovered since my arrival. One of these has been to know how to speak with you. I have never had much contact with young ladies, you see. So I decided on that first day that I would speak to you as I would to someone of my own age.”

Abbie whimpered, “I’m just a baby.”

“Why would you say such a thing?”

Abbie started to reply, but just at that moment there came a sound of footsteps from overhead, and the child’s eyes opened wide with alarm. Clearly she did not want her mother to see her thus.

Erica understood perfectly. She released Abbie and slid from beneath the stairs, then pulled the little girl out after her. Swiftly she led her into the kitchen, where she wet a towel and scrubbed the little face. She untied Abbie’s ribbon, swept back the child’s tangled locks, and tied them into as neat a bundle as she could manage in such haste. She then began to brush briskly at the girl’s skirt.

“Good morning, all. Abbie, whatever do you have on your frock?”

“She was helping me with something.” Erica smiled at the mother and baby. “How did you two rest?”

Erica chattered through breakfast, allowing no space for Lavinia to speak more than a few words to her daughter. After the dishes had been washed, Lavinia went upstairs to change Horace. Abbie put a finger to her lips, took Erica by the hand, and led her down to the end of the hall.

“I’m not supposed to go in here. But I wanted to surprise Papa.”

She pushed open the door to her father’s upstairs office. Erica could not quite stifle a gasp at what she saw.

The sound was enough to cause Abbie’s lip to tremble. “I made a terrible mess, didn’t I?”

The entire room was awash in papers. “Tell me what happened.” Documents spilled from four massive piles that blanketed the large desk. Another pile grew from the settee by the tall side window. Papers covered the seats of the chairs placed before the desk and spilled across the carpet around the chairs.

“Mama refuses to come in here even to dust. She says the disorder is just too alarming. Papa says bills have not been paid because he can’t find them. So I thought I would surprise him by tidying up—only the papers wouldn’t stay in piles, and now it’s worse than before.”

“So you came in because you wanted to help.”

“Yes. Papa has been so worried. Before you came they had to dismiss the embassy clerk because he did such a bad job. Papa and Mama think I don’t understand, but I do. Sometimes if I’m quiet, they forget I’m here and talk about all manner of interesting things.”

“Is that so.”

“Mama said I must wait until I grow up before I can help Papa as I want to. But he needs help now.” The words became somewhat fractured with Abbie’s attempt to hold back more tears.

A voice behind them both said, “My dear sweet wonderful daughter. Come here.”

“Oh, Mama.” Abbie flung herself at her mother. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are. And I love you very much.”

Erica waited until mother and daughter had regained their composure to say, “If you like, I think I might be able to help.”

Samuel Aldridge came upstairs late that afternoon wearing the tight expression of a particularly difficult day and found Erica at work in his study and Lavinia seated at a chair next to the desk. “What’s this?”

“Erica has offered to help you, dear.” Even his wife seemed tentative, affected by the cold sternness that trailed after him like a vapor. “You know how worried you have been about the unpaid accounts. And I am no help whatsoever.”

“You do too much already.” He walked over to Erica. “You are comfortable with ledger work, Miss Langston?”

“I handled all the accounts for my father’s firm, sir.”

“Since the tragedy?”

“Actually, sir, my father began training me in this regard some time before.”

“There are confidential papers here that no one is permitted to see.”

Despite the fragrance of the meal being prepared, Erica could still smell the odor of old smoke upon his clothes. “Everything that is not specifically related to a charge against the embassy or your family, I have set aside without reading.”

“Where are these papers?”

“Here, sir.” She handed him a heavy felt folder and could not quite keep her fingers from trembling.

“I see.” He unbound the blue silk ribbon and studied how the pages were set face down. “Well, do you have anything you wish to discuss with me?”

Despite having spent all her life in Washington, despite all the politicians and hangers-on who had whiled away the hours in their coffeehouse, despite all the soirees she had attended, Erica felt intimidated by Samuel’s severe demeanor. “If you will permit me, sir, I would prefer to work through the remainder of these papers. Then I can offer you a full accounting and not waste any of your time.”

“How much longer will you require?”

“This evening and tomorrow morning should suffice, sir.”

He carefully rebound the ribbon, then hesitated a moment before setting the folder back upon the desk. He patted it twice, then gave a nod to some internal decision. “Shall we say tomorrow afternoon at half past two?”

“Whenever you wish, Mr. Aldridge.”

If he found anything strange in her formal manner of address, he gave no sign. “Very well.” He straightened and worked at setting aside whatever it was he had encountered downstairs. “My dear, something smells marvelous.”

“The butcher saved me a lovely cut of veal.”

“Then we should waste no further time.”

Only when Samuel stepped from the library did Erica notice Abbie. The little girl was hiding behind her mother’s skirt, so that only the upper half of her face showed. Her eyes were as round as two blue saucers.