The de Wolfe of Wharf Street

by Carter, Elizabeth Ellen

  In thee, O LORD, do I put my trust; let me never be ashamed: deliver me in thy righteousness.

  Bow down thine ear to me; deliver me speedily: be thou my strong rock, for a house of defense to save me.

  For thou art my rock and my fortress; therefore for thy name’s sake lead me, and guide me.

  Pull me out of the net that they have laid privily for me: for thou art my strength.

  Into thine hand I commit my spirit: thou hast redeemed me, O LORD God of truth.

  He slammed the book shut, hating how much his hands shook.

  “Gabriel?”

  Damn!

  He hadn’t heard Mathilda re-enter the room and now he was caught with a book in his hands like the common thief that society assumed of his profession. The urge to justify himself was strong, but he couldn’t force the words out.

  Mathilda looked at the volume and that same, sad, small smile emerged.

  “She would want you to have it,” she said.

  “I… I couldn’t, something as expensive as a book… I—”

  Mathilda waved his concerns away with a wave of a hand. “Then do it as a favor to me, as you promised. And also, there is another boon I’ll ask of you.”

  She held out her hand and unfurled her fingers like a flower. In her palm was a cross and chain made of silver.

  “Wear this for her. A token of remembrance.”

  Gabriel’s throat closed, he sucked in a ragged breath to clear it.

  “It’s too much, Madam,” he said hoarsely. Rather pathetically, he almost added the word please, as though he were a pinned wrestler begging mercy from a much larger opponent instead of a woman offering a keepsake.

  Her eyes fluttered as though she was returning from a trance. “Oh… yes… of course.”

  The little room which had seemed so warm and cozy was now stifling. Gabriel didn’t know what else to say so, instead, he headed for the door.

  Mathilda snagged his arm as he passed. “Remember us in your prayers.”

  Gabriel put his hand on hers and squeezed before taking it and lifting it to his lips.

  “Always.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  He had no memory of walking down to the Wharf Street Tavern but, nonetheless, there he was. Gabriel glanced up at the wolf carving over the door with the queerest feeling – like he was in this place for the first time.

  “Gabriel!”

  He turned in the direction of his called name to find Raphael and Michael waving him over. Both men looked grim, especially Raphael who hid his emotions behind a cynical countenance.

  “We heard about the Salacia,” he said.

  Michael couldn’t hide his thoughts. He wore the worry plainly on his face.

  “And Mistress Cassie?” The hope in his younger brother’s voice gutted afresh.

  All he could manage was a quick shake of his head in answer.

  It wasn’t enough. This helpless resignation to fate was not enough.

  “Get your things,” he ground out.

  Michael looked surprised, but Raphael did not, his chin had lifted as though he had already known Gabriel’s next words.

  “It’s time to go see de Wolfe.”

  Gabriel pounded on the door firmly and loudly. He was at the ragged end of his control and he had no idea what might push him over the edge.

  To his surprise, it was Lord de Wolfe himself who opened the door.

  He was not dressed in the finery of his station but rather in breeches and a loose linen blouse unlaced to the neck.

  Despite it being a cool May day, the man was sweating, his hair damp with perspiration.

  He cast a glance at the three of them and then beyond as though he expected them to bring a legion with them.

  “I take it that you’ve decided to accept my offer.”

  “Aye, we have,” said Gabriel.

  Apparently, that wasn’t good enough. De Wolfe surveyed the brothers.

  “And so say you all?”

  They answered in one voice.

  The older man turned and walked down the hall. Clearly, he expected them to follow. Gabriel glanced quickly at his brothers. He’d only just noticed the sabre in the man’s hand and, by Michael and Raphael’s expressions, he suspected they, too, had only just noticed.

  “Caine! Caine! Where are you?”

  De Wolfe’s voice echoed through the oak paneled entrance hall and up the stairs. A moment later a spry-looking man in his seventies emerged from one of the side rooms. His bearing was erect, refined as though he was an aristocrat himself. And yet his silver hair and slight sag in the jowls seemed to add to his vitality instead detract from it.

  “These are the Hardacre brothers. They’ve agreed to join our merry band. See to accommodations for them.”

  Caine gave a sweeping look. “Do you have at least a change of clothes, sirs?”

  “We left everything at the Wharf Street Tavern,” Raphael answered.

  “Caine will have someone fetch your baggage,” de Wolfe announced. “What you’re wearing is good enough for the drills I have planned for you this afternoon.”

  Once again, the brothers thought as one and Gabriel spoke for them. “You expected us?”

  “I invited you, didn’t I?”

  “If you recall, we didn’t accept.”

  De Wolfe paused before a set of double doors. For the first time since entering the house, he looked at them, at Gabriel in particular.

  “I heard about the Salacia yesterday evening.” The commanding tone of voice was gone, in its place a quiet regret. “And that you were close to the Makepeace family… I’m sorry, but now we’re all in the same boat, you might say.”

  The grief was too new, too fresh for Gabriel to even react to the expression of condolence. He nodded his head and said nothing as de Wolfe opened the door to what would have been the home’s great hall.

  Every stick of furniture that ought to be there was gone, completely stripped bare. It had been turned into some kind of sporting arena. Before them were vaulting horses, high bars and balance beams.

  In a roped off area, two shirtless men wrestled while four others, also stripped to the waist, waited their turns critiquing the technique of those on the mat.

  “I took a guess at the equipment acrobats would need to practice on. I trust it is sufficient.” De Wolfe didn’t wait for an answer. He let out a piercing whistle and all activity in the hall stopped.

  “Good news gentlemen! Meet the Hardacre brothers, Gabriel, Raphael and Michael. They’ve agreed to join us.”

  A cheer went up.

  “Let’s see if the men who can fly like angels can also avenge like their namesakes. Go. You’ve earned your rest for the morning. We train again after dark.”

  All but two of the men, and none of them older than forty, filed out of the hall joking and chatting among themselves as though it were an everyday thing that a small army was drilled for war inside a stately home.

  “That’s it?” said Raphael. “You expect to take the island of Lundy with no more than a dozen men?”

  Gabriel inwardly groaned. His middle brother had never been shy in saying exactly what he thought at the moment he thought it.

  Fortunately, de Wolfe seemed to find the question amusing.

  “I don’t need to take an island. Just one castle.”

  “A siege?” asked Michael, his face frowning as though he were mentally calculating the resources it would take.

  De Wolfe shook his head. “A lightning raid. I plan to get the captives out before their captors even know we’re there. We will be ghosts, to appear then disappear like the fog.”

  Suddenly it all became clear to the three brothers. Michael spoke first. “And we three will help get you inside. Our acrobatic ability means we can go places others cannot.”

  “I have to confess I wasn’t sure about the plan when I first saw you perform, but when you staged the mock fight with the swords, I knew you were the men we needed for this crusade.”

&nb
sp; De Wolfe raised the weapon in his hand and the light shining through tall windows struck the blade, making it glint.

  “Have you ever used real swords? With sharpened blades?”

  “No, sir,” Michael answered. “We have not.”

  “Then let’s see how you perform against an opponent who is not a part of your troupe, and is armed with the means to kill you. Go fetch a sword from the wall.”

  Michael returned with the blade. He looked nervous. Gabriel stayed him with a hand to his wrist.

  “No, I want to be first.”

  “Gabriel…”

  He heard Raphael’s warning but ignored it. This was the physical release he needed, a way to unleash the violence that strained at the end of the chain of his control.

  He saluted de Wolfe as he had seen tournament fighters do.

  De Wolfe moved swiftly with a downward thrust. Gabriel only just managed to parry the blade away before it struck his shoulder. He stepped forward, hoping to catch de Wolfe off balance, but the man was more than prepared and turned under their raised blades, breaking the deadlock.

  This time, the older man swept low. Gabriel jumped and landed in a backwards roll, gaining his feet with the sword pointed directly at his opponent’s unprotected torso. De Wolfe swept his blade down, knocking Gabriel’s out of the way.

  Gabriel clenched his teeth. The man was good; more than good, he was an expert at his art. Every attacking move he made, de Wolfe had a counter for it. After a few minutes at this swordplay, he found himself more and more on the defensive.

  For the first time, Gabriel wondered whether he would be bested.

  “Watch his eyes, Gabriel,” Raphael warned.

  The advice came a split second before Gabriel warded off a head-high blow. He dropped to his haunches in the nick of time. He used his momentum to execute a sweeping kick which knocked de Wolfe off his feet.

  Gabriel got to his and placed his sword at the prone man’s neck.

  “Do I pass your test?”

  De Wolfe offered a lupine smile just as Gabriel felt the sharp pinprick of a blade at his own neck.

  “Never underestimate your opponent,” said de Wolfe, knocking the blade away with his forearm and rolling to his feet.

  The steel at Gabriel’s neck withdrew. He turned. It was Caine. Beyond him, the two young men who did not leave with the others had swords trained on Raphael and Michael.

  Raphael was just this side of fury. Michael was sullen.

  “You four get training, full defensive and attacking drills,” announced de Wolfe. “Caine, instruct them on the use of the swordbreaker.”

  “You,” he nodded to Gabriel, “come with me.”

  Gabriel shared a look with his brothers. Michael looked half-alarmed and ready to protest – and indeed might have done so if Raphael had not been there.

  The man acts as though he were a medieval baron, thought Gabriel, and in this imposing place it was difficult not to perceive him in that way.

  This time, de Wolfe led the way up a wide staircase, the dark oak appearing to absorb what light came in through the windows high in the gallery. The lord opened the first doorway to the right, a study. The wall to the right of the room was lined with books. The window opposite let light flood in. To his left was a fireplace. Gabriel gravitated toward it, and not only for its warmth.

  Over the mantel was a large painting of one of the most arresting women he had ever seen. Her face was luminous with a touch of pink on her cheeks and lips. Dark eyes looked out, unapologetically direct.

  Her hair, a light brown, was piled high and strung with pearls.

  She wore a short-sleeved gown of bronze over an underdress of cream; the neckline of ruffled fabric drew attention to a fine bust.

  A mantle of red was thrown over her shoulder. She looked like a queen. A warrior’s queen.

  “Lady de Wolfe?”

  “My wife, Eliza,” said de Wolfe. “I commissioned the portrait for our wedding. In twenty years, she’s scarcely changed a day. I brought it with me when I set up this base at Barnstaple. I look into her eyes every day and vow that I will bring her home…”

  The room fell to silence a moment before de Wolfe continued.

  “I’ve told you why I’m doing this, now I want to know your reason.”

  Gabriel folded his arms. “My Lord, you invited us, did you not?”

  The man half-smiled and shook his head. He turned to where a decanter of brandy stood. He poured two glasses.

  “You told me last time that you and your brothers were not mercenaries,” he said. “I believed you then and I am most heartily convinced that is so now.”

  Gabriel folded his arms.

  “What makes you think it? If you have coin enough for this campaign, then who are we to deprive you the joy of spending it?”

  “The very first thing mercenaries do is ask their wage. You didn’t. Neither did your brothers. It’s plain they’re here because of you. Now, I want to know why you’re here.”

  De Wolfe picked up his glass and sipped.

  Gabriel took up the brandy on the table. He sipped, too, holding the amber liquid in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. He savored the heat as it slipped down his throat, searing it; preventing it from closing up on him from the still-raw turmoil in his gut.

  “You know we were close to the Makepeace family, though how you learned that I have no idea.”

  De Wolfe merely smiled knowingly. “Go on,” he said.

  Gabriel cleared his throat. “Cassie Glenwood… She was aboard the Salacia with her cousin, Reverend Makepeace. She was my…” what exactly? Gabriel pondered. Not wife; they were but new lovers in the scheme of things. “She was my woman.”

  “Did they find her body?”

  The second swallow of brandy was a welcome distraction. Gabriel didn’t want to see pity in the man’s eyes.

  “No.”

  “Then have courage, my friend. She may still live and be a captive.”

  “I don’t know which fate is worse.”

  Gabriel listened to the sound of the crackling fire.

  “If you think too hard upon it, you will go mad. Leave it. Such ruminations are unproductive.”

  “You speak from experience.”

  Gabriel looked up to see de Wolfe nod once.

  “It’s been three months since my wife was taken,” he said. “I spent the first month cursing God and the devil in equal measure, and the two months since planning her rescue.”

  Gabriel thought of the commentary of Psalms in his coat pocket and the inscription in Cassie’s own handwriting. It wasn’t a portrait, not as de Wolfe had of his wife, but it would suffice for now.

  “So, you’re here for revenge?” de Wolfe pressed.

  “Does it matter so long as I’m here?”

  “It does if you cannot master it. You did well with the blades but your rage blinded you to other obvious dangers. What I have planned is one roll of the dice. That is all. It must go exactly as planned or we spend the rest of our lives chained to the oars of a xebec.”

  Gabriel set his goblet firmly on the side table and looked de Wolfe directly in the eyes.

  “What would you have us do?”

  “First of all, ‘a workman is worthy of his hire’.” De Wolfe moved over to his desk by the window. He opened a drawer and pulled out a small bag and dropped it on the surface, it sounded heavy with coin.

  “Tomorrow, I will lay out the full plan.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The church bells tolled solemnly.

  Gabriel waited until the last of the line of mourners made their way out of the church.

  On this bright May morning, he could hear birds chirp in the trees above, unconcerned by the parade of the bereaved that followed the coffin that held the mortal remains of Reverend Uriah Makepeace.

  Gabriel joined those around the grave and stared at the wooden box that four men lowered into the ground. In his mind’s eye, he recalled Uriah alive, alongside Cassie, pr
essing into his hand two books for his journey.

  How could a man so good and so dedicated to those in his charge be gone from this life so cruelly?

  Although he mourned, there was one who suffered more. Gabriel raised his eyes. Mathilda stood across the way, swathed in a black veil. She was surrounded by family. They would be a comfort at least.

  He barely heard the words of the priest who committed the body into the ground.

  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…

  Gabriel waited until the last of the mourners paid their final respects before he bent to grasp a handful of soil in his hand. With one last look at the casket, he dropped the soil into the grave before turning and walking away.

  Mathilda was a number of yards away, heading toward the cemetery gates in the company of two other female mourners who Gabriel did not know.

  The widow stopped and he quickened his step to catch up with her.

  “Mistress Makepeace,” he began formally, “words cannot express my sorrow.”

  “Mine also,” she said. “But I’d be more sorrowed, too, if you ceased to think of me as a friend – please do call me Mathilda.”

  Gabriel took her hands and squeezed them. “T’would be an honor.”

  “I… I haven’t seen you in some days and I had feared you and your brothers had left Barnstaple.”

  He offered a small smile before urging her away from her companions.

  “I need to speak to you in private, Mathilda, on a matter that is dear to both of us.”

  Mathilda nodded to her two companions and they continued on their way toward the gate. Gabriel led her back toward the church.

  He considered his words carefully.

  “We… I… have some small hope that Cassie is still alive.”

  Mathilda halted and let out a gasp.

  Gabriel swallowed against a knot in his throat.

  “Her body was not among those that washed up on the shore, that we know.” It was becoming more and more difficult for him to speak but he forced out the words anyway. “I’ve met a man whose wife has also been taken captive by the pirates who occupy the island of Lundy. Cassie may also be a prisoner there.”