Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine (16 page)

“Is that a fact.” Wilberforce leaned back in his seat. For reasons Abigail could not fathom, he seemed rather pleased by the lady’s response. “You don’t say.”

Wilberforce waited, but Lillian said nothing further. Instead the lady lowered her gaze and traced one finger along the royal crest adorning the cup she held.

Again Wilberforce seemed to take delight in Lillian’s response. He turned to Abigail and examined her closely. “You appear much recovered, my dear.”

“I scarcely know what to say,” she replied, mirroring Lillian’s reaction. “In truth, it seems I should ever remain overwhelmed with remorse.”

The gentleman’s entire frame rocked in accord. “If only we could go back and change the past,” he gravely agreed. “You know the story of Lazarus, of course.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why should I mention this now, you may well ask. After all, what does the old story of a dead man locked in a tomb have to do with a young woman positively filled with life and hope? Perhaps nothing. Who am I to seek and impart wisdom to such a lovely and intelligent young woman?”

“You are a dear, dear friend,” Abigail softly replied.

“Thank you. But you see, I was reading about Lazarus this very morning, and I find myself captured anew by the man’s story. It seems that death is not a future problem. Death is
now
. Death is the state where all dwell until—what? Until the hour comes where we choose life, choose Jesus, choose to rise again.”

Lillian’s gaze rose to fasten upon the gentleman. Wilberforce’s eyes remained intent upon Abigail. Yet he seemed to be aware even of this silent act. For he pushed his chair back a trifle, opening the space to include Lillian.

“If only we could change our past,” Wilberforce repeated. “If only we could have more control over our present, cleanse away all the tainted memories we carry with us. If only we could rise from this burden that feels almost as heavy as death. If only we could
improve
ourselves and our future lot in life.”

Abigail was held from speaking, but not by the gentleman’s words. Rather she was restrained by her companion’s expression. Lillian’s lovely gaze looked mortally stricken. Her lips parted, her eyes stared unblinkingly at the gentleman. She did not even appear to breathe.

“When the sisters of Lazarus turn to Jesus in their grief, our Lord tells them, Be not concerned with the past. Your brother will rise again. Even the impossible is given to you. Your future has burst into the present. Redemption lives in the here and now. If only you are able to face your fears and your pains and your errors. If only you can seek the
eternal
truth. If only you can
believe
.”

Wilberforce then did an astonishing thing. He turned and peered directly into Lillian’s solemn gaze. And he smiled. It was a gentle smile, one filled with the silent speech that Abigail could not understand. Yet it did not matter, she realized, for this communication was not intended for her at all.

The countess did not respond. She did not move, save to blink once. This was enough to dislodge a single tear. It ran down her otherwise perfect cheek. She did not lift a hand to wipe it away. She did nothing save continue to meet Wilberforce’s gaze, as though she had neither will nor strength for anything else.

Wilberforce’s delight over this silent exchange was so great the chair could no longer contain him. He bounded up and exclaimed, “My dear Abigail, I wish to settle a commission upon you.”

The sudden change of direction was most shocking. “Upon—upon . . . ?”

“None other. First I must explain the situation. You shall forgive me, Countess, if I burden you with facts you might prefer not to hear.”

His address to her released Lillian so that she could swiftly wipe the tear from her cheek. Her voice cracked slightly as she replied, “Pray continue, sir.”

“Miss Abigail, no doubt your father speaks of the dire situation faced by so many of our more impoverished brethren in the countryside. The past two planting seasons have been murderously bad. Last summer’s wheat, barley, and corn crops were destroyed by constant rain. The village workhouses of York are so full that people are being left to starve in the gateways. There is famine in Wales and Ireland both. And what does our ruling government in London do? I will tell you. They do nothing! They sit in their well-lit rooms and dine at their gleaming tables, while outside their very windows a nation starves!”

Wilberforce began pacing the front of the chamber. “Some of our church leaders have begun speaking of following our Pilgrim ancestors and leaving these shores. They hear rumors of a bright new future opening in America’s western reaches.”

To Abigail’s surprise, it was Lillian who quietly responded, “Land.”

“Just so. Land and more land. I have been handed yet another missive this very morning. The price of land in Missouri has dropped to a dollar and a quarter an acre.”

Lillian exclaimed, “That can’t be!”

“Perhaps not. I find it astounding myself. But that is what the pamphlet says. Here, I have brought it with me.” Wilberforce withdrew the leaflet from his inner pocket and handed it to the countess. Then he moved over behind her so he could read over her shoulder.

“A dollar and a quarter per acre,” Wilberforce read again. “And only twenty percent as deposit. One is obliged to purchase lots no smaller than half a square mile. Why, that is larger than the former commons land of most English villages.”

He resumed his pacing. “I have received one distressing letter after another from Erica Powers. Their battle against slavery in the Americas does not go at all well. They beg to return to England, where they feel their efforts might bear more fruit. They are disheartened. They feel they have wasted their years in Washington. I want you to go straight to them and tell them that nothing could be further from the truth.”

“Of course I will do—”

“Wait, my dear Abigail. Wait. There is more. I want you to tell Gareth and Erica that before they return to England, they must help me with this matter. I wish for them to proceed forthwith westward. They must evaluate this land issue personally. They have never written on this. Their pamphlets are trusted all over England. All over the Continent for that matter. Their word is known to be steadfast and true. People
rely
upon them. Tell them of the dire straits faced by so many here in Britain. Better still, I shall write them. But I wish for you to reinforce my words. This is not an entreaty. If ever they have sought to do my bidding, it is now. We must know for certain the truth behind these rumors. Is the land fertile? Can it be farmed? Is there indeed hope to be found in these claims?”

“I will do as you say, sir.”

“Excellent. I wish for the Powerses to write with first-hand authority. We must know for certain if these rumors are to be trusted.” He pointed at the pamphlet in Lillian’s hands. “Do we see here a great opportunity, or a terrible risk?”

Wilberforce held Abigail with a gaze that wrenched her with its urgency. “Not a moment is to be wasted. You must proceed with all haste and tell Gareth and Erica to do the same. We must know, and know quickly.”

Packing for America proved a much more difficult affair than Abigail had imagined. It was not simply the matter of putting things in order. A trunk and matching case were purchased, offering far more space than Abigail supposed she would need. The folding of her gowns and other garments was done in less than an hour and took up only half of the trunk. That proved the easy part.

Her mother arrived then, with half a dozen of her own finest frocks bundled in her arms. “What are these, Mother?”

“Items you will need far more than I.”

Abigail spied a hint of palest lavender at the bottom of the pile. “Mama, I can’t take that one.”

“Why not, may I ask?”

“It is your favorite day dress!”

“And one which looks far better on you than it does on me.” Briskly Lavinia began folding the items and stowing them away. “The day you wore it to the tea dance, I thought my heart would seize up, you were that lovely.”

Abigail was wrenched by a pair of sudden realizations. The barrier that had separated her from her mother was gone.

And she was going away.

“Oh, Mama.”

“Don’t—don’t, my daughter.” Lavinia’s actions grew swifter still. “We have wept all we need to.”

“I’m so—”

“You needn’t say it again. Not ever. Not to me, the one who loves you more than life itself.”

They hugged then, a clumsy affair with dresses spilling at their feet and the remaining pile cascading off the bed. Abigail felt pierced anew, this time with relief. “It’s over.”

“Over and gone,” her mother agreed, stroking her hair. “My dearest darling child.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t go.”

“Shah, now, none of that. My heart isn’t strong enough to keep from agreeing if you were to start with any such suggestion. And we both know it’s a good decision.” Lavinia released her and stooped to retrieve the dresses. She repeated in a determined fashion, “A good decision.”

Abigail felt sick with conflicting desires. She was thrilled to be going, yet she longed to stay. “But why?”

Lavinia’s response was interrupted by a knock upon the open doorway. “Perhaps I should be the one to answer that,” Samuel Aldridge said. “May I come in?”

Abigail could not halt the sudden flood of tension. “Of course, Father.”

“You’re home early,” Lavinia said. Her own voice had heightened in tone, as though sharing her daughter’s strain.

“Ah, well.” Samuel Aldridge held to such a preoccupied air he no doubt did not notice the change in the room’s atmosphere. “Further work proved impossible. I found myself missing my little girl so fiercely.”

The admission from her stalwart father was utterly unexpected. Abigail’s response rose from the core of her being of its own accord. “Oh, Father,” she said as she pressed into his outstretched arms.

“The office seemed so bare, don’t you know. And the day so empty of the joy you have always brought me.”

Abigail nestled into her father’s strong embrace. She felt her mother’s hands upon her shoulders. Finally she managed to whisper, “Then I shouldn’t go.”

“I’ve been busy trying to convince myself of that very same thing,” her father intoned. “And I have come to see it not only as selfish but wrong.”

“And I the same,” Lavinia agreed. “Though it breaks my poor heart to say so.”

“Our dear friend William Wilberforce has been the mirror to my own soul,” Samuel said. “He has illuminated a truth I have tried very hard not to see.”

Gently he pushed his daughter back to where he could peer into her eyes. “You have grown up on me.”

Abigail tried hard to seize the moment and hold it fast, as a proper lady should. But the image of her father’s face swam in and out of focus, and her words emerged broken and ill formed. “I’m not—not sure I want to.”

“You have become a fine young lady with a will and a strength all her own. Who has only done what she has because I refused to accept her as she is.”

“I’m so sorry, Father.”

“And don’t I just know that.”

Lavinia whispered, “Could we not perhaps wait a while longer?”

“Whenever would we find a better moment? The church is still reeling from the so-called scandal. This will take time to die down. They are currently making too much fuss over a young woman’s innocent mistake, as did I. They need time to see the error of their accusations.”

“Father, I—”

“Shah, my beloved child. We have spoken of this enough. It is no longer your actions which concern us. The king’s court and their broadsheets have turned this into a scandal based upon lies. Soon enough the church will see what William has already recognized, and now I have as well.”

Lavinia sniffed loudly. “And that is?”

“Were it not this, it would be something else. They attack us not because of our dear daughter. They attack us because they oppose everything we stand for.” His own voice trembled at that point, and drawing a new breath seemed to take great effort. “So you will go to America, and you will go now. You are my lovely young daughter who will go off on her adventure of serving God. And you will make us all very proud.”

PART
TWO

Chapter 14

Lillian was enjoying the most splendid dream.

She was lying not upon a bed at all, but rather she was inside her carriage. Not the one she had used in London. The one her late husband had acquired just before his financial disaster. Lillian had ridden in the new coach only three times. It was gilded in real gold leaf and had seats of leather with headrests of softest suede. It was gone, of course. She knew this even in her dream. Yet for this blissful moment her world was undisturbed by debts or foreclosures or bankers or the constant fear of loss. Here she lay, surrounded by quilting soft as the clouds she admired outside her carriage window.

The vehicle sparkled with new varnish. Lillian snuggled into her coverlets and gazed through the small window. She would never have lain so in a coach. It was hardly a proper position for a lady, particularly a countess in such a lovely carriage as this. But just then it did not matter. Dawn touched the sky overhead with a wan gleam. Then she saw her coachmen lead six high-stepping horses past her window. She wanted to cry out with delight, for she had bought and named every one. They had been lost to her and yet here they were again. Their hooves clipped sharply against the stones as they stepped friskily toward their stations, their breath misting in the early chill. She listened to the belts and buckles being fitted into place and the soft chatter of men whose only role was to do her bidding.