Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine (15 page)

Lillian stared out the window and saw other inns and other towns. Manchester, Glasgow, Warwick, Birmingham, York. Strange how her earlier travels had never brought her to London. The count had been relieved to hear this when they had first met.

“I am so very sorry for bringing you down here,” Abigail said, obviously misreading her expression.

“Don’t be silly. It is no trouble at all.”

“You look so sad.”

“It is not over this journey, I assure you.”

“What is it, then?”

Lillian sighed her way around to look into the face of the young woman. Abigail’s features were creased with deep concern. “You are,” she quietly decided, “a most remarkable young lady.”

“I feel like ten kinds of fool.” She tasted a tiny smile. “Father would not like knowing I used one of his sayings.”

The carriage approached the front of a squalid plaza. Even the tall elms sheltering the church looked dusty and stooped. Hawkers plied their wares in great numbers. The air was filled with the scents of roasting chestnuts and sausages. Children flocked around, screaming as they ran about playing some game. A ragman croaked his goods, walking alongside a tired nag that pulled an overloaded cart. Behind that was a brewery wagon pulled by six dray horses. Ben Talbot halted the carriage in front of crumbling stone steps, and the children immediately swarmed outside the windows, their dirty faces pleading for alms.

“Here, here, none of that!” they heard a gravelly voice shout. “Off with you lot or you’ll feel the back of my hand!” The children laughed and scampered. Jack’s seamed face appeared in the window. He grinned widely. “Don’t see many such fine vehicles ’round these parts, Miss Abigail.”

“How are you, Jack?”

“Free and alive and praising our Lord, ma’am.” He tipped his filthy cap in Lillian’s direction. “Good day to you, my lady.”

“How nice to see a friendly face in these quarters, sir.”

Abigail inquired, “Is Reverend Aimes about?”

A booming voice responded, “He is indeed!” Jack stepped aside for a younger and stronger man. “A grand good afternoon to you, Miss Abigail. And to you as well, my lady. It’s high time I had the chance to thank you both for what you did.”

They all realized at the same moment that Abigail was not going to respond because she couldn’t. Tears streamed down her face. Lillian moved to the opposite seat to make room beside Abigail and said, “Do be so kind as to join us.”

The carriage creaked as Derrick Aimes climbed inside. The man seemed to compress the carriage’s air with his bulk. He seated himself and patted Abigail’s hand. “There, there.”

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“And didn’t I already know that, lass? Whoever could have predicted the night would turn out as it did?” He cast a grateful glance across the carriage. “I for one believe the Lord’s hand was on our meeting on the street.”

“How can you possibly suggest such a thing?” Abigail gasped out.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a clean handkerchief. “Here, now, wipe your eyes. Were it not for her ladyship, we all would still be in a world of woe. And wasn’t it your doing that brought her around?”

“My mother brought her.”

“That’s the same thing from where I sit.” He addressed his words to Lillian. “So it’s I who have to apologize for troubling the whole world. Never did I expect to be shipped off to New-gate for preaching the Gospel from a Soho stage.”

“It’s not just that.” Abigail forced a huge breath, in and out, struggling to steady herself. “Everything you said to me that night was the truth.”

“Was it, now? I don’t recall.”

“You said I was being frivolous. You said I didn’t belong there.” The tears started afresh. “You said I was not acting out of faith. You said my motives were selfish. You said—”

“Enough, lass. Enough.”

“It was true. All of it. I lied to you and I lied to my parents and I lied to myself and I lied to God.”

“And all of us have forgiven you,” he replied quietly. “So perhaps it’s time you do the same.”

Again she fought for control. “I don’t know how.”

“Aye, it’s a hard lesson, that. Sometimes when heaven’s light shines upon our weaknesses, we can scarce lift our gazes up again from the shame of what we find exposed.” He smiled at her, but it was not a happy expression. “Do you think you’re the first who’s stumbled? The first who’s tried and failed?”

She sniffed. “No, of course not.”

“Well, then. Listen and I’ll tell you something. I haven’t been a pastor for very long. Won’t even be fully ordained until this winter. But I’ve already discovered something that astonishes me. There’s a lot of folks out there who shy away from ever changing. They hide, don’t you see. They hide behind whatever’s closest at hand. And many’s the time they hide behind mistakes they’ve made.”

Abigail was listening too intently now to cry. “Please, what are you saying?”

“Aye, it sounds mad, but it’s the truth nonetheless. They spend hours remembering the badness. They look around and all they see is what they did wrong. It’s an excuse, don’t you see? Secretly they claim to themselves that they don’t deserve to grow or improve or find a better lot in life.”

Lillian found herself wanting to speak. Which was absurd. Address a stranger as she would a lifelong confidant? Yet the pressure built up in her heart like an overheated kettle, the words scalding her throat as she strained to remain silent.

Then, to her amazement, she heard the young woman across from her ask the question on her behalf.

Abigail asked, “But how can I leave such past errors behind?”

“Through prayer, lass. You know that answer as well as I do. What we cannot do alone, God will do for us.”

It was astonishing to hear such a gentle tone coming from such a man. His face was mottled with the wounds of ancient battles, his nose looked pounded and reshaped a multitude of times. Scars crisscrossed beneath his left eye, and his long dark hair could not entirely mask the misshaped ear. His knuckles were huge and raw, his fingers like staves. The rolled-back sleeves revealed arms like cordwood. Yet here he sat, speaking so softly Lillian had to lean forward to catch his words. His tone was as soothing as what he had to say.

Abigail was speaking clearly now. “I’ve asked Him for forgiveness.”

“Aye, and He’s pardoned you as well. Sometimes the hardest challenge we poor humans face is accepting the gift. What have we done to deserve it? You know the answer well as I. But it’s one thing to hear Christ died on the Cross for our sins, and another to come face to face with just how much we need His grace. Not once. But every single day, every moment we’re here upon this earth.”

She nodded slowly. “I think I see.”

“Of course you do.” He patted her hand once more. “There is a consolation I can offer you in the here and now, one coming from my own hard-earned lessons. You can best reach the unwashed when you see yourself as having been brought to the same level, do you see? Drawn down to needing the Cross by our own failings, we are neither better nor cleaner than any of them. That is my only gift, frail and meager as it is. But it is a reward nonetheless for all the mistakes I made before arriving at my knees.”

Derrick rose and moved for the carriage door. Every motion caused the carriage to shift and creak. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m due to be teaching this bunch of young scallywags how to read. If I leave them any longer, next thing you know we’ll have the church burned down around our ears.”

The soft-voiced former fighter shut the carriage door, then said through the open window, “The questions you should be asking our Maker are these: What comes next? You have forgiven me, Father. What lesson do I take from this? How can I turn my hard-earned wisdom into something that serves thee? And what would thou have me do? That’s where your future lies; that’s where hope lives.” Derrick Aimes nodded to the driver and lifted his hand in farewell. “Come see us any time, lass. You are always welcome at this house.”

Chapter 13

On the way from Soho to Parliament, Abigail sensed something she had not felt since all the recent events had started. At first she could not even identify the mood, as though she tasted a flavor so novel her tongue had to search out a totally new description.

She felt excited.

She did not feel as though she sat in a stuffy carriage trundling down the tarmacadam roads linking the West End with the River Thames. She did not notice their passage past St. James Palace. She paid scant notice as they turned onto Horse Guards Road, winding their way along the back of the barracks of the king’s regiment and Whitehall. She did not see the crowds or hear the hawkers. Instead, her mind was held by a vision of a wave-capped ocean. And beyond that lay a land of endless adventure.

Not until they left Great George Street and trundled around Parliament Square did Abigail realize she had not spoken a word to her companion since leaving Soho. She said to Lillian, “Forgive me. I have been very rude.”

Lillian seemed to start awake. “In what way?”

“Is everything all right?”

“No, no, it is nothing.”

“Please tell me.”

Lillian hesitated a moment longer. “I have been trying to fathom what seemed so strange about our encounter.”

“With Pastor Aimes?”

“Indeed. The gentleman showed no interest whatsoever in my presence. I am unable to recall the last time that has occurred.”

As Ben Talbot held the door open for the two ladies to disembark, Abigail said, “Prepare yourself for another surprising encounter.”

Parliament was not housed in a particularly impressive building. Abigail had been in several manors which were far larger. Vague talk of expanding the structure and even adding a clock tower had swirled for years. Yet the yellow stone held a gemlike quality in the afternoon light. The gothic peaks and high narrow windows were both austere and elegant. She had come several times with her father and always looked forward to her visits. But never had she anticipated one more than now.

A guard in splendid scarlet uniform directed them to the Black Rod entrance. They passed through high-peaked doors and crossed an interior courtyard illuminated by brilliant sunlight. Another guard asked their business, eyed the countess, then pointed them down a long high-ceilinged hallway. They passed a number of formal chambers where crowds of robed officials talked in low yet passionate tones.

Abigail noticed that whenever men spotted the countess, all conversation halted. She had never considered Countess Houghton’s beauty as anything but an attribute until now. Abigail corrected herself and mentally spoke the lady’s first name.
Lillian
. She had never addressed a titled older woman by her first name before. It would require some practice. They passed another open doorway, this one crammed with gentlemen holding leather portfolios and official-looking documents dressed with ribbons and seals. Once more Abigail noticed how the men stopped their discussions to observe their passage, particularly Lillian’s. One of the men stared in slack-jawed wonder. Abigail had not realized what a burden such beauty might actually be.

“There you are!” William Wilberforce extricated himself from a mass of berobed gentlemen, most of whom wore powdered wigs and the ermine collars of royal appointments. “I was just going to see if perhaps the guards had refused my two lovely guests entry for fear of disrupting the affairs of state.”

Abigail felt herself almost overwhelmed by the excitement and force of this small gentleman. “How are you today, sir?”

“Eh? Oh, you mean my recent bout of ill health.” He waved it aside. “Thankfully, when those episodes end I can scarcely recall having felt unwell at all.”

Abigail said, “Might I have the pleasure of introducing the Countess Houghton?”

His elegant manners made Wilberforce’s small stature unimportant. He bowed over the lady’s hand. “You do me great honor with your presence, my lady.”

“I hope I am not untoward in joining Miss Aldridge on her visit, sir.”

“Quite the contrary, my lady. I shall be the envy of all Parliament for many months to come.” Indeed, the hall was frozen solid, all eyes trained in their direction. “Might I suggest we retire to chambers where I have ordered tea be served?”

He led them into a smaller side room adorned with stained glass windows, fine Gothic paneling, and a high domed ceiling. A sterling tea service was laid out on the ancient table. “My dear, perhaps you will do the honors?”

“Of course.” For once, Abigail was enormously grateful for her mother’s insistence upon teaching her the polite art of serving tea. She waited for Wilberforce to hold Lillian’s chair, then served them both a cup before pouring one for herself. She seated herself opposite Lillian, so that they sat to either side of Wilberforce.

The gentleman tasted his tea and nodded approval. “I of course knew your late husband, my lady,” he addressed the countess.

“Indeed. He never mentioned the fact.”

Abigail noticed how Lillian’s voice had become muted since their arrival, such that it sounded almost faint. She could well understand. William Wilberforce was an astounding individual. So much power was encased within this diminutive figure. Even when seated and still, he seemed nearly bursting with sheer unbridled force.

“I am hardly surprised.” Wilberforce took no notice of the lady’s subdued nature. “Since we normally occupied opposite sides of the hall.”

Abigail understood his expression because of her father’s work in politics. When votes were called in Parliament, many times its members were required to move to opposite sides of the chamber, such that all could see how each stood upon issues. This also lessened the risk of any miscount.

Wilberforce went on, “Might I ask, my lady, if you share your late husband’s views?”

When Lillian hesitated in responding, William Wilberforce leaned forward to say, “I implore you, my lady, to take no offense. I ask only because I understand that you might be traveling with my dear young friend.”

“It is not that, sir.” Lillian patted her lips with the starched napkin. “To be perfectly frank, at present I am uncertain precisely how I feel on any number of issues.”