Chapter 56
Chapter Fifty-Six
Belshazzar’s felt different – a sense of serenity settled over me.
Jacob waited in the lounge. I carried his medical bag, retrieved from the cottage.
A lifetime of waiting had finally come to an end.
Power surged through me, along with a vast knowledge of our history over the centuries.
If Elijah’s words held any truth, wedding them with how I felt, my mind tried to grasp the concept of what I now possessed.
Though this buzz provided an interesting, if not arousing, sensation, the fact that Jacob stood on the other side of the door was easily more compelling.
Despite what I’d done within this very hour, I felt calm. Elijah’s heritage was not lost, but had been absorbed and his memories stolen, perchance to be liberated some other day. Being willing to do anything to protect my son, I’d brought down the most ancient of legacies – and I felt no regret.
Having fed, my pallor would not be an issue for at least a few hours. Trying to find the right words, searching for a way to convey feelings unaffected by time, I paused with my fingertips on the door of the lounge, and then gave it a shove.
Jacob’s smile greeted me.
I set his leather bag on the side table. It was a familiar item in an unfamiliar setting. I needed to pass for a man in his late forties, despite my thirty-year-old appearance.
Mindful of the way I moved, I stepped closer. “Welcome, Jacob. You look well.”
He seemed lost amongst the lavish décor. Despite his youth, work had taken a toll on his appearance. He looked older than twenty-one.
He approached me. “Are you really my father?”
I gave him a warm smile. “I am.”
“You look so young.”
“I live well.” I strolled towards him with the air of a gentleman, a manner with which I hoped to convey I had indeed reached middle-age.
“What were you doing in that house?” he asked.
“I came looking for you.”
“And the monk?”
“He wasn’t needed.”
Jacob let out a deep sigh. “I wasn’t born in London?”
“No. You’re Spanish – we’re from Spain.”
His gaze met mine. “Tell me more.”
“My nephew sold you.” Stupid way to start. I paused for a moment, searching for the right words.
Jacob looked at me with tears in his eyes. He seemed confused.
From within my trouser pocket, I withdrew the locket. “This is yours.” I handed it over to him.
As he took it from me, his hand brushed against mine, and I trembled inwardly, relieved that he was here with me after all this time.
Jacob pried open the clasp and gazed at the renderings inside. “How did you find this?”
“My companion, Sunaria, found it.”
Jacob studied the locket. “I sold it to buy food. Didn’t want to, but I was desperately hungry. Two days later, Dr. Potts saw me begging and took me in.”
I held out my arms to him, unable to hold back my emotions any longer.
Jacob walked over and embraced me. I held him tight and everything that had once seemed important slipped away. Here, now, I found a truth like no other, and despite being in this foreign land, we were home.
He broke away. “How did you find me?”
Taking a moment, I considered my answer, unsure whether to reveal that I’d watched over him all these years, and been part of his life, when all the while he’d not even been aware of mine.
“My friend found you. I had described you to him.”
His face lit up. “I’m glad.”
I returned his smile, hoping he would remember more about the past. “Your Aunt Alicia is still in Spain.”
He nodded. “I have memories of a kind lady. Do you write to her?”
“I do, but…” I never send the letters. I worried they’d be intercepted, putting everyone at risk.
“Do I have any siblings?”
“You had an older brother, but he died.”
Jacob’s face flushed. “And my mother?”
I gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry.”
He swallowed hard, and I thought he would ask for details, but he changed the subject.
“That monk, back at the house?” Jacob began.
“He won’t be coming back.”
“He knew that you were my father, though.”
“We had a disagreement.” I looked away. “But we came to a formal arrangement.” Namely his death, and my absorbing his power.
Jacob raised an eyebrow at the décor. “This is your house? It’s huge.”
“I hope you’ll consider living here.” Feeling unsteady on my feet, I gestured to Jacob to sit.
Jacob sat in the chair opposite me, and he seemed to be holding back tears.
I’m sorry I failed you. I couldn’t say it out loud, couldn’t express my shame for not being there for him.
“So much to say, not sure where to start.” He shook his head.
I smiled. “You sound so English.”
He chuckled. “My Spanish father is now an English gentleman. Although I still detect a slight accent.”
“Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?” With those words came the realization that there would be little food in the house, though there may be something left over from the staff’s meals.
He shook his head. “I don’t think I could eat right now.” He gazed around the room. “Where has all this money come from?”
“Businesses and property dealings I’ve established in London.” I paused. “I came here several years ago to find you. I plan to take you home.”
“Back to Spain?” Jacob gave me an uneasy smile.
I nodded.
“London’s my home now.”
Did he not have any memories of his birthplace? I wanted to pursue the subject but decided it would be best to wait.
“Why were you visiting that home today?” I asked.
“I still make house calls to Dr. Potts’ old patients.” Jacob saw my wariness. “I’m careful.”
I wanted to pinch myself, amazed that my son was really sitting opposite me, a man in every respect, and a fine gentleman with a refined presence – even his thoughts reflected integrity. I had a sense that with him, through him, I might find some inner peace.
“My memories are a little hazy,” he said thoughtfully. “Can you tell me more about my mother?”
“Your temperament reminds me of her. Her name was Annabelle.”
“She died when I was very young?”
He was too young to recall the attack – his age had protected him from the atrocity.
“She was killed by soldiers,” I said.
“Why?”
“They were following the orders of a senator who hated me,” I explained. “He had murdered my brother years before. The fact that I knew this threatened his political career.”
“Why didn’t he kill you?”
He did. “He tried.”
My mind wandered back to that perfect summer.
A breezy Sunday afternoon, Miguel leaning against the paddock gate, the man with the smiling eyes. Annabelle calling to me from the steps of the house, begging me to take Eduardo off the pony – he’d only just turned four.
“Did they suffer?” Jacob asked.
Breathing in the scent of blood, I saw Miguel splayed out upon the floor. And upon the bed, Annabelle lay dead, still clutching our son.
I cleared my throat. “I don’t believe so.”
“And the senator?”
I loosened my necktie. “Dead.”
“How did he die?”
The blood of my enemies not spilt but imbibed.
Jacob’s stare was persistent.
My beloved Spain’s darkest hours.
“I finished it,” I said quietly.
“Father, how did you finish it?”
I liked that he called me that. “Power can turn in on itself, blinding one to reason.” I paused, remembering. “When I met your mother, she was a dancer. She was so beautiful.”
“How did the senator die?”
The door flew open, and Sunaria entered the room, carrying a bottle of wine. “Time for a toast.” She raised it high. “Tonight, we celebrate.”
Her timing was perfect. She poured white wine into three glasses she’d found on the chestnut sideboard.
Violin music struck up from somewhere in the house.
“We have a lifetime of catching up to do,” I said.
Jacob accepted the glass from Sunaria. “I remember you,” he said with a nod.
“She’s impossible to forget.” I raised my drink. “Cheers and good health to you, my son.”
Jacob lifted his glass high. “To my father, and our reunion.”
I feigned a sip, trying not to stare, nervous that my gaze would hold his too long and he’d see more than I was ready to show him. Jacob sipped his drink and stared off into space, hypnotized by the violin music.
Sunaria and I swapped a wary glance.
“That’s beautiful,” he said. “Who’s playing?”
“Rachel,” Sunaria answered. “Both she and her brother live here with us.”
I smiled at Sunaria. “She’s come a long way with that instrument.”
Jacob’s cheeks looked flushed. “Is she as bewitching as her music?”