Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
The Rose & Crown had been surprisingly easy to find, with the help of several strangers, happy to give direction to a young lady with excitement and hope filling her heart and eyes, and a determined air.
It almost felt as if London itself wanted to help her on her way and was exhibiting its kindest side to her.
She pushed down the doubts when they slithered through her mind, spreading shadows and despair.
My father is waiting for me, she thought to herself. He needs me, repeated like a prayer. She arrived out of breath, from anticipation as much as exercise, and darted inside the tavern before she lost her nerve.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low lights inside.
The pipe smoke and the thick odors of steak and kidney pie combined to form a greasy haze that obscured the occupants of the busy tavern.
She fought her way to the bar, evading elbows making busy work of steaming plates and men leaning back in their chairs, roaring with laughter and shouting rowdy boasts and toasts at each other.
“Pardon me,” she asked the barkeep, an affable-looking man with a cauliflower ear. “I’m looking for a Margerie Dunnock, who has taken a room here.”
“Eh?” He cupped his free hand to his good ear, leaning across the bar top.
“I’m looking for—” but Ana got no further.
A hand fell on her shoulder. She turned around and saw, swimming before her in the smoke and murk, a middle-aged woman with a nondescript dun-colored cloak fastened about her, bulky and shapeless.
She had on a pair of round spectacles under the brim of a straw bonnet with sad little brown feathers emerging from its brim.
“Your Grace?” asked the woman in a soft, breathy voice that Ana could barely hear.
“Mrs. Dunnock?” Ana asked, leaning in eagerly. “I’m happy to make your acquaintance. May we speak in private?”
“Certainly,” said the woman, a small smile quickly flickering over her face.
She drew Ana by the elbow to a table in the corner, waited for her to sit, staring intently at her through the thick rings of her eyeglasses, then sat opposite her.
“I’m so pleased that you received my letter and came. I’ve been very curious to meet you.”
“And I you!” Ana felt a strange nervousness flood her, unrelated to the nervous energy she’d been swimming in since she’d received the letter.
She felt quite sure she’d never seen the woman before, but there was about her a vague familiarity, as if she were someone Ana had met in a dream, or another life.
“Can you tell me more about this gentleman, this man you think might be my father?”
“I’m happy to, but I really must caution you—we haven’t much time to waste!
The doctor said he was suffering from shock in addition to multiple wounds on his body, likely incurred in the war.
They are mostly healed but have taken much from him.
If he doesn’t reorient himself through the loving care of those dear to him, he may be lost. And his heart is very delicate—you came unaccompanied by your husband, as I asked?
” The woman looked toward the door, squinting through the crowd.
“I did. I’m prepared to journey with you—but please, one moment.
” She closed her eyes and thought. What would Dex, with his steady practicality and cutting logic, require of the moment?
What would he do to strike to the heart of the matter?
“Can you give me any more details that might make me certain it is my own father? I imagine there are many veterans of the war with daughters named Anne or Anna . . .”
There was that small smile again, almost furtive. There and then gone.
The woman ducked her head, nodding solemnly.
“So wise, you are, to ask. One can’t be too cautious.
A noble lady like yourself would naturally need further proof before venturing on such a quest. There are evil characters in this world that would drag a blossom like yourself through filth if they had half a chance!
Here—this was the only possession he had on his person the day my friends encountered him.
He passed it along willingly, understanding that it might help reunite him with his beloved Anna. ”
She reached inside the capacious coat, and for a second, Ana caught a jarring glimpse of purple silk inside, incongruously bright against the sensible brown wool, and then it was gone.
The woman’s hand emerged, holding out a thin gold chain with something round at the end of it that caught the low light and flashed green fire into the tavern gloom.
The ring her father had worn always on a chain around his neck. Her mother’s small gold ring with one emerald set in the middle. A match to the set she owned.
She took the ring from Margerie, running her thumb wonderingly over the sparkling green stone, holding it to the light to read the initials etched on the inside.
The woman watched her, unblinking, from beneath her bonnet, the sparrow feathers puffing slightly into the air with each controlled breath she made.
“This is my mother’s ring, that my father wore always about his neck.
It’s truly him.” This woman was an honest Good Samaritan.
She’d handed over the ring readily, when she could have kept it for herself and never contacted Ana at all.
Heart pounding a joyful rhythm, she slipped the chain over her head, nestling the ring inside her bodice.
“I’m ready to go to him. I’m ready to find my father. ”
The woman was on her feet before she finished, urging her up from the table. She conducted Ana through the room, paused to pass a sum of money to the barkeep with a nod, moving with a purposeful swiftness that was at odds with her meek demeanor.
She fairly pushed Ana out into the daylight and propelled her down the street, turning several times, exhorting Ana to move quickly, to make haste.
Ana felt as if she were floating, borne along by a strong current in an ocean.
It was happening so quickly. She barely had time to think of Dex and wish he were here, after all, before the woman practically shoved her into a low carriage, crowded in behind her, and shut the door.
Darkness. In the momentary stillness that followed, before the handkerchief with its achingly oversweet smell was pressed to her nose, Ana was struck by a sudden memory.
“That necklace was a beauty!” Miss Flanagan’s voice from far away, a lifetime ago.
Miss Flanagan, who had a key to her room.
Miss Flanagan, who had seen the emerald necklace, who could have read the letters from her father and heard tell of the matching ring he wore around his neck.
Miss Flanagan, who had greedy fingers. And a sister, Maggie.
“Pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Ana,” said the woman, with a wide, voracious grin, as Ana collapsed onto the hard cushions of the carriage. “Maggie Flanagan’s my name. You deserve what’s finally coming to you, make no mistake.”