The Firebird (57 page)

When she’d finished, Sophia was once again holding a hand to her heart. ‘Oh, my dear. Oh, my love.’

Moray did not say anything, but his eyes had the same reddened bright look they’d had long ago when she had kissed him goodbye at the convent. Abruptly, he pushed himself out of his chair and crossed over to one of the windows and stood looking out, with his back to her.

Gordon, affected as well, drew a sharp breath and looked to the side, to a candlestick set on the bookshelf, as though it were suddenly wanting his keen observation.

‘But really, it all worked out well in the end,’ Anna told them, attempting to fix what she’d broken. ‘I’ve had a good life. Not just here, but before this,’ she said to Sophia, ‘at Slains, and at Ypres. I have had a good life.’

Moray said, ‘Not the life ye were meant to have, Anna. The life that we wished for ye.’

‘No, perhaps not, but …’ She paused, and her forehead creased lightly with all of the effort of trying to say what she wanted to tell them, to lessen their pain. She said, ‘I should have been very sad, to have missed any part of it.’

Vice Admiral Gordon sniffed loudly, and coughed, and said, ‘Well, then.’

And all of them sat there in silence a moment.

Sophia was first to speak. ‘Thomas, I cannot begin to—’

‘Then don’t.’ In his charming smile, Anna could see how he might have appeared as a younger man. ‘There is no need. I owed you that much.’

Moray told him, ‘I’m thinking ye’ve paid any debt to us over more times than ye needed to.’

Gordon’s gaze travelled from Sophia’s face to her daughter’s, and looking at Anna he said to her father, ‘In this instance, Colonel, the debt was my own.’

‘You’ve done well by her, Thomas,’ Sophia said gently. ‘You’ve made her a lady.’

That word struck a discordant note within Anna, and twisted her heart in a way she had almost forgotten, with all that had happened this evening. But now she looked sharply at Gordon.

‘Your letters.’

‘What letters would those be, my dear?’

‘I was told by the general that you and Sir Harry had both written letters of late, touching things of importance. If I’m to return into Ireland now with …’ She broke off and glanced at Sophia, in case she assumed too much, but when she saw how her mother was watching her, looking so hopeful and happy, she said, ‘… with my parents, I pray you allow me to carry those letters, instead of the man you have asked.’

Gordon lifted his eyebrows. ‘Why? What’s wrong with Mr O’Connor?’

She stopped up her ears to the voice of her heart. And she told him.

It only took four days to get her passport – little time to see to everything that needed to be done, to say goodbye to all the people she’d grown up with and grown fond of, and would miss.

The trunk she had brought to the Lacys’ had been packed again, only this time more full, with a pair of red shoes at the bottom that she’d been unable to part with, for reasons she did not examine.

There’d been other gifts. The general had insisted that she take the chessboard with its pieces, ‘For it rarely has been used so much as when you have been here, and I do fear the chessmen will grow bored and idle after you have gone, so you had better take them with you. Every army,’ he had told her, ‘needs its general.’ Father Dominic had given her the grace of the Seraphic Blessing of St Francis, placing his hands gently on her head while he had prayed, ‘May the Lord bless you and keep you; may he make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you; may he lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace.’ And then he had told her, ‘Remember the faith you were raised in my child, and love not in word or in tongue, but in deed and in truth; and whoever may come to you, either a friend or a foe, or a thief or a robber, receive them with kindness, for each man must walk on the path to which he has been called.’

She’d promised to try, though she knew she had not the monk’s way of forgiveness.

The children had made her a drawing in pencil, with all of them in it, and labelled in Michael’s fine hand.

‘This is you,’ little Katie had said to her, ‘catching the bird. And that’s Ned.’ She had pointed to one of the sketched figures, taller than the rest. ‘He’s gone away now.’

‘Yes, I know.’

She had let Gordon tell the Lacys what she knew about their kinsman and his dealings with the English spy, for she’d not had the heart to do so. None of them had spoken of it to each other since.

In time, thought Anna, she herself would cease to think about him, and she would no longer see his smile or hear his voice within her memory quite so often. He’d be relegated to that same dim place as Christiane, and she would count it well that she had never lost her heart to him. Or so she’d reassured herself, as she had packed her things away, but for some reason when she’d taken up the note and playing cards he’d sent her, and prepared to tear them through and so dispose of them, her fingers had been unable to do it, and instead they’d gripped the ace of hearts and smiling knave more tightly, and she had wrapped his note around them and thrust all into her pocket.

Mrs Lacy knew, she thought, for in the older woman’s eyes as they were saying their farewells Anna had seen a light of sympathy. ‘Men and their secrets,’ Mrs Lacy had said, and she had shaken her head and given Anna one more kiss and had assured her she’d be perfectly all right with Mary Gordon coming now to keep her company until the baby’s birth.

Mary herself, and Nan, had been harder farewells, and there’d been weeping all around, but Anna knew now, from her parents’ own example, that a parting did not always mean a permanent goodbye. She had remembrances from each of them – a pair of pearl earrings from Mary, and an amber brooch from Nan. And even Charles had paid a visit to Vice Admiral Gordon’s house, to sit for tea and talk and say his own goodbye.

Gordon had remarked to him, ‘I hear you’re bound for Moscow soon, with General Bohn.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You have done well, my lad. I’m proud of you, as would your father be.’

Charles had returned the smile and said, ‘Your own pride, Uncle, is enough for me.’ To Anna, he had added, ‘I expect you now to write to me, and tell me your adventures, cousin, for I trust you’ll not forget your family.’

She had given him her promise.

And in truth, she seemed to have more family round her now than she knew what to do with, for she’d scarcely moved these past few days without her father walking by her side, or else her mother sitting next to her, and all within their circle had by now been told the story of their coming, or at least the public version of it, for to everyone her father had been introduced as Captain Jamieson, who’d left his daughter in Vice Admiral Gordon’s care while he himself had been away and fighting for the French, and now had come to take her home again.

Sir Harry was the only one among their friends who knew the perfect truth of it, because he knew her father’s family well and had been quick to recognise him when they’d first been introduced, although he’d held the secret close and played along in public with the common version of the tale.

Sir Harry had himself arranged the sloop that was to carry them to Cronstadt, where they were to meet a larger ship to take them first to Amsterdam, and then from there to Ulster, where her parents had their home. And it was now Sir Harry who was personally seeing to the loading of their baggage on that sloop, while he and Moray stood together on the solid timber planks of the exchange, beneath a sky whose sun was hidden behind swiftly running clouds.

‘And how are both your sisters?’ asked Sir Harry.

‘Very well, I hear.’

‘Amelia was always great fun. They did both marry Grahams, your sisters, did they not?’

‘Aye. Our family’s well bound to the Grahams.’

‘We’re all interwoven, I think,’ said Sir Harry. And then, as though that had reminded him, ‘I was sorry to hear that my stepmother, your brother’s wife, had passed on. Has he married again?’

Moray shook his head. ‘No, I’m told Robin manages well enough now, with the children grown older.’

‘It must be very difficult, to not have any contact with them. You were always close, as I recall.’

‘Aye.’ Moray gave a nod so short that Anna knew by now, from watching him these past days, that it hid a deep emotion. ‘My youngest brother, Maurice, knows I live, for I did see him while he was at Paris, but I doubt he does remember that.’

‘I’d heard he was … not well,’ Sir Harry said. ‘So he has not recovered?’

Moray gave a shrug. ‘He is much improved, I’m told, from what he was. But he will never be again the man we knew.’

Sir Harry gave a feeling sigh. ‘Aye, well, the world has turned us all, and which of us will ever be the man that we once were?’

Moray’s eyes grew slightly crinkled at their corners. ‘I do see the world has turned you into a philosopher.’

‘A merchant, if you please,’ Sir Harry said, and smiled. ‘And with much business to attend to.’ While they’d shaken hands the men had shared a brief embrace, like brothers. ‘A safe journey to you, John. ’Tis good to see you look so well. Come, Mr Taylor,’ called Sir Harry to his secretary, ‘it is time we were away.’

As Mr Taylor passed, he gave a final bow to Anna. ‘God speed, Mistress Jamieson.’

‘I thank you, Mr Taylor.’

They had spoken briefly earlier, and Anna had, with some remorse, said, ‘I am very sorry if I gave you cause to hope, sir, that—’

He had not let her finish. ‘Any hopes,’ he’d told her, ‘were my own. Your behaviour, Mistress Jamieson, has always been most proper and most ladylike, and quite above reproach.’

That had been earlier this morning. Now, he only wished her well and bowed and took his leave.

As Anna watched him walk away down the exchange, her mother came to stand beside her. ‘He does seem a nice young man.’

‘He is,’ said Anna. ‘He is very nice.’

Her mother smiled, and straightening the seam at Anna’s shoulder said, ‘If I could give you one piece of advice, my dear, it would be that you should never give your hand to any man unless he also holds your heart.’

What hope for her, then? Anna wondered, for her own heart was already held by one who had no right to it and who did not deserve it, but who would not let it go. ‘Then I suppose,’ she said, in a small voice that did not fully seem to know that it was saying things aloud, ‘that I shall never give my hand.’

Her mother did not make reply to that, but gave her arm a reassuring squeeze and turned away to say farewell to the vice admiral.

Gordon looked most fine this morning, in his uniform with the black armband, and his sword hung gleaming at his side. He raised Sophia’s hand and kissed it in a gallant gesture, and for that unguarded instant Anna saw the longing in his face, as of a man who’d loved and lost and, while resigned to it, had never yet forgotten. ‘This,’ he told her mother, low, ‘I did not do for duty, either.’

And Sophia seemed to understand, because she gave a nod and told him, ‘I am glad that it was you.’

Moray, when he said goodbye to Gordon, was more formal than he had been with Sir Harry.

Gordon handed him the thick packet of letters. ‘You will see that those are properly delivered?’

‘Aye.’

Beyond that, there were no light words, no brotherly embrace; only a silence that appeared to say much more than any words could have attempted, and at last, as though it were a gesture that had been a long time coming, Moray held his hand outstretched, and Gordon took it, and above their solemn handshake Moray gave a curt and quiet nod, and that was all.

When Anna’s turn came, she found, as her father must have done, words seemed inadequate. She looked up at Vice Admiral Gordon, and he looked at her, and she suddenly realised the words did not need to be spoken at all. Not out loud.

He said, ‘I have a parting gift.’

‘You give too many gifts.’

‘’Tis not from me. It was delivered to my hands this morning, from the palace. From the Empress Catherine.’ From his pocket he drew out a parcel wrapped in silk, about the size of his own hand, and strangely rounded. ‘The messenger who brought the gift spoke only Russian, so Dmitri translated. He said that what you hold was made by the late Tsar himself, and was a gift to Empress Catherine in the days before they married. She would have you keep it now, to mind you of the day you gave an Empress back her purpose, and to help you know your own.’ As she took the gift and started to unwrap the silk, he asked, ‘Does that make any sense to you?’

She nodded, looking down at the small wooden bird, a plain thing carved by a great man who’d always taken pleasure in creating things with his own hands. ‘She’s telling me, I think, that I should seek to be none other than myself, and so fly always like the bird that I was born to be.’

‘Then,’ Gordon said, ‘you will fly very high, my dear. And very far.’ His blue gaze travelled up towards the sails of their small ship, and Anna looked where he was looking.

‘It has been a long time since I’ve been aboard a ship without you being at the helm,’ she said. ‘Will not you pilot us to Cronstadt?’

‘I had better not.’ His smile was slow. ‘I might be tempted not to come to shore.’

When their lines were cast away, he was still standing by the water on the broad exchange, as tall and dashing as he’d been the day she had first seen him, and the way she knew she always would remember him. They stood on deck, the three of them, and watched him till he’d passed from view. Then Moray’s arm came round her and, as he had done when she was very small and they had come across from Scotland into Flanders, he drew her back a safer distance from the rail and said, ‘The wind is cold. Come down below.’

The crew’s cabin was to the fore, but Moray led her aft to the captain’s cabin, swinging the door open so she could enter first. Inside, the curtains had been drawn across the window and the light was lost in shadow, so she did not see the man until he straightened from the place where he’d been sitting. Clothed in black, he looked himself a shadow as he stood.

Her father, all calm, took the packet of letters that he’d just been given by Gordon, and passing them over to Edmund O’Connor said, ‘These, I believe, would be yours. Whether she is, as well, is for her to decide.’