Till Dawn Tames the Night (53 page)

Vashon wasn't there. She could only picture him on Mirage, running along the surf, or eating
genips
beneath
the silk-cotton tree.
And smiling at her with that dazzling, dangerous smile.
That man with his long black hair and sinful earring didn't belong in this staid, aristocratic mansion, and even the little boy who owned the rocking horse was gone, for that tame and innocent child had long been excised from Vashon in the streets of Algiers.

Taking one last look at the little broken rocking horse, she asked, "Would you mind taking me to the Phipps-Bluefield Home, Isaac?"

"Why there, Aurora?"

"I'm going back," she said with a finality that surprised even her. "It's what he wanted, wasn't it, for me to return to my former life?"

"Vashon wanted that in essence, but not literally. I think he wanted you to live here, Aurora."

"I couldn't."

"If it's the funds you're worried about—"

"No. I have a place back at the Home. They can use me, and I need to be busy."

Isaac stayed respectfully silent.

She took a deep breath, needing to collect herself. It was very hard for her to speak. "How strangely life works. When I first left the Home, Isaac, I thought the emptiness within me was because I had never found out
who
that little girl was that Michael
Dayne
left at the orphanage so long ago. But now that I've found her, still there's that emptiness. And the only time it ever left . . ." Tears stung her eyes. She ignored them,
then
shook her head, unwilling to go on.

"Come with Flossie and me to St. George's. Don't stay here in London where you have no friends, child."

She looked up at him, and suddenly realized how dear
he and Flossie had become to her after this terrible adventure. But she had to refuse his offer. They were to be married and already had a tumultuous relationship. They didn't need her in the middle of it.

"No, thank you, captain.
The Home waits for me. Don't take me away from my purpose."

"You didn't kill him. You know that, don't you, Aurora?"

She turned away. Her face was so consciously without expression it appeared ready to crack. "I believed in my heart that living without caring and emotion was not living at all. I forced him to feel what he did not want to feel." Her voice lowered to a hush. "He told me not to love him."

"You didn't kill him."

She glanced at Isaac, then away. Her voice wavered. "I beg
you,
take me away from this place. I can't stand to stay here another minute." To prove her point, she fled down the stairs all the way to the marble hall. She dropped the brass key on a gilt console and was out the door before Isaac could stop her.

"He's been in such a fine temper since you've been back. I daren't ask him for another shilling. But, oh, Aurora, would you ask him? We must have some more milk. I don't know how the children will fare when it gets colder if we don't have it." Faith held her hands out in supplication, and Aurora put down her pen.

A month had passed since she'd left Hugh Town. John had taken her back into the Home and now, when she thought by all rights things should be better, they were worse. It was as if John knew everything that had happened to her on her voyage. That was impossible, she
kflew
, but something had given her away; perhaps it was the way she didn't shrink from confrontation now, or the cool, level, knowledgeable way she met his eye when he spoke to her. She wasn't the same, and he hated it. And now he made everything more onerous. When before he was testy, now he was outright belligerent.

"I'll talk to him." She nodded. "Did you get the notices from
Queenhithe
?"

"No ship today. The only ships that have docked are the
Tenacious
and the
Sleeping Beauty."

Aurora jumped upon hearing the latter name. A flood of bittersweet memories came back to her, but she pushed them away, forcing herself to concentrate on the matters at hand. She didn't think of Vashon during the day. That was reserved for night, when it was dark and she was alone. Then she pictured him as she'd seen him that very first time on the
Seabravery,
caped in black, his eyes cold and frightening and mysterious. She'd known so little about him then, only that he was dangerous. Yet she'd grown to love him. Her eyes clouded when she thought of that last look he had given her, right before he'd lowered that pistol away from Peterborough. She cherished that look, for it was the essence of all his love for her, but, too, there were nights when she found that memory so painful she wondered if her love wouldn't destroy her as well.

Faith stared at her and grew glum seeing her so far away. "The ship that you wait for, it will come one day, I know it," she whispered.

Aurora came out of her reverie and tried to smile at the girl. She knew she was foolish to even look for the return of the
Seabravery,
but for some reason she'd been overcome with a torturous hope that it might return. She refused to even express her next hope for it was too crazy and too wrenching. Still, every day she looked at the notices from
Queenhithe
.

"I'll go speak with John this very minute."

Faith sighed in despair. "He grew worse while you were away. Today he's rambling about the Dark
Continent,
sure he can take Wilberforce's message to the heathens. I'm sorry I'm too lily-livered to speak with him myself. I just can't face him again this morning."

"If only we could buy this place from him. Pray, let him do his calling then. What a blessing that would be— to everyone but the heathens, that is." Aurora rolled her eyes.

Faith giggled. "How glad I am that you've come back, Aurora. It was terrible without you, quite terrible."

Aurora smiled softly.

"Oh, I forgot!" Faith opened wide her eyes. "While you were taking the children to the rag fair for their coats, a gentleman came to see you, Aurora. He was—"

Aurora almost grabbed her. "Did he have long black hair?
Or a hoop through his ear?
Was he frightening?"

Faith looked overwhelmed with all her strange questions. Shocked, she stuttered, "No, Aurora."

She slumped to her chair, believing surely she was going mad with her desire to see Vashon again.

"He said he'd return at three to discuss something with you. From his appearance I think he might have been titled. He was finely dressed and restrained in his manners." She lowered her voice. "I suspect his case is like that of the other gentlemen who visit here. His mistress has inconvenienced him with a child."

"I see," Aurora answered numbly, chastising herself for her foolish notions. "Then tell the gentleman when he returns that I'll speak with him in the parlor."

"I will." Faith studied her. "Are you all right, Aurora? Ever since you've returned you seem so distant and sad."

Aurora stood and squeezed both of Faith's hands. She was going to have to confess her state at some point, so she resolved herself to begin now. "On the contrary, I feel a great joy. Knowing my circumstances as you do, you may not see this the way I see it. I'm going to have a baby, Faith. And though the future is uncertain, I beg you to be happy for me."

Faith gasped.

Aurora
trembled
a smile. "Do I shame you?"

"You never could!" Faith protested.

"I suppose this means I may have to leave. When John finds out, he will be most displeased."

"You know I hardly make more than my bed and board, Aurora, but what I have is yours, for you and the babe."

"No, no. I have friends who I believe will help me. But they're not in London. I hate to leave the Home again. If John will let me stay, I would like to stay."

"Oh, I shudder to think how Mr. Phipps will take this revelation."

Taking a deep breath, Aurora opened the door. "Well, he shall know it this afternoon. Wish me good luck."

Faith watched her go in stunned silence.

She was tired, broken with a weariness that went beyond the physical into the spiritual.

Aurora climbed the stairs to her garret room, wondering what was going to happen to her, to the Home, to Faith. She hadn't been able to tell John about the baby. After she'd asked for the money, he rambled to her about the true message in St. Paul's teachings. "Let the women learn in silence with all subjection!" he'd ranted, and she knew it was not the time to mention her condition.

But for the first time John mentioned to her his trip to Africa and his plans for selling the Home. She'd been shocked, for though John had his failings, he was far better a master than many would be. To let the Home fall into uncaring hands was a fate too terrible to contemplate, yet she had a worse one waiting for her. She was sure John was going to ask her to marry him again. He planned to take her with him to Africa, he'd all but said that, and knowing that, she would be forced to flee to St. George's earlier than she'd imagined.

She eased herself down on her little bed and drew the patched comforter over her. She was too exhausted to solve all her problems, but this one was serious. If she fled to St. George's, what would happen to Faith and the children under a new owner? Would the man be kind? And if he was not, who would be there to challenge him?

She rolled over and closed her eyes. She would have to do something. That was her last thought before she fell into a deep dreamless slumber.

"Wake up, Aurora! The gentleman's here to see you!"

Aurora opened her eyes and sat up. Faith stood in the doorway at the top of the stairs, a frenzied expression on her face. Aurora thought she'd only just closed her eyes, but she'd obviously been asleep for hours.

"Tell him I'll be right down," she said, scrambling out of bed and pulling her hair back into its neat bun. She made a quick overall appraisal of her appearance in her cracked looking glass,
then
flew down the stairs.

It was so terribly difficult to deal with the peerage. She hated it, having to pretend they were not the monsters they were, gladly accepting their unwanted progeny as if they were some kind of refuse. But she always kept her temper, for those who paid for the Home at least kept the children off the parish. Everyone knew that children on the parish never lived past their first birthday, for they were usually starved, and given cheap paregoric whenever they wailed for sustenance.

With that thought heavy on her mind, she put a smile on her face and went to the closed doors of the parlor. She would take the man's babe and she would even thank him for it. He would never know how much she loathed him.

"Good day to you, sir," she said as she rushed into the parlor. The man was standing with his back to her, staring solemnly out the soot-covered window. He certainly was a finely dressed gentleman. His blue coat of superfine fit like a glove. He was tall with broad shoulders, but slim, slimmer than Vashon had been. And his hair was most certainly not in a queue, for though it was jet black as his had been it was cut into a fashionable Byronic crop.

"Have you a child, sir, for whom you need a place?" she asked, but still the man did not turn around.

He was beginning to intrigue her. His grave stance, his reluctance to turn around, gave her pause.

"Good sir? How may I help you?" she whispered, suddenly overcome with a wild, sweet yearning.

The man lifted his hand and she saw something in it— a brass
key
 
exactly
like the key she'd left in the hall at Peterborough's mansion.

She clutched the door. It couldn't be him. In her state, she must be seeing things.

He turned around. There was no disputing it. It was him.

Trembling in disbelief, she wanted to convince herself that it was a mirage, but no matter how she tried, she saw only the man she loved. Some might have thought it was his brother, for he now looked just like Peterborough, tamed and civilized. But as Aurora stood by the door, she knew the man before her was not Josiah. This man's eyes reflected a joy and
a warmth
that only Vashon's would have.

It was Vashon.

Their gazes finally met. His expression spoke eloquently to her, telling her of a longing and a love that he had never been able to put into words.

Her first steps were the hardest. She had to force herself to believe in this vision before her, this ghost wrought from her own terrible need. But the closer she walked, the more she knew it was true, and by the time she flung herself into his embrace, she knew he was real. In ecstatic disbelief, she felt his arms go around her, and she felt him warm and alive and hugging her so tightly it was as if nothing in the world could every pry him from her.

"My God, I thought you were lost to me forever. I killed you," she suddenly wept, unable to take her eyes off him. "So are you an angel then, come to take me to heaven?"

"You didn't kill me," he said.

"I saw Peterborough fire the shot. I saw the blood."

"Am I not worse for it?"

She stared at him, joy,
hope
and fear mingled into one tragic emotion. She couldn't take her gaze from his face as if by moving her gaze away he might disappear forever. And if that were to happen now, she knew she couldn't endure losing him twice, and her only hope then would be to join him.