The Outrageous Fortune of Abel Morgan

by Cynthia Jefferies

  My throat was constricted. ‘Father?’ It came out as a whisper and he still didn’t stir. For an awful moment I thought his heart had stopped, cheating us of our meeting. I swallowed and looked for a sign that he lived. He did breathe. I was almost certain of it. I swallowed and spoke again.

  ‘Father.’

  Not opening his eyes, he lifted his hand and calmly patted the seat. ‘Come and join me. Tell me about your day. I have been expecting you this past hour.’

  A trickle of fear ran up my back, making me shiver. Had he turned necromancer? What dark magic was at work here? Then another thought, equally unwelcome, entered my head. He had reacted as if I had been gone but a few hours! It was a totally unnatural response unless … Neither Jane nor William had told me he had lost his mind and lived in the past, but it must be so. He was not so very old, but it was hardly impossible that he had become feeble-minded.

  It was too much. To have thought him dead all these years and then to discover he lived, only to have him insensible to the present day. How could I bear it? I would not be angry. It was not his fault, but I raged against fate that had cheated me at the last. I railed against myself, too. Had he fallen into his dotage very recently? Would he have known me had I come straight away, last autumn, when I reached England? Could I stomach being his boy to please his feeble mind? Could I play his young son, with none of the long years that stretched between us? I wanted him to see me as I am, full grown, with a son of my own. I wanted him to marvel at my success and yet, as I thought all this, I also wanted to weep in his arms, as if I were his child again.

  What should I do? My heart was so full. I wanted to beg him through my tears to acknowledge my long absence, but he was too frail for such a show of emotion. Instead, I steadied myself as well as I was able, did as he bid me and sat beside him, the scent of the roses all around us.

  ‘So, have you had a good day?’

  ‘Father.’ I took his frail hand and held it in mine. ‘It is I, your son, Abel. Please … don’t alarm yourself.’

  But his eyes and mouth had flown open and he jerked his head from the cushion. His free hand went to his breast. He held it there against his heart and breathed with difficulty. After a few seconds he turned to look at me. His eyes took me in, lingering on my face and then travelling over my body, looking at my good clothes, even down to my buckled shoes. At the last he observed his old hand in my strong one.

  He spoke carefully, with effort. ‘I see it is indeed you, Abel, grown to be a fine man.’

  He saw me! Maybe he would lapse into dotage again at any moment, but in this instance, he saw me as I was.

  I smiled at him through my glassy tear-filled eyes and spoke softly. ‘You see me as I am?’

  He withdrew his hand from mine and peered at me. ‘Of course I see you as you are. Do you think me lack-witted?’

  I found myself laughing at his tetchiness. ‘No! Of course not! Only you seemed at first so unsurprised that I was here …’

  He waved the comment away. ‘Let me look at you again.’

  He was trembling and tears spilt from his eyes. He held out both his hands and I embraced him gently. He was thin and worn, but his hands held me tightly for a long time, with surprising strength, while he muttered endearments to me.

  ‘It is really you … my dear, dear son … I never gave up hope, but after so long … who would have thought it … So many years, Abel.’ He hugged me tight. ‘So many years …’

  At last he let me go and looked at me again.

  ‘I expected all my life to rescue a ragged boy or man,’ he said. ‘But I see you had no need for my concern these past years.’ Another tear leaked from his eye and he rubbed it away. ‘I am more glad than I can say that you live, but …’ He bit his lip. ‘I would wish you had thought to send word to your grieving father that you were well and alive.’ His face looked full of regret and sadness.

  ‘But I thought you were dead!’ I slid from the seat and knelt at his side. ‘I saw you shot and blamed myself for your demise. I have been abroad and have only this past hour learnt that you live! It is not my fault I did not seek you out! I thought I was to blame for both my parents’ deaths and now I find my mother is the only parent I killed.’ I was a little boy again, with the thoughts I had not felt for years suddenly assailing me. I put my head on his knee and wept.

  After a moment I felt his hand on my hair, caressing me in the way I remembered from so many years ago. ‘I did not know you blamed yourself for your mother’s death, Abel. You must not do that. It was not your fault. And you see that I live. There is no blame. But I am so very sorry you thought me dead all these years.’ His voice broke. ‘I searched for you so long and never quite gave up hope that you lived. I followed you to Constantinople, but never found any word of you … and oh!’ He held his heart again as if it would break. ‘Your grandmother in Holland died some two years ago and she so longed to know you!’

  He sat back in the arbour and let his emotion take him. All I could do was hold his hands and wait for the storm of weeping to pass. At length he became a little calmer.

  ‘I am so sorry. I should be rejoicing to see you and all I do is weep. But I do rejoice, Abel. I do. It’s just that my heart is overfull.’

  ‘I understand. But tell me why you went to Constantinople. I was never there. I have spent all these years in the Caribbean.’

  He stared at me. ‘But you gave me a map of Constantinople!’

  I could not think what he meant.

  ‘On that dreadful day in the cellar. You gave me the map, so when I was recovered from my wound I went in search of you.’ He saw my face. ‘You did not know about the map?’

  ‘No! It was just a packet I had picked up … I can’t quite remember why I gave it to you. Instead of simply dropping it, I suppose, so I could help make my escape.’

  ‘Oh. Well.’ For a moment he looked displeased, but then he gave a shrug and laughed. ‘That map did not lead me to you, but it did bring a comfortable living, by degrees.’ He gestured at the sweet-scented roses that flowered around us. ‘This is one of the first I bred from the roses my partner sent from the East. It is still my favourite. I called it God’s Breath, which is the meaning of your name, as you know. They now grow in several of the royal gardens and their oil is much prized.’

  I was too full of emotion to speak.

  He looked at me seriously. ‘When you were a baby, Abel, you saved my life. You saved me because I knew that I must save you, so don’t blame yourself for the demise of either of your parents. I’m sorry you blamed yourself. I would not have wanted that for the world. And now … when I felt my life was ending you come to refresh it once more. I hope you can stay here a while,’ he added anxiously. ‘Your room is …’

  ‘I long to spend as many hours in your company as possible, but I have left my son at the river with our servants and coach. I must send word to them …’

  ‘You have a family?’

  ‘Your grandson. Christophe. He is eleven.’

  My father struggled to stand, and I helped him up. ‘Will you bring him here? Are you able to stay? There is room and to spare. I would wish to meet him … as for your servants and coach … we can make all comfortable, I believe …’

  He was becoming agitated and I did my best to soothe him. ‘All shall be well, Father. All shall be well. We were going on to Chineborough, but that is of no importance now I have found you alive! There is time aplenty. If you have someone who can take a message to my son, I will stay with you. Don’t worry, Father. I will stay with you.’

  I took his arm, gave him his stick and slowly we made our way back to the house. Jane and William had gone from the garden. My father showed me where he wished to sit, in a chair filled with cushions, next to a window looking out at his garden. I wondered if he had taken a physician’s advice, if he took any stimulant for his heart, but now was not the moment to ask. He wished me to find Jane, and so I reluctantly left him and went to the kitchen.

  To my
great surprise, Christophe was there, sitting on the very bench on which I used to perch to beg titbits from Jane. He was with another boy and a stranger, some sort of workman, as well as both Jane and William. They made a very merry group. I did not hear what the stranger had said, but he had them all laughing. As soon as Christophe saw me he ran to me.

  ‘Father!’ He indicated the boy. ‘This is Richard, whose father has the forge. He found me by the river and told me my grandfather is alive! We ran here together as soon as we had directed the coach to come. It stands outside.’ He stood tall in his child’s attempt to be an adult. ‘Have I done well, Father?’

  I put my hands on his shoulders. ‘Yes, you have done well.’ I called to Jane, ‘Jane? My father wishes you to go to him.’

  She began to bustle. ‘His drink is ready. I will take it now.’

  I looked again at my son. ‘Christophe! Your clothes are a disgrace.’ I glanced at Charlie’s son, Richard, who could almost have been his father when a boy. He was regarding me with what looked like trepidation in his eyes, but it was my son who was in trouble. ‘Your stockings are in holes and your knee has been bleeding. Your clothes are covered in dust. What have you been doing?’ Both boys looked at the floor and said nothing. I sighed, remembering my own escapades with Charlie. I lifted my son’s chin, so he was obliged to look at me. ‘Fighting with the son of a smith is not fitting for a gentleman,’ I said in a soft voice. ‘You will change your clothes and wash before you present yourself to your grandfather.’ I looked over at Charlie’s boy. ‘I am obliged to you for bringing Christophe here, Richard. My compliments to your father. Now you may go.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The boys exchanged secret glances as Richard sidled past us to the door, but neither spoke to the other. No doubt they would seek each other out again, but I did not want Christophe rolling in the dust with his new-found friend.

  While Christophe went to make himself presentable, I returned to my father. He had been agitated, Jane told me. He had risen from his chair to find me but had knocked his stick to the floor and could not bend to reach it. It had been difficult to make him sit again and wait for me.

  ‘I thought you had gone.’ His hand was tight on mine.

  ‘I told you I would not go. I am here.’

  I took the drink from Jane and held it for him. I had to hold it to his lips because his hands trembled so, but as he drank he became calmer. I would have to ask Jane what she put in it.

  ‘I want to know what happened to you, Abel, but for now I simply wish to see your face and hold your hand.’

  We sat this way, mostly in silence, for some time, until his grip grew slack and his eyes closed in sleep. Even so, I dared not leave his side in case he woke and became distressed again, nor did I wish to. I could hear the sounds of the house, and the great door being opened and closed several times. William would speak to the coachman, I was sure, and Jane would deal with my son. I gazed upon my sleeping father and marvelled anew at how he lived. My heart was quite overfull.

  I had many questions. We had lost so many years, he and I. From penury he had gone to obvious comfort, with several new young servants I had already seen about the house. And all this it seemed through gardening! I remembered very well our attempts in that patch behind the inn. I had enjoyed grubbing in the soil with him and picking the fruit from the old trees, but to have gone from that to the large elegant garden full of flowers and herbs was a mystery to me.

  At length Jane came back so that I could take my ease. I went to find Christophe. He had done as I required and changed his clothes. To pass the time while his grandfather slept, I took him up to my old bedroom, where to my delight I found the few toys I had possessed. Although much of the house had been altered, that room had not. It was like walking back into my childhood. It reminded me, too, that I was heir to this place, and so he and I explored freely together. Looking out of an upstairs window, I saw that the garden was only part of the land under cultivation. Much more had been set out as a nursery, with rows of plants of various sorts, and several men and boys were working there. It struck me that although the nursery was much smaller than my plantation, and very different, we had both made our fortunes from the soil.

  The tipsy staircase was as I remembered it, but the kitchen was now more of a parlour than a working kitchen, having a much larger, better one newly built behind it, with new bedrooms above, looking over the garden. When we returned to the old kitchen we found the stranger still sitting at the table with William. William struggled to his feet and the stranger, who was covered with even more dust than Christophe had been, leapt to assist him. He was so forward as to approach me as if my equal and greeted me as if I were the stranger. I did not like his informal manner, the mug of our ale at his hand or the good English platter filled with ham and bread and onions which he had been devouring. He, however, appeared happy to see me.

  ‘I am so very pleased to meet you at last,’ said he.

  I looked to William for explanation, but he had never been comfortable with words. Before he could introduce the man, to my surprise my son rushed to do so.

  ‘Of course! You were with Grandfather, so were not introduced.’ Christophe’s eyes flashed with excitement. ‘This is your brother! He insists I must call him Turlough, instead of Uncle, and so I introduce him to you as Turlough.’

  I looked at the man in astonishment. He was not a gentleman and it seemed clear to me that Christophe was confused. ‘You are right, Christophe, as you are but a boy, to call any man “uncle” or “sir”, out of courtesy. If he wishes you to use his Christian name you are free to use it, but you should know that I have no brother.’

  The man had proffered his hand, but I saw no reason to take it. ‘You are a nephew of William’s?’ I enquired. ‘Or perhaps some kind of cousin?’

  He took back his hand and shook his head. ‘No, sir. I am the one-time boy your father adopted some years ago. I have my own home and workshop in Chineborough but come to see him as often as possible. At present I am making repairs to Dario Church and so he has got into the habit of seeing me every day after work.’ A puzzled frown crossed his face. ‘Did our father not tell you of me?’

  I felt outraged. How dare he act as if we shared a parent or consider himself so important as to be uppermost in the first conversation between a long-parted father and son? I was angry with Jane, too. William was a doddering old man, but she should have told me about this cuckoo before I even saw my poor old father. I would have to speak to her about the man later, when he had been got rid of. However, I would not wish my father distressed in any way and I would not show myself an uncaring man to any.

  ‘We have not had the time to speak of trivialities,’ I said to this Turlough. ‘But doubtless we will.’ My manner must have appeared stiff, but that my father could have adopted this person to replace me was a great shock. Indeed, I could not believe it, but William had not demurred, so there must be some truth in the man’s words. Even so, I was not inclined to call him ‘brother’. Certainly not until I had discovered more about him.

  ‘William tells me our father is weaker today,’ said the stranger, disregarding my coolness. ‘I am sorry for it, but will not stay many minutes with him, as I am sure you will want to spend much time together while you are here.’

  ‘My father is sleeping,’ I told him. ‘And not well enough for casual visitors. I tell you this as his son and physician. I suggest you finish the food you have been given and call another time.’ I turned from him to go back to my father, but William called to me.

  ‘Wait, sir! You do not understand. This is no casual visitor! Your father will be likely dismayed if he and Turlough do not spend a few minutes together as usual. As you have seen, sir, he can get distressed if people are not there when he expects them.’

  ‘Under those circumstances he must certainly see my father this day for a few minutes, as soon as my parent wakes,’ I said coldly. ‘I am going now to see how he does and will send someone back
to inform you if he is well enough to see Master … Turlough. Christophe, come with me.’

  35

  So, it was concern for my father’s heart that forced my son and I to stand by while the labourer went to him, kissed him and told him he would return again. Seeing them together caused me great pain. I would rather have been absent from their fond conversation, but my father, when he learnt Turlough was in the kitchen, called at once to see him, refusing to let me or my son leave. On the contrary, he seemed to think it would be a source of great joy for us to meet the interloper.

  ‘My two sons and a grandson! How blessed I am today,’ he said. ‘You must become good friends, because my love unites you.’

  I was heartily glad when the man left. He was, at least, sensitive to my need to have private intercourse with my father, but I doubted he realised the size of my disquiet. I feared he was taking advantage of my father’s kindness because I could not see that my poor father would have wished to adopt such a person and yet he appeared quite under the man’s spell.

  I freely admit that a part of my dislike of Turlough was my own circumstances. I had been ripped from my father’s love, while he had seemingly lost no time before replacing me. It was a hurt that reached my very soul. And it made me consider my own son, Christophe. What of the inheritance that should come to me? It was not right that I or my son should be disadvantaged by this man, whoever he was. I would dispute it if necessary in law. I had powerful friends in London and many questions for this Turlough. I would protect my son’s rights and my own. Where was Turlough’s mother? Had she perhaps tricked my father into thinking her child was his?