Page 33 of Feathers in the Wind
Robin stared at him. ‘Maybe father was never told. Maybe the word came to Denzil first.’ He glanced away. ‘Maybe that was why the ransom was never paid.’
The cold, grey walls of Leipzig closed in on Adam once more. That made sense. Denzil had known his circumstances but chose neither to tell his father nor pay the ransom demanded for his release. Denzil had wanted him to die in the dungeons of Leipzig, forgotten and unmourned.
‘He must hate me very much,’ Adam said.
Robin shook his head. ‘No. It is Louise who would have had the last word. But if no ransom was paid, how were you released?’
Adam shook his head. ‘They must have wearied of me. I found myself cast out on to the streets with only the rags on my back in the middle of winter.’
Robin stared at him. ‘Then how did you get back to England?’
Adam turned his attention back to his cards. ‘That is a story for another time, Rob. Your move, I believe.’
He waited until Robin had played his cards and then said without looking up. ‘Did Father—did he—say anything when he heard of my death?’
‘He shut himself in the library for days. When he did come out, he said, “He was the best of you.” and that was the last time you were ever mentioned in the house.’
Adam looked down at his hand and saw that it was shaking.
* * *
Perdita laidthe paper and pens down on the table in front of Adam. ‘There you are, as requested.’
Adam picked up one of the pens and pulled a piece of paper in front of him.
‘If Denzil hears you are on your feet...’ she began.
‘Who’s going to tell him? Robin? It suits Robin fine to have me incapacitated as long as he can. Trust me, Perdita, I have no intention of ending up in Oxford Castle.’
‘But you’ve given your parole.’
Adam smiled, a thin-lipped smile. ‘And I have every intention of honouring it. There are other ways to get myself out of this bind.’
Perdita sat down beside the window with her sewing as he wrote his letter. She watched as he filled the page with a neat, orderly hand, poured the red wax to seal it and imprinted his seal from a ring on his right hand. He sat toying with the letter, staring past Perdita to the world beyond the window.
He set the letter down and picked up his pen again, his hand straying toward the sheets of papers. Almost unconsciously a few lines began to appear under his hand.
‘What are you doing?’ Perdita asked.
‘Please don’t move, Perdita. The light from the window is framing your face and I cannot let the moment pass. Permit me.’
She blinked. ‘You can draw?’
‘Did you think Joan the only one in the family with a talent for art?’ Adam’s mouth twitched into a smile. ‘Although Joan has more talent in her small finger than I possess in total and I would not compare myself to her. I just find faces interest me. It proved a useful skill in Leipzig. Stay still. It won’t take long.’
He smoothed out a fresh piece of paper and sharpened the pen.
‘Am I permitted to talk?’ Perdita asked.
‘If you don’t move too much.’
‘How was it useful in Leipzig?’ she asked.
‘I took small commissions. I did likenesses of the guards, their wives, their children, and I was paid with favours. It kept me alive. It also gave me the pennies I needed to make my way back to England.’
‘Why do you find my face interesting?’ she asked.
‘I find all faces interesting. I can learn all I need about a person by looking in their eyes and the turn of their mouth.’
