The Solitary Envoy (9 page)

“But we
have
survived, Forrest. Langston’s is still a solid name.”

Their family concern had indeed survived, but it had been a very close-run affair. The government’s purchasing order had been enormous, far greater than anything they had ever attempted before. Only because they had managed to sell their almost-finished vessel at an extremely good rate could they fulfill the order at all. But they had been forced to borrow money at usurious rates in order to fulfill the military’s demands for goods. Then there had been delay after delay over payment, with the interest charged by the banks eating into the profit.

Finally they had managed to sell all the merchandise stockpiled in their warehouse. Then, just that week, the government had paid them in full. Reluctantly, grudgingly, four endless months late, but they had paid. And Langston’s had survived. The banks were repaid. They had money in their accounts. Their credit and good name were restored. They could restock the warehouse and accept the new purchasing order being offered to them by the government.

Forrest protested, “Yet the Bartholomew Merchant Bank still holds our gold in London, and we now know there was indeed a conspiracy. I will retrieve our wealth, and I will destroy them all!”

The last words were a great thunderclap of rage that left Forrest visibly trembling. From her place by the window, Erica could hear her father’s strained breathing, see the flushed patches on his unshaven cheeks.

To her credit, Mildred’s demeanor did not change. She continued to stand in her strong erect manner and addressed him in a tone both stern and loving. “Husband, I know how you pace during the night. I see how you have struggled to bring this house through this dark period. But we have survived! Can you not see this is what is most important? We have each other, our children are with us, the house is strong—”

“You would have us ignore what they have done to us?”

“I would have my husband alive and well and standing by my side. If that means turning away from all this, then yes, I would ignore it. Better a husband whose laughter rings through our home as it once did than all the gold in the world.”

Erica studied her mother. The previous winter, Mildred Langston had taken to attending a new church. Their Sundays were still spent in the grand stone structure that dominated Washington, but several evenings a week Mildred visited with friends in a much plainer chapel not far from their home. These were called Bible and Social Hours and were open to women only. On several occasions she had invited Erica to join her, but the last thing Erica wanted was something more to occupy her time. Mildred had not insisted. Yet Erica had noticed a marked change in her mother during that long, hard winter. Gradually she had lost much of her cold demeanor. In its stead had grown a calm that emanated from her, even in the most trying of moments.

Forrest’s outburst left him so weak that he could not pull his hand free of his wife’s grip. He cried petulantly, “Release me!”

“I will do no such thing. Not ever.” She pulled him forward. “Now come, Forrest. I shall draw you a bath, and then you will have a nice bowl of hot porridge and cream.”

“But word is expected any moment from—”

“You have awaited their word for over a week now. Have they not told you repeatedly you will hear just as soon as you possibly can?”

Reluctantly he permitted himself to be led across the chamber. “I mustn’t wait a moment to begin the proceedings just as soon as relations are restored.”

“As you have been saying for months. Now come.”

“Erica, you will find me as soon as news arrives?”

Her eyes were brimming over so that she had trouble seeing more than the vague outline of two forms passing through the doorway. “The very instant, Father.”

Then she heard it. Or perhaps she had perceived a trace of the sound before. But her attention had been so tightly focused upon her parents that she had not identified it. Now she wiped her eyes and stepped back to the open window. Yes. There was no question.

“Father!”

“Do you see our man?”

“Forrest, please …”

Her father rushed over to stand alongside her. “Where is he?”

“Listen, Father.”

But her father continued to lean out the open window and peer at the empty street below. “I don’t see him. Are you certain—”

“Father, please!” She gripped his robe and shook his arm. “Listen to that noise!”

Mildred moved up behind her daughter. “Whatever is the matter?”

“I don’t—” Then she heard it. Closer still now. “There it is again!”

Erica heard screams drifting in the gentle wind.

Then a second sound joined in, so distant at first she thought it was thunder. Only the sky was deepest blue, and the day fresh and lovely. Except for the rising sound of wails in the distance, and now this new echo.

Drumbeats. Stomping feet. The rumble of heavy wagon wheels over cobblestones.

But the noise made no sense. Of course she knew the sound of soldiers. This was, after all, the capital. Washington was full of military and uniforms. There were parades several times a year. But they almost always took place down toward the House of Congress and the armory, Washington’s two largest structures.

“Forrest?”

Her father waved for silence. His entire frame seemed caught by the need to hear and identify.

The noise was definitely growing in volume. Erica could make out the clatter of shod horses dancing upon cobblestones, the clank of metal, the tromping of many boots. And the shouts of men.

Angry men.

Then the first bevy of people streaked past their home. A dozen or more women and children, running as fast as they could, shrieking as they went.

Erica could catch only one word.

British
.

The door to the warehouse crashed open, and Reggie appeared. “Soldiers! There are soldiers coming down the street!

British soldiers!”

They all looked instinctively at the head of the household.

For an instant, Forrest Langston faltered. Erica had never seen that look before, not even in the midst of the past dark and awful winter, when every day was a struggle. Her father had aged, he had suffered bouts of ill health, he had become gripped by a feverish ire against those who had sought to bring them down. But never had she seen what she saw now.

Forrest Langston leaned out the window and listened to the heavy tromp of leather-shod feet marching in unison. He heard with the others the cry of officers and the jangle of military steel.

And he was afraid.

He drew himself upright with great effort. “Downstairs, everyone. Reggie, come with me. We must gather the workers and prepare.”

“Forrest, what is happening?”

Once again he was his former self, strong and determined and knowing what was required. “My dear, you must gather the house servants. Take everything of value and stow it in the cellar strong room.”

“But—”

“Go, my dear. Make great haste.” He raised his voice. “Carter!”

The head clerk tottered in from the warehouse. “Sir, Master Forrest, there are—”

“Gather all the ledgers and our bills of lading. All the account records. Everything of note. Take them into the cellar strong room. Reggie, go and help him.”

“Yes, Father!”

“There’s a good lad.” He turned to his daughter. “Erica—”

She never heard what her father wished for her to do. For at that moment there came a bellow of rage from a street beyond her line of vision. Then a harsh command.

And then a volley of gunfire.

The shrieks came louder then.

“Forrest! What is happening?”

“Go and do as I say!” Her father ran for the warehouse door, his dressing gown flapping behind him.

Erica raced to keep up.

From the upstairs balcony, the empty warehouse looked huge. The absence of wares accentuated the vast space. In the far corner a cluster of workers had risen from where they were sewing jute into sacks. Others spilled from the coffeehouse and the tobacco bay. The workers stood in fearful indecision as Erica hurried down the stairs after her father.

“Lock the doors and windows!” Her father’s words galvanized them into action. “You four, shutter all the windows to the coffeehouse and bar the door! You three, do the same for the tobacconist!”

Then Erica detected faint tendrils of smoke. “Father!”

Forrest Langston must have smelled it as well, for he halted and peered about him.

She was certain now. Smoke. But where …

“Fire! There, in the corner! The warehouse is on fire!”

Her father’s voice rose to a bellow. “Form a fire line!”

Instantly the workers leaped into action. Her father raced for the main entrance. “Unbar the door and make for the troughs!”

Already workers were racing forward with buckets sloshing from both hands. Fire was a constant worry, what with the tobacco drying sheds and the coffee kilns and all the flammable merchandise. Only now the warehouse was almost empty.

But the fire had been set by the corner where the last bales of tobacco were kept. Already the flames were eating around the edges of the bales nearest the walls. The wooden partitions went up in a great whoosh of flames. Fire began licking at the overhead beams.

Forrest picked up a brace of buckets himself and raced outside. And ran straight into the marching soldiers.

“Here, you! Get back!”

“My warehouse is on fire!”

“And I’m telling you to step aside!” The lead redcoat was a burly sergeant with a great walrus moustache, a high bearskin hat, and a scowl as fierce as the steel glinting from one hand. The sergeant roared to the men behind him, “Stay in line!”

But Forrest was not so easily halted. “The troughs! The troughs are across the street and—”

“Here, you!” The red-faced sergeant shoved her father back over the curb. Forrest stumbled and would have gone down had not Erica caught him. “Out of our way!”

“But I must save my business!”

When Forrest stepped forward, another soldier swiveled his musket about and clapped a massive blow upon his forehead.

“Father!”

Erica could not keep him from spilling to the ground. His eyelids fluttered and his limbs twitched.
“Father!”

Then he seemed to be gripped by a massive unseen hand, one that shook him so violently he was almost flung from her embrace. His eyes shot open, and both hands rose to grip his chest.

Then he was still.

Erica knelt in the gutter, her father’s lifeless form in her lap, the red imprint of a rifle butt upon his brow. The soldiers continued to troop by. She felt strong hands try to pry her away.

“No!”

“Hold hard, there!” An officer slid from his saddle. He stomped over on boots that gleamed as sharp as the steel at his side. “Release the lady!”

“But, sir, the wagons need the whole road.”

“Can’t you see she’s in distress?” He lowered himself so that his face became visible. He was sweating beneath the visor of his officer’s cap. “Who struck this man?”

None of his soldiers cared to respond.

“Miss, forgive me, I am most sorry. But we must clear this way.”

Was that her voice that replied? It seemed some other person spoke for her, in tones low and dark with sorrow and rage.

“Your men have fired my home and killed my father, and this is all you can say?”

“Fire? I gave no orders …” The officer straightened and caught sight of smoke billowing from the doorway. He saw also how men with buckets hovered anxiously, desperate to reach the troughs on the roadway’s opposite side. “Let these men through!”

“But sir—”

“Did you not hear me? I gave explicit orders. Only government buildings are to be set ablaze! None but their soldiers are to be fired upon!” He pointed at the men hovering in the warehouse’s doorway. “Move!”

They leaped forward. The British officer turned to his man-at-arms. “Stay here and ensure that these men have access to the water. Our wagons and men will work around them.”

“Yes, Major Powers.”

He lowered himself to the level of Erica’s face. “Listen to me now.” He had a natural leader’s ability to demand her full attention.

“My father,” she moaned.

“He is gone, and there is nothing you or I can do about it. Your warehouse is lost as well, by the looks of things. Is that your house connected to it? And a shop I see? Langston, is that your name?”

His soft but pressing queries drew her through the fog of pain and sorrow and back into clarity. “Erica Langston.”

“I offer you my deepest sympathy, Miss Langston. This terrible deed should never have happened. But your men need direction now, and your father is gone. Someone must guide the hands of your workers if you are to save your house. Do you hear me? Rise up now. My man will help move your father. He will rest easy until this work is done. Release him … that’s it. Your responsibility lies with the living.”

Only when he was certain she understood did he let go of her arm. “Again I must ask your forgiveness, Miss Langston. And now I must move on. The tides of war wait for no man.”

Chapter 7

Erica sat at her little desk. Sunlight spilled through the windows of yet another August morning … only this time the sunlight was tinted a harsh copper color. A number of the windowpanes were cracked. The two windows closest to where the warehouse had stood were streaked almost black. Forrest Langston’s empty desk was shrouded in darkness. The chamber stank of cold smoke and ashes. Erica had cleaned and scrubbed and oiled and worked through much of the night, as she had the day before that, and the night before that … all the six endless days since the British had attacked their city.

The previous evening she had not gone to bed at all, merely worked until she could work no more, then curled up on the settee in the office parlor and, for the first time since the attack, cried herself to sleep. Now she knew it was time to get back to business. There were a hundred tasks that needed doing, but Erica had no idea what they were.

Twice her mother came in to speak to her, but Erica could not even make out her words. Mildred walked over and hugged her very hard, but she did not respond. She was too busy fighting back more tears. She was afraid of how she had cried the night before. The sobs had been so fierce, her sorrow so deep, she felt as though she had stood at the edge of a dark abyss. No, she did not want to permit any more tears. Her mother left.