The Night Angel by T. Davis Bunn

Falconer.
    “It is unlikely the ruse can last more than a week.”
    “Seven days should be more than enough time to ensure the public’s safety,” the doctor agreed, rising to his feet. “I shall send my man within the hour to tack the quarantine notice to your door.”
    When the doctor had taken his leave, Falconer turned to Reginald. “Would you have any reason to send a carriage south at short notice?”
    Reginald did not need to ponder. “There is a lawyer in Richmond waiting my response over a land sale issue. I could order my attorney’s aide off this very night, with instructions that papers be delivered the instant the Richmond office opens.”
    Falconer rose and offered Reginald his hand. “It seems that I shall be even more in your debt.”
    “Debt?” Alessandro bounded to his feet. “You speak of debt? You protect my daughter, my family, my own life, you give us a home, you bring us new friends where we have none, you help me with my quest, you accept threats upon your life and limb?” He almost choked over his need to express the impossible. “You dare speak of debt?”
    Serafina watched how Falconer studied her father. Time crystallized as she realized what he was thinking. His feelings were etched upon his features, clear as ink upon fresh parchment. She knew her father’s response. At this point in time, Falconer knew Alessandro Gavi would refuse him nothing.
    She heard her mother’s breath catch in her throat. Serafina sensed her mother had just realized the same thing. Mother and daughter shared a long look.
    Lillian Langston must have noticed the change in the room’s atmosphere, for she rose to her feet and said, “Come, Reginald. We must be off.”
    “But, my dear, what of the plans to be made?”
    Falconer’s focus did not move from Alessandro’s face as he said, “Have your carriage readied the hour before midnight. I will slip out the back and make my way to your stables. Tell the attorney’s apprentice that I am one of your servants, sent upon an urgent errand. Nothing more.”
    “But what—”
    “Reginald,” Lillian said, gripping her husband’s arm. “We are off.”
    Comprehension finally struck Alessandro Gavi hard. The blood drained from his features.
    Their farewells were perfunctory. Reginald Langston looked from one face to the other and swiftly followed his wife into the gathering dusk.
    When the door shut behind the Langstons, Falconer said simply, “We must speak.”
    Alessandro Gavi studied Falconer, as did Serafina, as did her mother. The three of them faced a man of unworldly determination. Never had Serafina seen such force unveiled. The man appeared made of steel, of stone, of some fire-hardened substance beyond the ken of mortal man.
    Alessandro looked at his wife. A silent communication passed between them. Bettina had the wide-eyed look of an animal fearing unseen talons. Alessandro sighed and led them back into the dining room. He seated himself at the head of the table, pushing aside the dessert dishes. When his wife reached to gather them, he raised one hand and then pointed her into the seat next to his own. Another hand signal, and Serafina was directed into the chair next to her mother. Alessandro watched Falconer round the table, his features resigned.
    Each click of the mantel clock seemed spaced hours apart. Serafina had ample time to examine her own heart. And the truth was, one simple thought filled her entire being. She would not disobey her parents again.
    Falconer did not seat himself. He gripped the back of the chair across from Bettina and asked, “You have the legal documents related to this mine business here in the house?”
    “Upstairs.” Her father’s voice was so hoarse it sounded like a different man.
    “How much gold do you have at hand?”
    “How much . . .” Alessandro struggled to make sense of the unexpected question. “Four hundred ducats. Perhaps five.”
    “Keep a hundred for yourself. I ask that you entrust me with