Forever Waiting

by DeVa Gantt

  “Now, Robert,” she purred, coming close to him, “that’s not entirely true. And you yourself conspired in the beginning.”

  “Because I loved you—and cursed the man who nearly destroyed you!”

  “And I shall always love you,” she whispered, brushing her lips across his sallow cheek. “You are my brother, after all.”

  “Enough! No more games!” He shoved her aside and grabbed more clothing from his armoire. “You don’t need me anymore. And I think I’ve finally had enough of you. Like your guests, I shall be aboard the ship that departs for Richmond tomorrow. And I shan’t be back.”

  “But how will I explain your departure?”

  He eyed her with a crooked smile and snapped shut the trunk. “You don’t need me to come up with ideas, dear sister. After all, duplicity suits you.”

  She did not press him and left without a backward glance.

  Through the slit between curtain and window, Robert watched her go, combating tears as she climbed into the carriage. All hope she would beg him to stay faded as it lurched forward and rolled away.

  Agatha Blackford, the other half of his soul, was gone—forever. But he had never really possessed her. He’d spent the whole of his life convincing himself she loved him, that someday, when she was completely healed, when she was vindicated, she would belong to him. But in his heart of hearts, he knew the truth. He sat hard on his bed and, with head in hands, looked back on the thirty years that had brought him to this despicable moment.

  As children, he and Agatha had been close, even into adolescence—too close, as their father would say. But their mother indulged that “love”; they were twins after all. Lucy Blackford idolized her eldest children and spurned her daughter, Elizabeth, five years their junior and the apple of their father’s eye. Lucy turned a blind eye to the ridicule Elizabeth endured at Robert and Agatha’s hands.

  Robert Blackford senior had been a merchant on the Mersey River in the heart of Liverpool, a modestly wealthy man. And so, he could afford to send Robert to university to study medicine. But only men went to Oxford, and Robert missed Agatha terribly while he was away. He did not know one of their father’s wealthiest suppliers, Frederic Duvoisin, had caught her eye, or he would have hastened home earlier and put a stop to the blossoming love affair. Even now, he was consumed with jealousy as he remembered those first few months when Agatha’s eyes lit up at the mere mention of Frederic’s name.

  “Don’t be silly, Robert,” she’d cajoled. “I’m a spinster, for heaven’s sake, and people are talking about us! I don’t love him, and I will always have you close. Marrying him will keep up appearances and afford us security at the same time. Besides, someday I may wish to be a mother.”

  Soon they were planning a wedding. Frederic Duvoisin loved her, Agatha averred. In truth, Frederic was sealing a business deal with Robert senior, forging a robust family enterprise. The two men had included Robert in a late night conversation, tallying the benefits both sides would reap from the union. Frederic would supply the imports; Robert senior would secure buyers and distributors.

  “So much the better if Agatha fancies herself in love with Frederic,” his father confided that night as they left the inn where Frederic was lodged.

  “She is not in love with him, Father,” Robert bit out.

  “How would you know that, son?”

  “She told me.”

  “She is a woman, Robert, and a beautiful one at that. She’s held many a swain at bay, but now it is time. Frederic and she make a handsome couple. It is wise for the family business. With Agatha as his wife, Frederic will not think of negotiating with other merchants in England. Medical practice is a dubious undertaking. The family business, on the other hand, is established. You’ll have something to rely on after I’m gone. And there is Elizabeth to consider.”

  “I don’t need something to rely on, Father. I can care for Agatha and myself. And if you’re so worried about Elizabeth, why don’t you offer her to Mr. Duvoisin? It’s obvious he’s charmed by her, and she, him.”

  When his father did not comment, Robert knew he had noticed the attraction, too. At that precise moment, the idea of sabotage took root, and Robert silently vowed Frederic and Agatha would never be married.

  But the wedding date was set, and Frederic invited the Blackfords to his Caribbean home for a glimpse of the paradise island where he and Agatha would live as man and wife. They spent five months abroad and a fortnight on Charmantes. Agatha had fawned over Frederic, while he played the role of an eager groom-to-be, his hand always possessively under her arm, pretending interest in her every word.

  But Robert saw how he watched Elizabeth, and how his younger sister reacted. He had had enough. The night before their departure for England and the impending nuptials, Robert cornered Elizabeth alone in the mansion’s gardens. For nearly a week, he had carefully planned exactly what he would say. But then, the plot had been simple really, thanks to Frederic and his announcement that he would not be returning to England with them—that he had business to attend to both in Virginia and New York, and would follow on a separate ship.

  “Oh, Robert,” Elizabeth sighed when she saw him. “I’m going to miss Charmantes. It’s so unlike our rainy England.”

  “Are you sad we’re leaving or Frederic is remaining behind?”

  “Why ever would you say that?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? You’re smitten with him.”

  She squirmed on the bench, and he continued. “I daresay, Frederic has eyes for you, too. And, I think you know it.”

  She objected. “He’s in love with Agatha—is going to marry Agatha!”

  “A shame, really,” he pondered aloud.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She doesn’t love him,” he stated sourly. “She’s going through with this marriage for Father’s sake and the business connections it will secure for him.”

  “You’re wrong, Robert,” she countered. “Agatha loves him dearly. I’ve seen them together. She dotes on his every word.”

  “As a good wife should,” he bit out, smarting with the remark.

  Elizabeth studied him curiously, and his anger settled into one enormous knot of jealous resentment. It fueled his zealotry, the focus he needed to execute his plan. “She’s told me she does not love him,” he declared. “In truth, she does not wish to marry at all.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I can’t believe that.”

  The resentment grew. Let her see how it feels—let the ax fall! “Here you are, attracted to him,” he continued, “wishing you didn’t have to leave, yet you are to be taken home and wed to that pompous fop, Henry Davenport.”

  “What?” Elizabeth went white, and Robert delighted in her anguish. Evidently, thoughts of the odious man could make her physically ill, for her hands reflexively clasped the edge of the bench as if to steady a teetering world. Fat, bald, and thrice her age, Henry Davenport had asked for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage on a number of occasions. Even Robert senior had been repulsed.

  “That’s right,” Robert proceeded, prepared to drive the last nail in the coffin. He knew her well: She would claw her way out, then act impulsively. “On the eve of our departure, he bent Father’s ear at the tavern, and Father relented.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “Father would never do that! He knows I despise that man!”

  “Yes, but Mr. Davenport has made an impression on Mother, and she refuses to let the matter rest. Father has grown weary of her nagging. It’s a shame you and she don’t get on well. She is bent upon getting you out from under her roof, especially now that Agatha will no longer be there.”

  “Well,” Elizabeth said, her chin slightly raised in a burst of defiance, “I’ll speak with Father and let him know—”

  “And what if your pleas fall on deaf ears, Elizabeth? Father has to live with the woman, after all. In the end, Mother always triumphs.”

  Grim reality seeped in, and she buried her face in her hands and wept. “What
am I to do? Dear God, Robert, what am I to do?”

  “There, there,” he soothed compassionately, as if he’d gladly shift the burden of her anguish to his shoulders, his hand placed gently on her arm. “You know … there might be a way.”

  Her head lifted slowly. “What do you mean?”

  “You could remain behind!” he declared, as if thunderstruck.

  “Remain behind? But—”

  “Just think,” he hurried on, “you’d be alone with Frederic, have him all to yourself.”

  “Remain behind?” she muttered again.

  “Yes—when we leave. Without Agatha here, you could confirm his feelings for you, perhaps save Agatha and yourself from a dismal and unjust future.”

  Robert studied her vacuous expression, certain the amber-brown eyes were deceiving; her quick mind was turning furiously. And then she spoke. “But if he has no feelings for me, my reputation will be ruined.”

  “Exactly. And if nothing comes of this ‘experiment’ with Frederic, Mr. Davenport will surely withdraw his proposal. That sort of man would never consider marrying a maid who’d been compromised, soiled or not.”

  A sudden smile broke across Elizabeth’s face. “You are right,” she said, clearly relieved. Just as abruptly, her manner changed, and Robert knew her conscience had intervened. “But, what about Agatha?”

  He answered dispassionately. “I would say you are doing her a service.”

  “Even so—” she wavered “—this is so very devious. What if—”

  He didn’t allow her to finish. “Better to make your own decision than have it made for you.”

  “But how—how do I remain behind? I can’t announce I’m not going. I will have to board the ship along with everyone else.”

  At last! “You have a point … ” he said, pretending at deep concentration, settling his chin atop his fist, even though he’d formulated an elaborate solution days ago. “Vessels are always bustling before departure, and I can distract Father and Frederic. It shouldn’t be terribly difficult to slip off unnoticed. As for Mother and Agatha, they will be preoccupied in their cabins and assume you’ve remained in yours.”

  “But what if a sailor waylays me?” she asked, dismay heavy in her voice.

  “Simply tell them you left something behind in the carriage.”

  “And what happens when Mother and Father discover I am missing? Surely they’ll demand the captain turn back.”

  “All the more reason not to dally. Make the most of this opportunity—quickly.”

  “I should tell Agatha,” she suddenly decided.

  “Do that, and I guarantee she will speak to Mother,” he replied coldly, having expected such a thought. “You know she resents you and would cut off her nose to spite her face if it meant making you miserable as well.” He smiled to himself when she grimaced; she knew he was right. Agatha despised her.

  How she carried out the plan, he never really knew. He distracted Frederic and his father as promised, and later, when the ship was under way, he went to Elizabeth’s cabin. It was empty. He’d been correct in counting on his family’s disinterest in his younger sister. Meals had been served up in the cabins, and nobody even noticed her absence.

  To ensure the vessel would not turn back, he executed the next phase of his scheme. Just before daybreak, he hoisted a ballast stone over the ship’s railing and into the ocean. Immediately, a cry went up from the rigging, “Man overboard!” Within an hour everyone, except Elizabeth, was accounted for. Dinghies were dispatched, but the search was futile. They concluded she’d gone above deck to see the sunrise and had somehow fallen to her death. A funeral service was held, and they spent the remainder of the voyage in mourning. Even Agatha did not suspect the truth, not until three months later, when Frederic stepped off the ship with Elizabeth on his arm.

  Never had Robert seen Agatha turn so ugly, lashing out like a cornered beast. But Frederic was unmoved and broke the banns, vowing to marry Elizabeth instead. When Robert senior objected, Frederic told him he’d compromised Elizabeth’s reputation. Agatha wailed her good name had been compromised first, but Frederic pointed out Agatha’s visit to Charmantes had been chaperoned; no one need ever know of their tryst as long as she kept her mouth shut. She was outraged and maintained she was carrying Frederic’s child. Frederic hesitated, then called her a liar, scrutinizing her slim form. She prostrated herself at her father’s feet, demanding he hold Frederic accountable. But Robert senior was in a difficult quandary. Agatha was capable of lying, his dear Elizabeth could be pregnant as well, and he didn’t fancy alienating his most lucrative trade partner. Frederic’s marriage to either of his daughters achieved the same economic ends he’d been cultivating all along.

  The next day, Agatha enlisted Robert’s aid and showed up at Frederic’s lodging, confident if she were alone with him, she could win him back. But Frederic, though contrite, remained resolute. He loved Elizabeth. And so, he gave Agatha a sizable sum of money, promising he would provide for any child she produced within the next five months. When she cried at his feet, he offered to raise the baby himself, but she refused, vowing to revile him for all time.

  For two weeks, she wallowed in anger and despair, refusing to eat. Elizabeth, in turn, lamented the part she had played. Robert turned mediator, interceding whenever Elizabeth seemed on the verge of forfeiting Frederic for Agatha’s happiness.

  Then, quite suddenly, a glimmer of hope punctured Agatha’s black despair. Elizabeth vanished. She’d gone off riding, and hours later, only her horse trotted home. Anticipation flickered in Agatha’s eyes as day after day, no one, not even Frederic, could uncover a trace of her. A week passed, and she was found—left for dead at the side of a road. Still, Agatha waited with bated breath, smiling when she learned Elizabeth had been raped repeatedly at the hands of a band of highwaymen. She was soiled—had gotten precisely what she deserved.

  It didn’t matter to Frederic. He remained by her side and nursed her back to health. Seeing her great shame, he broached the subject of his own disgrace—his lust for Agatha and the babe she might carry to term outside of wedlock. Later, Elizabeth told Robert this single admission, accompanied by his vow to take care of Agatha’s child, alleviated her humiliation. Weeks later, they wed and returned to the Caribbean, leaving behind a hollow, disillusioned Agatha.

  Agatha was indeed carrying Frederic’s child, and so, the Blackfords closeted her away, determined to keep her dishonor a secret. She seemed impervious to rebuke, speaking to no one, not even Robert, who delivered the baby.

  After months of apathy, a ray of happiness lit her eyes. The babe was handsome, a miracle amidst such anguish, and she cradled him so tightly it was often difficult to pry him from her arms. It soon became apparent she was not in her right mind, and their parents only made matters worse. Appalled, they refused to even look at the infant. A bastard! A scandal! they swore. He would not remain under their roof! Despite Agatha’s wailing, Robert whisked him away. It was for the best, he decided, as he set off with a wet nurse and the tiny bundle, boarding a ship bound for the Caribbean and the boy’s father. We will be together when I return, Agatha. I will make you forget Frederic.

  Such was not to be the case. Robert arrived on Charmantes to find Elizabeth heavy with child. The couple took in Paul with open arms and asked Robert to stay and deliver Elizabeth’s baby. He longed to return to Agatha, but could not refuse Elizabeth’s pleading, and so, he was there on that bleak night that brought one life into the world and snuffed out another.

  He did everything in his power to save Elizabeth. God knew he didn’t want Frederic left a widower. The man might repent and marry Agatha after all. The delivery was torturous, the babe breech, and Robert could not stem the hemorrhaging. Elizabeth succumbed hours later with Frederic at her side.

  Robert thought his own life would end in those hours before dawn, as Frederic’s grief congealed into a feral rage. “Man, you are a butcher—a murderer! You delivered Agatha safely, but not my wife!”
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  Though Robert quailed, a new, more potent loathing took hold, its ferocity paramount to any terror he suffered. How could Frederic so hardheartedly wish Agatha dead? It had been satisfying to point the finger of blame on the men who had raped Elizabeth. In so doing, Robert cemented Frederic’s latent fear the baby was not his. “I did everything I could!” he protested. “She was not fit to deliver a child after her ordeal!” With Frederic’s darkening scowl, he added, “The baby is most surely born of their seed.”

  Frederic blanched and turned away, but as the days passed, his anger gave way to grief again. Remorseful over his irrational accusations, he apologized to Robert, asking him to stay on Charmantes; the island needed a physician. Robert declined the offer; his beloved Agatha awaited him in England. When Frederic entrusted him with a letter for her, Robert’s worst fear was realized. Frederic intended to set things right: he would marry Agatha and legitimize Paul’s birth.

  On the voyage home, Robert worried over what to do, indecisive to the end. It didn’t matter. Robert senior had married Agatha off to Thomas Ward, a former suitor who did not know about her confinement and thought she loved him. Despondent, Agatha had accepted the man’s proposal, obedient to her parents’ demands for the first time in her life. Robert couldn’t say why he gave her the letter, but it evoked a poignant response: she cried on his shoulder, then allowed him to make love to her completely that night.

  Later, when they lay entwined, she had whispered, “We are not defeated, Robert. We will build on this— you must build on this. I cannot be with my son right now, but you can. Elizabeth must pay for her deeds. What better way than to make her son suffer? Go back to Charmantes and set up your practice. Watch over Paul and never fail to remind Frederic he is the firstborn, the rightful heir. He must shine while Elizabeth’s babe … ”

  Robert gazed incredulously into her tormented face. Noting her faltering sanity, and guilty over the part he had played, he told her what she wanted to hear. “For you, my love, I will do anything.”

  “I love you, Robert,” she had sighed, “will always love you. You are the only one who has ever cared about me. Someday, I will come to you, and we shall be together … someday … ”