‘To go against the law of the land?’
‘To save what little remains of our capital! It won’t be for long – just until my other plans bear the fruit I expect them to.’
‘Oh Theo, sometimes I find it hard to believe you are my son!’
‘And often, I promise you, I wish that I were not…’
Throughout this angry exchange I had stood transfixed, unwilling to intrude upon it, yet somehow quite unable to tear myself away as I knew I should. All families have their quarrels, I supposed, especially where business is involved. Always there will be conflict between the old lion and the young one in a pride when the balance of power changes hands.
But elements of this quarrel went further than that. All was not well with the trade as far as the Grimes dynasty was concerned, it seemed – the reason, no doubt, why Great-Uncle Charles had not had a carriage to place at my disposal. And beyond that, and more disturbing still, Theo was involving himself in something illegal in an effort to put matters right. No wonder Great-Uncle Charles was so upset! Like my grandfather, he was a man who lived by a strict moral code. But surely what Theo had done could not be so terrible?
I should not have stayed to listen, of course. I was a guest in the house, and what went on between Theo and his father was no business of mine. Guilty, I began to move away to take myself upstairs to my room until things had calmed down, as Aunt Linnie no doubt had done, but I had left it too late. Before I managed to reach the staircase, the door to the parlour was thrown open and Theo came storming out.
He checked when he saw me, his eyes widening with astonishment.
‘Davina!’
Flustered, I tried to smile as if everything were perfectly normal.
‘Theo! You’re home, then!’
Theo rolled his eyes heavenward.
He was a good-looking man, perhaps the most handsome I have ever set eyes on, with perfect, regular features and a ready smile that could charm the birds from the trees. He dressed well too, in the height of fashion, but just now his cravat was a little awry, and the colour high in his fair-skinned cheeks.
‘I’m home, yes – and I might wish I were not, but for the pleasure of seeing you!’ He gestured towards the parlour, and added in a low voice: ‘Why do men become so contrary in old age, Davina? Answer me that!’
I had no intention of being drawn into taking sides in the quarrel between Theo and his father.
‘I expect everyone has the right to be a little contrary with age,’ I said lightly. ‘Aunt Lin-nie…’
‘Oh, of course, she’s here too, is she not?’ He glanced around as if expecting Aunt Linnie to materialize as if by magic. ‘How is she? As simple as ever, I expect.’
In spite of myself, I could not help but laugh. Theo had that effect on me.
‘You should not say such things!’ I protested. ‘You are terrible! Aunt Linnie is very sweet.’
‘And simple-minded, as I said. Oh, come and take a walk with me in the garden, Davina. You can tell me how the arrangements for the wedding are proceeding.’ Theo took my arm. ‘Come on now, don’t refuse to keep me company. After the castigation I have just received from my father, a little chat with a lovely young lady is exactly what I need!’
* * *
What could I do but go with him?
The garden at the rear of the house was small but perfectly laid out; the heavy scent of the roses and lavender all but banished the faint, pervasive smell of the river, and when we sat down on a little bench covered with camomile, the perfume from the crushed stems rose in a sweet cloud all around us.
But, as I answered Theo’s questions, acquainting him with the arrangements that had been made, my head was still full of my encounter with the strange man and the compulsion I felt to try to learn what it meant before I could embark on a future that I wanted less with every passing day.
Dare I tell Theo how I felt? I wondered. But, of course, I did not. Instead I heard myself describing the floral arrangements we had ordered for the cathedral, where the ceremony was to take place, and for the grand reception that would follow, for all the world as if I were a normal, happy bride, excited about her forthcoming nuptials.
As for the quarrel I had overheard, not another word was said about that, and it was banished to the back of my mind. Already I had far too much that directly concerned me to think about without paying attention to things that were of no concern to me at all.
Or so I thought then. For I had not the slightest notion that the two subjects were more closely linked than I could ever have dreamed.
* * *
When we had eaten a light lunch of soup, cheese and cold meats, Theo said he had to go out on business and took his leave of us. Aunt Linnie and Great-Uncle Charles both retired to take their afternoon naps and I was left alone.
It was always a relief to be given a rest from Aunt Linnie’s ceaseless prattle, and never more so than today. For it had occurred to me that no one would miss me if I went out in search of the stranger who just might hold the key to unlock my hidden past. He had looked like a sea captain, I thought, or even an ordinary sailor – though I rather thought he was too well dressed for that – and the most likely place to find him would be the docks, which I knew were within walking distance of Queen’s Square. And it was to the docks that I planned to go.
I knew I should do no such thing, of course. Mr Paterson would certainly not approve of me wandering the streets on my own, and Grandfather and Grandmama would be scandalized if they knew. But the little imp that had made me tell Aunt Linnie I was quite used to taking care of myself stirred in me again. Why, the very excursion alone would be a sort of test to discover if there was any truth in that or whether it was simply something that had come into my head, and the prospect of uncovering such a little thing about myself was exciting. I could not think I would come to any real harm, and in any case, it was a risk I was prepared to take. If the man was indeed a seaman he might sail on the next high tide and with him would go my chance to discover why he had mistaken me for a girl called Rowan, and who she was.
A terrible sense of urgency filled me. If I could not find him I would burst with the not knowing. And besides…
I wanted to see him again. I wanted once again to experience that moment of heady joy. Wanted to see that weather-tanned face and those hazel eyes…
Frightened suddenly by the longing which filled me, I tried to push the thought aside. I had no business feeling that way. I was engaged to be married to Mr Paterson, and that was that. But at least perhaps, if I could only find the man again and talk to him, I would be able to put behind me this stupid notion that was suddenly obsessing me – that I was not Davina Grimes at all, but an unknown girl named Rowan…
I fetched my wrap and, trembling with my own daring, let myself out of the house.
The afternoon sun filtered through the plane trees as I walked quickly across Queen’s Square, past a fine statue of a man on horseback, in the direction of the masts of the sailing ships that were clearly visible above the roofs of the buildings ahead. One or two people glanced at me curiously, a woman alone in the city, but no one bothered me. As I came closer to the river the stench grew stronger, that nauseating stench of filth, of effluent, of rotting material, all mingled together with sugary sweetness. I had wondered why at times it was much worse than at others, and when I reached the wharf, I knew.
The tide was out, and the ships that were in port sat clumsily upon a thick bed of mud and slurry. The garbage that slopped lazily around their hulls was the main cause of that disgusting smell, undiluted by the sea water that flowed in at high tide to meet the freshwater trickle of the river.
My stomach turned, but I pressed a handkerchief to my nose and mouth and hurried on while the mean-looking half-timbered dwellings and gin shops gave way to impressive warehouses.
The dock was busy. Costers and hawkers bawled their wares, barrels rolled noisily over the cobbles, men worked to repair sails and rigging, shouting to one an
other – and, occasionally, to me. I ignored them, mustering what dignity I could and hoping desperately they would not think me a lady of easy virtue and molest me for favours. And all the while I scanned every group of men I could see for the one I was looking for. Once I thought I saw him and hurried eagerly forward, but when the man turned around, though similar in build and attire, I could see that he was much older, with a pockmarked face, one of his eyes covered by a velvet patch. He gave me a long, curious look with his one good eye, and, disappointed and embarrassed, I turned away.
A ship was unloading a little further down the river – or, at least, the gangplank was down and hands milling back and forth. I felt a little surge of hope. The ship must have come in on the tide; judging by how low the water was now, that must have been this morning. Could it possibly be that the man I was looking for was her captain? I wondered. I had no idea whatever of the routine of seafarers, but, eager as I was to hold on to the faintest glimmer of hope, it seemed to me quite likely that after many long months at sea a man might very well make a visit to a spa bath to wash away the dirt and sweat of a voyage and make himself presentable again.
I hastened towards the ship – and then stopped short in my tracks.
Down the gangplank came a line of black slaves. I knew at once that they were slaves, for they were manacled together by means of a chain passing through neck collars – men, women, even little children, ragged and unkempt, bloodied and bowed. As I watched, horrified, yet unable to tear my eyes away, one man stumbled, his legs no doubt unsteady from many months at sea, and the slave master, who was driving them like cattle, raised his whip and brought it cracking down on to the poor slave’s bare back. He made no sound, or if he did, it was lost in the hubbub of the quayside, but he raised his head, throwing it back on his shoulders, teeth bared, gaunt features contorted in a mask of pain, humiliation, terror – and despair.
I stood motionless, for I do not think at that moment my legs would have carried me a single step. My horror paralysed me; I could scarcely believe that one human being could treat others so. No, not even if they were savages, as Grandfather had said. And Thomas was certainly not a savage! Had he once been manacled and driven in this way? Had his first sight of English soil been these greasy cobbles and swirling filth? It must have been! Small wonder that his gaze now was impenetrable and hostile. How he must hate the white race who had inflicted on him such degradation and suffering!
All these things passed through my mind in less time than it takes to tell, yet there was, at that moment, no real coherence to them. I was conscious only of utter revulsion – and shame. Shame that I belonged to a race who could practise such atrocities, shame even for standing and watching. And still I could not move away. Still I stood there, transfixed, as the trade in all its raw horror became reality for me.
The line of slaves was dragged across the cobbled wharf and herded, with shouts and blows, towards an arched doorway that led into one of the dockside warehouses. They disappeared from my sight and still I stood, no longer even aware of that terrible stink, for my senses had been overloaded and I was, I think, in shock.
But there was yet more to come. When at last I tore my eyes away from the doorway into which the poor slaves had disappeared, and took a few steps along the quay, the name of the ship that had brought them here, emblazoned boldly on the sloping bows, came into my line of vision.
The Swallow.
I froze again. All my great-uncle’s ships were named for birds. Grandfather had joked about it, that his brother had never forgotten his country upbringing. The Swift. The Martin. The Swallow. This ship, which had plied its terrible trade from Africa to Bristol, was owned by my own flesh and blood. The suffering I had just witnessed was what put the food on our table and paid for the roof over my head.
Great-Uncle Charles and Theo did not only deal in sugar and rum.
They also dealt in slaves.
* * *
‘Davina!’
This time the name, and the voice calling it, were familiar to me, yet, stunned as I was, it was a moment before it registered with me, and I turned to see Theo coming towards me.
He had emerged, I supposed, from the same doorway through which the slaves had been taken, and he approached me with a look of scandalized horror clouding his handsome features.
‘Davina! What do you think you are doing here?’
For the moment, all thought of my purpose in coming to the quay was forgotten. I could think only of what I had just witnessed – and my outrage that my own family should be behind it.
‘Those poor people!’ I said foolishly.
Theo frowned, bemused. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The black people. In chains.’ I could not bring myself to use the word ‘slaves’. ‘They came from your ship, Theo!’
His frown deepened. ‘What of it?’
‘They were in torment!’ I cried passionately. ‘They looked so cowed – so sick! And the man driving them took the whip to them when they stumbled.’
Theo shrugged. ‘He was only doing his job. They have to be controlled, and the whip is the only language they understand.’
‘But it’s so cruel!’ I cried.
‘Oh, don’t be foolish! They are not like us.’ His tone was disdainful.
I thought of Thomas: proud, dependable – and quick to come to my aid when he had thought I was being threatened.
‘Not so different, surely?’ I said. ‘Oh, a different-coloured skin, perhaps, but underneath it, not so different. How can you condone what is done to them, Theo? Taking them, all unwilling, from their homes, and treating them so?’
‘It’s business,’ he said coolly. ‘A perfectly respectable trade.’
‘It’s barbarous! I can’t believe you can profit from trafficking in human life!’ A thought struck me. ‘Does Mr Paterson trade in slaves too?’
‘John? He did, of course. All the great merchants of this city did.’
‘Did?’ I repeated. ‘You mean he does not do so any longer?’
‘He has no need to. His fortune is made. Now he can afford to undertake the shorter voyages only – to the West Indies. There’s less risk of losing a ship than on the dangerous passage between there and Africa. And in any case, Liverpool is ruining our trade.’
Well, that at least was of some small consolation, I supposed. But even so, all the luxuries I was to enjoy as Mr Paterson’s wife had been bought with the lives of poor wretched souls, such as I had just witnessed being treated with less respect than a man treats his horses.
‘I don’t know why you should look so disapproving, Davina,’ Theo said. ‘You have always known we are merchants, and merchants take their profits where they can.’
Into my mind shot the quarrel I had overheard between Theo and his father. But it could not have been slave trading to which they had been referring when they had talked of breaking the law. Slave trading was perfectly legal, if immoral, as I was beginning to believe.
‘You still have not explained what you are doing here, Davina.’ Theo had taken hold of my arm as if he were afraid I might suddenly make a break for it and disappear among the dock workers and hawkers. ‘It’s not proper for you to be here at all – much less alone. Dear God, it’s not even safe!’
‘No one has harmed me!’ I retorted.
‘And thank God they have not! John Paterson would never forgive us for not taking better care of you if…’ His jaw tightened. ‘Don’t you realize the danger you have put yourself in with this foolishness? You could have been attacked, robbed… or worse! You could have been taken by white slavers… oh yes, they exist, and not only in popular fiction! A beautiful girl like you would fetch a pretty price…’
‘Well, I wasn’t taken by slavers!’ I said mulishly, though I have to admit the very notion made my blood run cold and made me aware, suddenly, of the extent of my recklessness. ‘Unlike those poor souls…’ I looked meaningfully towards the warehouse door, which had now closed.
; ‘And never mind the danger – what of your reputation?’ Theo went on. ‘I hope to God John doesn’t get to hear that his future wife was walking the quay like a common fishwife – or a harlot plying her trade. He’d call the wedding off, as like as not.’
I was beginning to lose my temper. ‘And perhaps that is just as well!’ I snapped.
An alarmed look crossed Theo’s handsome face. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I don’t want to marry him anyway!’ I declared. ‘I never wanted to. I’m only doing it to please Grandmama and Grandfather.’
‘Davina!’ Theo looked thunderstruck. ‘You can’t mean it…’
‘You wanted to know what I am doing here,’ I went on. ‘Well, Theo, I’ll tell you. I am searching in vain for the answers to some very pressing questions. Answers that you may well be able to give me. And I swear that, until I have them, I cannot – will not – marry John Paterson, or anyone else!’
Four
I must have spoken with great conviction, for Theo seemed to believe me.
‘What questions, Davina?’ he asked, his eyes, narrowed and wary, searching my face.
A man rolled a barrel so close past us that some dirty water that had lain in a puddle on the cobbles splashed up and splattered my skirts.
‘Look where you’re going, can’t you!’ Theo shouted at him angrily, for it was clear the man’s attention to his job had been quite overtaken by his curiosity at seeing a merchant and a lady arguing there on the quayside.
‘Do we have to talk here?’ I asked. ‘Isn’t there somewhere more private?’
‘Yes. You’re right.’ Theo’s hand tightened under my elbow, steering me towards the door through which the poor slaves had disappeared, and my throat tightened at the thought of seeing them once again. But once inside I found myself in a narrow passageway, on one side of which was a heavy door, presumably leading to the cellars, and ahead of us a staircase. The slaves had been driven into the cellar, judging by the sounds that came from behind that door, and it was towards the stairway that Theo was leading me.
Forgotten Destiny Page 5
