The Solitary Envoy (29 page)

“On the contrary.” The carriage jolted to a halt. To Erica’s surprise, she found they were two houses away from the embassy. “Are we back already?”

“We have been gone almost two hours.”

“It seems like a few minutes only.”

Gareth smiled then, transforming his entire face. The taut features lost years, and the solemn weariness vanished from his gaze. “Shall I take that as a compliment?”

“You should indeed.” Erica did not want to leave the carriage. She did not want to leave the company of this man. “Thank you for inviting me.”

He climbed down from the carriage and held out his hand. “Might I have the pleasure of accompanying you again?”

“Oh yes, please.” She didn’t care how forward that sounded. “I should be delighted.”

He held her hand a moment longer. “I wish to have no confidences withheld from each other, so I shall tell you this.

Wilberforce called upon me this morning and asked if I might see how you reacted to his words of last night.”

“So that is why you called upon me?”

“No,” Gareth replied, still holding to her hand. “But I confess I could have embraced the man for giving me such a perfect excuse.”

“I see.” Somewhere in Green Park a bird trilled such a high note Erica shivered in harmony. “Why do you suppose he asked you such a thing?”

“I do not know. I suppose he wanted to be certain you had not taken offense at his words.”

“Please tell Mr. Wilberforce I feel—” she searched for the proper way to express herself—“I feel that I heard not merely him speak but the Master through him.”

Chapter 21

Erica did not want to attend a social gathering, of course. But she could hardly refuse Lavinia, after all the kindnesses the Aldridges had bestowed upon her.

“I have been invited to a ladies’ gathering which I am sure will be a dreadful bore,” Lavinia had announced, “but my husband wishes me to attend. That is one reason for the governess, you see, so that I might begin making the social rounds. I know you dislike such events, possibly even more than I. But I would feel so much better were I not to face these women alone. Will you come with me?”

“Of course I will.”

“I knew you would say yes. What else would a dear friend like you say?”

“But I am afraid, Lavinia, that I do not have a fitting dress for such a high occasion.”

Her friend had apparently already thought of that obstacle. “Ah, but my wardrobe is chockablock with garments I will never wear again, not if I live to be a hundred and sixty. There, you see? You need a dress, and I need a friend.”

She brought Erica upstairs to her bedroom, the first time Erica had entered the couple’s private chamber. Erica forgot her embarrassment when she saw the dresses arrayed upon the pair of settees flanking the fireplace.

“But these are lovely!”

“They are also destined never to fit me again.” If Lavinia felt any remorse over her words, her tone did not reveal it. “Bearing two children has reshaped me completely. Even my feet have grown larger.” She picked up the top dress, a blue frock as pale as the first wash of color upon a dawn sky. “Mama bought this as part of my wedding trousseau.” She held it up against Erica’s frame. “I thought as much. It should fit you without a stitch of correction.”

“But you can’t possibly want me to wear this!”

“Why on earth not?”

“Because … because it is from your mother!”

“Who is your dear friend, is she not?”

“Yes, but …”

“My dear Erica, tell me something. Would you take a farthing of payment for all you have done on behalf of my husband and his work?”

“No more than you have asked for rent from me!”

“Precisely. None of us is counting anything as debt. We do what we can to help one another. You need a dress, and I need moral support to charm my way through this social obligation.”

Erica smiled. “You know that I am always glad to help you.”

Lavinia and Erica attended the afternoon tea. The hostess was a grand dame of London society, sired by on branch of the royal family and married to another. She was also their neighbor of a sort. The home was a newish structure just off Regent’s Street, named for the king’s son while still in his infancy. Now that he was the Crown’s representative, there was a new style of architecture named after him as well. Regency structures were far more lavish than the square Georgian structures, which Erica adored but their hostess apparently found stodgy. This particular building was rather tall, with a facade of cream-colored stone. There were curved Venetian-style balconies, one to a floor, fronting high bow windows. The roofline was shaped like the prow of a ship and adorned with ornate curlicues and cherubs.

The interior was lavish. There were servants and liveried footmen everywhere. There could not possibly be any use in such a house for so many servants, Erica thought to herself. She counted more than twenty, some scurrying about serving the chattering throng, while others stood at rigid attention in powdered wigs and stared blankly at nothing.

On their way over, they had stopped by a house in the Westminster borough to visit the great aunt Erica’s mother had told her about. Erica had received a letter the previous day from the woman. Anne Crowley was residing with relatives for a time, she had written, and hoped that they might finally meet. But the encounter had not gone well. Her great aunt bore the recent loss of her husband, the Reverend Thomas Crowley, with a gloom darker than her black clothes. Her great aunt had made an effort to express delight at meeting Nicole’s only granddaughter. But every topic of conversation had eventually wound its way back to her bereavement. It was Anne who had finally admitted defeat and apologized for her inviting Erica, saying that it was simply too soon to be making such feeble efforts and that come the morrow she would pack up and return to her home in Manchester. She would write Erica when it proved possible to look beyond the void in her world. But the woman’s grief was so palpable, Erica left the house wondering if such a time might ever come.

At the ladies’ tea, Erica felt as though she had inherited her great aunt’s sorrow. Her smile seemed to be nailed into place. She could not remember the name of their hostess. The woman wore ostrich feathers instead of a hat. Her dress was a sail of billowing velvet. She wore six strands of pearls and brayed like a donkey.

Seven days had passed since her carriage ride with Gareth. For the entire week, Erica had waited and hoped for word about her case against the banker. Finally, on Sunday morning, she had gathered her courage and asked Samuel Aldridge if he had any new information. They had been preparing to leave for another service at St. Paul’s Cathedral, where the great of the land came to be seen upon a Sunday. Samuel had not been in a particularly good mood. He had no interest in attending worship in a place filled with little besides pomp and circumstance, as he repeatedly told his wife. Erica’s query had only deepened the lines of his face. He had shaken his head and said merely that she must be patient. But she could see he scarcely believed the words himself.

Erica sat as her mother had taught her, back perfectly straight and chin held just so. Her hair, thankfully, remained in place this day, and her hands were steady. None of these strangers would be allowed to see how her heart was near breaking and her dreams buried before they had really ever had a chance at life.

There seemed to be an endless stream of ladies pouring into the house. In the hour since their arrival the number of visitors had doubled and the volume of talk tripled. Erica could see where Lavinia sat in the midst of an older group of ladies. She heard several mentions of the Crown and the opposition and the Tories, and she knew that she should be in the thick of such conversations also. She was here to help gather information and gossip that might aid the embassy in sorting through the complex alliances that ruled this nation.

The doorbell chimed yet again, but instead of announcing more guests, the footman approached the lady of the house and spoke to her quietly. She turned and looked at Erica with an expression of curiosity and some displeasure, or so it seemed to Erica. She nodded toward Erica, and the footman followed her direction.

“A gentleman from the Inns of Court, miss, a Mr. Richmond, is waiting for you in the entryway. The ambassador has sent him to take you to a meeting in the city.”

Lavinia had been watching and quietly appeared at her side. “You will have to go, dear. Pay your respects to our hostess on your way out.”

In the entryway Erica found Mr. Richmond looking like a kettle about to boil over. He led her past the imperious footman, through the front door, and down the steps at something close to a sprint. He opened the door to a functional rig with high wheels and a single leather seat facing forward. The carriage squeaked a mild protest as he settled upon the seat beside Erica and called to the driver, “Make all haste!”

“Right, sir.” The driver cracked the whip smartly, and the single horse jerked forward so hard Erica had to hold on to her hat.

“Mr. Richmond, what is this?”

“It is too early to tell.” Mr. Richmond plucked his pocket watch from his vest and flipped open the face. “I hope we will arrive in time.”

“In time for what?”

“I just received word two hours ago. Couldn’t believe my own eyes, I don’t mind telling you. Sent a note straightaway for the bank’s solicitor to meet me at their premises. Perhaps I should have gone by myself, but I thought it would suit matters best if you were with me. Then when I arrived at the embassy and found you were out and had to traipse over here to find you, I feared all was lost.”

Despite not understanding a word the solicitor had spoken, she felt her own heart racing. “Can you tell me what is happening in words that I can fathom?”

“A miracle is what,” Mr. Richmond replied. “That is, if your good friend is to be believed.”

“Mr. Powers? He wrote you?”

“Not just wrote me, my dear Miss Langston. Not just wrote. He has delivered our cause from the gaping maw of defeat!” He leaned out the side of the carriage. “I say, can’t you make a bit more speed there?”

“We’re caught behind a pair of coal carts.”

“Then find another avenue, man! We must fly!”

“The side lanes are a right mess, sir.”

“The lady will be fine. Go where you must, just get us there!”

The driver wheeled off the main thoroughfare and into a noisome alley scarcely wider than their rig. At another crack of the whip, the horse sped into a canter. The carriage jounced and sprang about with such severity Erica had to grip the roof and the side rail in order to keep from being flung out. The portly solicitor was obviously accustomed to such hasty maneuvers, for he removed his top hat and slid the brim under one leg so that it would not fly away. Erica unpinned her little gray hat and followed his example.

By the time they flew about the outer rim of Parliament Square, her hair was in utter disarray, the careful pinnings all undone. She swept the hair from her face and watched as they scarcely managed to avoid ramming a trio of workers unloading sacks of grain. The driver was shouting now, both to speed on their horse and to warn those ahead. People shouted back at them from both sides of the road, but the carriage was bouncing around so hard Erica could not make out a single word.

They arrived in front of the Bartholomew Merchant Bank in less time than she would have thought possible. Before the rig even drew to a halt, Mr. Richmond was already bounding down. “Come along! We can only hope their solicitor is still present.”

“One minute.” She plucked all the remaining pins from her hair, pulled it together as taut as she could manage, then whipped the silk ribbon into a knot. “Is that all right?”

“You ask my opinion about a lady’s hair? I am a solicitor, trained for thirty-seven years in the laws of this land. I am sure you look fine.”

“Never mind.” Erica stepped down from the rig and, as before, quailed slightly at the name emblazoned above the door.

Her companion gave no mind to her nerves. Nor did he wait for the footman. He pushed open the door and ushered her inside, grumbling as he did so.

“Ah, Mr. Richmond. You are singularly ill timed.” A sternfaced man in formal black approached down the center of the bank. The banker Erica had recognized during her previous visit hovered a few steps behind. “I was just leaving.”

“This will not take but a moment.”

“It matters not. I have waited a full hour, at your request, I might add. Since it was all an utter waste, I shall be required to bill your office for my time.”

“Do what you will, but not until you hear what it is I have to report.”

The banker pointed a shaking finger at Erica. “If it has anything to do with that colonial, I do not care to hear it!”

“A colonial no more, Mr. Bartholomew,” Mr. Richmond replied. “As you well know.”

“It is no matter.” The banker’s solicitor had a supercilious manner and an upper-class drawl. Every word he spoke held a slur. “My learned colleague is well aware of the plight of all war claims set before the court.”

“This has nothing to do with the war, except for Mr. Bartholomew’s manipulation of events to his advantage.”