The Solitary Envoy (27 page)

“No, he would assume the Crown’s power is unstoppable in such matters. On the surface, that is how it appears.”

“What are you saying?”

“The tide is shifting. The Crown is not as powerful as it once was. As it was even last month, for that matter, or last week.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because this is my business, Erica. The Crown has overstepped its own boundaries. The prince regent has acted as though he can do whatever he wants, live however he pleases, and thumb his nose at the nation and its morals. But those days are gone. We are gaining in power. We have learned in such times as these we must express our principles and our convictions. We must stand up for what is right and live as beacons both in the public arena and in our private lives.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“No. Of course you do not.” He offered her his arm. “Come. Let me introduce you to my friends.”

Despite Gareth’s fine words, inside the home she found no hope. The gathering itself was fine. Yet after living and working about the embassy, even for this short space of time, Erica had come to know the feeling of power. And this place held none of it.

The parlor, which ran the entire length of the front of the house, was quite full. There were perhaps two dozen people perched upon a variety of chairs and stools and settees, with teacups and plates of home-baked dessert close at hand, chatting with the calm deliberation of longtime acquaintances. They welcomed Erica because she was introduced by Gareth, whom they counted as a dear and trusted friend.

Their host was a surgeon at some hospital in the West End, and two of the other guests worked there as well. There was a councilman of some ilk, a pair of widows in matching dark gray, and a young man fresh from seminary with a wife who looked at him adoringly. There were a solicitor and a clerk.

There was a new parliamentarian just recently arrived from a rural constituency and eager to take his place at Westminster.

All this would normally have been enough to make for a most enjoyable event. But she sat in her corner by the unlit fire and surveyed the room with the eye of one seeking what could not be found—possibly not anywhere, and certainly not here. She felt herself shrinking farther and farther back into the pall of gloom that had entered with her.

The others accepted her silence and granted her space. Only Gareth glanced at her repeatedly, concern written deep on his face. Even in her despair Erica could see he was a good man, strong in his own way and very genuine. But her heart continued to lurch along, counting the minutes to a hopeless evening.

The tea was finished, the plates and cups gathered. Bibles were brought forth. Several people read passages. A discussion swirled about her. For Erica, the talk and the strong sense of prayerful bonding among these people only served to push her farther inside herself.

She had failed her family. The words became a litany that plunged into her heart with the strength of a poisoned dagger. Her trip to England was a sham. Her pretensions of being able to return home in triumph lay revealed for the fraud they were.

The group bowed their heads in prayer. Erica followed their lead but was unable to hear a word that was spoken. Instead, behind her closed eyes she found herself staring at the banker. The man who had brought her family to the brink of ruin. The man whose web of power was so strong not even the embassy could help her regain what was rightfully hers. Erica felt her heart become enflamed with a fury so fierce it burned away all else, including her feelings of failure.

The prayer ended, but Erica was reluctant to lift her head. She opened her eyes and kept them focused on her hands in her lap. There was a knock on the door, but she did not lift her head to see who entered. In truth, it mattered little. Her rage at Mr. Bartholomew remained at the center of her thoughts. She could feel her heart clenched by a fist of burning coals, branded by the anger she felt pouring forth like steam. This man had defeated her. He and his connections had rendered all her plans and her journeying and her hopes futile.

Erica was so intent upon her internal tempest that she did not realize that the entire roomful of guests had risen to their feet. She looked up to find all the people turned toward the entrance. They had crowded around so Erica could not see who was at the center of all this attention. She stood up, but whoever it was must have been so small, or so young, or perhaps just seated, that she still could not see.

But what did it matter? Another person had come to join this group of nice and useless people. It was not their fault that they were useless. Erica turned her face slightly away so as to hide from this kind group of strangers the thoughts that swirled through her head.

“Erica … Miss Langston.”

She lifted her eyes. “Yes?”

Gareth towered over the man standing by his side. “Might I have the pleasure of introducing William Wilberforce?”

“How do you do.” She gave a full curtsy, not so much out of respect as to hide her dismay. She could feel how drawn her features were, how tight the muscles across her forehead and cheeks and even down her neck. Her frustration and anger had left her unable to show any other emotion.

Why Samuel Aldridge wished her to know this man was a mystery. William Wilberforce was a tiny wisp of a fellow, with an odd way of cocking his head to one side. He looked like a gray-headed sparrow. His skin had an unhealthy pallor, and his features looked ravaged by an old ailment. Only his eyes seemed untouched, for they burned with a piercing fire.

Then he spoke, startling her with the force and depth that emerged from that frail little body. “My dear friend Gareth tells me that you are sorely troubled, Miss Langston.”

She cast him a startled glance. “I am not certain it was proper for him to share such confidences.”

Neither man seemed touched by her ire. “Perhaps our host would be good enough to grant the three of us a moment alone?”

“But—” Erica’s protest was stifled as the surgeon and his wife instantly began hurrying about. The three of them were swiftly ushered into a small antechamber at the rear of the house. Erica had time for just one glance at the faces she passed. The entire gathering looked at William Wilberforce with a reverence that bordered upon awe.

The room was filled with books and charts and papers, scarcely leaving room for three chairs. Erica’s knees almost touched those of Gareth and this little stranger, whose own legs were so short his feet scarcely touched the carpet.

“Really, this is not necessary,” she protested.

“You have trusted me enough to grant me the gift of honesty,” Gareth responded with the force of absolute confidence. “Please trust me with this.”

“I would be honored to hear of the matter that troubles you so, Miss Langston,” Wilberforce said.

She sighed and did not reply. When Gareth realized she was not going to respond, he repeated what she had told him, both that evening in front of the house and the previous day in his printing establishment.

Erica kept her eyes downcast and tried not to fidget. She counted herself as a very private person. Gareth had broken a confidence by speaking in this way. She wished for nothing but for the night to end and to be away, but her benefactor Mr. Aldridge considered a connection with this strange little man to be very important. She could not simply rise up and walk away.

Gareth stopped speaking. Wilberforce said nothing, and eventually Erica was forced to look up. The little man held his head at a slight angle and gazed at her unblinkingly, a most intense luminosity in his eyes. She felt her shame increase.

“It is certainly not wrong for you to seek what is rightfully yours. Most particularly something that has been taken from you and your family in such a false and wrongful manner.”

The man’s voice held a quality Erica could not recall ever having heard before. It was rich in timbre and clearly could rise to fill the grandest hall. Yet there was none of the pomposity that she had come to associate with politicians used to shouting their message as a tinker would announce his wares. Instead, the man was as gentle in his words as he was in his gaze. Erica found herself able to examine him openly, and she forgot for a brief instant all the tumult she had felt throughout the endless evening.

“What is wrong, and forgive me for being so blunt, Miss

Langston—what most certainly is wrong would be for you to seek what is
not
yours.”

She finally spoke. “I have no desire for anything that is not due to my family, sir.”

“Do you not? Are you certain on that point? For we must never forget that some things are claimed by our God as His and His alone. To seek what He has claimed is more than wrong. It is dangerous. Our God does not refuse us out of covetousness. No, that is Adam’s flaw, Adam and all his sons. No. God denies us what can devour us. And He does so out of love.”

For some reason the words spoken with such gentle strength stripped her bare. Erica felt the flood of angry tears pushing at her throat and eyes so that her words came out strangled. “Was it love that kept our enemies safe while I and my family suffered?”

“No, alas, that was man. Man and his endless desire for more.” He took no offense either at her words or her tone.

Instead he smiled, and his entire face was gentled by a caring concern. “But let us remain upon my warning for just a moment longer. Can you think of anything you might wish to claim as yours that God has already said must remain only His?”

“Sir, I seek only my family’s good name and my father’s hard-earned gold.”

“Do you? If so, I am most glad. But I fear—dare I say it? Yes, I feel I must speak. Forgive an old man for addressing you in such a fashion, particularly if I am proven wrong in my concerns. But I seek only to offer counsel to another of our blessed clan. Do you perhaps also seek something that is not yours and never can be? Something he has forbidden us?

“‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’ He has claimed this. It is His right to do so. He does this to protect us. Why? Because the lust for vengeance and punishment can destroy us.” He examined her a long moment. “Do not remove yourself from His protection by seeking what is not yours and never can be.”

A strange quaking came upon Erica, rocking not her physical form but her innermost being. It felt as though her spirit were a chime or a bell of early dawn, set to ringing by this man’s words. She raised one hand to wipe away her hot tears. “My mother told me the same thing just as I was preparing to leave my homeland.”

“No doubt she is a wise lady who seeks only the best for her daughter.” Wilberforce reached over and patted her hand. “As do I, Miss Langston. As do I.”

Chapter 20

The next morning the embassy’s cleaning ladies gave the Aldridge home its weekly scrubbing down. Lavinia worked twice as hard as anyone, and Erica and Abbie pitched in as well. They knew that the harder they worked, the faster the jobs would be done, and then everything could go back to the private atmosphere Lavinia preferred. All the windows were open to let out the smell of lye being used upon the floors and kitchen surfaces. The house seemed completely surrounded by birdsong and sunshine. A fresh breeze blew in from the park across Piccadilly as Erica and Abbie sat on the parlor carpet, surrounded by newspapers and scrubbing hard at a pile of silverware.

“I don’t mind this, really,” Abbie confessed when her mother had gone upstairs to check on the baby. “Governess was told not to come today.”

“But you like your studies. I’ve heard you tell your father that.”

“I do, I suppose. Sometimes, anyway. But I’d much rather be off playing with you.”

“I have little time for playing these days.”

“What are you doing?”

“Well, let’s see.” Erica set down the soup ladle and selected the pie wedge. “I am trying to complete work on a problem that vexed my father very much.”

“And you’re also helping Papa with something. I heard him say so.”

“You’re not supposed to eavesdrop on your parents, Abbie.”

“I didn’t mean to hear them. But Papa was standing in Horace’s doorway while Mama was changing him. And they were talking about you.”

Erica was most eager to hear what Mr. Aldridge had said about her, but she debated whether or not to ask. After all, she had just told the child not to listen in. But curiosity got the better of her. “What did they say?”

“Papa wishes his staff would move with the same ala … I forgot the word.”

“Alacrity?”

Abbie gave her a look of pure pleasure. “That’s it. Alackity.”

“Alacrity. It means swiftness.”

“He says he would not have expected you to meet some person in less than a month. Instead, it is done in two days. Was the man terribly important?”

“He didn’t appear so, at least to me. His name is William Wilberforce. And he looks like a little bird. Very small and delicate. He doesn’t stand quite straight. You’d expect him to drop his arms and go hopping around the room.”

Abbie looked delighted. “Did he?”

“No.” Erica sobered at the memory. She looked up to see Lavinia entering the room but continued, “No, but Mr. Wilberforce did something else quite extraordinary.”