The Night Angel (8 page)
“She attends the same church as us, sir. She came to me today with the most dreadful news.” She cast a nervous glance at Nathan Baring.
Falconer understood perfectly. “I trust this gentleman, Mary. I suggest you do the same. He will not say a word that might endanger anyone.”
“I will speak of this to no one,” Nathan promised.
“Well, sir. She told me of a conversation. One the princess heard. Between the legate and another man. The prince, sir, he has a man on his staff. A man the others don’t care to talk about. He chills the blood, so they say.”
“His name?”
“My friend doesn’t know, sir. I asked her the very same thing. She said it was best not to know too much about this man.”
“So the legate has a frightening man who does his bidding,” Falconer repeated, his voice low and very assuring. “This is most helpful, Mary. I am ever so grateful to you for this information. Did your friend happen to say anything about the man’s appearance?”
“Tall, he is. Tall and slender. He wears a hooded dark cloak when he comes. And he only comes at night. That’s all she said.”
“He’s a mercenary,” Gerald Rivens put in. “His name is Vladimir.”
Mary shivered at the way Gerald said the name.
“You’ve seen him?” Falconer asked.
“Never had the chance,” Gerald replied. “Never sought one either.”
Gerald Rivens was so spare Serafina would not have imagined it possible for his features to tighten further. But she observed his face become even more taut and pale. Serafina was struck by the impression that these two men, Falconer and Rivens, held a common quality. It was not in physical appearance, for Rivens was as slight as Falconer was massive. Yet they understood each other so well a subtle communication passed between the two men at a level far below words.
“A ghost, is he,” Falconer said.
“By training and preference,” Rivens confirmed. “I’ve heard tell he was on the king’s staff back in Vienna. He came from somewhere else. He did the king’s bidding, and afterward he had to flee.”
“An act so vile not even a king could protect him,” Falconer mused. “Vladimir must be an evil man indeed.”
“You know how people belowstairs are given to talk,” Riv-ens said. “They’ll make dervishes of anything they don’t understand.”
“But you don’t think that’s the case here. Do you.”
Rivens gave Mary a glance, then looked back to Falconer, saying in gesture more clearly than words what he thought. “I saw his horse once. Biggest steed I’ve ever come across. Must have been all of twenty-one hands. Black as night. Saddle to match. Long-bore musket holster. Carried three blades. A saber in a special scabbard, one that tied to his girdle so as not to flap about. Two small knives hidden in the saddle itself.”
“Throwing blades?”
“That would be my guess.”
Falconer nodded once, then turned back to Mary. “We know what comes next, lass. So you mustn’t be worried over what you have to say.”
But the conversation between Falconer and Rivens had left the young woman so rattled she clung to Serafina’s hand and said nothing. Falconer nodded, as though he both understood and accepted. He said softly, “The legate and this strange man, they talked about doing someone harm, didn’t they.” He waited through a time, then continued at slightly more than a whisper. “And it wasn’t the Gavis they were discussing. Was it.”
She shook her head in a slow sweep back and forth.
“Who did the prince tell his man to go after, Mary?”
She whispered, “You.”
The difference between her parents and Falconer was brought into sharpest contrast during the next hour. Alessandro Gavi and Nathan Baring talked the language of diplomacy, working through what the discussions meant. How the words might have been misinterpreted. What the legate was after. How they might proceed. Falconer said nothing, not even to respond when asked a direct question. Instead, he leaned forward and had a very quiet word with Gerald Rivens. The man nodded, then drew Mary from her seat and together they left the kitchen. When Alessandro demanded to know where they were going, Falconer replied simply, “They’ll be back shortly.”
Serafina rose to help her mother with the meal. Bettina Gavi was so distracted she accomplished very little save get in the way. Her clearest impression from the discussion was that Nathan Baring was a remarkable gentleman. He was handsome, yes, but Serafina had met so many handsome men the physical aspects had come to mean very little to her. The young lord at Harrow Hall had been attractive in a coarse and loutish way. As had her lying paramour in Venice.
Luca
. She shivered at the recollection of that man.
“I do not know what your secret mission may be,” Nathan Baring was saying. “Nor do I ask. I might suggest, however, how the legate could fit in to this.”
“By all means,” Alessandro Gavi replied.
“I do not know where your own sentiments lie, sir. And I mean no offense. I must tell you, though, straight out, that I stand in lifelong opposition to the slave trade. Were I called, I would offer my own life in sacrifice to this cause.”
The meal’s preparations were almost complete. Serafina slipped the rosemary-flecked panini into the oven, just as her mother had taught her during the months since she had joined them in Washington. Back in Venice she had done no kitchen work at all. In fact, she would have been hard put to boil water. Serafina smiled wryly as she checked the fire grate to ensure the coals were cooked down to a steady heat. She adjusted the bread tray and slid it in beside the high-edged pan of
cannelloni
alla primavera
that she and her mother had prepared that morning. And she listened.
“The Gavis are opposed to slavery,” Alessandro stated gravely. “Now, in the past, and for all our days to come.”
“I am most heartened, sir. Falconer had assured me of it, but still I am very glad to hear this from your own lips. For I must tell you, the legate is deeply involved.”
“We know of this.”
“Of course you do. What you may not realize, sir, is that the issue has become a dividing line among the nations we call allies.” Nathan Baring’s tone hardened to the sound of stone striking stone. “Mark my words, sir. A war is coming.”
Serafina felt a shiver down her spine at the dire prediction.
“I can only hope you are wrong,” her father responded.
“I offer my own prayers every night that this is the case. But the southern states have come to rely on this source of cheap labor and easy profit. We men of conscience cannot abide this poison within the body of our good nation. The slave owners say they will never relinquish this power. And we say they must.”
“War,” Alessandro sighed, shaking his head.
“Allies are being sought by both sides. Lines are being drawn in the sand. It will not come this year, or next. Perhaps not for a decade. But come it will.”
Serafina used the soft towel to lift the coffee pot from the stove’s warming corner. She moved around the table, filling the demitasses. She used the opportunity to study this young gentleman. Nathan Baring had the intent focus she had come to associate with others who had influenced her past—Falconer, Gareth and Erica Powers, and many of those who had worked among the Wilberforce community. He spoke with the determination of a man who was committed heart and soul. A man who knew his calling, and obeyed. She shivered again and this time did not understand why.
“Our current mission must remain confidential, sir,” her father was saying. “I must tell you, though, that it is not tied to the slave issue. Not at all.”
As she turned away, Serafina felt eyes upon her. She looked over and saw that Falconer had observed her studying Nathan Baring. His dark gaze held a multitude of emotions and silent communications. How well he could read her. And she him.
Nathan Baring countered, “If your mission has anything to do with money or power, the legate will judge you as either friend or foe. Are you an ally or an adversary, sir? That is the simple question before the legate.”
“Venice has been a part of the Austrian Empire for a hundred years,” Alessandro Gavi replied. “Napoleon conquered us, and when the Hapsburg king swore allegiance, Napoleon gave us back. That is the simple answer.”
“It is a diplomat’s answer,” Baring stated, then rose to his feet. He set a calling card before Falconer. “Mr. Falconer, if there is anything I can do, you must please call upon me. My private address is on the back. Day or night, sir. Day or night.”
Alessandro rose with his guest. “Might I ask what draws such allegiance from you for our household, sir? We are, after all, complete strangers.”
“I feel I have known of Falconer and your daughter since last summer’s triumph, sir.”
“Excuse me, my daughter?”
“The pamphlet drawings,” Bettina Gavi said. “The acts of the British Parliament to abolish slavery.”
“Just so. The impact of your daughter’s artwork and Falconer’s testimony before Parliament could not be overestimated.” He bowed. “Falconer, Miss Gavi, I am your servant. Good day, all.”
There was a long moment of silence after Alessandro Gavi saw their guest out of the house. He returned to the kitchen table and studied his hands. Serafina walked over and seated herself beside him. All eyes were upon the older gentleman when he said, “Wheels within wheels, threats from all sides.” He looked at Falconer and demanded, “What do you make of this?”
“They have decided you are too protected. I am the natural target.”
“Natural,” Bettina repeated softly, shaking her head. “Oh, this is so disturbing.”
Falconer was unperturbed. “They want to stop this threat to their profitable gold trade. They also know the Venice merchants oppose their slave ventures. They want to halt any such opposition. They assume I am here to help you. Clearly I am not simply a guard. Plus, if Nathan knows of my actions in England, so will others.”
Serafina could tell her father was deeply torn between the danger and the need. She asked for them all, “What will you do?”
“That is simple enough,” Falconer said. “I shall leave tonight.”
There was a general cry of protest from those at the table. Finally Alessandro said, “They have
threatened
you!”
“Sir,” Falconer replied calmly. “This is what I do.”
Alessandro Gavi leaned back in his seat. “What of my lawyer’s struggle?”
“Give me the documents. I will carry them with me to that town you mentioned.”
“Charlotte.”
“Let me see what I can discover. That is what we want above all, is it not? Answers. Answers and gold.”
Serafina could not recall seeing her father so distressed as he replied, “We pile one debt upon another. And now we put your life in peril.”
As the result of a note from Falconer, Reginald and Lillian Langston arrived early that evening. Bettina Gavi’s worry over Falconer was tangled with concerns that her first dinner party in her new home was to be disrupted. Other than Serafina, however, it was doubtful that anyone else noticed. Their guests were accompanied by a doctor named Rutherford, a stern-looking gentleman with a silver handlebar moustache and the reddest cheeks Serafina had ever seen. He took one look at Falconer and declared, “I do believe the Lord God gave you a double measure of substance, sir.”
“If only it had been of wisdom and faith,” Falconer replied.
Though the doctor held himself with military rigidity, he permitted himself a small smile. “I see the gentleman is as you described, Reginald.”
“Rutherford is a trusted ally,” Reginald explained to the group.
“If Mr. Langston vouches for you, sir,” Falconer said, “I could ask for no more.”
“Forgive me,” Alessandro Gavi said. “I don’t understand. Is someone ill?”
“I am about to become so,” Falconer said. “At least, as far as the rest of Washington is concerned.”
Bettina Gavi exclaimed, “No, no, this won’t do! I won’t have my first guests in our new home arrive and launch into . . .” She turned to her daughter and spoke in Italian.
Serafina translated, “Plans of worry and woe.”
“Please,” her mother continued. “You will all be seated. Alessandro, no, at the crown.”
“The word in English is head of the table, my dear.”
“Lessons later. Now we are to eat, yes?” She gave Serafina swift instructions in Italian, then bustled away, calling out more as she left.
The doctor said in genuine admiration, “I can only assume the Italian tongue has an extra muscle which our poor American mouths lack.”
“Please, good doctor,” Serafina translated for her mother. “You will sit beside Mrs. Langston, and then Falconer, my mother, then Reginald, then me. Papa, would you please bring in another chair?” She hurried to set another place as her mother had instructed, then followed her back to the kitchen.
Mary had returned with Gerald Rivens. Gerald was set to carving first bread and then meat. Mary helped carry plates and hid a smile at the sight of her suitor in a frilly apron, but not for long. She might not have understood Bettina Gavi’s rapid-fire Italian, but she most certainly caught the tone.
The guests were swiftly served steaming plates of cannelloni alla primavera, rolled pasta filled with curds and grated cheese and steamed vegetables, topped with a spicy tomato sauce and fresh basil leaves. This was followed by slices of roast veal with potatoes that had been first boiled, then hand-coated in olive oil, rolled in fresh rosemary, and baked. Bettina played the true Italian hostess; she and her daughter remained seated for seconds only, continually refilling serving bowls and anticipating their guests’ every wish before they even spoke.
Over dessert of fresh-made
tiramisu,
the doctor declared, “Madam, I have been transported to a land of nectar and heavenly manna. I now see why the Renaissance painters had so many smiling cherubs. They had just eaten at your ancestor’s table.”
Bettina Gavi blushed yet replied as a proper Italian hostess would. “You cannot possibly mean it, sir. You have hardly touched a thing.”
“On the contrary.” The doctor worked open the lowest button of his vest. “I have eaten so much I have rearranged the order of my internal organs.”
