The Solitary Envoy (38 page)
The solicitor exploded, “Libel of the worst sort!”
Mr. Richmond spoke for the first time, as calmly as Erica. “There is no libel in asking questions.”
“Which is all I shall do,” Erica confirmed. “The same questions that will then be presented before Parliament.”
Mr. Richmond now had the bit between his teeth. “Certainly whatever the young lady chooses to write next will receive a most remarkable amount of attention. The sort of notice that would undoubtedly have a most unfortunate impact upon your business.”
“It’s Wilberforce, isn’t it,” the solicitor snarled. “That popinjayis your ally.”
“This you shall learn,” Mr. Richmond replied, “on the day your actions are made most horribly public.”
The banker’s solicitor shouted loudly enough to silence the entire bank. “I shall invoke an action in court to halt this defamation!”
“And I will fight you tooth and nail,” Mr. Richmond countered. “And you will lose, as you most certainly know.”
Erica motioned to where Jacob stood. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Harwell, personal aide at the United States Embassy. My writings will be lodged with his office, as well as with Mr. Richmond. Were anything to happen to me, I am certain these good gentlemen will ensure that my word still is printed and my case preserved.”
“Not only that,” Jacob added, “but I will ensure that the ambassador’s own voice is added to any resulting outcry. Of that you can be most certain.”
The banker’s face turned a most satisfactory shade of puce. “I will destroy you.”
“Ah, now that
is
worthy of court action,” Mr. Richmond said.
At the same time, the other solicitor snapped at Mr. Bartholomew, “Be silent, else you obliterate any chance we have remaining!”
“One week,” Erica repeated. “You will deliver my father’s gold to Mr. Richmond’s office within seven days. Else all the world will know what you have done to my family.”
She turned and left the office and exited the bank, followed by Jacob and Mr. Richmond.
Daniel was there, waiting for her to emerge through the front doors. “All right, miss?”
“Nothing is right. Nothing at all.”
“Best we get you back to the embassy and safety.”
Erica sank gratefully into the carriage.
Mr. Richmond piled in behind her. “My dear, I am speechless.”
“You were splendid,” Jacob agreed through the carriage door.
“You are a born diplomat,” Mr. Richmond enthused.
“I am afraid I am nothing of the sort.” Now that it was over, she felt so weak she could scarcely form the words. “I am just a young woman who has no choice but to pretend to be more than I am.”
The two men studied her. Mr. Richmond said, “Miss Erica, I have observed countless men of substance and power. And I can tell you truthfully that what you did in there was nothing short of astounding.”
She leaned back in the carriage seat. “Would you mind terribly if we just went home?”
The week did not proceed in a rush, as Erica might have expected. Instead the days flowed by in a steady current of work and friends. Mornings began with a walk shared with Abbie over to the building site. Jacob Harwell insisted upon walking with them, and Mr. Aldridge agreed. Erica doubted very seriously that anything untoward would happen now, especially since Gareth’s secret contact informed him that the order to harm Erica had been rescinded. Still, everyone insisted upon caution, and Erica felt no need to contradict.
Work on the new residence moved forward at a pace that everyone called astonishing, now that she and Jacob checked their progress daily. Erica then returned home and tended the embassy’s books. Now that matters had been entered in an orderly fashion, her work scarcely required an hour each day. Occasionally Jacob would join her so that someone else became familiar with the work. Once, Samuel Aldridge sat through an explanation, though Erica had the distinct impression the man did so merely to show how much he valued her services. She early on had discovered Samuel Aldridge truly had no head whatsoever for figures.
Their midday meal became a delight. The baby knew Erica now and loved nothing more than to be bounced upon her knee while Lavinia prepared the baby’s plate. Abbie pretended not to care that Erica gave precious time to her brother. Once the infant was being fed, however, Abbie would recount her lessons of the morning and bombard them all with questions. Erica found her heart expanding on a daily basis, just to make sufficient room for the affection she held for this family.
Sunday they went back to the Audley Street Chapel. Erica knew a number of the parishioners now. And even more knew about her writing the pamphlet. There were almost as many greetings cast her way as to Mr. Aldridge.
Afternoons Daniel arrived and accompanied her back to the Wilberforce residence at Kensington Gore. Gareth was making steady progress, enough such that he was seated most days at a downstairs table, working on his next pamphlet. Most of Erica’s own time was given over to what she did best, which was making sense of a vastly complex set of books. A second hospital was being erected south of the river, where no one would ever be turned away for lack of funds. What was more, a new project had been started in Manchester, one designed to aid both the families who had suffered in the demonstration and the larger body of poor as well. Subscriptions were being taken from friends and allies all over the nation. Erica’s help was desperately needed. Anne Crowley proved a great help in drawing the required information from a wide variety of sources.
But her most cherished moments were those spent with Gareth. For hours they wandered isolated wooded paths behind the manor, times so precious she could not bring herself to mention them to anyone, not even Lavinia.
Erica wrote her mother three separate letters, each a day apart. The first one was by far the hardest, for it was necessary to recount all that had transpired with Gareth, all that she had withheld speaking of before now, all that Gareth had come to mean. The letter ran to seven pages and took until well after midnight to complete. The second and third were far easier, the words almost flowing of their own accord. For she was now free to describe the man she had come to care so deeply for with no reservation. She did not allow herself to think further than that, for the uncertainties of the future held far more questions than answers. One letter was given over to describing her work on the pamphlets and the lessons of faith Gareth had inspired, and through him the connections to William Wilberforce. The other was about Gareth the man. She was flushed and breathless by the time she finished penning these words, and surprised at her own frankness. But the letter had to be written.
She was in the process of helping Gareth into his coat for just such an afternoon stroll when the messenger arrived. She heard a voice call from the front foyer, “I seek Miss Erica Langston!”
“It’s all right.” Erica recognized the gentleman as a clerk in Mr. Richmond’s office. Which could mean only one thing. Her hands clasped firmly together of their own accord. “Yes, please, what is it you wish?”
“Mr. Richmond’s compliments, miss. He regrets that an urgent matter at court keeps him from delivering the news himself.”
Gareth moved up beside her. “Out with it, my man!” he directed.
But the clerk was not to be hurried. “He sends you his most sincere compliments, miss. And specifically instructed me to say that he counts your performance of the other day to be one of his fondest professional memories. He asked that I stress that word, Miss Langston.
Professional
.”
“Please thank the good gentleman,” she said, holding to an outward calm. “I remain most grateful for his support, then and now.”
The clerk gave a stiff little bow and delivered news that caused his features to flush with pleasure. “Mr. Richmond instructs me to inform you, miss, that payment from Bartholomew’s Bank has been received.”
Erica felt Gareth’s hand supporting her arm. “What—what are you saying?”
“Paid in full,” the clerk announced, obviously trying to hold back a smile.
Strangely enough, it was Gareth who she heard draw in a deep breath and who reached for the wall. “You’re certain of this? There can be no mistake?”
“None whatsoever, sir.”
Erica managed a swallow. “Paid in full, did you say?”
“And in gold,” the clerk said. “Mr. Richmond thought you would want to know immediately.”
“Mr. Richmond is most kind.” Erica looked up at Gareth, then back to the messenger. “Please, excuse me. I—I must have some time—”
“Yes, most certainly, miss.”
“You will thank Mr. Richmond for me?”
The clerk was grinning broadly now. “He was most distressed not to be able to tell you himself, my lady. I am ordered to return and give him the fullest possible report.”
“Off with you, then, my good man,” Gareth answered for her. “And add my own thanks to those of Miss Langston.
Come along, my dear. Let us take a turn through the garden.”
Erica and Gareth walked twice around the garden. Erica could feel that he had something he wished to say. But she was grateful for his silence. She had some difficulty fitting her mind around what had just occurred, much less making room for anything else.
How long had she been after this moment? How long had she dreamed and struggled and worked? The answer was simple. Ever since her father died and the family responsibilities, complex as they were, had fallen on her. Her sorrow, her frustration, her anger at the injustice of it all, and her long journey to this point flashed through her mind in a moment. Now here it was. And what did she feel? Exultation? Vindication? Relief? The answer was clear. She felt nothing at all.
“Gareth,” she began slowly, her voice sounding almost foreign to her own ears.
“Yes, Erica?”
“I would like to give one-tenth of the sum to Mr. Wilberforce’s new project in Manchester.”
He slowed their pace and turned to look into her face. “Are you quite sure?”
“I feel an urge to begin with this gesture, this tithe if you will. It is nothing, really. All of this is God’s doing, and I’m sure He will direct the Langston family in the use of the money.” She stopped to return his gaze, looking steadily into his eyes. “But this payment is only a small part of our Lord’s guidance, I am thinking. My coming to England, our meeting, the important people and work to which you have introduced me—these are pieces in a painting I have not yet seen in its entirety.”
“Yes, I too am coming to realize that. But—”
“I know my mother would be in full agreement in making this contribution. I know it.”
Tears filled her eyes, and she looked away.
“What is the matter, my dearest?”
“Nothing. Everything.” She was overcome with a sudden sense of longing for her family. Yet at the same time there was nowhere else she wished to be than here beside this man. She took a deep breath. “Gareth, I have never properly thanked you.”
“There is no need.”
“What I am feeling goes beyond mere gratitude,” Erica continued as though he had not spoken. “I have come to hold you in the deepest affection.”
Her voice was so low Gareth bent toward her to hear the words. His grip upon her arm strengthened. “My dear, sweet Erica.”
“You are without question the finest man I have ever met.” Her lips trembled with the strength of her emotions. “I spend my mornings awaiting the moment I can come and be here with you. The thought of being away from you for a day, a week, it tears at me. And yet, and yet …”
Gareth did not respond for a moment, then said gently, “You must go home to America. You must deliver this news and these funds in person and see how your family fares.”
“Why must there be such heartache at this time when what I came for … ?” She could not finish the question as she looked through tear-blurred eyes into his face.
“I also have a question which presses at my heart.” Gently he touched her wet cheek. “Why have I waited so long to tell you how my heart is filled with love for you?”
“Love,” she repeated softly.
“Yes, love. Love and more love. Such a simple word and so hard to say. I love you. It is said.”
Erica’s heart was so full she could not speak for a moment.
“Oh, Gareth. Your words give me such joy—and such pain. You have your work here, your calling. And I must return home. What else can either of us do?”
Erica began the journey back to America in a routine almost identical to her first voyage. Almost, but not quite.
Daybreak was a soft velvet sheen painted upon the rolling waves. The land birds that had followed them up to the previous evening were gone now. The ship was making good time, cleaving great troughs in the frothy sea. A freshening wind snapped the sails taut and caused the halyards to hum with anticipation. The ship’s captain roared a command from his quarterdeck, sending the crewmen aloft. Erica kept her back to the ship’s frantic activity. Beyond the rail stretched an endless shifting vista of dawn-flecked sea. She could almost shut out the ship’s clamor entirely and give herself over to a whirl of thoughts within.
Today being Sunday, those crew members not tending the sails were on their hands and knees holystoning the deck. Soon enough the Sabbath routine, the first of this voyage, would ensue. A sail would be rigged as temporary cover over the middle deck. Benches and chairs would be arrayed. Most of the passengers belonged to three Dissenter congregations off to begin new lives in America. The senior pastor, Mr. Wainwright, would lead the service. There would be singing. And a fine sense of communion.
All this would be followed by the week’s best meal. Since they had just set off from England, there were still fresh vegetables and a capon already set to stew. She remembered that in a few weeks they would be down to salted beef with a new barrel opened each Sunday, and hardtack for bread, and for dessert tiny apples tasting of the brine in which they had been stored. This time, Erica was the experienced traveler. So much had changed since her voyage to England. Including her own cabin topside, which she deeply appreciated.
