Forgotten Destiny

by Forgotten Destiny (retail) (epub)

  ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that Davina should come to Bristol at once.’

  ‘Before the marriage takes place?’ My grandmother looked shocked. ‘I’m not sure that would be proper.’

  ‘It would be much easier to make the arrangements if she was there,’ Mr Paterson pointed out. ‘She’ll want a new gown especially for the occasion, I expect – I never yet heard of a woman who didn’t want a new gown on the slightest excuse, never mind her own wedding. And she will be able to make the acquaintance of some of my friends, so that they will not be strangers to her on the great day. I really feel it would be for the best. Could she not stay with Charles in Queen’s Square? He and Theo rattle around in that great house – there must be room for one pretty little one!’

  ‘I’m sure he would be agreeable to that,’ Grandfather said, clearly anxious to fall in with whatever Mr Paterson suggested.

  ‘But she cannot go alone,’ my grandmother put in, surprisingly firm for her. ‘She must have a chaperone. Perhaps Linnie could accompany her.’

  Aunt Linnie was my grandfather’s sister, ten years and more his junior. She was a spinster lady, a little, chattering, bird-like woman, and in my unkinder moments it did seem to me that she had been hidden away behind the door when brains were handed out. But she was kind-hearted and cheerful, and I could well imagine she would leap at the opportunity to spend a few weeks in Bristol, since she had scarcely set foot outside rural Gloucestershire in the whole of her life.

  ‘That would seem to be the answer,’ Grandfather said, satisfied. ‘I’ll write to Charles and ask if Davina and Linnie can stay with him.’

  ‘Why not put pen to paper now?’ Mr Paterson suggested. ‘I can deliver the letter to him in person.’

  Grandfather nodded. ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Oh yes, I wish.’ Mr Paterson glanced at me again, and the look on his face made me squirm with discomfort. No, whatever he might say to the contrary, he was not a patient man. And with all my heart I wished I had not agreed to this union.

  * * *

  I had never before been to the house in Queen’s Square, and I had no memory of ever having been to Bristol. I had wondered if anything about it would jog my memory, and indeed, as we drove through the busy cobbled streets, they did seem vaguely familiar to me, as did the awful, pervasive smell that hung over the city. It came from the river and the docks, I supposed – the stench of garbage and filth all overlaid with sickly sweetness from the cargos of sugar. It turned my stomach, that smell, and I thought that perhaps it was something I might well have wanted to forget, if indeed I had known it.

  I glanced at Aunt Linnie, wondering what she was making of it. She had a lace-edged handkerchief pressed to her lips, but, above it, her eyes were bright with excitement.

  ‘Isn’t it thrilling!’ she exclaimed from behind the handkerchief: ‘Oh Davina, I’ve never had such an adventure before! I want to see everything there is to see whilst I’m here! There will be time, won’t there, between your dress fittings and other appointments?’

  I smiled faintly. ‘Yes, Aunt Linnie, I’m sure there will be plenty of time,’ I assured her.

  * * *

  The problem, as I soon discovered, was not time, but, transport.

  Great-Uncle Charles – a crusty, sharp-spoken version of my grandfather – had sent his carriage to Gloucestershire to collect us but he quickly made it clear it could not be spared on a regular basis.

  ‘I’m not wealthy enough to be able to keep two carriages on the go,’ he complained. ‘I don’t have the wherewithal of some. John Paterson will have to send a carriage down for your use – or pay to hire one. He can afford it.’

  I could not help but notice the bitter resentment in his tone, and wonder at it. To my unpractised eye, it seemed Great-Uncle Charles was very well off indeed, with far more than his brother, my grandfather, had ever had or could hope for. The house, built of buttery yellow stone and overlooking a central green, was furnished with good-quality furniture and decorated with the sort of artefacts that came from trading in foreign parts, there were several servants, and the wine flowed free as we dined off the fat of the land. But, I supposed, the more one had the more one was inclined to want, and envy was not confined to those who had nothing at all.

  ‘I’m sure Mr Paterson will provide for anything we need, Uncle,’ I said. ‘The last thing I want is to put you to any inconvenience.’

  He humphed and hawed a little at this, as if we were indeed putting him out simply by being there, and I found myself wishing Cousin Theo was at home. He was, it seemed, away on business, and would be gone for at least a week.

  Though I did not know Theo very well, I had always found him to be very good company. He had a ready, and rather wicked, sense of humour, unlike all my other, rather straight-laced relatives, and, almost unfailingly, he could make me laugh. It was always good, too, to have the company of one so much closer to me in age than the rest of them, particularly when he was as personable as Theo.

  The moment the matter of the carriage was mentioned to Mr Paterson, however, he agreed to put one of his own at our disposal.

  ‘Least I can do,’ he said magnanimously. ‘My future wife must travel in style, eh, Davina? You shall have the new landaulet – just right for you and your aunt – and Thomas to drive you. Thomas will look after you well. I’ll bring him in to meet you, if that meets with your approval, Grimes.’

  ‘Oh yes – yes…’ Great-Uncle Charles said, but the resentment was there again, burning in his rheumy eyes. He turned to Aunt Linnie as Mr Paterson left the room. ‘You’d better prepare yourself for a shock, Linnie,’ he said, his lip curling a little.

  I was puzzled; I had no idea what he meant by that. But when Mr Paterson returned with Thomas, I understood.

  Thomas was black; the first black man I had ever seen in my life.

  * * *

  I had known, of course, that there were black people in England, brought here from their native land to be sold as slaves. I had heard that it was most fashionable in London society to have a black butler or a little pageboy. But such modern ways had not reached the wilds of Gloucestershire. And though I knew Great-Uncle Charles, Theo and Mr Paterson sailed their boats to Africa and the West Indies, it had never occurred to me that they might be involved in the trade.

  On the few occasions when I had thought about it at all, I had found myself instinctively repelled by the idea that human beings could be bought and sold like sugar and spirits, but when I had said as much, Grandfather had pointed out they were heathens, and more likely to be saved here in a Christian country than if they remained in their own uncivilized land. Since there was nothing I could do about it, I had taken the coward’s way out and put my misgivings to the back of my mind. Now, however, they all came rushing back as I looked at the tall, fine-looking man with sculpted features and a cap of iron-grey woolly curls, a little too gaunt, but proud and upright in his royal-blue livery.

  Great-Uncle Charles had been right, however, to anticipate Aunt Linnie’s reaction. Her eyes went wide and she jumped back half a dozen paces, her soft little face contorting into an expression of pure terror.

  ‘Oh!’ she gasped with what breath she had left. ‘Oh, my life!’

  The man called Thomas stood motionless, eyes dark as coals, returning her frightened gaze with something which might almost have been disdain.

  ‘Don’t be alarmed. Miss Grimes!’ Mr Paterson said heartily. ‘There’s nothing to fear.’

  ‘But… what is it?’ Aunt Linnie squeaked.

  ‘A fully grown African male,’ Mr Paterson replied. A corner of his full-lipped mouth was ticking, as if he were trying to control a desire to laugh. ‘I assure you he is fully housetrained, Miss Grimes. And he speaks very good English. My late wife taught him herself.’

  ‘Oh, but I never saw such a thing!’ Aunt Linnie exclaimed. ‘I feel quite faint with shock! Why, he looks like a joint of meat left too long in the oven!’

  Mr Paterson did laug
h then, unable to contain his mirth a moment longer.

  ‘You hear that, Thomas? You spent too long in the sun before the slavers came to rescue you,’ he chortled.

  I suppose there was something quite funny about Aunt Linnie’s small, horrified face, but I failed to find it amusing. I saw only a proud man who stood impassive in the face of such indignity, his dark eyes burning with something like anger, yet managing to retain his dignity. He did not look like a savage to me, and my sense of unease that people like him could be taken against their will and owned, body and soul, by people like Mr Paterson, made me turn away, ashamed.

  ‘Have no fear, Miss Grimes, if Thomas fails to afford you the respect you deserve, he will be soundly beaten,’ Mr Paterson said carelessly. And to the slave: ‘You hear that, Thomas? If I hear one word from these ladies that you have frightened or upset them in any, you will be beaten and chained in the cellar for a week. Savvy?’

  ‘Oh my life!’ Aunt Linnie said again, but I said nothing at all.

  I resolved to treat this black giant as I would any other human being. Certainly Mr Paterson would not hear one word against him from me, for I was uncomfortably certain that Mr Paterson was not given to making idle threats.

  Again I found myself wishing with all my heart that my grandparents had not been so set upon this match. Again I wondered if I should have protested against it more vehemently. But none of my reasons for going along with it had changed one jot. I had made them happy by my acquiescence, and I should try to be happy too – or at least take comfort from knowing it.

  And in any case, it was far too late to go back on my word. I was to marry Mr Paterson, for better or for worse, and that was all there was to it.

  * * *

  The days passed by in a whirl of fittings and appointments interspersed with leisurely sightseeing and social gatherings, when I was introduced to Mr Paterson’s friends and their wives, all of whom, it seemed, were to be guests at the wedding. The very thought of what a grand occasion it was to be began to make me feel more nervous than the marriage itself. I was not used to being the centre of so much attention and never had been, I felt sure, for the prospect of walking up the aisle of the cathedral before so many curious eyes made me feel sick with apprehension.

  I did not take after my father, clearly, I thought wryly. If, as my grandparents had said, he had been a strolling player, he must have enjoyed appearing before an audience! No, it must be that I followed after my mother in temperament as well as appearance. And yet…

  That was not right either, I thought. My mother had possessed the courage to go against my grandparents’ wishes and follow her heart. For the first time I thought of the enormity of what she had done, leaving all that was comfortable and familiar, and running away to be with my father. For the first time, instead of feeling ashamed, I saw her bold action as romantic and brave, and I could not help feeling that she would not have approved of me meekly marrying a man I did not love, and could not imagine I ever would, simply to please my grandparents. Or had she lived to regret her headstrong behaviour? What sort of a man had my father turned out to be? Perhaps he had led her a merry dance and she had, in the end, decided to return home and try to make peace with the family she had shamed and abandoned. Perhaps that was the reason my father had never come looking for me – because he had turned out to be the no-good wastrel my grandparents had always thought him.

  My head ached just thinking about it, that persistent throb at my temple that could sometimes still send a jab of searing pain like a red-hot bolt being driven into my skull, and I tried to banish the fruitless, worrying conjecture just as I tried to banish my trepidation at marrying Mr Paterson, and concentrate instead on the arrangements, and on being pleasant to his friends.

  They were a strange crowd, I thought. The men were bluff, confident, and a little arrogant, as only those who are used to success and the respect that comes with it can be. One or two were real gentry, a lord here, a sir there, and the others aped their demeanour, so that they gave the appearance of gentry too. But I sensed a rough edge hidden beneath the surface, and a certain ruthlessness. These men had made their fortunes in a hard world, most likely walking roughshod over anyone who got in their way, climbing on the shoulders of lesser men. And they would not be prepared to relinquish a penny piece, if anything, they would do whatever was necessary to grow ever richer. I sensed this ruthlessness in Mr Paterson too. He was just the same. And was I not living proof of it? Mr Paterson had wanted to marry me, and Mr Paterson had got his way.

  As for the wives of his friends, I liked them even less than the men. They were very much given to airs and graces, and forever trying to better one another with the latest fashions, both in their dress and in the furnishing of their grand houses. This seemed to be their sole aim in life. That and spending their husbands’ money!

  But perhaps some of my dislike came from feeling they looked down upon me, a country mouse with no dowry to speak of and no knowledge of the finer points of how society conducted itself.

  Well, I thought, I would show them! I would show them all! I might be apprehensive about that walk down the aisle, but none of them would see it. I would carry myself with pride, knowing that, in the watered-silk gown that was being made for me by the finest dressmaker in Bristol, I was the equal of any of them, and looked far nicer. And if my hair came out of its pins, as it almost always did, I would hold my head high and pretend it was the latest fashion. And not one of them would know that inside I was shaking with nerves and heavy of heart.

  I would make my grandparents proud of me if it was the last thing I did!

  * * *

  ‘I should very much like to visit the hot well and pump room, Davina,’ Aunt Linnie said.

  It was a fine, bright morning, and today we had no appointments to keep, no fittings to attend, nothing but the day spread out before us to do as we pleased.

  I frowned. ‘I didn’t know that Bristol had a spa,’ I said.’

  ‘Oh yes! It’s a wonderful place, I’ve heard. And the water is so beneficial! I think it might cool these hot flushes that have been troubling me…’ Aunt Linnie pressed her fingers to her cheeks, which certainly looked a little rosier than usual.

  ‘It would do you good to have a glass too, Davina,’ she ran on. ‘You have been very pale these last few days, not at all yourself. Are you not sleeping, dear?’

  I was not sleeping well; I was troubled by improbable dreams and then waking with the first pale light of dawn to lie tossing and turning whilst the chaotic thoughts chased one another around my brain. But I was not about to admit it to Aunt Linnie – nor to drink so much as a drop of the spa water if I could help it! Once, when I had been recuperating from my accident, my grandparents had taken me to the pump room in Bath with the idea that the waters would benefit me, and, frankly, I had found the taste of them quite disgusting.

  ‘I’m perfectly well, Aunt,’ I said. ‘But, of course, if you would like to go to this hot well, then we shall.’

  ‘Oh Davina, you are such a good girl! Mr Paterson is a very lucky man. You are so very different from your mother! Oh, but she was a wild creature! She cared for no one but herself, you know…’ She broke off, the flush in her cheeks deepening. ‘Oh, I’m not supposed to talk about your mother. I promised Joseph I would not. There are so many things I am not supposed to talk about, it quite makes my head spin!’

  I frowned. ‘What things?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh…’ She fluttered helplessly. ‘Things, Davina. Just things. Don’t press me, please. You confuse me, and if I told you what they were, then I’d have broken my promise already, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Aunt Linnie…’

  ‘No – no!’ She hurried to the door. ‘We shall have to send for Mr Paterson’s carriage, I suppose. It’s such a nuisance Charles didn’t provide us with one. Why he is suddenly pretending poverty I don’t know. He has always had nothing but the best.’

  ‘Perhaps he liked you to think he was better off tha
n he really was,’ I suggested.

  Aunt Linnie did not respond to this. ‘I do think it would be best if we went to the pump room nice and early,’ she said. ‘It’s less likely to be crowded. And in any case, we want to make the most of the day. I think it could turn thundery later on. My head feels quite tight, and that is always a sign.’

  She fluttered out, leaving me puzzled and frustrated as to what she had meant by her remarks about ‘things she had been asked not to talk about’. That Grandfather had not wanted her to discuss my mother with me, I could well believe. He was always reluctant to so much as speak her name. But Aunt Linnie had said that there were other things. She had never made mention of them before – but then, until she had accompanied me to Bristol, I had never spent any time alone with her, and, since we had arrived, she had been so full of her ‘adventure’ that she had thought of nothing else. Now…

  Oh, it was typically Aunt Linnie, of course, enjoying her little secrets and getting everything wrong. But I was not entirely convinced. A little simple she might be, but there was something she had not wanted to tell me. And with the blank wall of memory loss shutting off the whole of my previous life, I was anxious indeed to know what it might be.

  * * *

  Mr Paterson’s carriage arrived at the front door of the house in Queen’s Square within the hour. Thomas, the handsome black slave, was driving it. He was as polite as ever, but equally unapproachable, with that silent dignity which almost suggested that he felt himself superior to us despite the fact that he was owned, body and soul, by Mr Paterson. His chiselled features might almost have been carved from stone, I thought, as he handed us courteously into the carriage and resumed his place in the driver’s seat.

  Very soon we were beside the river. The tide was out this morning, leaving thick banks of mud, and the smell I found so offensive wafted on the gentle breeze. But the sun glinted on the white limestone cliffs of the Avon Gorge, and the thick woodland on either side was lush and green. As we drove along the little road which hugged the bank, I saw a riverside walk, shaded by trees, and a colonnade of shops, built of red brick and fronted by white pillars.