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.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
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.