Mary Blayney (15 page)

BOOK TWO

A Private Peace

England
Winter to Spring 1814

17

W
ELCOME HOME.
Gabriel accepted the words with a smile. Let them run riot through his head and heart. He blamed the water in his eyes on the wind. When his legs felt weak he did his best to rein in the maelstrom of sensibilities that ran the gamut from elation to despair. What he really wanted to do was race up to the foretop and shout his gratitude.

The lieutenant was kind enough to give him a moment to entertain his thoughts. Then he cleared his throat. “If you will collect your family, sir, I will show you to your quarters. I am sure all of you are hungry and tired.”

Tired. Yes, they were, especially since that sounded like an order. Gabriel crossed the deck. He spoke to Charlotte. He discovered that Pierre was so far from unwell that he had found a bunch of boys his age and was climbing the lower rigging. Gabriel herded his group back to the lieutenant.

Amidst a flurry of introductions and an audience of curious seamen, they were shown to a cabin that must be the lieutenant’s own.

“Are we displacing you, Lieutenant? My apologies,” Gabriel said. In fact, it was an amazing amount of space on a ship that crammed the seamen in hammocks belowdecks. It was two rooms actually: a working space, and through a door a smaller sleeping area, with a bunk that filled most of the room.

“No, sir, this is not mine. This ship normally carries diplomats, and this cabin is designated for the head of the party. The captain thought you would be more comfortable here.”

“Please thank him for us,” Charlotte said, speaking to the lieutenant for the first time. “And I would also appreciate it if you would ask someone to rig a hammock in the other room.”

She gave no reason for her request and the lieutenant was apparently too much of a gentleman to ask. “Of course, Mrs. Parnell” was all he said without so much as a curious look as to why a wife would not wish to sleep with her husband. The lieutenant gave all his attention to Gabriel. “We have some food on the table for you and your family, sir.” Gabriel lifted the napkin covering a plate and found, of course, cheese and the Royal Navy version of bread.

“Thank you,” Gabriel said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

“I will leave you to eat and then show you how to rig the hammocks so you can rest. The captain wants you to stay below until we are well away from these waters.” With a nod, the lieutenant left the cabin.

Gabriel walked to the door.

“Are you waiting to see if he locks it?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes,” he admitted. He was feeling generous at the moment. If he could make her laugh, even if it was at his expense, then he would allow it. “How long before I stop wondering who trusts me and who does not? A year? Never?”

“No one will trust you until you trust yourself,” she said, walking closer.

“You mean that not all prisons have walls and locks?”

“Very good, my lord.” Her face was set, her eyes unforgiving. “We know better than most that regret can hold the heart prisoner as sure as chains.”

“I would not wish it on anyone.”

“Oh, you are more generous than I am.” Charlotte spoke with a quiet anger. “But it was an empty wish. He had no heart to be so burdened.”

She turned to the children as if one had called her. It was more likely that she had regretted the words as soon as they were spoken.

“Is it odd that we have not yet met the captain?”

She was cutting the ship’s biscuit into small bits and adding a little milk to it.

“I am sure the captain has more important matters to attend to.”

“A mutiny to quell? A daily report to complete? They were obviously sent to collect us from Georges. We are the important matters, Charlotte.”

She shrugged and shook her head, her Gallic version of “Leave me alone.”

“Here, Claire,” she said, “have some bread and milk and then a little bit of cheese.”

“I hate bread and milk. I never want to eat it again.” The tyke covered her mouth with her hands even as she spoke.

“When we reach home you may eat just the food you wish, but for now you must stay strong. Eat.” Charlotte looked at Gabriel as she spoke.

“Yes, Mama,” Gabriel said, hoping she was the only one who heard his sarcasm. He agreed completely with Claire. He reached for his own portion. He hoped there were no weevils, even if he did need the nourishment.

Pierre wanted only the crumbly biscuit. Gabriel took his side when Charlotte wanted the boy to eat more.

Even as they bickered over the details of their supper he marveled at how much like a family they sounded. The sulking, tired little one. The boy who wanted to play. The papa who picked his battles so carefully. The mama who was the one truly in charge.

He thought of his own mother. She’d been gone for so long he could barely recall her face. What he could remember was her infinite patience, one virtue none of them had inherited.

He saw some of that in Charlotte as she badgered the children to eat a little more. He suspected her longing to love had been buried so deep that it only showed in a loving gesture. The sweep of her hand over the child’s hair. The gift of her body to a lover.

That she had the capacity to love, he had no doubt. Would she ever speak the words
I love you
? Had his mother heard them from his father, he wondered. Not likely.

They finished the food with some effort. The children drank the milk. Charlotte and Gabriel finished the grog that had been left for them.

When Gabriel opened the door to find the lieutenant, he saw a rough-looking fellow standing to the side in the passageway. With a knuckle to his forehead the man asked permission to come in. He proceeded to clear away the plates and bowls.

Another seaman raised the table, fastening it so that it lay against the hull. The first came back. He began to hang the hammocks from bolts overhead.

Charlotte picked up Claire. She settled the child in the first hammock. Claire was asleep before she could choose between terror and curiosity. Hopefully there would be no bad dreams. Pierre was fascinated. He scrambled into his hammock with no help. Gabriel could not imagine that the swinging motion would be good for the boy’s sensitive stomach. Hopefully Pierre would fall asleep as quickly as his sister had.

The first seaman moved into the small sleeping space, rigging a third hammock.

Gabriel sat in it, pulled off his jacket and pushed off his shoes. He swung his feet up and stretched out, struggling to put his jacket behind his head to use as a pillow.

He settled, watching as Charlotte pulled her dress over her head and loosed the front-lacing stays. Draping the two garments carefully at the foot of the bed, she slid between the blankets, using her chemise as a nightgown.

“I am thinking the hammock is much more comfortable than that bed,” he said.

“Is that an invitation?”

“No, Charlotte,” he said, more sharply than he intended. “I was asking if you would prefer to trade.”

“I have had the chance to sleep in one before. I imagine that the swing of the hammock is the one sweet comfort of a sailor’s life, but the bunk will suit me well enough.”

“There must be comforts besides this one. The stars at night?”

“Is that enough to make up for the crowded quarters, the uncertainty of life at sea, the possibility of attack?”

“How different is that from men who live ashore? There is the same order of men aboard ship. The one with the greatest responsibility eats and sleeps better than the others. In the end, however, they all must face death with nothing but their immortal soul.”

She was quiet so long, he thought she might have fallen asleep. “For some people that would be a comfort, my lord.”

“Who faces death without fear?”

“Those who have sought forgiveness for their wrongs, lived a just life, always done the best they could, honored the greatest commandment.” She was quiet, then added in a whisper, “Love one another.”

“If any such people exist, do introduce them to me.” He stifled a laugh. Her cynicism was contagious.

“There are more than you can know. If one believes your story, Gabriel Pennistan, then you are one.”

He turned to see if she was joking.

She was watching him through eyes that were wet with tears. “You are one. And so am I.”

“Yes, you are one, Charlotte. But the penance of this life is surely more than God would ever demand.”

She turned her head away and was silent a long time. “There are times,” she said, facing him again, her eyes dry, “there are times when a lie can represent a greater truth. I hope,” she paused, “no, I have faith that God is not a prisoner of our beliefs or our limited imaginations.”

“Not a prisoner of our beliefs,” he repeated, trying to grasp her meaning. “It is as liberating a concept as I have ever heard, Charlotte Parnell.” Put into words by someone most would not think to listen to.

“Liberating? Or possibly a damning one.” This time she turned fully away from him. “Go to sleep, Gabriel.”

“Only if you will too, Charlotte.” He fell asleep before she answered him, with the thought that her command had cast a spell.

18

H
E AWOKE TO
dark and the sense of being bound and carried. Where was he, what was this? Fighting against the covering, he pushed up with a gasp. A hammock, he realized. He was in a hammock; the movement was the ship, taking him away from France. He was closer to home than he had been since that misguided trip with Rhys Braedon more than two years ago.

Gabriel’s heartbeat steadied. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dark. Night light drifted through the overhead transom. He needed to be outside. To breathe in fresh air. He grabbed his jacket and swung himself out of the hammock, determined to sneak out without waking Charlotte. He looked to her bed to see how soundly she slept.

Her bed was empty. Her stays and dress were gone as well. Gabriel ripped the blanket from her bed, bundled it into a ball and threw it. Who was she trysting with now?

C
HARLOTTE KNOCKED
on the door of the captain’s cabin and, at the “Enter,” opened it and slipped in, closing the door as quietly as she could.

Robert Wilton was every inch a naval captain even if he had shed his jacket, and his weapon of choice was some sort of knife stuck in a sheath at his side.

He came to her, took her outstretched hands, kissed one and led her to the only chair. He found a seat on the cushion that ran along the base of the stern transom.

“You did it. You did it again. You are an amazing woman and I salute you.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she said, smiling at his enthusiasm. “And you found us with only a little delay. Equally amazing, with no road signs or mileposts to guide you.”

“We both know how to do what is important to us,” he said, shrugging. “You are not finished, are you? Georges stays behind yet again.”

“Georges must stay behind to continue our work while I settle the children. But I am not unprotected. The two of you are cast from the same mold, and if Georges cannot be with me then I am lucky to have you.”

“Is that so?” was all he said.

“Wilton, I mean that in the most chaste way possible. Why is it inevitable that all men and a good many women cannot resist the thought of the other in bed?” She settled herself more comfortably, removing the ugly head shawl and shaking her hair free. “You know it as well as I do. A smart woman makes the most of it. And a smart man takes advantage when he can.”

“You have spent too much time in diplomatic circles.”

“We both agree on that as well.” She smoothed her skirt and told herself that his criticism of the diplomats’ world was not meant as an insult. “You are an intelligent man, Wilton, only too rigid in your moral view. Even after all these years, Madeline has not helped you to see differently. How is your lady wife?”

“Very well, thank you.”

She let her expression convince him that his conventional answer was inadequate. He relented with a laugh.

“She manages wonderfully without me there. I wish I were as proud of that as I should be. Whenever I come home she treats me like one of the children.”

“I cannot imagine that lasts beyond your first night home.” He did not answer and Charlotte realized that she probably should not have said that. “Do excuse me if that embarrasses you, Wilton. The truth is that no man or woman is too old for mothering.”

“Is that so?” he said, and after a moment went on, “I have managed without one since I was ten, since my mother died. As have many of the men in the Royal Navy.”

“I suppose that could be true,” she said, though she thought the need for grog daily only proved she was right. “Whether they have mothers or not, the truth is that you are the luckiest man on this ship. And not only because you are the one in command. Your wife is a beautiful, capable woman who understands what you need better than you do.”

“Yes, she does seem to.”

She could see him smile even though he turned his attention to straightening the chart on the table between them.

“In fact, Wilton, if I could find a man who knew what I wanted before I did, as Madeline can with you, I might even be willing to marry again.”

“You would?” The words seemed to be surprised out of him. He forgot the chart and gave her his full attention.

“Yes, I would,” she said with a firm nod. “But you see, my dear captain, no such man exists.” She laughed. “I will not marry again. It may not be easy, but the family will manage without a man to lead it. Have you word from my mother?”

“Yes, she is well, as is the household, but there is something that you should know.” Wilton leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped between them. “The woman who owns the draper shop told Madeline that a gentleman came looking for Mrs. Strauss. You are not known by that name, so no one was able to work out the puzzle.”

It came as a shock that her past would find her even in Sussex. But that was the truth of it. The past was never truly forgotten. “If they find out that I am Charles’s widow, the worst they can do is spread vile gossip. It is not the first time someone has maligned me.”

“That is in the past and you were not the one who was guilty.” He took her hand, covering it with his other.

“How kind of you to say so.” She squeezed his fingers, pulled her hand from his and folded both of them in her lap, trying for a composure she was far from feeling. “Yes, Charles was the reason those parents were separated from their children. Some of them forever. He was hated by more people than a debt collector. He is dead. I can swear to that. No one will find him anywhere but in that cemetery in Le Havre.”

After his death she had used most of her money to go back to England and had two months of peace. Then Georges brought her the damn papers he had found. That had been four years ago.

“Let it end there.”

“I wish I could, Captain, but I
am
guilty of complicity, guilty in so many other ways it hardly matters.”

“So you think someone is looking for revenge?”

“I don’t really know, but I have my family to consider.” Her mother, the children, even the servants. She stood up. “I suppose I could leave for a while and hope whoever is looking for me will follow. I could go to Edinburgh.”

“No, stay home. You have friends who will vouch for you, protect the family.” Wilton assured her. He did not stand, but straightened from his relaxed position. “Sit down, my dear. Madeline and I understand the kind of family that shares no blood. We want you to stay at Taunton for as long as you want. The house is yours forever if you wish.”

“Thank you, sir.” No one else knew, except perhaps his wife, how truly generous this man was.

“Speaking of finding people,” Wilton said, clearing his throat, “your rescue was a success on all counts, yes?”

“Yes, only it did not go as smoothly as I would have wished.” She explained about the much-too-curious colonel.

“You and Georges cannot be at this much longer. You know that, don’t you? Napoleon is on the road to ruin. I think he will abdicate before the end of summer. That could send the country into chaos.”

“I know.” She thought of Raoul Desseau and her worry for him. “Soon I will settle in Taunton. I will paint portraits, perfect the paper-cutting and silhouettes, and turn into an eccentric female. I will be content, even if the villagers never accept me.”

“If you pay your bills promptly and live a quiet life, in time they will.”

“My mother, perhaps, not me. I am too much a mystery.” She waved away his protest. “It does not matter. I want only the quiet and my studio. I long for it the way you miss the sea when you have been too long ashore. The way Gabriel Pennistan wants nothing more than for people to believe him innocent.”

“Is he innocent?” Wilton asked.

“I think he may be. He is so given to temper, and yet so intrinsically kind that it is hard to imagine him involved in such coldhearted betrayal.”

“You know him that well?” He raised his eyebrows exactly like the gossiping old biddy at the drapers in Taunton.

Yes, she did, she realized. Charlotte had seen the temper, felt the kindness. It was a mistake to have spoken of it, a sure sign of her fatigue. Wilton did not need to know anything about that part of her life. “He thinks it strange the captain has not made his presence known.”

“Dose him with laudanum.” He drank down the last of his wine as though it would help him in the same way. “Let him sleep until we are in port.”

“I trust you are joking.” She pushed her wine away. “He is abed now, but his worries will compete with his exhaustion. I do not expect him to sleep well.”

“Would you, if you were to meet the hangman?”

“Is that what you have heard?” She raised her hand to her throat.

“I have heard nothing since I left England,” Wilton admitted. “But when I first made inquiries for the duke, Viscount Sidmouth had some particularly damning evidence. That the French Minister of Police offered Lord Gabriel Pennistan a bribe that he found irresistible.” Wilton put his glass on the table with more force than necessary.

“If they had bribed him and he accepted, then why was he in prison?” Charlotte asked, hoping that the anger she was feeling did not show as clearly as Wilton’s did. Had Lord Gabriel been lying when he said he did not know why he had been taken? And she had believed him so honest.

“Putting him in prison is curious, Charlotte, but both Lord Sidmouth and I agree it is a question easily answered if one has ever worked with the Minister of Police.

“No matter who is Minister, they have all learned from Fouché and release as little information as possible. I suspect that the men who were transporting him had not been told anything more than to bring him to Paris in one piece. That had one added advantage that Pennistan must have realized. If, somehow, they were stopped by the English, he would have a chance to pretend he was loyal and being held against his will. I am sure he was very comfortable until they reached Le Havre.”

“Lord Gabriel admitted he was not tortured or mistreated until he tried to escape from the prison.” Charlotte thought for a moment. “That should have struck me as odd. Spies are not spared as men in uniform are. They can be tortured and executed without the same considerations a soldier would have.”

“Yes, and when events grew complicated his escorts put him in prison,” Wilton continued. “Affairs grew even more confused and they forgot about him.”

And she had called him a fool. She was the fool. “Then tell me, Wilton, if you knew he was a traitor, why did you even consider aiding his rescue? Why not let him rot in a French prison? Why did you send the duke to me?”

“I did it because I knew Meryon would pay you very well and you need the money so much more than he does.”

In other words, he’d done it for her financial security and as a sort of trick
on
his family, not
for
his family.

“I knew you could manage the escape. It was a perverse stroke of luck that Lord Gabriel was imprisoned in Le Havre. No one knows it as well as you do.”

“If you feel that way and want to avoid the Pennistans, then why were you willing to be here as part of this rescue?” It was too direct a question for him to give her an honest answer, and she was surprised when he did.

“I am here, madame, solely because the admiralty ordered it.”

G
ABRIEL STARED AT THE
empty bunk until he had calmed himself enough to think reasonably. She could not have gone far. Or found too much trouble. He picked up the blanket and tossed it on the bunk. He had no doubt she could take care of herself no matter the situation. Surely she would call out if she was in danger. The tangle of thoughts ran through his head as he put on his jacket, found his shoes and checked on the children. Both were sound asleep. He made his way around their hammocks to the door.

No one guarded it now. Good: no one to keep him from moving about. Bad: no one to ask about his “wife.”

A ship was never quiet. At this hour most of the sounds came from creaking seams, the rigging and the wind. He found the officer on watch, avoided him. Asking about a missing passenger, especially a woman, would raise an alarm for fear she had gone overboard. The odds were good that Charlotte was exactly where she wanted to be.