A Night of Angels

by Andersen, Maggi

“It went up on the day Olivia and I married fourteen years ago. We vowed together we wouldn’t let you and your mother be forgotten.”

  A silence stretched on between the two men, threatening to become awkward. Adam changed the subject.

  “You said you want to know more about my connection with Sir Daniel Ridgeway. You’ve come to the right place. I’ll show you the place on the roof where I had to fight for my life to thwart a cabal of Boney’s spies.”

  Kit’s jaw dropped. Adam grinned.

  “You’re not the only Hardacre who’s had an adventurous life.”

  Kit didn’t know why he made the invitation. It was one of many impetuous decisions in his life. But once the words were out of his mouth, he couldn’t take them back.

  Now, he and Adam clambered up onto the deck of the Calliope.

  They had left Sophia, Olivia, and the girls at the Ponsnowyth Christmas markets with a promise to be back at Bishop’s Wood for dinner – one they both had to swear to as Julia reminded them the next day was the Christmas parade and fair at Truro.

  It felt good to have familiar timbers under his feet. He ran a hand over the railing, feeling its shape. He watched his father go over every inch of the deck.

  “She’s impressive,” Adam announced.

  “Not too small for a Royal Navy man?”

  “I must confess that the smallest ship I served on was a sixty-six gunner with a crew of six hundred and eighty,” admitted Adam.

  “I short sailed a frigate once,” said Kit. “That was an adventure. But nothing sails as well as the Calliope, although I have hopes for the Clio. My friends and business partners are finishing her refit in Palermo.”

  He felt a surge of what he imagined paternal pride must feel like. The Calliope was like a child to him. She had been modified to his specifications – not all of which would necessarily impress the Naval Board – such as the large cannon hidden amidships, ready to be elevated on deck if need be.

  “Would you like see where we hide a thirty-two pounder?” he grinned.

  Adam paused in his admiration. “You jest! On a ship this size?”

  “That’s nothing, let me show you where we put in the plumbing for the Greek Fire.”

  Kit delighted in seeing his father’s shock. “I thought Greek Fire was a myth.”

  “I can assure you it’s not. Nothing is impossible when you have a wife as clever as mine.”

  He told the story of how he and Sophia met, and their narrow escape from a xebec that led them straight into the path of a savage storm.

  The more he talked, the more comfortable he felt in letting Adam know more of his past. But he skirted around his addiction to opiates and spoke about his single-minded revenge against one of the Barbary Coast’s most prolific pirates and how it nearly cost him his life.

  By the time he shared the story of Sophia and Laura’s rescue from the harem – which Adam listened to in grim-faced silence – the sun had vanished from the sky.

  They climbed down to their small boat and rowed together across the Fal, stroking against the outgoing tide, and settling into a rhythm as though they had been working together for years – like father and son.

  Kit had to own to the fact he had not expected much when he was finally persuaded to search out his family connections. His earliest memories were ones of disappointment and rejection. The ones afterwards were so much worse.

  He had closed himself off from anything that could make him feel before he met Sophia.

  He remembered the conversation they had on the Calliope four years ago when she spoke of missing her parents – they were still strangers then but, deep down, he knew she was the only one.

  “I was thinking of my parents. I can barely remember what they looked like.”

  “Do you have a special memory of them, a lullaby perhaps? As long as you can feel them, they are never lost to you.”

  “It sounds like you speak from experience.”

  “I wish that were true. I stopped feeling years ago.”

  He and his beautiful, clever bride had been through so much together and now he readied himself for a new adventure with her.

  If he had been back in Palermo, he’d have asked the question of his friends, Elias and Jonathan, but Kit had always been a man to trust his gut instinct for better or worse, and his gut told him he would get a more real, less romantic answer from this man who was his father. So he asked it.

  “How did you feel when you first learned Olivia was expecting?”

  Adam didn’t hesitate. “Terrified. Absolutely bloody terrified.”

  “Good. Because that’s exactly how I feel.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “You’ve never ever had an English Christmas? Not even as a little boy?” Julia’s eyes were wide with disbelief.

  Kit fought against laughter while keeping his face exaggeratedly downcast. “No, not ever.”

  “Did your mummy and daddy never have Christmas?” Charlotte asked, agog.

  Oh, he knew he was playing a dangerous game. He could see in gattina’s eyes she thought Kit’s “mummy and daddy” were the worst people in the world. He could play on it, building more hyperbolic and ridiculous stories, and was tempted to do so. But his relationship with his father was too new to introduce his warped sense of humor.

  Indeed, he could feel the tension rising in the carriage where the six of them sat.

  “Then you must have been an orphan,” Julia reasoned. “Is that right, Uncle Kit?”

  Ah, out of the mouths of babes… something that was both true and a convenient lie. He ran with it.

  “I was for a very long time, then I found my family right here.”

  “We’re your family now!” Charlotte announced, leaning in to hug Kit.

  “You certainly are.”

  Behind their carriage, the Ridgeways traveled separately – Daniel and Abigail, their daughter, Marie, her husband, George, and their eight-year-old son, Philippe.

  It was two days before Christmas and the streets of Truro were teeming. They left the horses with the ostler at the White Hart Inn and the party from Bishop’s Wood strolled through the markets. Kit was content to walk by Sophia’s side, letting her dictate the pace, until she was called over by Olivia to examine something Marie had found at a stall.

  No sooner had Sophia left than Lady Abigail had taken her place, slipping her arm through his. They continued down the street, crossing to avoid the clock tower, shrouded in scaffolding for repairs. Ahead, Adam’s daughters had met some children from Bishop’s Wood estate and were clustered around a puppet show under the supervision of Amy, the maid.

  “Am I forgiven?” Abigail asked.

  Today, Abigail was the devoted wife, mother, and grandmother, but Kit couldn’t help wondering what the good lady had been like as a young woman – quite a handful, he imagined.

  “Madam, who am I to forgive anyone’s sins?”

  Abigail laughed, stopped, and looked at Kit, taking his hands in hers. “I knew there was a reason why I liked you, Captain Hardacre – we’re much more alike than perhaps we’d care to admit.”

  Kit laughed and kissed Abigail’s cheek familially. “Then heaven help anyone who ends up at cross purposes with us!”

  Adam looked up at the sky, still bright and blue overhead, but large cumulous clouds gathered to the south. There was a change in the air. Rain, by the end of the day, he guessed.

  Daniel approached and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “I was hoping to catch you on your own, old friend,” he said. Daniel lifted his chin to where Kit and Abigail strolled arm-in-arm. “How is it going with the young Hardacre?”

  “Is that your way of apologizing?”

  “Do I need to?”

  Adam smiled. “No, you don’t. I have to confess I was annoyed at you and Abigail at first. Then I was concerned. But… thank you. This is a gift I never thought I’d have.”

  “Then I’m glad. We’ve known each other for a long time, and I value our friendshi
p. I’d hate to jeopardize it.”

  Now it was Adam’s turn to reassure his friend. “We’ve been through too much together, Daniel, to ever let that happen.”

  The Truro Christmas parade and pageant celebrating St. George took place every year on the appropriately named St. Nicholas Street, crossing over to King’s Street and High Cross, then to St. Mary’s. It had been a tradition to bring Julia and Charlotte here every year, and it marked the beginning of their Christmas season.

  The girls would be given some coin of their own to buy things they needed to make gifts. The following day, they would go to the church at Ponsnowyth and, over lunch, they would exchange gifts then play games late into the evening. Over the next twelve days, there would be a series of parties until the end of Twelfth Night.

  How did Kit and Sophia spend Christmas? He’d never thought to ask. After a few minutes, he found Kit examining some nativity figures in a stall. He had picked up a carving of Mary, depicted kneeling over the manger where her newborn son lay.

  It was fine work, not only in the carving, but also in the painting where fine brushstrokes gave the Virgin Mother a beatific expression.

  Kit put it down, as if embarrassed at being caught with it.

  “In Sicily, the chiese madre, the Mother Church, in every town hosts a proper nativity pageant, not this English patron saint stuff. The one in Palermo is the most spectacular,” he said, walking away from the stall. “It’s been so long a part of my tradition I’m going to rather miss it this year.”

  “Do you know the story of St. George and the Turkish Knight?”

  Kit shrugged. “I’ve heard about it from Julia and Charlotte. In great detail. St. George slays the knight, slays the dragon, and slays the giant then some doctor brings them back to life again. I can’t say I understand it. It’s hardly a Christmas story, is it? There must be some subtlety I’ve missed in actually fighting Ottoman slavers for the better part of a decade.”

  Adam looked at Kit anew. He saw his son withdrawing, threatening to become a stranger once more. He couldn’t let that happen. It would be like mourning him all over again.

  “Have you ever thought about settling back in England?”

  The response was a laugh. “I get myself into enough trouble on the Mediterranean. How long do you think I’d last in polite English society before I offended some pompous, self-important ass? No, I’ve lived too many years in Sicily to settle back here.”

  Sophia waved to attract their attention. “The parade is going to start soon. We should find somewhere with a good view to see it.”

  Kit turned to Adam. “I’ll see you at the pageant; you can explain to me why when St. George wins, he loses.”

  Adam watched Kit and his wife disappear into the crowd. This was a mistake. He was growing to love a son who was only going to walk away without a backward glance.

  The martial sound of the drums drew everyone out onto the street for the start of the parade. People were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. Some had even climbed the scaffolding around the clock tower for a better view.

  Kit kept Sophia by his left shoulder, keeping his right hand free to use his cane to shepherd the surging masses past while keeping an eye out for cut purses. They made their way to the end of the parade route where the crowd had thinned.

  The wind had increased and it blew at their backs, almost propelling them forward.

  A little further down the hill, the White Hart Inn was only a few hundred yards away, but Sophia sat down on a bench.

  “We don’t have to stay for the parade if you’re feeling tired,” said Kit.

  Sophia reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I’ll be fine when I’ve caught my breath. I’d forgotten how walking in cold weather can take it out of you. But I’d like to stay for the parade.”

  Kit sat beside her, happy to take the weight off his right leg.

  “A crate arrived from home today,” she said. “I opened the letter from Jonathan and Morwena. Laura has had a little girl. They’ve named her Jemima Louise. Mother and child are well, and father and brother are doting on the new arrival.”

  Kit found himself prompted by his father’s question.

  “Do you miss England?” he asked Sophia. “Do you ever wish to return here permanently?”

  Sophia shifted in her seat and looked at him. He could guess what she was thinking. He hated England – but that wasn’t true. He didn’t hate the country, he just felt like a stranger in it. It was the land of his birth, but he’d never felt any connection with it.

  Until now.

  “Do you?” she asked.

  Kit only shrugged his shoulders.

  “I think it is wonderful that you have reconciled your past,” said Sophia. “To find your father alive and someone who can bring back the missing pieces of your life is a beautiful gift. Olivia is lovely woman and I’ve come to love their daughters, too. But imagine what you’d be giving up if we stayed.”

  He did imagine. His island of Catallus for a start. And what of Elias and Laura, Jonathan and Morwena? Kit loved them as more than friends. They were his brothers and sisters, and their children were his children, too.

  “Don’t rush into anything,” Sophia continued. “After another two weeks here, you might find you’ve run out of things to talk about with your father. If so, you can part on good terms. Laura tried going back, remember? Just look at where we’re at with her brother and my cousin, Samuel. Blood isn’t always thicker than water you know.”

  “Yes, but what if…”

  Kit never finished his thought as a surge of people approached like the incoming tide, following the band down the street, leading an array of tumblers and jugglers in bright and colorful costumes. It flowed past before his eyes, yet he saw none of it, lost in thought.

  Soon, the crowd dispersed, drawn by the start of the Christmas play to be performed in the square.

  Sophia kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his hand.

  “Escort me back to the White Hart Inn, and I’ll wait for you there. I’m feeling a little tired after all.”

  Kit examined Sophia’s face and hesitated. “Does that mean you’re certain?”

  She smiled as serenely as the Virgin Mary figure he saw in that woodworker’s stall. “No, not yet. Tomorrow, I will know for sure. And Kit, never think you cannot have both – your family in Sicily and your family here. If you and your father really want to make it happen, you will.”

  And that was the question they both needed to answer. He’d spent a few scant days with a man whose existence he hadn’t known about until recently. Was it fair to him to press a family connection when he was so content in his life? Did Adam Hardacre even want it and the baggage that having a son like him entailed? Would it be better to guard his feelings and put miles and miles of sea between him and his past?

  He knew what would be easiest.

  “You rest,” he told Sophia when they reached the inn. “I’m going to go back to the markets and buy something I saw earlier.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I don’t like the look of those clouds,” Adam muttered. “Is your ship going to be all right at anchor?”

  Another gust of wind howled up the street as the performers gamely continued their play. Kit looked skywards. Adam was right. Those lowering black clouds only brought bad news.

  “Stefano is a good sailor. He’s got enough men to take the Calliope out to sea if need be.”

  “Good. The storm surges from the Atlantic can whip up waves higher than twenty feet. I’ve seen a man-o-war dashed on rocks in a storm like this.”

  If nothing else, Kit thought, they had this in common, a love of the sea and a more than healthy respect for her.

  “How long do these things last?” he asked.

  Adam looked grim. “Sometimes as long as three days.”

  Kit winced and his father shared the expression. Another thing they had in common – small mannerisms, independently derived that indelibly marked them as kin as sure as the color
of their eyes and the shape of their noses.

  “The rain will be here soon. It’s best if we’re not caught out in it,” said Adam. Kit did not disagree.

  With a gust of wind, a flimsy stage prop fell with a bang on the cobbled square, missing the prone Turkish knight by less than twelve inches. The man broke character and raised his head to look for himself. The “king” hung on to his fake beard and satin turban while St. George stayed in character, ginning up the crowd. They stamped their feet and cheered encouragement as much to keep themselves warm as well as to hasten the end of the production.

  The doctor raised his voice to speak his next lines.

  “I carry a little bottle by my side, that I call Golden Foster Drops.

  One drop on the root of the man’s tongue, and another on his crown,

  and it will strike the heat throughout the body and raise him off the ground.”

  Around the market square, merchants were securing their stock and tightening the guy ropes that kept their stalls upright. In the distance, thunder rumbled.

  “Where has everyone wandered off to?” Kit looked up and down the street and saw no one familiar. “We should split up and find the rest of our party. Where do you want to meet?”

  “Back at the White Hart Inn,” said Adam. “We’ll get the carriages prepared immediately and, if we can be away in the next hour, we should be back at Bishop’s Wood before the storm breaks.”

  He offered his father a look of encouragement and each went off in opposite directions. After ten minutes, Kit found Olivia, along with Abigail and Daniel, waiting with a number of others under a shop awning looking at the lowering sky.

  “Julia and Charlotte weren’t with you and Adam?” Olivia asked.

  Kit shook his head. “But he’ll have found them and the maid by now. We’re to all meet at the White Hart Inn.”

  Daniel led the way to the inn, taking them down unfamiliar alleys and side streets. Between two buildings, Kit caught a glimpse of a flash of lightning. He counted to six before a faint grumble of thunder followed through.