The second attacker turned and fled. Falconer started to follow, but the attacker probably knew these woods far better than he did and could well have prepared an ambush. Plus, there was the risk of others laying in wait, but Falconer doubted that. These were not soldiers. They had clustered together for companionship. Falconer’s gut told him the pair acted alone.
He searched the man’s pockets and found little of worth. Wadding, a powder horn, six spare round shot, a flint box, more slow fuse, and a plug of foul-looking tobacco. Then he spied a paper in the man’s vest pocket. He unfolded it and started in genuine alarm.
He was looking at a poster for one John Falconer. The drawing was of a snarling wolf of a man, one with evil eyes and a scar from mouth to ear. The warrant named him as highwayman, murderer, and enemy of the Crown.
In his shock, Falconer did not hear the horse until it was almost upon him.
The second attacker had not in fact fled. He charged at Falconer with a fierce snarl and drawn blade. But the trees were too closely set for the horse to move easily. Falconer crouched and leaped to one side. Then, when the horse had to swerve about a pair of saplings, he sprang away, taking cover behind a thick oak.
The rider jerked hard on the reins. He was breathing as hard as his steed, and his feverish eyes swept the area as he took aim for another strike. The horse snorted and pawed the leaf-strewn earth.
The man Falconer had knocked to the earth chose that moment to rise unsteadily to his feet, his back to Falconer. He spied the horse and reached out to the rider. The horseman could not charge as he wished, for now his mate stood between them.
Falconer searched the forest floor until he saw a likely looking branch. He hefted it and took aim as he would with a spear.
The rider snarled and rammed his sword back into its sheath. He gripped his unsteady mate and pulled him up onto the horse behind him. They wheeled about and sped into the forest.
Falconer raced for the great house.
Chapter 22
Falconer emerged from the forest at a dead run. The light was dim and the air much colder, as though the season had changed in the few minutes it had taken him to return to Harrow Hall. Servants were clustered by the kitchen’s rear door, watching him with anxious expressions.
“Was that gunfire?” Mrs. Marcham called.
Falconer gasped out, “Where are the girls?”
“In the Powers’ apartment. But what—”
Falconer sprinted up the stairs to be greeted on the landing by a stern-looking Daniel. No sight could have given Falconer more comfort. He managed to ask once more, “The girls?”
“Both safe. You?”
Falconer bent over, hands on his knees. “Winded.”
Behind Daniel stood Gareth Powers, now dressed and wearing boots. “Who were these assailants?”
Falconer held up his hand, puffing both from the exertion and the strain of battle. He had walked away from many confrontations. Sometimes the worst fears were caused by what might have happened. This time, however, his greatest worry lay in the hours ahead.
He straightened. “I must speak with you and your wife.”
“Come in.” Gareth looked drawn, but he held himself with a soldier’s stiff resolve as he entered the apartment’s front room and announced to the little group, “He’s all right.”
Hannah tore herself from her mother’s embrace and ran over. “I was so frightened!”
“The important thing is you’re safe now.” Falconer knelt and accepted the young girl’s embrace. “I’m sorry you were endangered, lass.”
“I wasn’t scared for me. I knew you would protect us. I worried for you.”
“I am fine as well.” Gently Falconer released himself. He rose to his feet and walked over to where Serafina stood beside Erica Powers. “You were not hurt?”
“No, only frightened.”
“You did well, lass. Very well indeed. Not all would have kept their wits about them as you did.”
“I only did what you told me to.”
He stared into those wide gray eyes. Conscious of those watching, Falconer finally asked in a low voice, “Would you take the young one in back while I have a word with her parents?”
“Of course.” Serafina reached out her hand to Hannah. “Come with me now.”
“But I want to hear!”
“If you come, I will make something for you.” Serafina looked Falconer’s way as she added, “A secret thing.”
This drew Hannah forward. “I love secrets.”
“Come, then.”
A freshening wind moaned around the house’s corner. Falconer glanced out the window, gauging the change as he would at sea. The new week appeared to be minted upon storms from all quarters.
He drew a paper from his pocket, the one taken from the attacker’s vest coat. But he did not reveal the contents. Not yet. “I must ask you something. I would ask for your oath as well, but I am given to trust your word alone.”
“We have always been truthful with you,” Gareth Powers replied.
“Well I know it. When I arrived in London to escort Mrs. Powers, Samuel Aldridge handed me two pamphlets and urged me to read them. His intent was to demonstrate you were people of strength and purpose. But what I discovered . . .”
When he paused, Gareth urged, “Go on, man.”
But Falconer found himself captured by two memories. “The priest who brought me to your home in Georgetown—”
“He was a Methodist pastor,” Gareth corrected. “What of him?”
“He felt that God’s hand was upon the meeting. I found it hard to believe then, after all the trials and delays I had faced. But now that I am here . . .”
Gareth prodded, more gently this time, “Yes?”
“Do you remember asking me if I ever felt confused by how God lets the world stand in our way? How it seemed impossible that He guided our steps when life went so terribly wrong?”
“I do remember that.” Gareth nodded slowly. “It was a low point for me. I should not have questioned the Almighty.”
Falconer looked into Gareth’s face a moment. “I feel we should start this moment with prayer,” he said.
The three of them, Daniel and Gareth and Erica Powers, moved to make a circle, and Erica said, “Please lead us.”
“Ma’am, I have no way with proper words.”
“God is after your heart, not your speech.” She cut off further argument by bowing her head. The two men followed suit.
Falconer took a breath and cleared his throat, then began slowly, “Heavenly Father, at times you chart a course that we cannot fathom. But I sense a greater meaning to all this. A deeper bond than any we here on earth could forge. Show us what is to be done and provide strength to stay the course. Amen.”
He raised his head. Falconer’s sense of rightness had solidified. Wilberforce was ill, and these people were here. If God’s hand was indeed upon them, would it not be wrong to delay further? “Felix, the curate who brought me to our Lord, is battling the slave trade throughout the Caribbean. We have gathered evidence revealing that despite what the law says, the trade in slaves continues.”
“As we have long suspected,” Erica said.
“I’m afraid we have indeed known this,” Gareth quietly said. “We knew in our bones in spite of Parliament’s edict.”
“But we had no proof. And without proof . . .”
Falconer went on, “We have put together a list of islands and towns where the slave markets thrive. We have numbers, still incomplete, and mostly guesswork. Enough, though, to show that an illegal trade continues on a substantial scale. They have moved this evil commerce to outlying villages, places far removed from prying eyes. But it happens. On almost every island where there are significant plantations within the British empire, the slave trade still persists.”
“You have these records with you?”
“In my room.” When Gareth started to ask for them, Falconer hastily added, “There’s more.”
&nbs
p; The keenness with which they listened was all the confirmation Falconer required. Now was time to reveal the appalling truth. “The trade continues with the Crown’s knowledge.”
Gareth breathed, “What do you say?”
“Not the king, though he may have knowledge of this traffic in human lives. But people within the court, officials close to the Crown, are involved.”
“How can you be certain of this?” Erica asked, eyes wide in disbelief.
“I have proof. I have the governor of Trinidad’s own seal upon a license to hold a monthly market.”
“And this means . . . ?”
“The market is held in a town so small and so removed no one in their right mind would even think to travel there. It requires traversing the entire island. There is no decent harbor, just an anchorage when the waters are absolutely calm. Otherwise the vessels risk being dashed upon sheer cliffs. No, there is only one reason why such a market exists.”
“Slaves,” Daniel said.
“Precisely.”
Erica Powers shook her head. “No. I am sorry, but this is not proof. The governor could be an unwilling party.”
“Not so,” Falconer replied. He had also required solid evidence before risking his life and that of his best mate. “The license was for renewing the market. And the payment was enormous.”
“How much?”
“Two thousand gold sovereigns.”
The sum rocked them back a step. Two thousand in gold would purchase the estate where they now resided. “How did you come upon these documents?” Gareth asked.
“My best mate was the governor’s driver. He heard them discussing many things.”
“Names,” Gareth demanded. “Was anyone at court mentioned specifically?”
“Just one. My mate was after confirmation when they captured him. He is gone from us now.”
“And they discovered you were working with him?”
“Jaime would never have confessed. But we were known as close mates. So those behind the trade assume that I too stand against them.”
“How can you be certain?” Erica asked.
“Because the attack in the woods just now was directed at me, not you.” He handed them the poster. “Here is proof.”
As the page with his likeness passed from hand to hand, Falconer added, “And they knew the curate was a friend of mine. It is for his sake that I must hasten back to Trinidad.”
“But you mentioned a name, someone at court.”
“A banker. We heard his name several times. We were seeking proof when Jaime was captured.”
Husband and wife exchanged dark looks. Gareth asked, “A banker, did you say? One in London?”
“You can’t possibly mean Simon Bartholomew,” Erica exclaimed.
Falconer looked at the woman in shock, then was surprised again when Gareth Powers began laughing.
Erica frowned. “You find this humorous?”
“I find this astonishing,” Gareth replied, smiling broadly. “I find this utterly miraculous.”
“I fail to understand you,” his wife said. “Our nemesis is now shown to—”
“To be the criminal we always knew he was.” Gareth explained to Falconer, “We have known and fought Simon Bartholomew for almost twenty years. A sign, you sought, was that not what you said to me in America? A means to be certain that you could trust us with the fate of your comrades?”
“I do trust you,” Falconer said.
“But a sign you shall have. The man behind this illicit trade is the same man who sought to destroy my wife’s family. Not once, but several times over.”
“A truly evil man,” Erica said softly, “without fear of man or God.”
Gareth stepped forward, smiling once more. “I think we should begin writing a pamphlet based upon the news Falconer has just supplied. Then I believe we should make haste to introduce our friend Falconer to the men fighting in the front line.”
“I agree about the pamphlet,” Erica said, “but I worry that you may not yet be fit for such a journey into the political fray.”
“I cannot permit you to travel back to London without me,” he said firmly. “No, my dear, please do not argue. On this point I am quite adamant. I will remain in the background; I will let you hold the pen. But our attackers have found us. And earlier than expected. I must know that you are safe. Which means we must all travel together.”
“Promise me you will not tax yourself.”
“That I do.” He pointed to the Wanted poster in his wife’s hands and asked Falconer, “What does that tell you?”
“First, they are powerful enough to recruit a vessel as swift as our own,” Falconer replied. “They lost no time in making the journey to England. They then searched until they discovered our whereabouts.”
“They are powerful and determined both,” Gareth agreed. “Anything more?”
“They consider us such a threat that they will spare neither expense nor energy to attack us.”
“Do you hear that, my dearest? Attack us. Falconer is one of us now.”
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. At a call from Gareth, the door opened to reveal Cuthbert, the chief butler. He gripped the lapel of his dark coat and announced, “Lord Drescott’s compliments, sir. His guests have arrived.”
“Who are they, may I ask?”
“Two members of Parliament, Mr. Powers. Lord Sedgwick and Henry Carlyle.”
“Most astonishing,” Erica breathed.
“Miraculous, I would say,” Gareth said. “These are two of our allies in the battle,” he explained to Falconer. “Your news could not have come at a more opportune time.”
“May I ask where we are to go?” Falconer asked.
“For the family, somewhere safe.” Gareth’s smile broadened. “But you, my friend and ally, you must make straight for the battleground.”
Serafina knocked on the door and entered without waiting. Her aunt was cozy in quilts, her legs stretched upon a stool. A generous fire kept the rising storm at bay. As usual, Aunt Agatha was not alone. This day, Mrs. Marcham was visiting.
Mrs. Marcham lifted her chin at Serafina’s appearance. “Why are you not properly dressed in the clothes your aunt gave you?”
“I am told that I shall be traveling soon, Mrs. Marcham. Tuesday at dawn.” Serafina wore a dress loaned to her by Erica Powers. The high-necked frock was of light blue serge lined at the neckline and cuffs in ivory lace.
“Is that so? Why was I not informed?”
“It has only just been decided, ma’am.”
“By whom?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Powers, ma’am. Mrs. Powers asked me to dress thusly.”
“So you think you can depart the manor without a by your-leave?”
Serafina realized this conversation was going to take time she did not have. She took a quick breath and asked as humbly as she could, “Might I please have a moment alone with my aunt, Mrs. Marcham?”
The housekeeper showed genuine surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“Be a dear, Beryl,” Aunt Agatha said mildly. “Clearly the young lady is under some considerable pressure.”
“Yes, very well. If you’re quite sure.”
“It appears Serafina’s time with us is coming to a close,” Aunt Agatha said and patted her old friend’s hand. “Thank you for the lovely tea. I shall look forward to speaking with you later in the week.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Marcham rose, inspected Serafina one more time, then left without a word.
“Come sit down beside me, dear.” Agatha watched her approach. “What has happened to your hands?”
“I damaged them with the work, the firewood. But they are getting better.” She picked at the edge of one bandage. “I wished to apologize for all the trouble I have caused.”
Her aunt slowly nodded. “I see that progress is indeed being made. Very well, child. Your apology is accepted. Now tell me. You intend to travel with the Powers family?”
“They have asked me
to do so. And I cannot stay here.”
“No,” Agatha agreed. She stared out the window at the cloud-swept horizon. “I dread the thought of this great home coming under the sway of young Drescott.”
But Serafina had not come to discuss the manor’s future. “Aunt, could you please tell me, what does it mean to repent?”
Agatha moved her head to inspect her niece more closely. “Repentance means to turn away. This much you know, yes? Our Savior, when he spoke to the woman who had sinned, said to her, ‘Go and sin no more.’ That is repentance in its purest and simplest form.”
“It does not seem enough,” Serafina murmured.
Agatha seemed to understand her perfectly. “Jesus did not come to punish, child. He came to save. You should ask each of those you have harmed for their forgiveness, the same as you do with the Father. When it is granted, you accept it. You move into the future. You seek to never repeat the sin.” She paused a moment, then added, “Daily you seek the strength you need through Scriptures and prayer.”
Serafina kept her attention focused upon her hands. The good captain had again treated them with brine and goose fat. “I have been such a fool.”
“Indeed. And now you must turn away from the mistakes, seek forgiveness from God and man, and face your future.”
“Would you pray with me?”
Her aunt smiled so warmly the lines of pain and loss rearranged themselves. “I should think of nothing finer.”
Chapter 23
Falconer strode the path from the old manor to the stables. He studied the afternoon sky and wished for open seas. But it was an idle thought, for his heart was not in it. He should have felt great relief. His secret, guarded for months and many miles, was now entrusted with stalwart friends. He had no doubt but that he had done the right thing. Felix would approve. He would accomplish whatever it was Gareth and Erica had in mind, then return to Trinidad and see to his friend’s safety.
Yet Falconer’s emotions boiled like the clouds and the wind, like the furious squall that beat the trees and fields with fists of rainfall to the north. He wanted to go, needed to leave, just as soon as his mission here was complete. Yet any departure would sever the fragile tie he had to Serafina.
Heirs of Acadia - 03 - The Noble Fugitive Page 22