Dark Angel (35 page)

Aunt Margaret. Margaret Durward who had married a Mr. Sanders and come to live in Finley-Abbott. Margaret Sanders who had been a childless widow when ten-year-old Adam Duward arrived from India. Aunt Margaret, who had been an important presence in Caroline's life from that day on.

Margaret's second husband, Charles Wellstone, was a respected London solicitor, a widower with three children of his own. There would be plenty of room in the house, Adam had said. Only the youngest boy still lived at home and he would be up at university.

A tall, slender man with thinning gray hair and a faint air of abstraction appeared behind Margaret and shook Adam's hand. That must be Charles Wellstone. Then all three came down the steps toward the carriage.

Caroline, who was standing on the pavement holding Emily's hand, felt suddenly seven years old. There was more gray in Margaret's brown hair, but her figure was as erect and her eyes as bright and all-seeing as Caroline remembered. Caroline had always been a little afraid of her. She was not an unkind woman, but she believed in clear thinking and she tolerated neither folly nor wayward behavior. As a child, Caroline had frequently fallen short on both counts. Margaret, she knew, had never quite approved of her.

But there was nothing disapproving in Margaret's present welcome. "Caroline," she said, holding out her hands. "I'm glad to see you safely back in London. And this must be Emily. How are you, child? Did you have a good journey?"

Emily looked up at the strange woman with appraising eyes. Then she smiled. Margaret had apparently passed muster. Margaret, who was Emily's great-aunt. Feeling a constriction in her chest, Caroline searched for some resemblance between them. "We rode in a carriage with horses," Emily said.

"I'm very partial to horses myself," Margaret told her.

"I rode on a horse," Emily announced. "I rode with Hawkins and with Adam."

"Hawkins." Margaret looked around and held out her arms.

Hawkins walked into them and kissed her soundly on the cheek. "As beautiful as ever."

"You're a liar, Hawkins Plumb, but I hope you never lose the habit." She turned to Elena, who was standing nearby. "And you must be Mrs. Muros."

They went through a jumble of introductions. Caroline shook Mr. Wellstone's hand and decided at once that here was a man she and Adam could trust with their improbable story. Slight, scarcely taller than his wife, with faded blue eyes and a somewhat diffident manner, he seemed at once discerning, intelligent, and kind. "I'm very happy to meet you," Caroline said with genuine enthusiasm. Then, with more diffidence, "Aunt Margaret, I hope we aren't putting you out."

"Not at all. The children are all away and we're starved for company. I received Adam's letter by last night's post and your rooms are ready. There's always a room for Adam and Hawkins. There's also one for you and Emily and another for Mrs. Muros." Caroline saw that Hawkins was a great favorite in this house. She also saw that Margaret had an idea of the relationship between him and Elena, and she suspected that Adam's aunt, no stickler for anything but honesty, would be neither surprised nor upset if Hawkins went wandering in the night.

It was only when she entered the house, with its familiar smell of flowers and carefully waxed furniture, that Caroline knew that she was truly back in England and that the journey begun when she followed Jared to Lisbon was at last at an end. It did not make her as happy as she had expected. She felt suspended between two worlds, not belonging to either. She missed the clear light of Acquera and the color and vivacity of war-ravaged Lisbon. English food sat uncomfortably on her stomach and the constant grayness of the skies oppressed her spirits. The Wellstone house offered warmth and safety, but it was a symbol of the thousand expectations that had once ruled her life. She had been free in Spain. Now she had lost her independence,

It was quite different for Emily, who had been a few months old when they went to Portugal and did not remember England at all. Like Elena, who spoke English well but did not know the names for things that Caroline took for granted, Emily was surprised by everything and entranced by its difference from what she had known. For Caroline, the house, the furniture, the rituals of the day were hauntingly familiar. For Emily and Elena they were quaint and amusing.

Despite all the talking and exchange of news that occupied the rest of the day, it was evening before Caroline and Adam told Margaret and her husband what had happened to them in Spain and Portugal. Emily was by then long asleep in the high four-poster bed upstairs, and the rest of them were in the back parlor, a room far more lived-in than the drawing room upstairs.

A fire burned in the grate against the chill of the April evening. Margaret sat in a chair facing the fire, her body erect as always, her face increasingly troubled as Adam and Caroline unfolded their story. Charles Wellstone sat beside his wife. When the story was at last told, there was silence in the room, broken only by the ticking of a clock and an occasional crackle from the fire. Mr. Wellstone was the first to speak. "Do you have anything to add, Hawkins?"

Hawkins sighed. "No. It happened just as they told you, save that they rather underplayed our fright."

"We understand about the fright," Margaret said. She looked at Caroline with unexpected sympathy. "I can imagine no greater horror than having one's child taken from one."

"Nor I." Elena brushed away an errant tear. "I have heard it before, but not like this, only in pieces. This one—" she indicated Hawkins, who was sitting at her side "—he tells me nothing."

"Here now, I've told you everything."

She rounded on him. "But not like this. Oh yes, you tell me, we go here, we go there, but the feelings,
Madre de Dios,
the feelings, these I must wait for tonight to hear. And even now we do not hear it all."

"We have our imagination," Margaret said.

Elena looked at Margaret as though she had at last found a kindred spirit. "Yes, yes, that we do. You, Mrs. Wellstone, you have an understanding heart."

"I listen with my head as well."

"I have a clever wife," Wellstone said with obvious affection.

"And I a dear aunt." Adam rose and stirred up the fire. "The question is, sir, what we do to ensure Mrs. Rawley's safety."

"A declaration of some sort, is that what you have in mind?"

Adam put down the poker and turned to face his aunt's husband. "Mrs. Rawley is in danger because of what she knows."

"And if she makes public what she knows, then the danger is lessened."

Adam frowned. "Something like that."

"I see." Wellstone stared into the fire. "I'm more than willing to take a deposition from her. In fact, I recommend it, but you should be aware that it may be of little help. Mrs. Rawley—forgive me, ma'am, but isn't it true that you are not certain what it is you know that someone considers a danger?"

Caroline nodded. It was a point that had troubled her.

"And then your story," Wellstone continued in a brisk, lawyer-like voice. "The rifle shots, a tavern brawl. Supposition, surely. The matter of your daughter's abduction is more serious, but even here, what do you really know? A man seen at night in a dark alley. The same man seen again talking to your cousin's batman. It's a matter of credibility, is it not? Your word against Colonel Rawley's. Or rather Hawkins's word, for he was the one who learned that your so-called thin man claimed you as his target." Wellstone leaned back in his chair. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Rawley, Adam. The case is not hopeless, and I will do what I can, but you do not have enough to outface your adversaries, whoever they may be,"

Caroline had hoped for a less pessimistic view of their situation, but she was determined not to dwell on the difficulties ahead. "Adam,, I want to go to Sussex tomorrow," she said. She turned back to Wellstone. "There are some things I left with my sister Jane. My husband's papers. Personal things, and business papers too. After he joined the army, I boxed them up. I couldn't bring myself to look at them. But we should do it now. There might be something among them that will tell us why Talbot considers me a danger."

Caroline sensed a general lightening in mood, as though she had offered the answer to all their problems. She feared it was no answer at all, but she had to be doing something. "Hawkins, will you come with me?"

Hawkins said he was at her service, then turned to Elena. "Fancy a ride? The countryside's pretty."

Elena looked very pleased. "If Caroline's sister does not object."

"Not in the least," Caroline said. "She'll be happy to see you both."

The Wellstones retired soon after and a few minutes later Hawkins escorted Elena upstairs, leaving Adam and Caroline to watch the embers of the fire. It was the first time since their quarrel that they had been alone together. Caroline felt the weight of the silence between them. "It's all right, isn't it, my taking Hawkins tomorrow?" she asked.

Adam, who was stoking the fire, looked up in surprise. "Of course. You shouldn't travel alone. I'd take you myself, but I have Stuart's dispatches to deliver to the Foreign Office. And then I'll try to see Mulgrave at Ordnance."

"Mulgrave?"

"The Master-General."

"Adam—"

Adam stood and leaned against the mantel, his head turned to meet her gaze. "It won't be easy, Caro."

"I know that." It wasn't what she wanted to say. She didn't want to talk about Talbot. She wanted to talk about Adam and Emily and her own folly. She remembered the first night of their journey from Acquera. There had been a fire then too and she had denied Adam what he had a right to know. "I'm so sorry," she said, aware of the paltry sound of her words. "I was wrong. I would do anything to undo what I have done."

He didn't pretend to misunderstand her. But neither did he yield. Not since that night on the quarterdeck had they spoken without constraint, without shame and anger. "It doesn't mater, Caro. You did what you had to. We needn't speak of it again."

Caroline felt the familiar welling of frustration. "Adam, don't do this to me," she cried, springing to her feet. "Don't do this to us. Don't shut yourself away. Listen to me."

Adam moved away from the fireplace, his eyes as cold as the brass of the fender. "It's late, Caro. We both have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Do you want a candle to take upstairs?"

He would not even rise to her anger. He would not answer her at all. He had donned the shell he wore to ward off feelings when the world had hurt him. Caroline knew this mood much too well. There was nothing she could do to reach him, nothing except wait, and now she feared that waiting would be eternal. She had lost him, her friend, her lover, the better part of herself. Feeling more alone than she had ever felt in her life, she accepted the candle and left the room.

Emily was sleeping in the big four-poster bed, her fair hair fanned out across the pillow, her face at peace. Reluctantly, Caroline turned away and went to the writing desk that stood against the wall. There were letters that must be sent, the first to her mother to announce her return to England. Her mother, grown querulous and petty with the years of her widowhood, would welcome the news but would be in no hurry to see her. Not for the first time Caroline wished she and her mother loved each other more. Mama had not even seen Emily, her grandchild. But with five children in the Bennet family, there were grandchildren aplenty. Caroline sighed, sprinkled the sheet with sand, sealed the letter and put it aside.

Then before she could change her mind, she pulled a fresh sheet of paper before her and began a letter to Jared's father, Lord Anandale. This proved even harder than her letter to her mother. Caroline was furious with Anandale for his treatment of his son. Jared had been foolish beyond belief, but he had not been a vicious man. Lord Anandale had refused to acknowledge his son's weakness, but he had been all too ready to see his evil. He had spoken to him vilely, using words like a scourge, leaving Jared shaken and broken. Caroline would never forgive the old man. Still, Lord Anandale was Jared's father and he deserved to know how his son died.

Caroline read over her letter, then picked up her pen again. A death Lord Anandale could be proud of, she wrote. She owed Jared that much at least, and perhaps Anandale could be brought to think less harshly of his younger son.

The second letter done and sealed, Caroline crawled into the four-poster, cradled her daughter in her arms, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

The following morning Adam made his way to the shabby building on Downing Street that housed the Foreign Office, and climbed the corkscrew stairs that led to the office occupied by the Foreign Secretary. It was eleven o'clock, the hour specified in the note that had arrived that morning in answer to Adam's own. Lord Castlereagh was usually at his desk at Downing Street from eleven until three or four in the afternoon. The Foreign Secretary was not going to keep him waiing.

Lord Castlereagh received Adam with no particular cordiality, but his manner was little different from how it had been on the other occasions they had met. Castlereagh was a serious man, devoted to his work and convinced of its importance to his country's future. Adam suspected he had little use for Sir Charles Stuart, who had a frivolous turn of mind, and there was no reason he should welcome an encounter with one of Stuart's aides.

The Secretary quickly went through the dispatches Adam had brought from Sir Charles, frowning slightly as he read. Then, without comment or change of expression, he rose from his desk and said, "Durward, you'd oblige me by coming across the corridor."

The room to which he led him was dark-paneled and shabby. It contained a table and half a dozen chairs, two of which were occupied. One of the men Adam recognized at once, though he had not seen him in more than fifteen years. Earl Granby, Talbot Rawley's father. Granby had paid occasional visits to his brother, Lord Anandale, during the years Adam lived in Finley-Abbott, but it was doubtful if he had been aware of Adam's existence. Adam, on the other hand, remembered him well, a man of quiet speech and courtly bearing. He looked much the same today, though his hair had gone nearly white. He acknowledged Adam with a curt nod.