Chapter 36

The night was ominously dark and rainy. What else would it be? Theresia's string of good fortune had run out. At least she'd had this one last idea. She had asked herself why she hadn't told Rolland all the details of her godfather's letter. Now she knew why. She'd needed an escape, a safety net to catch her should she fall. And she had fallen royally.

Rolland thought her a servant.

He was going to marry Helena.

His mother must hate her now.

She hadn't had a chance to say goodbye to Tansy, and she hadn't thanked her properly for everything. And when would she ever have a chance to see her or Andalin again? She knew they'd been too easily won. No friendship for her was meant to last.

It was time, regrets or not, to find out how serious her godfather was about helping her.

"Are you certain you don't want me to see you inside?" Andalin asked, darting her gaze out the carriage window. Unease pulled her mouth tight.

Theresia shook her head. Her friend's curiosity was going to kill her, but Theresia couldn't satisfy it. It was best to make a clean break. "Remember, you promised."

"I know. And I shan't tell a soul. But please be careful. I know we haven't known each other long, but I'd hate to lose one of the few good friends I have."

"I'll miss you." Theresia reached across the seat and hugged her friend. "Tell Tansy goodbye, and thank her for everything."

A footman helped Theresia from the carriage, and then she ran through the rain to the door of the small cottage before her. She took one last glance up at the cottage, catching the cold sprinkle across her face, before hitting the knocker against the wood. She prayed with every breath that her godfather's heart was soft like she'd imagined it to be. A nondescript butler answered and invited her in, taking her dripping cloak.

A dog with a yellow-orange coat burst into the vestibule through an open door, trotting directly to her.

Wait! She knew this dog. She hunched down, and Poutník ran to her. She scratched behind her ears, her fur much cleaner than it had been at the camp. "What are you doing here?" Poutník nuzzled against her. "Did you miss me? I missed you."

"Just this way," the butler said. He let her into a small drawing room opposite from where the dog had entered the vestibule. She hadn't much time to observe the tidy, barely furnished drawing room when her godfather entered. She held her breath and dipped a curtsy.

"You came." Her godfather slapped his leg with his hand, making her jump. He grinned widely, like he'd been waiting years for her to visit him.

"Yes, I came." Her relief was only partial. There was much to say still.

"And I see you've been reunited with Pumpkin." He motioned to his dog.

"She is yours?"

"I lent her to a friend for a while, but she is mine."

The name fit the dog even better than Poutník. Knowing he cared for such a sweet, well-mannered dog made Theresia trust him a little more. They stood across from each other, neither knowing how to start.

He broke the silence first. "You must be hungry, no?"

"A little. And homeless, if you must know," she blurted before she could talk herself out of it. "This is terribly embarrassing, but may I trespass on your kindness until I can secure a coach to the nearest port tomorrow?"

She bit the inside of her cheek, waiting with bated breath for his response. If he'd taken in Pumpkin, could he extend the same kindness to her?

His gray brow furrowed—not exactly the reaction she'd hoped for. "Sit, please. Tell me everything."

Dare she sit? She had asked to stay the night, but it felt too presumptuous. "It's true that I hardly know you. I shouldn't have troubled you at all, but I don't have many friends. Your letter led me to presume—"

"Yes, you should have troubled me. And you know me better than you think."

"I do?"

"Sit first."

She obeyed, perching on the edge of the sofa. Pumpkin lay down near her feet while her godfather took a chair across from her, near the fire. Its light flickered across his wrinkled features. "You were but a girl when I knew you, so you likely do not remember your father's closest friend."

Her brow pinched tight. What close friend? She traced her memory back all those years and suddenly gasped. "Mr.—Mr. Plasil?" He was a glassblower, too, and a sort of business partner to her father.

He laughed. "Yes."

"But your accent . . ."

"As hidden as your own."

She shook her head. "I am sorry I did not recognize you."

"You were so young." He batted her comment away with his hand. "And I've grown old in that time. My hair has changed color, and because of my health, I have lost a great deal of weight. I traveled for a time to doctors in other countries, searching for a cure."

"Did you find it?"

"I found a new reality and am content to still be alive. But instead of seeking my health, I should've rescued you from that seminary. My regret weighs heavily on my soul. In my defense, I didn't know then how unhappy you were. When I returned to England, I thought watching you from a distance would be less intrusive. From all appearances, you'd begun a new life and had no need of me."

"My troubles were not yours. You owed me nothing."

"I did owe your father. He would have wanted me to help you; he might have even made me your guardian had he known his time was short. He loved you more than anything."

Sudden tears sprang to her eyes. She'd already cried once today, but not for long enough, it seemed. "The seminary became more of a prison to me than a school. It became nearly impossible to practice my music, and I couldn't speak of home. I had no close friends. How did you learn how I felt?"

He shrugged. "I paid people for information. I asked a lot of questions. I waited outside, hoping to read your expressions in passing."

"So the money you gave me... it was because you knew who I was."

"I was planning on giving it to you anyway, but I had no idea it was to aid your escape, or I would've offered you my carriage as well. But alas, I was afraid you would not want my help if you knew who I was."

She shook her head. "Why would you say that?"

"I abandoned you. And I was from the old country. I wasn't certain you wanted to be reminded of your connections there."

"They are the only connections I am proud of," she whispered fiercely.

He smiled again, this time even with his eyes. "Then, you shall stay as long as you want. This cottage can be yours, and my town house in London. Wherever it is you want to live, we shall go there."

She sputtered a laugh. "I don't know what to say."

"Say yes, please. I am getting too old to keep chasing you across the country."

"Chasing me? Then you don't really live here?"

A slow chuckle started, and he clapped his hands on his bony knees. "I followed you, of course, though it wasn't always easy. Who do you think arranged for Johan to work for Lady Caspar so he could check on you? You did not think that a coincidence?"

"I did." She shook her head in amazement. "Johan said nothing about you."

"At least he did something right. That young man could've used a father figure for a few years more himself. He wasn't supposed to whisk you across the countryside to a Roma camp. Your mother rolled over in her grave that day." He tsked his tongue.

Theresia gave a sheepish smile. "He isn't the only one to blame."

Mr. Plasil raised his thick gray brow. "I heard you were an eager participant in this journey. I had no idea you possessed such an adventurous spirit. That's why I left Pumpkin at the camp. She was meant to protect you while you sorted everything out."

"I can hardly believe all you have done for me. And the dresses? Were they from you too?"

He shrugged, embarrassment gracing his expression. "I got your size from the seamstress employed by the seminary. I thought to gift you some gowns, but you ran away before I could do so. I brought them here instead. Mrs. Bedrich informed me before she left that you were going to Ashbury Court, so I sent them there."

"They fit perfectly and must have cost a fortune. How can I ever thank you?" She bent down and rubbed Pumpkin's soft back.

"Seeing your smile now is all I want. Your father would be proud to see how you have grown, and especially to know your heart is as kind as your mother's. And it is a joy to know you like animals the same as she did."

"I . . . I didn't remember that about her."

"She couldn't see one go hungry either. So, you see, we have too much history for you to run away again. I was meant to spend my last days keeping you happy and telling you all the stories you don't remember."

Happiness seemed so fleeting. Theresia would grow attached to Mr. Plasil, and because of his health, he would eventually abandon her in death. The nagging pain in her chest drew out one tear and then another. "I thank you, but I want to return to Bohemia."

"Bohemia? But why?"

She frantically wiped away the moisture. "I've never liked England."

"No, I don't suppose you have. But take it from someone who has traveled extensively—pain won't cease to exist across the border. Why don't you tell me about your time at Ashbury Court. I have a hunch you're running from people now, not a place."

Her body ached, and not from physical pain. He was right. "Where do I start? I took on a false name, became a spy, and had my heart broken. There really wasn't much else to it."

"What about this vase Mrs. Bedrich told me you were searching for? I have been anxious to know whether it is the same one your father left to you for your dowry."

"You knew about it?" She nearly fell off the sofa.

"Certainly. I was there when your father drew up his will. Unfortunately, he also left his house to that conniving wife of his. But was it his vase that disappeared? Is that what sent you running here?"

Then, it was legally hers. Regret gnawed at her. How she wished she would have taken it when she'd had the chance. She quickly recounted how Lady Caspar had sold it and how Rolland had tried to help her, ending with the arrival of Lord and Lady Caspar.

Mr. Plasil scooted to the edge of his chair. "Lady Caspar is here in Westmorland?"

She nodded.

Mr. Plasil's neck bulged with anger. "I never liked that woman, but she has outdone herself now." He tapped the arm of his chair with pent-up irritation. "You certainly know how to start over. Are you certain you don't want me to approach her about this? She ought to compensate you for your loss."

"I care too much for the duchess to cause a scene at her house party. But perhaps you can tell me something. The night it was sold, the Frenchman who bought it mentioned a debt my father accrued that the purchase would satisfy. Do you know what he meant?"

"No debts I can think of." Mr. Plasil thought for a moment. "A Frenchman, you say? The only thing I can think of related to the French is the time your father refused Napoleon's commission for a crystal chandelier."

"I recall the story. Would such a thing matter all these years later?"

Mr. Plasil shrugged. "Napoleon was livid. He wanted the best, and your father was the best. The man thought himself the next Caesar, which is why his loyalists are having a difficult time accepting their new King. If there is a true loyalist here, I could see him wanting your father's prized vase. It is worth a great deal."

So not only was the thief and possibly murderer French but he was also a supporter of Napoleon. She'd overheard Rolland saying to Marcus that France would likely suffer the most from the negotiations made in Vienna since they had not been invited to participate.

"I will send word around to some of my old associates to keep an eye out for any possible sales or transactions concerning the vase. Someone will hear of it, surely. Mr. Dvorak's work has quite the reputation. A vase like that will not escape the notice of my friends and fellow glassblowers."

"Dare we tell anyone else about it?" Theresia hugged herself. "If it is so very valuable, wouldn't many want it for their own purposes?"

"Don't you know of the glassblowers' code?"

"Code?" Her mind recalled the literal treasure spoken of at the house party.

"It is an unspoken fealty to each other. Glassblowers from the old lands have been protecting each other since the beginning. The legends of old demand it. It's more than trade secrets and past history but a way of life. Our craft is as much tradition as it is business."

"I have heard of a treasure." She felt silly bringing it up. "Is that part of the code?"

"You know the legends, Miss Theresia. What do you think?"

She eyed him, trying to read into what he was not saying. Finally, she sighed. "I think the symbols in the legend are more valuable than any money could ever be. Family and community—those are the real treasures."

"Well said." Mr. Plasil grinned. "You are Dvorak's daughter, no mistake. But never mind that. Tell me more about this captain . It sounds like you care for him. Is he as lost to you as the vase?"

Just the mention of Rolland made her throat tighten. She mindlessly moved her hands against the blue silk upholstery in an attempt to settle her emotions. "I'm afraid nothing can be done." Soon he'd be engaged to Helena, and Theresia had no choice but to accept it.

Mr. Plasil's hand went to his jaw, and he rubbed the white scruff on his chin. "I am sorry to hear that. There is not much we can do about the vase until we hear of something, so I suppose I'm not opposed to a trip to the Continent, if you're determined."

"I am." With Rolland's voice telling her in her head not to leave, it felt good to have her old goal back within her grasp. She couldn't think of him now. Their time had been like a story, and this was the end of it. The promise of change was calling to her.