Watson ducked his head in. “Sir, it will be dark soon. You sure you want to leave? Travel by the cliffs can be tricky at night.”
“I have to return to Town as soon as possible.”
“Very good, sir. Shall I set this painting inside Warwick?”
It would be an offer of peace to do so, but the peacekeeper needed war. This was the first step.
From the window, he could see his father’s bedchamber.
It would be wrong to drive away waving the painting, for he might not see the gesture from his sickbed.
“No, Watson. It stays with me. I’m not letting go of anything that’s mine. Make good time.”
“Very good.” His man shut the door. The carriage sped away.
Felton steadied the painting, the tropical Sodom and Gomorrah, on his knee and planned his next move.
CHAPTER28
CECILIA—ESTRANGEDTAKESTWO
November 15, 1814
London, England
Bouncing Noah in my arms, Enna and I walked through the people milling on Brydges Street. It wasn’t quiet, but not crowded like in the evenings. I could manage and keep myself distracted.
“Mrs. Charity. London is different than Demerara. Where do they get so much stone? You said there were no enslaved here.”
I wondered that myself sometimes. The columns of the Roman architecture that Papa loved, like the Colosseum—were not its arches and cut stone built with the labor of the enslaved from Judea?
Who built the things in London? This marble was old. Were the workers free?
The streets around us were filled with all kinds of people, but no one was in shackles. Never saw provision grounds or sick houses for the enslaved. I had to hope this place had more fair-minded people than it did Lady Janes and Gladstones.
“Mrs. Charity, you in there? You slip away sometimes.”
With a shrug, I forced myself to see her and remember the hopes I had for her and Noah. They were free. No one would change that.
She nodded and dipped her head closer. “You’ve been distant since visiting that king’s place. More so with the letter from your husband. Hope you’re thinking more of forgiveness than revenge.”
Felton was in my thoughts more than I wanted to admit. I wiped Noah’s face. “The king’s place is a theatre, not a palace. And my art is on one of the largest canvases in the world. The audience cheers it.”
Enna offered me that look Patience would give when I avoided answering questions. This lady was wonderful, but I missed my older sister and I hurt for Helena.
A cloth mopped at my cheek. Enna had leaned over the babe to dry my tears. Wrapped up in my thoughts, I was crying, a big horrible sobbing fool in the middle of the road.
“Everything changed cause I took a walk down a street in Stabroek. I should probably stick to the pavement.”
“Britain is good. We need to be here until the world changes, maybe becoming more like what your eyes see.”
I shifted Noah and kept his little head with curly dark hair covered in the blanket. He wasn’t a fire brick like Felton, the writer of terse notes. “Sorry, I have been dull.”
“No, Mrs. Charity. You’ve been fine. And it’s fine to forgive everyone and return to your husband. I’ll be good in this country.”
I took her hand. “We’re a package, a parcel wrapped in bright ribbon. You and Noah are my family. Family is everything. I’ll not be rash. So, no fretting about when I take up revenge. You and this boy will be safe.”
“You can be safe too. You’re not a killer.”
