When they rose again, it was to the mid-morning sun. James didn't have to urge Caroline to hasten her breakfast or toilette. She took one look at the clock, murmured "Robert," and was off, like a little general, mustering her troops. They were on their way to Wapping Wall in under an hour.
The subject of her concern greeted them at the door of Chamber House, where he was sweeping the stoop. He looked untroubled by the lack of parental attention, but gratified when Caroline hugged him and inquired as to whether he was hungry. When he admitted he was, Caroline rounded on James as though he'd been starving the boy a-purpose.
"Lads his age are hungry all the time," James protested, but immediately acquiesced when she glared daggers at him. He held up his hands. "We'll feed him, madam. But I need a moment with him first."
While Caroline went to the kitchen to explain the loss of his helper to Brace, James took the boy up to the attic room. He took the letters he'd written from his pocket, opened the safe and placed them within, then locked the safe again. He held out the key to Robert.
When the boy reached for it, he moved it out of reach.
Robert didn't flinch or frown. He just reached for the key again. He's as stubborn as any Delaney, James thought approvingly. James moved it out of his grasp twice more, then finally let Robert catch the key. Once the lad did, he held it firmly. James released it.
"I told you that you'd hear things that might scare you. Soon, you'll hear I've been taken to the Tower. This is part of my plan, but if you're frightened, you may go to Mrs. Grant's."
"I won't be frightened, sir," Robert said quietly.
"Good. The morning after I'm taken, you'll wait until the bells chime nine. Then you'll use that key to open the safe. You'll take out those letters and deliver them. Brace and Miss Bow should be in the house or nearby. I'll take you to Atticus's tavern now so you know how to find him, and I'll point out Mr. Chichester's office as we pass. Mr. Cholmondeley you'll have to find. I'll show you the place he's most likely to be. If he's not there, you'll have to ask after him. Ask among the whores, they'll know."
James didn't ask if Robert knew what a whore was. He's a boy, and curious about sex; he'll know.
"D'you understand me?"
Robert nodded. "Sir, is there no letter for me?"
"Mrs. Grant asked the same thing." James chuckled. "Your job, and hers, are the most important. I'll not entrust them to a letter. She already knows what she must do. You'll spend the day with me and we'll go over each step. You'll have no need for a letter."
"Yes, sir."
"Good," James repeated. "Let's go find a pie shop and get you fed before Mrs. Grant strings me up for starving you. Did Brace not give you food to break your fast?"
The boy shook his head.
"I'll speak to him."
"I couldn't find him this morning, sir. I knocked on his door. He didn't answer."
James shrugged. "Food first." He'd deal with Brace later.
When they re-joined Caroline in the foyer, she, too, reported being unable to find the butler.
"Robert's had no breakfast," James advised her. "There's a pie shop on the way to the Dolphin." Which James knew from staggering past it several times. "I need a word with Atticus; we'll feed Robert on the way."
Caroline drew on her gloves and retied her bonnet. She offered her hand to Robert, who took it with a look of such open adoration that James sighed. At least I need not worry about him resenting his stepmother as I did, he thought. James offered Caroline his elbow and led the little procession along Wapping Wall to the pie seller's.
Caroline pressed three meat pies on the boy, whose gaze went from adoration to veneration as he ate. That James paid for the pies seemed to make no impression. When they resumed their journey and Robert sought Caroline's hand again, James resigned himself to playing second fiddle. At least he's not giving me those terror-filled eyes anymore, he thought.
When they reached the Dolphin, James led them to the work sheds around the back, where Atticus was most likely to be. They found him filling bottles from two casks, one of gin and the other of water. The old sailor looked up sheepishly when they approached.
"That water better not be out of the River, Atticus," James growled. "No wonder I had such a bad head."
"Four bottles of gin'll give any man a bad 'ead," Atticus retorted. Then he noticed Caroline and bowed. "Mrs. Grant, me day's just got brighter. T'what do I owe the pleasure?"
Before Caroline could flatter the man with a response, James grunted. "I need a word, Atticus."
"At least tell me you brought some of them ginger biscuits." When James shook his head, Atticus threw up his hands. "Well it ain't no pleasure to see you at all, James. What d'you want?"
James beckoned Robert, who reluctantly detached himself from Caroline's side. "You've met Robert. Robert, you remember Atticus from when we delivered the powder. Now you know where to find him."
The boy nodded and returned to Caroline's side as soon as he'd shaken the old sailor's hand.
"I need you to meet me at Bedlam," James told Atticus. "We should check on the powder. How soon can you be there?"
Atticus wiped his hands. "Tomorrow mornin'?"
"Today, Atticus."
Atticus looked up at the sky, which was slowly filling with grey clouds. "It's gonna rain, James," the old sailor whined.
"A fact that concerns me not at all but makes our visit more pressing. No later than four, Atticus. That gets you back before the evening trade and me home in time for dinner." He held up a warning finger. "Four. No later."
Atticus hoisted his hands in surrender.
James grunted and turned to go.
"At least bring me some biscuits," Atticus grumbled.
"No promises," James responded. He offered Caroline his elbow. She dipped Atticus a polite curtsey before taking his arm. They left Atticus to water the tavern's gin.
"We'll find a coffee shop," James said to Caroline. "You can stuff a cake down the boy."
"I like cake very much, ma'am," Robert piped up.
"Then let's find some cake, gentlemen." Caroline squeezed James's arm and swung Robert's hand as they walked along Wapping Wall.
James took the opportunity to prepare Robert for his upcoming task. He pointed out Chichester's office as they passed, then said, "Shall we sing for Mrs. Grant, Robert? D'you know 'Oranges and Lemons'?"
"Yes, sir."
James began the rhyming song, "Gay go up, and gay go down, To ring the bells of London town."
Robert joined him, singing in a clear voice that, James thought, must have been the pride of the church choirmaster. "Bull's eyes and targets, Say the bells of St. Marg'rets."
They sang together through the song, Robert filling in a final verse that James didn't know. "Here comes a candle to light you to bed, And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!"
Despite the gruesome final verse, Caroline clapped and cheered. "Bravo!"
Robert gave her a little bow before her took her hand again. "I know many more songs, ma'am."
"You must sing them all for me, for I cannot sing at all. And I believe that Mr. Delaney knows some sea chanteys that he might teach to you, if you ask him nicely. Perhaps one every day as we sail to the New World?"
"Yes, please. But, ma'am, why can't you sing?"
Caroline paused and bent over. She tucked her hair behind her ear and cupped her hand around it to show it to the boy. "Do you see in there, Robert? It's a terrible thing."
Robert peered into her ear. "What, ma'am?"
"My ear, it's made of tin."
Robert peered even more earnestly. "Tin? I can't see any tin, ma'am."
"Oh, but it is." Caroline tickled him and Robert jumped. He looked uncertain for a moment, then his face split into a broad grin and he laughed.
"A tin ear?" The boy gasped through his laughter.
"A terrible, terrible tin ear," Caroline confirmed, tickling him until he bent double and wriggled away from her. Caroline patted his shoulder to calm him and offered her hand again, which Robert took, still grinning. "All the ladies of my family have them. My mother was even banned from singing psalms in church, she sang so ill."
"But singing psalms is the best part of church," Robert protested.
"It is, indeed." Caroline swung his hand as they continued walking. "And now I'll be able to enjoy church again, listening to you and Mr. Delaney sing."
James grunted his objection, which Caroline overrode with a pat on his forearm. James rolled his eyes, but turned his head so neither Caroline nor Robert would see his scorn. I have three months to convince them both that the best temple is the sky, and the best sermon is the roll of the waves, he thought.
They eventually found a coffee shop, less plentiful along the Wall than in more fashionable areas of Town. James settled Caroline and Robert at a table near the window before he checked his pocket watch. He still had enough time to walk to his office before his sister arrived, but not if he had cake and coffee.
He sat in one of the wrought-iron chairs, a little too self-consciously Parisian for his taste, and took Caroline's hand. He lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss to her kidskin-covered knuckles. "Can you and Robert entertain yourselves here for a time, while I see to some final business?"
Caroline nodded. "Of course, James, but would you rather we accompany you?"
"Mmm." He squeezed her fingers before explaining, "I go to sever my last tie with my sister."
"Oh." She looked down at the chintz-covered table, but didn't pull her hand from his grasp.
"I wouldn't refuse if you insisted on being present, Caroline. You're my wife-to-be and that's your right. But she'll be hurt and humiliated enough without a witness, or two," James said with a nod to Robert.
"Yes, yes, you're right. Robert and I will remain here until you return."
"Look at me, darling," James commanded. Caroline immediately lifted her gaze to his and gave him a small, brave smile. He touched her cheek. "I am severing the final tie."
Her smile brightened a fraction. "Yes, I heard you."
"Did you believe me?"
"Always, James."
"That's my lioness." He drew her to him, brushed back her bonnet and kissed her on the forehead, despite their audience. "I should be back in an hour. If I'm not, come to my offices. I'll wait for you there. We'll have a drive before I go to meet Atticus. Would you like that, Robert? A drive in Mrs. Grant's phaeton?"
"Yes, sir." The boy, who had been watching their exchange a little anxiously, grinned at him.
"Enjoy your cake." James rose and rubbed the boy's wool-capped head. Then he stooped to kiss Caroline's hand again. "Be easy, sweet. I'll be back soon."
She nodded and squeezed his fingers before letting him go.
This time, he promised her silently, there will be no mistakes. Nothing that didn't happen. Nothing I have to regret. I'll return to you light and clear, and you'll see nothing in my eyes but love.
Before he left, he collared the serving girl and gave her enough coin for a dozen cakes and cups of coffee, to ensure she would be appropriately attentive to his little family. He left them in the coffee house's warmth, seated on chintz, anticipating cake, while he stepped out into the first drops of rain.
The sky glowered as he walked along the Wall to his offices, but other than spitting at him a few times, the clouds held off on their damp promise. In his office, he built up the fire and set the coffee-pot to boil. He was sorry to have foregone coffee and cake with Caroline and Robert, if only for the enjoyment of watching the boy stuff himself. Another time, he thought.
As the pot boiled, he heard the squeak of the front door that he deliberately hadn't oiled. Zilpha let herself into the office without knocking, as they had as children. She's punctual, James saw with a glance at his pocket watch. She's also cool and collected, for a woman who murdered her husband, buried him and gave in to her forbidden desire for her half-brother all on the same day.
She walked over the little bridge into the space he'd made his office. It had been where their father had stored charts and maps, while their father and his clerks had had their desks in the back, where the best light was. James wondered if Zilpha remembered it all as clearly as he did.
"Do you know who blew up your ship?" she asked.
Of course, I do. James shrugged out of his coat, no longer needed as the room warmed. Caroline would never ask such a stupid question. But then, she thinks before she speaks or acts, something you never learned to do, sister.
He picked up a coffee cup and offered it to her. She shook her head as she sank down into the chair across from his desk. James poured himself a cup and brought it back to his desk.
Instead of waiting for him to speak the way Caroline would have, Zilpha ploughed ahead. "I've been thinking a lot about what happened. And I think we were right. It wasn't the time for such . . ." She closed her eyes as though savouring the memory.
Is it a pleasant memory for you? He wondered resentfully. Did you enjoy me climbing into your bed covered with your husband's grave dirt, mad and stinking of gin? Was it another little triumph? James felt his gorge rise and gritted his teeth to keep from spewing bile at her.
"And we have plenty of time," she continued.
"No," James growled. "No, we don't." We have no time at all. We are done.
Zilpha's face froze and she gave him a look that, if he'd not had Caroline's warmth wrapped securely around him, would have made him crawl.
"When you first came back, you told me you loved me." She tipped her head to the side and paused to let him rush in with an apology, an affirmation. James said nothing. "I would never have thought—"
"But you don't think," James interrupted. You never have. Everything you've done has been thoughtless. You act on instinct. To wound. To gratify your own pride. To fill that great, empty hole in your heart.
"I know you," she insisted, watching him. "I know your nature. I know you."
You know nothing. If you knew anything about me, you'd have known not to kill your husband, when I had so many opportunities and deliberately passed them by. If you knew anything about me, you'd have known that I was mad and raving when I came to you and needed comfort, not to be clawed and torn and left bleeding. Whatever connection we once had died long ago; I've been clinging to a corpse. "No. I believed once that we were the same person."
"We are."
James shook his head. "We are not."
"We are," she said more firmly, staring at him. James saw the flicker of fury in her eyes. You never let yourself get angry, he thought. Not even when we were children. You go cold, just like father, and then wreak the same kind of terrible, frozen retribution that he did. I've found warmth at last and no longer have to live in the icy hell you and father consigned me to.
"Not anymore," he informed her. "Perhaps you should thank your God for that."
"No. No, James. You can't do this. Not now."
"It is done."
He turned away from the single tear glimmering in her eye. One tear, is that all you can manage for me, sister? He wondered. Is that even a real tear? Whether real or feigned, James found he no longer cared. I'm done letting you manipulate me. I'm done. We're done.
And, finally, it was true. They were done. He picked up the diamond he'd brought for her and placed it carefully on the desk between them. "For your widowhood."
She cried out and turned her face away from him, but James saw no further tears. He heard no real expression of pain. So different from that dying-rabbit scream of Caroline's when she thought she'd lost me. That was true agony, true heartbreak. This is pique and frustration; she's thwarted, not broken.
"Now," he told her. "I have work to do, so please excuse me."
She took several deep breaths, puffing them out as she controlled herself. Then she stood, smoothed her skirts, took the diamond, and walked away without a backwards glance.
Good-bye, sister, James thought, but he said nothing and let her go.
He finished his coffee, giving her time to leave, before dousing the fire and shrugging back into his coat. As he left, he stopped to pat the marine chronometers, still safely nestled in their wood and straw. He hadn't yet shown them to Caroline, but there was time for that once they sailed. Part of his instructions to Atticus concerned loading the chronometers. He had no doubt the old sailor would follow his direction; Atticus didn't want to founder somewhere between the Azores and the American coast any more than James did. "I'll see you aboard, my good girls," he told them in Twi.
He strode out of his offices, feeling the way he had when he'd meditated with Mr. Singh: a little stronger, a little surer. The sky was making good on its promise and spat rain at him in gusts, but James merely lifted his face and let the water wash away the last traces of his past.
James found Robert and Caroline waiting for him at the coffee house. Caroline had an empty cup in front of her, while in front of Robert there were three plates covered in crumbs. James rubbed the boy's head as he sank into the wrought-iron chair between them. "We'll have to roll you home like a barrel," he teased.
Robert grinned up at him.
"Both of you could eat a dozen cakes and still look as lean and hungry as wolves," Caroline said. She looked closely at him. "Is all resolved?"
James nodded, and was gratified when she displayed neither anxiety nor satisfaction. It is done, he thought. There's no need for worry, or for triumph.
"Would you like a cake, James?" Caroline asked.
"No. I'll save my appetite for dinner. Do you remember the food I brought to the farm, Robert?" he asked. When the boy nodded, James continued, "That was made by Mrs. Grant's excellent cook, who will feed us dinner tonight. And if you're very lucky, she'll provide a ration of the best biscuits on Earth for afters."
The boy's eyes grew round. "I'd like to try some of the best biscuits on Earth, sir."
Caroline elbowed him. "He might not even like them."
"Then Mrs. Singh will have to stretch her culinary talents to sultanas, or perhaps, wildly, to glacé cherries. I've promised him the best biscuits on Earth. I can't renege on that now." James winked at Robert, who looked a little uncertain. "Now, if the two of you are finished gorging yourselves, your chariot awaits."
Robert brightened. "I've never been in a chariot, sir."
"Ah." James realised he might need to be more literal when dealing with the boy.
"Have you been in a phaeton?" Caroline asked, stepping in to salvage James's gaffe. "It's faster than a chariot, I warrant."
Robert shook his head. "I'd like to go in a phaeton, ma'am."
"So you shall. Cap and coat, Robert. It's raining," Caroline said, drawing on her bonnet and tying it under her chin. She pulled on her gloves and started to rise, when Robert rushed around the table and held her chair. "Thank you, Robert. That's very gentlemanly."
James checked his glower at the boy for usurping his prerogative. Let him play the hero. It's a better role for him than me. James offered his elbow to Caroline, who wrapped her hand around it before offering her free hand to Robert. The boy led them out of the shop, nearly skipping, either with excitement or an excess of sugar.
"What have you and the boy discussed while I've been gone, madam?" James asked Caroline once they were out of the shop. He guided Caroline around a pile of horse shit that Robert jumped over with youthful enthusiasm. James had done the same thing as a boy and was pleased to see Robert behaving as he had. The boy was still too nervous and reserved for James's liking. "Or has he been too busy stuffing cake down his gullet to converse?"
Caroline shook her head at him. "Don't be silly. Robert's been very well mannered. We've talked about what books he likes and his schooling." James nodded; he'd been pleased to discover the boy could read and write. "And we've planned a shopping trip."
James halted. "A what?"
Caroline stumbled, pulled one way by her hold on James's arm and the other by her hand in Robert's. James quickly caught her around the waist to check her fall, and took two strides to catch up with the boy. "Apologies, madam. I didn't mean to play tug o' war with you."
Caroline laughed, absolving him, as he set her back on her feet. "Piggie-in-the-middle is an unenviable position," she said lightly. "And don't be so surprised. Just because you abhor shopping doesn't mean every man does. Robert has only the suit he's wearing. He needs other clothes for our voyage, so I'm going to take him shopping while you meet Atticus."
"I don't abhor shopping," James said gruffly, although he did in the main. "Shopping for your pearls was very gratifying. But I object to you taking him shopping. I didn't ask you to take him under your wing to impose his care and keeping on you, Caroline."
She squeezed his arm. "James, I'm very happy to do it. But if you have concerns, I'll also be happy to take the cost out of your minority share in the profits of our voyage."
"Ah, now I see how it will be. Will I have to grovel for every penny, madam director?"
"Yes, I like the sound of that." Caroline gave him a saucy smile from under the brim of her bonnet.
James leaned in as close as their various brims would allow. "You're far more likely to feel the kiss of my palm or belt, madam."
Caroline giggled. "I like the sound of that, too."
Back at Chamber House, James found Lorna in the kitchen, haphazardly attacking a duck with a cleaver in a manner that would result in nothing edible.
"Where's Brace?" he asked her.
"In his room," she said, tossing feathers over her shoulder. "He's been there all day, either mad or sick or drunk."
James nodded. He took five apples from the bowl on the counter and retreated, first to his attic room, where he retrieved Robert's book, then back down the stairs to Brace's door. He stood on the stair for a long moment, smelling the stink of mildew that pervaded the house. He caught the whiff of blood from the kitchen as Lorna dismembered the duck. Blood and rot. That's what this house has always smelled of. Be done with it, he told himself. Earn the rest of the day with Caroline and Robert. Sever the final tie.
He pounded on the door. "Brace, you are not sick, and you are not dead yet. Come out, or I will come in there and drag you out."
James waited, and when he heard the bed creak, he moved up the stairs to the hallway where there were two chairs. He sat heavily in the more comfortable wing chair and propped his boots on the bannister. He wasn't relishing this confrontation. If anything, he'd been avoiding it. But he'd known, since he first stepped through the door of Chamber House, that it would come.
Brace entered the hallway gingerly, looking every day his years: a frail, shrunken old man. He sat in the straight chair across from James.
"Talk to me about the rats," James said.
"Every house has rats."
James grunted. "Mmm, but after you bought so much arsenic from the apothecary in Rotherhithe, pinch after pinch, after pinch. It's a great deal of poison. Still we have rats."
James saw Brace's face crease and crumple. He followed the old butler's eyes down to his hands, which were white-knuckled around something he was holding.
"What's that?" James asked.
Brace opened his hand. "Your father's buttons. From his dress coat. I kept them."
Because you loved him, James thought. More than I ever did.
"It was a kindness," Brace said brokenly.
The last, little, vain hope that it had not been Brace who killed his father trickled away. James shrugged deeper into the warm coat of Caroline's affection to shield himself from the old butler's betrayal.
"For who?" James asked.
"We couldn't go on, James."
"But you did."
"You were dead. Everyone was at his throat. He was burning his own flesh. No need to go on. Nothing left to live for."
James nodded. In the end, it came down to family, didn't it, old man? he thought. Family you pushed away while you had wealth and status. But when all your illusions were stripped away, there was nothing left. The family you tried so hard to control had slipped away from you.
"So you did him a kindness."
"I put an end to his pain."
"You did him a kindness," James repeated.
"I killed him. You came back too late! For both of us."
Yes, James thought. Blame me. I will shoulder it, and take the guilt from you. That is my gift to you for all you have done for me, and my father, over the years.
"You are wanted urgently downstairs." James waved his gloved hand in the direction of the kitchen. "Mrs. Delaney is destroying the kitchen. She's about to ruin a duck."
Brace glanced at the stairs, from which the sound of Lorna's chopping could be heard. Slowly, the old servant stood and made his way to the stairs. James took a deep breath and let it out. That's over, he told himself. The last tie. Now I'm free to pursue my future. Then he rose and let himself out into the rain to re-join his family.
In the street, Caroline and Robert were waiting for him in her jaunty phaeton. When her horses saw him, they tossed their heads, jangling the bells on their bridles, and James was pleased he'd thought to bring them each an apple. He let them munch contentedly while he climbed into the phaeton, adjusted the canopy against the drizzling rain, and offered Caroline and Robert two of the remaining apples. Then he took up the reins, clucked to the pair and set them off at a brisk clip towards Mayfair.
Caroline looked into his face as he mounted. She nodded to herself, wrapped her hand around his elbow and leaned into him as they set off. "At the top of the stair," she whispered to him. "Our fair ship sits."
James nodded. He felt her warmth, her sweet comfort, wrap around him again. Without weight. Without constriction. A blanket that slowly eased the cold tension lingering from his confrontations with Zilpha and Brace. As he had many times before, he let her soothe him and relaxed against her as they drove.
The hour and the drizzle cleared the roads across the city and they made good time along the Thames. Instead of turning up Drury Lane, James kept to the river, following The Strand into the first of the three pleasure gardens. When they reached the public road along the southern edge of Hyde Park, James pulled up the pair.
It was too early for the smart set to be out riding, or, more properly, to be out showing off their latest bloodstock, conquests and carriages. James was counting on the hour and the drizzle to leave the avenues open. During the fashionable hours, the lanes would be so congested, he wouldn't have been able to give the horses their heads, much less indulge in the treat he had planned for Robert and Caroline.
Caroline gave him a quizzical glance as they rolled to a stop.
"Put Robert between us," James instructed. Caroline turned to Robert and handed him over, to sit between them. Then James handed the reins to Caroline.
"I thought you might like to give the boy a driving lesson."
"Oh, yes, I'd be delighted." Caroline put her arm around Robert and positioned his hands inside hers on the reins. While Caroline clucked to the pair and set them off, James ate his apple, then took out his pipe, striker and tobacco. There were few other teams or riders on the bridleway, and Caroline's horses were too placid to be disturbed by the smell of his pipe. He lit up contentedly and stretched his free arm along the back of the padded seat, resting his glove on Caroline's nape.
She gave him a smile over the top of Robert's head.
"Mrs. Grant's the best horsewoman I've met," James told Robert as he puffed on his pipe. "She's got a fine, light hand on the reins. Others saw on their mount's mouths, tugging them this way and that. There's no need to manhandle a well-trained horse. You can learn much from her."
"Yes, sir," Robert responded, his big eyes darting to take in everything from the path in front of them to the jingling tack to Caroline's hands over his on the reins.
Caroline flashed James another smile, this one containing surprise as well as delight.
At the end of the public road, Caroline turned the pair around and took her hands off the reins. "Now you give it a try on your own, Robert," she urged the boy.
He took up the reins with wide eyes, but started the horses off.
"Go on, give them a tap," James encouraged him. When Robert flicked the reins, the pair broke into a canter and they flew down the oakum path to the sound of bridle bells and Caroline's laughter.
The rain was sheeting down in earnest by the time they returned to Harley Street. Unfortunately, the wet did not deter Caroline from her planned shopping expedition. She collected umbrellas for herself and Robert while Thomas fed and watered the pair. Then she dragged Robert away from where he was admiring James's horse and headed off to the shops.
James shook his head as he turned his grey in the other direction. He didn't begrudge the boy time with Caroline. And he didn't begrudge Caroline playing mother to the boy. I just begrudge them becoming a family without me, he thought. When I return, I'll ask Mr. Singh for more of his wisdom. Robert may need a mother more than a father right now, but he might want a father eventually, and I still don't know how to be one to him.
The persistent rain found the little gap between his hat brim and the collar of his greatcoat and trickled cold down the back of his neck. James set his heels into his horse's sides and quickened its pace towards Bedlam.
He was wet through and in a sodden temper by the time he reached the abandoned hospital. There, he found the situation worse than he feared: with one of Atticus's ruffians blithely standing over an unenclosed blaze in the courtyard, and the rain dripping through the leaking roof near the barrels of powder. He upbraided Atticus's man and then Atticus himself when the old sailor finally appeared.
Returning to the room where his mother had suffered and died drew a worse pall over James's mood than the weather. It made him harsher, and stranger, with Atticus than he should have been. Atticus's eyes grew round within their folds and his expression taut as James warned him of Helga's impending betrayal. James clapped the man on the shoulders to reassure him, then insisted Helga not be harmed.
She is wounded, he thought. She only strikes out from that deepest grief. She will come to her senses again once it is over, and she sees that she hurts herself more than me by going to the Crown or Company. For they will not treat her gently, or appreciate what she has lost.
"Fix the roof," he told Atticus in parting. "Gunpowder and water don't mix."
He reclaimed his horse and rode back to Harley Street. For my final night with Caroline before the Tower, he thought. He didn't question how it he knew it. He'd had no vision, no warning. He simply knew. He accepted it, wrapped it into his thinking. It became one of the steps leading up the stair to his ship. Our ship. Caroline's and mine, and Robert's. We will sail away on it soon. To our new life in the New World.
When he reached Harley Street, he discovered that Caroline and Robert were still out shopping. The house was warm and fragrant with the smells of dinner. James gave his wet clothes to Mr. Singh, then padded up to Caroline's bedroom, feeling his mind and body relax with each step. He stripped off his wet linen and hung it before the fire, before putting on dry linen and his cashmere coat. He wound his necktie around his neck and fastened it with the sapphire pin, more to show Caroline how much he appreciated her gift than because he felt any need for formality in her home.
Returning downstairs, he made his way into the kitchen where he found the Singh family. They exchanged greetings, then he asked, "Might I have a pot of that excellent masala chai, Mrs. Singh? And Mr. Singh, if you have a moment, would you join me?"
The Sikhs nodded and bowed, and James withdrew to the parlour. It was already set for the evening, with three armchairs, James noted, drawn close to the crackling fire, brandy and port on the sideboard. Mary Molesworth's painting had been removed from the mantle, which was as bare as the bookshelf built into the corner. Caroline's no longer hiding her departure, he thought, and realised how carefully she had been hiding it when they first met. The face she presents to the world, open-hearted and gay, is her true face, but so is the deliberate, insightful spy. She is a rare woman, of many faces, and she has done me the great honour of letting me see them all.
James seated himself in the armchair closest to the fire, enjoying the warmth that chased the last of the day's dampness from his bones. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes to wait, but the door opened almost immediately.
Caroline's maid entered and put a steaming teapot and two cups and saucers on the table by James's elbow. Mr. Singh followed her and sat across from James. The girl poured and handed each man a cup before withdrawing.
"She seems to have recovered from her upset," James observed to Mr. Singh.
The Sikh nodded. "She felt she'd betrayed Mrs. Grant by speaking too freely to the innkeep's maid in Bristol. But Mrs. Grant has kindly forgiven her and arranged for her to have a place with Miss Hawley after you sail. That's settled her."
"Ah." I should have known Caroline had more reason than just saying a final good-bye for her lunch with Ginny, James thought. My clever lioness.
They drank their tea in silence for a moment, then Mr. Singh cleared his throat. "How may I be of service, sir?"
"I hoped you might speak with me more about fatherhood," James said.
Mr. Singh regarded his tea for a long moment. "It must be very hard, to suddenly be father to a strange child."
"I don't know what to say to him." James held up his hand, then let it drop. "Mrs. Grant seems wholly at ease with him after only a few hours. She tells him stories and he falls asleep in her arms. She feeds him cake and takes him shopping and he looks at her with adoration. I look at him sideways and he flinches from me in terror." Even as he said it, he thought, that's not entirely fair. He did watch me butcher a man. "What do you say to your son?"
"Sometimes very little," Mr. Singh responded. "Sometimes it is better for a father to listen. What does the boy say to you?"
"Almost nothing. He's afraid of me."
"You must allow that to a small boy, you might seem a fearsome man."
And he saw me do a fearsome thing, James thought. "I've tried hard to reassure him that I mean him no harm and only seek to take care of him."
"Does he respond to questions?"
James nodded.
"Then begin with questions. What does he like?"
"Cake," James said.
Mr. Singh chuckled. "Most boys do. What else does he like? What amuses him? Find those things which entertain him and he will talk freely to you of them. Most boys like animals. Does he have a pet?"
"No, and now's not the time to give him a dog when we're about to spend three months aboard a ship. But I could promise him one when we reach Philadelphia."
"What about a cat? There were several cats aboard the ship we took from India. They were useful in keeping down the rats, one of the sailors said."
James lifted his teacup to the man. Although he preferred dogs, he had no objection to cats, and Robert could have several pets. "Excellent idea, I thank you."
"Does he like horses?"
"Aye," James said, thinking of the boy's enthusiasm for driving Caroline's phaeton and his admiration of James's grey.
"Thomas gives my boy a riding lesson every morning in the park when the weather's fine. If you'd like your boy to join them, I'm sure they'd have no objection. Then you could join the lesson and that would be another thing you share with him."
We have time for that in the morning. James smiled. "I knew you would be a font of wisdom on this subject."
"Not a font," Mr. Singh demurred. "But I do know what it is to struggle with fatherhood." He turned his teacup around in his hands, looking into it again. "A man must set the rules. He must be the disciplinarian. He must be stalwart and steadfast. But it is hard to see them turn to their mother for comfort when I love them just as much as she does, and take no pleasure in punishing them. Sometimes I think it is more of a punishment for me than them."
James chuckled sympathetically. "I'm glad I haven't had to punish Robert yet. I'm not sure I could endure the censure I'd receive from both him and Mrs. Grant. But I know what you mean. He turns to Mrs. Grant for all affection already, and it digs at me. I'm his blood, after all."
Mr. Singh rose and checked James's cup, which was empty. He poured them both a fresh cup before resuming his chair. "You said he'd never had a mother before?"
"No, not one he remembers."
"Then motherly affection is a novelty," Mr. Singh offered. "But he may find it wearing after a time. My boy does. Then he's very happy for my company, and Robert might seek yours more after the novelty of a mother's affection has worn off."
"Yes," James admitted. "And perhaps I'm trying too hard with him. I feel as though he and Mrs. Grant are forming a family that I'm not quite part of. But maybe there will be more place for me in the future."
Mr. Singh nodded. "Family is not something to rush."
"It happened so quickly with Mrs. Grant," James said, seeking to explain his discomfort. "I knew within a few days of meeting her that I wanted her to be my wife. That's not something I'd even contemplated before I met her, having a wife, or a family. And now there's this boy, a son, and I feel none of the ease with him that I felt from the very start with Mrs. Grant."
The white gleam of a smile peeped between the black curls of Mr. Singh's beard and moustache. "It is much harder to be a father than a husband. We do not have the luxury of choosing our family as we do our wives. From the beginning of our marriage, I have known how to make my wife happy. It takes care and attention but is no hardship. Making my children happy is a struggle, and some days I do not succeed. But there is always tomorrow to try again."
"Aye, there is. Are your children forgiving of your failures?"
"That is the best thing about children. They forget your failures almost immediately. Your wife may remind you of them for years, but your children will have forgotten them tomorrow, if they noticed them at all."
Did I forgive my father so readily? James wondered, trying to remember a time when he hadn't felt soul-searing resentment towards his father. Before he sent me to Woolwich, when I travelled with him, I didn't hate him then. "Would you ever send your son away from you?" James asked.
The Sikh shook his head. "A son needs his father. Even once he becomes a man. My father died when I was ten and seven. I have missed him every day since then. I was not ready to be fatherless."
"Maybe no son ever is," James said. As much as I resented him, as long as I stayed away, I'm still not ready for him to be gone, James admitted to himself.
"Sons may leave their fathers. I would have left mine some day to travel to England. That was always my dream. But I would have gone back. He would have been the home I returned to. Without him, I am homeless in this world. Wherever my wife and children are is where I live, but it is not home."
James leaned forward, holding his teacup between his knees. "No, it's not. I, too, am homeless in the world. My father's house is not and has never been my home. But I have promised Mrs. Grant, and myself, that we will make a home in Philadelphia. D'you think that's possible?"
"Yes. If you make a place for your boy, it might become a home for you. Maybe that is the secret of it. To make a home for your children, as my father made a home for me."
"Did he always live in the same village?" James asked.
"No. My father came from the east, from a place called Gumla. It is an area of great unrest now, and I am glad we are far away from it, or my son might have already been called on to fight, even as young as he is. So it was in my father's time, too, and he left to travel to the Punjab, seeking the teachings of the Tenth Guru. He crossed the width of the entire Maratha Empire on foot. That is a very great distance."
James grunted, feeling an ever-deeper kinship with this man. "My father was a great traveller, too. He sailed all around the world. But he ended up back here, in the city where he was born. He felt it was home. I can't find the same feeling for it. London seems exhausted to me, and I feel exhausted here. I long to escape. Do you truly want to stay?" As soon as he asked the question, James shook himself and held up a hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ask that. It's none of my concern."
"You may ask your friend anything," Mr. Singh reassured him. "It is a relief to speak of these things with you. I would not wish to discuss these matters with my wife, or any other woman, and Thomas is too young to understand."
James smiled. He didn't want to talk about fatherhood with Caroline, either. She would be understanding of his insecurity, he had no doubt. But that's not what he wanted at the moment. He wanted guidance, and reassurance, from a man who had mastered the struggles he was experiencing.
"Compared to the decaying empires of the Mughals, London seems new and vibrant to me," Mr. Singh continued. "But I, too, see the soot, and the poverty, and the privation. Is the New World so very different? Is all clean and new there?"
"I doubt it," James admitted. "Everywhere man goes he brings soot and poverty and privation. But the New World is not so stultifying as the old. Mrs. Grant's stories of her childhood in Philadelphia make it sound like a child's paradise. Catching crayfish in the river, rafting down the Delaware, racing horses, shooting pigeons, building snow forts and ice-skating in winter. I want Robert to have all that. Instead of coal smoke and mud and the stigma of being a bastard in London society."
Mr. Singh took another sip of tea and stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I have not heard Mrs. Grant's stories of Philadelphia. That does sound very fine, and I can see why you would want your boy to have those experiences. Any father would."
"But does giving him those things make me a good father? There seems more to it than that."
"Of course." Mr. Singh chuckled. "There are also the things you must deny him for his own good. The disappointments, big and small. The hurts of body and mind that you will have to soothe without being able to fix everything with a hug and a kiss, the way his mother can. And the constant, terrible fear of losing him to disease or injury. There is all that as well. But if you can give him those good things, along with your constant, unwavering affection, it makes up for all the rest."
James felt his throat grow tight, and took a hasty swallow of tea. That's what was missing, he thought. Constant, unwavering affection. I never felt that from my father. If I can give that to Robert, then I will not follow in my father's footsteps.
"Is that what your father gave you?" he asked hoarsely.
Mr. Singh nodded. "I never doubted his love, even when he fought with me. I was not a perfect son, and sometimes we argued. But even then, I knew he loved me."
"I was a very poor son," James admitted. "I never believed in my father's love. He showed it rarely. Grudgingly. As though it was something I forced out of him, and he hated revealing it."
"You fear being like him," Mr. Singh said softly, half a statement and half a question.
"Aye."
"You won't be." Mr. Singh sat forward and caught James's eye. "You won't be. That you seek to be a good father ensures you won't be a poor one. The trying is everything. Just as with being a good husband. It is only a case of trying every day, forgiving yourself your failures, and trying again."
"Ah," James quipped. "No new wisdom after all."
"No." Mr. Singh grinned: a wide swath of white between black, curly curtains. "I am, as the English say, a one-trick pony."
James chuckled. "Thank you, again, for your wisdom."
"Thank you, for the relief of speaking of these things, man to man, which lie close to my heart but I can never say."
James reached out and offered the Sikh his hand, which Mr. Singh shook firmly.
"Do you want another pot of tea while you wait for Mrs. Grant and the boy?" Mr. Singh asked.
James shook his head. "I'll have a brandy, and read some of those poems Miss Hawley gave me."
"I will have Maria bring the folio down. I believe she's packed it. Do you intend to leave tomorrow? Mrs. Grant told us to be ready for a hasty departure."
"It will be. But not tomorrow. Two days. Maybe three. The King's men will take me first."
Mr. Singh collected James's cup and put it with his next to the teapot. "I remember what you told me. I will reassure Mrs. Grant and the boy, and be ready for when you're released."
"You don't ask if it can be avoided," James observed, sitting back in his chair.
"You said all proceeded according to your plan. You are not a man to brook interference in your plans."
"True. I'll do everything I can to avoid being taken from this house, but if I am, I would be obliged if you would not interfere, and if you would keep Thomas and the women away as well. This is not the time for displays of loyalty."
Mr. Singh's hand fell to his belt, where, James had noticed, he always carried a dagger, but he nodded. "You will go with them without a fight?"
"Aye, I'll try to. But King's men are an excessively patriotic bunch, and I will be accused of treason, so they may resort to violence."
Mr. Singh chuckled. "If that's the case, it's Mrs. Grant I'll have to restrain. I will ensure her rifle and pistols are packed away."
"Please." James grunted. "I'd have them packed away and the trunk mislaid if I didn't know she'd just buy replacements."
"Yes, she would. She's a very good shot."
"So I've heard. I trust she will not have the opportunity to practice her marksmanship on the King's men. I'd rather not leave London with a price on my fiancée's head."
"No, that would not do." Mr. Singh lingered at the table for a moment. Then he reached out and put his hand on James's shoulder. "We will be ready. When it's over, we will be ready."
James put his hand over the Sikh's. "I'll rely on you."
Mr. Singh nodded, squeezed James's shoulder and left, closing the parlour door silently behind him.
James stretched his legs to the fire and smiled.
Caroline and Robert's clattering return woke James from a warm, pleasant doze. He stretched, set aside the folio of poems he'd been nodding over, rose and went to greet his family.
Robert, swathed in a brown greatcoat that was a miniature of James's, and so laden with paper-wrapped parcels he could barely see over the stack, was being fussed over by Mrs. Singh and Maria, while Mr. Singh quietly took direction from Caroline as to the distribution of the parcels. She paused in her directions when she saw James and curtseyed to him.
"Good evening, sir."
He bowed. "Good evening, madam. Your shopping has been terrifyingly successful, I see."
She rolled her eyes at him and went back to speaking to Mr. Singh.
James relieved Robert of the top-most, tottering parcel, tucked it under his arm, and rubbed the boy's wool-capped head. "Are you well-outfitted for our journey?"
"Yes, sir. And we bought things for you, too, sir."
"Did you? You can show them to me after dinner."
"Yes, sir."
"Here, let me take those, young master." Mr. Singh, fully instructed, relieved Robert of his burdens, and took the parcel from James as well, before ushering them into the parlour. "Dinner will be served on the hour."
Without the new greatcoat, in his short jacket and trousers, Robert looked cold, so James put him in the armchair closest to the fire, and Caroline in the chair opposite in case she was also chilled. He sat on Caroline's far side, took her hand, kissed her knuckles, and rested their clasped hands on his thigh while he invited them to tell him all about their shopping.
"It was three whole floors, sir," Robert gushed, holding his hands out to the fire. "Bigger than any house."
James glanced at Caroline. "Where was this?"
"Clark and Debenham's on Wigmore Street. It's a drapers, but they sell ready-to-wear, too, and were happy to do alterations while we waited, which is why we're so late. Since Mr. Debenham joined last year, they've started stocking a great deal more than just cloth. It was quite a wonderland, wasn't it, Robert?"
"Yes, sir. There was one room with just hats and bonnets. Every sort. There was a woolly one with flaps down over the ears. Mrs. Grant bought four of those."
James lifted an eyebrow. "Did you now, madam? What need could your one little head have for four of the same hat?"
"One for each of us and one for Atticus," Caroline said primly. "It's coming up winter; with his bald pate, he'll be cold."
James shook his head at her. "There is no need for you to outfit my men."
"One hat doesn't constitute outfitting your men. It purports to be waterproof, too. Some sort of clever lacquer. Very useful in the rain and sea spray."
James gave up teasing her and kissed her knuckles again. "Thank you for my new hat."
"Yes, thank you for all my new things, Mrs. Grant," Robert piped up.
James eyed the boy. "Have you not said 'thank you' to Mrs. Grant already?"
Caroline squeezed his fingers. "Robert's been very mannerly. The shop was a little overwhelming, wasn't it, Robert? Particularly when they began plying us with tea and cake while we waited."
"More cake?" James groaned.
"We only ate a little to be polite. It was sponge, and rather dry. Robert, why don't you tell Mr. Delaney about the kites?"
Robert was watching James with wide eyes, but said, "There were all sorts of silk kites, sir. We got one in the shape of a dragon and another that looks like a fish."
"There were no lions, I'm afraid," Caroline murmured. "But the golden carp is very handsome."
"Is it a long kite, more like a stocking?" James asked, being familiar with wind socks.
Robert nodded.
"Then we'll be able to fly it from the mast of our ship. It will show which way the wind's blowing, and aid in your lessons from Mrs. Grant on ship craft and navigation."
"Yes, sir," Robert said, with markedly less enthusiasm than the last time they'd discussed such lessons.
James groaned inwardly. I'm saying nothing right to him. He reached for a little of Mr. Singh's wisdom. "What was your favourite thing?" he asked.
"The pig, sir."
"There was a pig in the store?" James asked incredulously, unable to envision how they would keep a pig in a draper's shop.
"It's a stuffed pig. A little woolly thing," Caroline murmured.
"It's black and white," Robert elaborated. "Just like my pig Eleanor on the farm."
"Eleanor's a very good name for a pig," James said, trying not to fumble this tiny opening. "Did you have any cats on the farm?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you like them?"
"Yes, sir, but I wasn't allowed to feed or stroke them. Mr. Ibbotson said that would make them soft and they wouldn't keep the mice out of the grain."
"I see," James said. "Would you like a cat you could feed and stroke? I was thinking we might need a cat aboard ship and you would be doing me a great favour if you were to look after it."
"Oh, yes, sir." Robert's eyes finally lit up and James sighed inwardly with relief. "Could it be a white cat, like your horse?"
"Aye, we'll do our best to find a white cat. I think that would be a fine expedition for tomorrow afternoon. A white cat hunt." James glanced at Caroline. "Perhaps Thomas could lead the white cat hunt while you and I attend to business?"
Caroline nodded quickly. "I'll ask him to make inquiries in the morning. If all else fails, there's a pet shop in Spitalfields."
"Excellent. What will you name your cat, Robert?"
"If it's a white cat, Snowball, sir."
Not very inventive, but I must make allowances for how young he is, James thought. "A fine name for a white cat."
"Sir, what's your horse's name?" Robert asked.
"I haven't named him," James admitted. "He's smarter than me, you see, and I'm afraid he'd object to whatever name I picked."
Robert gave a small laugh. "A horse isn't smarter than you, sir."
"Ah, my horse is. He knows where I should be, and where I shouldn't," James said, thinking of the horse's behaviour on the ill-fated day of his liaison with his sister. "He knows his way home better than I do. I'll miss him when we sail."
"Surely, you're not going to leave him behind, James?" Caroline asked softly.
"Mmm. If we were sticking to the coast, I'd take him, but the North Atlantic crossing will be rough, even if we're lucky with the trades. I wouldn't want to put a horse through that, and particularly not a horse who has been so good to me." James squeezed her fingers, more gently than she'd squeezed his. "I thought to give him to Thomas when we go. An addition to the lad's burgeoning stable."
"Oh, Thomas would be very pleased. He intends to hire out the phaeton for weddings and the like. Your grey would be perfect for that."
James smiled to hear her call his white horse a 'grey.' Of course my equestrienne knows the proper terminology. "Aye, I thought so."
They were interrupted by a soft knock on the door, which preceded Maria poking her white-capped head in. "Dinner's ready, sir," she said.
James nodded at the girl and she withdrew. He rose and offered Caroline his elbow. As she stood, and before she could do so, he offered Robert his hand.
The boy looked at him askance for a moment, then surged to his feet and took James's hand.