Fly Up into the Night Air (8 page)

* * *

Amalia Walford spun before her son. "Do I look suitable?" She wore a lilac gown of raw silk with imported lace trim.

"Megan's mother will be green."

"I thought mauve was in this season?"

Harte groaned. Amalia smiled innocently. "You have the invitation?" Harte asked.

"Of course."

"Give it to me. I have a better idea for what to do, once we get there."

* * *

When he finished explaining his plan, Harte adjusted his sleeves, took his mother's arm and swept down the staircase and out the front door to where their barouche awaited. "Greer House, please," he said to the footman.

At Greer house, the door was answered by a maid. Amalia gave her card to the girl. "I am Mrs. Walford, and this is my son, Harte Walford. We have come to visit Mrs. and Miss Greer."

"They are at home today, Mrs. Walford. I'll tell them you are here. May I take your things?" She reached for Amalia's cape and Harte's coat. "If you'll follow me?" She took them into the library. "I'm sure they won't be long."

Amalia sat down to wait. Harte examined the book shelves. A minute later, Mrs. Greer and her daughter Megan arrived.

"My dear, it's so good to see you!" said Mrs. Greer. "It's been so very long."

"Yes, you're quite right, Agatha. Megan, how pretty you are in that blue! Don't you think so, Harte?"

Harte bowed. "I have always found Miss Megan to be extremely attractive, no matter what she wore."

Megan rolled her eyes. "You are quite extravagant, sir! More than I merit."

"While I
am
extravagant, I'm certain that I am far less so than you deserve."

Mrs. Greer seemed slightly confused by this last. "You know Amalia, half the time I have no idea what these young people are saying."

"It's the half that I
understand
that worries me," said Amalia. "How is your husband, Agatha? And Brin? Is he home today?"

"Oh no, he generally goes out with his friends on Saturday afternoon."

"Oh," said Harte blandly. "I thought to say hello."

Megan looked at Harte suspiciously. "You've hardly been in the same room together, since you finished school."

"Now dear, Mr. Walford's only being sociable," said Mrs. Greer.

"That reminds me, Agatha. I have something I want to give you." Amalia patted her sleeves and looked around as if she was missing something. "Harte, dear, I don't seem to have the--"

"Don't you remember, Mother? I had it in the barouche." He patted his pockets and managed to look confused. "But I don't seem to have it now. Perhaps I left it in my cloak?" He bowed. "Ladies, if you'll pardon me. I'll go check." Harte stepped quickly to the door. "I won't be a moment."

Outside the room, he looked around to see if the maid was anywhere in sight. She was not, so he stepped quickly to the closet off the entrance hall, where he had seen her put his cloak. He took out his cloak, in case anyone should see him and wonder what he was doing, and looked carefully through the closet. There was no cloak matching the one described by Peli.

"Maybe he keeps it in his room?" he muttered.

Harte returned his cloak to its place and was hesitating at the bottom of main staircase, when he saw Brin Greer reflected in a framed mirror across from the steps, coming down the hallway from the back of the house. Harte stifled a gasp, moved lightly back to the library door and stepped in, unsure whether or not Brin had seen him.

"There you are, dear. Did you find it?" asked Amalia.

"Yes, here it is. It was in my pocket the whole time. Silly of me." Harte took the hand written invitation out of his pocket and gave it to his mother.

"Agatha, I wanted to give this to you in person, because I would so love for you to come. We are having a little party to celebrate the winter solstice next Sunday. You're all invited of course. I do hope your husband and Brin can come."

As if on queue, Brin Greer opened the door to the library and swept inside. "Mother, I saw you have company. Who is--ah! Harte. Mrs. Walford. How pleasant to see you."

Harte nodded stiffly. "How are you, Brin?"

"Fine, fine. How is the family? Your father well?"

"He's doing well. I'm terribly sorry we can't stay to chat. We stopped by to invite you to our solstice party next Sunday. I do hope you can come. I'm terribly sorry to rush, but we must be off. So much to do ... " He shrugged helplessly. "Mother, do come along." He took her arm and steered for the door.

"Oh my, must you leave so soon?" said Mrs. Greer, ringing for the maid.

"I do look forward to seeing you all on Sunday!" said Amalia.

Harte and his mother stepped out into the hall to wait for the maid to retrieve their outerwear. Once properly attired, they rushed out into the fading light of the December afternoon.

Back in the barouche, Amalia examined Harte. "You have gone pale! Did something happen?"

"I could not bring myself to speak to him. I saw him come in. He was wearing the cloak with the black and white, striped collar."

"Ah," sighed Amalia. "So it begins."

* * *

"We must find Peli." Harte and Griff were at the bar in the Ragged Crow, half empty mugs in front of them.

Harte spoke urgently. "I don't dare bring the case forward, until we have him safe. He will have to testify, or we will have to find other witnesses. But if it was Brin that threatened him and I made an accusation now, I'd surely put him into jeopardy."

"Do you want me to go to Greer House for the cloak?"

"No, we need better evidence before I can go to a magistrate to get a warrant--even if the magistrate turns out to be my father." He murmured to himself. "Especially if it turns out to be my father. No, we have to find Peli. Then we have to get another witness, before we can proceed. And it's imperative that Brin not know what we're about, or he'll destroy the cloak. Pray he did not see me in the hallway."

Griff drained his his mug. "What do you want me to do?"

"Take this note to the Red Rooster. Give it to the barkeep. Round up a troop of your friends from the watch and have them meet us in front of the Red Rooster at eleven bells." He aimed a grin at his friend. "Tell them to wear their browns."

Griff frowned. "What are you doing to do? We toe a narrow rail on Dock Street. If you upset the balance--"

"I'll be careful." Harte raised a figure in the direction of the barkeep. When the barkeep slid a fresh mug into place he took a long pull. "I'm must speak to Sister Grace again."

"Better you than I," Griff challenged in his gaming voice.

Harte raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose. "I, better than you."

"You are my better."

Harte smirked. "I claim to better you--by a length."

"An unsubstantiated claim."

"A substantial claim."

"A claim which had better wait for another place."

"Better not Grace's place," said Harte.

"Not a claim to place at Grace's place."

Harte laughed. "Peace, friend, you have bettered me! Please go deliver that note. I must think."

Griff grinned and trotted out, throwing over his shoulder, "See you at your favorite tavern."

* * *

At the hospital, Sister Magda, in bloodstained whites, led Harte to Sister Grace's office. "I'm surprised to see you here without Peli. She'll not leave you be until you find him, you know. She lost one, and that has made her mad."

"We share that affliction, Sister. I hope we can achieve a cure together."

"God's grace, then."

"Yes, that one."

Sister Magda permited herself a small smile as she opened the door to the office. "Sister Grace, Presenter Advocate Walford is here to see you." She motioned to Harte.

"Please come in, Mr. Walford. Tea?" Sister Grace remained seated at her little desk. She looked tired, but her whites were immaculate.

"Please no--no thank you Sister. You are well?"

"I'd hoped I would see you next when you delivered Peli to our care."

"Yes. I would consult with you on that matter."

Sister Grace raised her eyebrows.

"I believe I have made a contact who might help in bringing the boy back to our care. However, I may need to--I feel that some reassurance ..."

"You stutter like a patient describing the pox."

Harte cleared his throat. "You are very direct. Well, then. The boy is known to be of the sort who are attracted to persons of their own sex. While the law does not speak to this matter, the Church is--"

"Sometimes inclined to forget its own teachings." Sister Grace's eyes were hooded.

"You understand my problem then."

"I wonder if
you
do." She examined Harte for a moment, then sighed. "I believe we are all God's children. To love and to be loved is God's greatest gift. I would deny that to
no
one. But I also do not mistake carnal activity with love, particularly when the transaction in question is of a commercial nature. I would protect the boy from that degradation."

"How would you care for him? Where would he stay?"

"We have rooms for staff on the upper floor. I intend to offer him room and board, in return for help in the wards."

"He would have a choice then?"

Sister Grace rose in irritation. "This is not a gaol."

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to accuse you of--"

"You think me intolerant."

"I have no evidence of that."

"No, you don't." She sat down again. "However, you are quite right about the Church. It has adapted very slowly to change. Since Grayholme was founded, it has begun to remember its origins. I believe the church is not without its own experience of sensitives." She tapped the side of her head. "Some of the saints exhibited a very--canny--sense of those around them. I believe their compassion was driven by great empathy. Their tolerance and love are part of our teachings."

"The boy may continue to seek the company of men."

"I would give him time to be a child a little longer--and an education if he would have it. After that, he must find his own way." She pointed to the table and chairs in the center of her office. "Others have benefited from my efforts here."

"Yes. I begin to understand that, Sister Grace. I hope to bring Peli here tonight. It may be very late--"

"We keep a watch all night. I will instruct my sisters to wake me when you arrive."

"Good." Harte stood. "I--"

Sister Grace shook her head. "Get the boy. I am impatient."

"Yes, Sister."

* * *

Harte stepped from the shadow of a brick entranceway as Griff sauntered up to the Red Rooster with a troop of four watchmen at his back. They were dressed in the earthen brown uniforms of their service, each with a baton and insignia glinting in the torchlight. "Oh dear! We will have to find some place to hide you, or Soloni will surely complain about lost business, won't he?" Harte was in the most bland of his old clothing, including a hooded cloak that left his face mostly hidden.

"You asked for uniforms, didn't you?"

"I did, indeed." Harte inspected the men. "We'll have use for you tonight, I expect. But until we do, do you suppose that you could find somewhere to remain out of sight? Not too far away; I'll whistle when I need you." He turned to face the Red Rooster and demonstrated with a piercing whistle that might have woken the dead. Shadowy figures could be seen fleeing down Dock Street like cockroaches scuttling from a sudden light.

"Make up your mind! Are you trying to attract attention?"

"That will do, I think. Now if you would please be so good as to disappear?"

"Appear, disappear. Am I a jack-in-the-box, that I should pop in and out for you?" Griff said, frowning.

"Hush now. Off you go. I'll explain later. Thank you very much." When the men were out of sight, Harte entered the Red Rooster and took up a place at the bar. There was a wary undertone to the conversation in the room. In short order, a space opened around Harte that was only filled when Soloni appeared at Harte's right hand.

"Are you content? You could have hired a troupe to perform a morality play, and it would have cost me less business than that little show you put on out there. The Watch is not welcome here."

Harte was unmoved. "Don't you think that's part of the problem? I
am
sorry about your business. I take it you received my note?"

"Let's discuss it upstairs. You make my customers nervous." Soloni ushered Harte firmly towards the back.

Upstairs, seated with a glass of wine in his hand, Soloni still managed to look hurt. "I thought we had an understanding."

"Where is Peli, then?"

"These things take time. The boy is frightened. He wishes to remain where he is."

"I'm afraid he is not safe where he is. I believe I know who beat Raf. But to bring him to justice, I must have witnesses. Getting those witnesses will call attention to Peli and quite possibly endanger him."

"You mean to pursue this vendetta."

"It is not personal."

"So you say. Yet I wonder if I have misjudged you. My friends tell me that you were once connected to certain young swell's sister. Could he have had something to do with your subsequent disconnection?"

"No. I'm afraid we came to a mutual understanding without any aid from Brin--" He came to a precipitous halt. "I wonder why you should choose to mention this person just now. We are talking about Brin Greer, are we not?"

"It was his sister you were seeing, was it not?"

"I am more concerned with recent events."

"So am I." Soloni stood and went to the window. He looked down at the touch lit street, before turning back to Harte. "What do you intend to do with the boy?"

"I have spoken to Sister Grace. I believe she has the boy's best interests at heart. She offers room and board at the hospital, and she proposes to educate him. You need not look so skeptical. She told me that she believes that 'to love and be loved is God's greatest gift.' She would deny it to no-one."

"A pleasing sentiment. What will she do when he brings home a boyfriend?"

"I don't expect she'll allow that in the hospital, but I think she'll not condemn him for anything he does outside of it."

"He'll be lucky if the rest of the world takes such a benign stance. Will you vouch for her?"

Harte held Soloni's gaze. "Yes."

Soloni wavered. "Do you think he'll be safe in the hospital?"

"I propose to keep him out of sight for a while." Harte proceeded to explain his plan. "All that remains is for you to get him here tonight."

Soloni began to pace. "No, I cannot permit you to do that here. You must take him somewhere else. You have done enough damage bringing your troop here tonight." He thought a moment, then smiled. "There's a better place for this drama to occur. You may appreciate the idea."