Forgotten Destiny

by Forgotten Destiny (retail) (epub)

  ‘Why, then, have you never married, Theo?’ I asked archly. ‘Could it be because you have never met a woman you loved in the way you speak of with such disdain?’

  He smiled suddenly, reverting to the charming man I had come to know.

  ‘Touché, Davina. But it’s different for a man. And if I were to meet a woman who could offer me all the advantages John Paterson can offer you, I might well be prepared to overlook the fact that she might be plain and dull.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know why I am trying to talk you into this match,’ Theo went on, teasing me with his eyes, ‘when I ought to be persuading you into marrying me instead. Now, you and I, we’d make a handsome pair. But I’m prepared to make the sacrifice and let the better man have you. Noble of me, I think.’

  ‘Theo…’ I protested, feeling the colour flood my cheeks.

  ‘You think I jest, Davina – and perhaps I do, a little. But if things were different I’d sweep you off your feet, I promise you, and John Paterson – and any other man – would not stand a chance.’ He reached over and took my hand and his face grew serious again. ‘Don’t talk any more of calling this wedding off, there’s a good girl. It’s pre-marriage nerves, that’s all.’

  The shutters, through which just a little light had briefly glimmered, slammed tight shut again, the bars of the cage that held me were secured once more.

  ‘At least you’ll be safe from that devil,’ he said. Then he stood up. ‘Come on, Davina, I’ll take you home.’

  * * *

  The conversation I had had with Theo played itself over and over in my mind from beginning to end and end to beginning. But although of course I could not help wondering about his motives in his obvious eagerness for me to marry John Paterson, it was the things he had told me about my past that mostly claimed my attention.

  From what he had said, it sounded as if the life I had lived with my mother had been rackety indeed. Small wonder my grandparents were so concerned to see me settled into respectability now. Though they had not been concerned enough to risk trouble and scandal when my mother had brought me to their door in search of refuge!

  I must not blame them for that, though – I felt sure they could hardly blame themselves more, and they had done everything in their power to make it up to me. What I could not help blaming them for was that they had not told me everything they could. Perhaps they had withheld what they knew with the best of motives, but I still felt they owed me the truth. And was there more? Things Theo had not heard about? I resolved that at the first opportunity I would question them further, prompted by the little Theo had been able to tell me.

  And then the man who had accosted me this morning was on my mind once more. Was it as Theo had suggested and he was the same man my mother had tried to protect me from? Had he been the cause of the accident, with its terrible consequences? Was I in danger from him still – now that he knew I was not dead, but here in Bristol?

  Around and around in my head it ran, until I thought it would drive me mad. Around and around. And always, hanging over me like a dark cloud, my obligation to marry Mr Paterson.

  * * *

  It was hardly surprising, perhaps, that I dreamed that night. And all the elements of my waking confusion were in the dream, thrown together in a pot-pourri that made no sense at all. I tossed and turned as if I had a fever and when dawn broke I pushed aside the covers and went to the window, looking out over the roads that criss-crossed the green expanse at the centre of Queen’s Square. But I could not remain there for ever; it would be some hours before the rest of the household rose, and so, at last, reluctantly, I returned to lie down in the great, ornate bed.

  Though I had not expected to, before long I fell asleep once more. And this time, when I dreamed, there was more form to the dream.

  I was in a carriage, and my mother was there. I felt her presence very strongly, smelled her perfume – the scent of lavender, sweet and haunting, and though I could not see her face clearly I knew it was a mirror image of my own, and, strangely, not a day older, so that it seemed to me that we were more sisters than mother and daughter.

  But we were not alone. There was someone else in the carriage with us, someone whose presence was every bit as strong as my mother’s, but whom I could not see at all. Whoever it was was hidden behind a veil. In my dream I reached out my hand to move the veil aside; it rippled, nebulous beneath my fingers, and remained exactly where it was. I tried again and again, increasingly frustrated, for I had the compelling feeling that it was vitally important for me to see who it was the veil hid. At last – at last! – it began to dissolve like mist in the sunshine. My heart beat fast with expectation. But there was no one there at all.

  My disappointment was so fierce, so all-consuming, that I began to weep. It was more than mere disappointment, it was a feeling of complete and utter desolation, of loss so great that my whole body ached with it. I wrapped my empty arms around myself and sat staring at the last swirls of the mist that hid someone so dear to me I could not bear to be without them, and yet hid no one at all.

  And then, quite suddenly, I heard the horses that pulled the carriage whinny, loudly and shrilly, as if something had caused them terror. The carriage rocked to an abrupt halt, and through the little window, I saw in the moonlight a dark-cloaked figure in a tricorn hat. His face, too, was hidden to me, yet I experienced a moment’s sharp bewilderment as I looked out at him. What are you doing here?

  Then a pistol shot cracked in the stillness of the night, and another, making my ears ring. The carriage lurched forward, throwing me back into my seat, and gathered speed with terrifying momentum. Someone must have opened the carriage door, for now it swung wide on its hinges, banging against the frame with the crazy rocking of the carriage, and the horses’ hooves were like thunder on the hard rutted ground.

  I screamed out in terror, yet my greatest concern was for whoever it was who had been hidden by the misty veil, but was not there at all. The carriage was swaying dangerously and I somehow knew what was going to happen next, but was powerless to prevent it. A jolt and an awful grinding sound and we were at a crazy angle. I was thrown into the corner of the velvet-covered seat, my head cracking into the side of the carriage, and then the world was revolving about me, dragging me with it, over and over, and I was thrown again, like a pea in a barrel. I heard the crack of splintering wood and the terrified screaming of the horses. And then nothing. There was stillness, silence, broken only by the sounds of staccato sobbing and a muffled cry that I thought might have come from my own lips. And the blackness came down, covering everything, and I was trapped. Trapped in a wrecked carriage. Trapped within the prison of my own mind.

  I woke then, and the dream was still so real I could almost touch it. The aura hung over me still, and my face was wet with tears. I lay unmoving, reliving every moment of it again, just as vividly as before.

  Had it simply been as a result of Theo’s terrible story playing on my mind? I wondered. Or had it been more than that? Could it be that those few bare facts had unlocked one of the doors inside my mind and allowed me to peep inside? Were the feelings I had just experienced – which still hung over me – not imagination at all but the feelings I had truly experienced on that night? The terror, the bewilderment – and the terrible aching loss for I knew not who? And if they were, who was it that had been in the carriage with me and my mother, hidden by a veil that not even my reawakening consciousness could lift?

  But the mists had come down again and I had no answers. There was nothing to hold on to but the tears on my face and the empty ache in my arms – and my heart. I could only pray that if the door had opened just a little once, it would do so again. And next time I would learn a little more of the circumstances of my lost past life.

  Five

  My conversation with Theo had made me forget for the moment the awful scene I had witnessed when the cargo of slaves had been dragged and driven from the hold of the ship, w
hich I knew belonged to my great-uncle. Under any other circumstances, I feel sure, their torment would have haunted me, and the knowledge that their suffering was putting the food I ate on the table, and the roof over my head, would have played dreadfully on my mind. But, selfishly, thoughts about my own situation had taken precedence.

  Next morning, however, when Mr Paterson’s carriage arrived to take me for a final fitting of my wedding gown, and I saw Thomas in his smart blue livery sitting on the driver’s seat of the landaulet, it all came rushing back.

  As he climbed down, tall and straight, a vision flashed into my mind of him half-naked and in chains, and I seemed to see his proud, impassive face contorted in agony as the face of that new arrival’s had been when the slave master brought the whip stinging down on to his bare back. When he handed me up into the landaulet it was all I could do not to shrink from his touch, so great was my discomfort.

  Well, at least Thomas did not have such a bad life now, I comforted myself. There were plenty of English people who were worse off, living in hovels, wearing rags, and never having enough to eat. But, for all that, they were in their own homeland, surrounded by their families. And they were free. Thomas, for all his fine livery, was a slave. He belonged to Mr Paterson and could be bought and sold for whatever he would fetch. And he had been trained and tamed as one might train and tame a wild animal. It was not right. It could never be right. But what could I do about it? I could remonstrate with Great-Uncle Charles, and beg him not to take part in this dreadful trade, but he would take no more notice of me than Theo had done. And even if he were to take notice, there were hundreds of other merchants up and down the country who would still carry on, for it was not just Bristol that gave safe harbour to the slavers. Had not Theo said that Liverpool was now an even busier slaving port?

  No, there was nothing I could do. But that did not mean I had to like what was going on. And when the fine silk gown whispered over my head and fell in ivory folds about my hips, I could not help but feel it was tainted by the blood, sweat and tears of these poor, misused Africans.

  * * *

  Since I had come to Bristol I had seen surprisingly little of Mr Paterson. He was, clearly, a man with a great many calls on his time. Now that Theo was home, I thought that, very likely, he saw more of my future husband than I did, for the merchants took many of their meals together in the coffee houses near the quay, doing business and socializing both at the same time.

  I mentioned it once to Theo, joking: ‘You merchants seem to find trading a most pleasurable pastime!’

  At once his face darkened. ‘The Venturers, perhaps. I’ve never been invited to join that elite band.’ Then he added, with that quick, rather wicked smile: ‘But I’m hoping that will change now that you are to be Mrs Paterson. I can’t think that John would wish his wife’s family to be seen as the poor relations.’

  I frowned, beginning to feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Would it make such a difference to you, then?’ I asked, and he threw back his head and laughed, the laugh of a man confident that his circumstances were about to change for the better.

  ‘It most certainly would! Insurance for our voyages would be cheaper and easier to come by – the Merchant Venturers band together to insure one another. We’d have free use of the crane for loading and unloading, and most of the port fees I have to pay now would be waived too. The Venturers, between them, own Bristol. Oh, it certainly would make the most amazing difference to my overheads. And I’d be invited to dine at the top table in the coffee house, where respect is taken as a matter of due.’

  ‘Theo!’ I said, half joking, half serious. ‘I hope you are not marrying me to Mr Paterson so that you can get better service for your breakfast!’

  And: ‘Well, of course, you have it, Davina!’ he joked back. ‘Some say a woman’s price is beyond rubies. I say it is beyond a dish of fine coffee and a wad of best tobacco!’

  I found it beyond me to raise so much as a smile, and he reached out to tweak a strand of that unruly hair of mine behind my ear. ‘If I become a Merchant Venturer, Davina, I, too, may be able to afford to run the shorter voyages instead of dealing in slaves to make a decent profit. Given your objections to the slave trade, I’d have thought you would be glad of that, at least.’

  I said nothing. If I had said anything at all, it would most likely have been something I would later have regretted. And I did not want to cross swords with Theo. In spite of his somewhat dubious motives for wanting me to marry Mr Paterson, he was still the closest thing to an ally that I had.

  ‘So, you think you do not see enough of your future husband?’ he went on, in the same jocular tone. ‘Perhaps you have a secret fancy for him after all!’

  ‘Not at all!’ I did not in the least mind not seeing very much of Mr Paterson. In many ways it was a respite. I could not help feeling that before too long I would be seeing rather too much of him.

  I was not much looking forward, either, to the first great occasion when I was to appear on his arm and he would present me formally as his future wife to everyone who was anyone in the city of Bristol.

  It was to take the form of a reception which Mr Paterson was hosting at his house in the Clifton heights. I had a new gown for the occasion, hastily made for me by the same dressmaker who had been charged with making my wedding gown, and when the great day came and I put it on, freshly shaken out from the box in which it had been delivered, my appearance in the long dressing mirror at least gave me a little much-needed confidence.

  The gown was straw-coloured satin, which looked well with my dark hair, and fell gracefully from a high waist, which emphasized the curves above it and my slim hips below. A white fichu decorated the plunging neckline and provided a perfect picture frame for the beautiful pendant, suspended from a velvet ribbon, which Mr Paterson had sent me as a betrothal gift, and which Johnson, the maid, had fastened around my neck when she helped me to dress.

  At least, I thought, I would be able to hold my own with the finest of the ladies I would be meeting tonight, and Johnson encouraged me further by her frank admiration.

  ‘Why, Miss, you will be the belle of the ball, and no mistake!’ she said, standing back, hands on hips, to get a longer view of me. ‘There’s not a man in Bristol who won’t wish it was him you were going to marry, mark my words!’

  The carriage was brought to the front door – Uncle Charles’ carriage this time, since he and Theo were to accompany me and Aunt Linnie, and we climbed into it. Aunt Linnie so fluttery with excitement that she could scarcely sit still.

  ‘For heaven’s sakes, Linnie!’ Great-Uncle Charles chided her. ‘Contain yourself do! You’ll frighten the horses!’

  That quietened her down for a little while; Aunt Linnie was rather nervous of horses at the best of times, and his words awakened an echo of apprehension in me, too, as I was reminded too sharply for comfort of the terror I had felt in my dream when I had been trapped in a rolling, swaying carriage that was no longer under the control of the driver.

  We drove up Park Street at a sedate pace, leaving the stink and squalor of the city behind, and drew up outside the house that was soon to be my home.

  From the first moment I had seen it, I had well understood Theo’s ambition to move to Clifton too. The house overlooked the gorge, which rose, thickly wooded, from the river. The tide was in this evening, and the river was busy with traffic. Little tugs guided a majestic sailing ship in, and a ferry boat crossed and recrossed the river. The late sun sparkled on the water, lending it a silvery hue that could not have been more different to the dark and filthy effluent I had seen slopping around the hulls of the boats when I had visited the docks, and I thought that the whole, dramatically beautiful, scene scarcely looked English at all, but almost as if it had escaped from an Italian painting. Certainly I could live here without complaint. I only wished it did not have to be with Mr Paterson…

  He came to the door himself to greet us and stood there, smiling broadly, his thumbs tucked into
the pockets of his trousers so that his coat was pushed aside to reveal the impressive expanse of his stomach.

  ‘Very glad you could be here good and early,’ he said. ‘I want Davina on my arm to greet my guests.’ He turned to me, his eyes narrow and appreciative in his florid face. ‘And what a picture she makes too! I’m a lucky man indeed to be marrying such a beautiful wife!’

  He took my hand, pressing his moist lips to it, and Aunt Linnie giggled, part scandalized, part envious.

  ‘Linnie! Would you do me the honour of allowing me to kiss your hand too?’ Mr Paterson asked, and for the first time I had a glimpse of the kind nature that lay behind his rather bombastic exterior.

  ‘Oh, Mr Paterson, I’m not sure!’ Aunt Linnie, all a-flutter, pressed a hand to her throat. But she quickly extended her other hand before he could change his mind, and as his lips touched it, a pink flush suffused her cheeks. ‘Oh, Mr Paterson!’

  ‘Two charming ladies!’ he said, still holding her hand between his. ‘I swear if I were not already promised to Davina, I would be hard-pressed to choose between you!’

  ‘Oh my! Oh my!’ I thought Aunt Linnie might be going to swoon clean away with pleasurable excitement.

  ‘Come on, Linnie, don’t make a fool of yourself now!’ Great-Uncle Charles admonished her.

  We went into the magnificent hall. It was tiled in the Italian fashion, and the late-afternoon sun, slanting in through the stained-glass panels around the door and windows, threw patterns of opaque light across it. Further light came in through a cupola in the ceiling, and the scent from a jug of tea roses which stood on a heavy oak bureau filled the air.

  Mr Paterson led us through into the long room, running the whole depth of the house, where the reception was to be held. This room was decorated on an Oriental theme, which I had heard was quite the vogue, with rich draperies and vases in fine porcelain, with a great Chinese urn on a plinth taking pride of place. This room, too, had been filled with flowers – yet more roses, lilies, and some long stems of exotic bloom that I imagined must have been brought from hotter climes as cuttings and lovingly cared for in a hothouse, for they were not of a strain that could ever have grown to their magnificent best in our English climate, however clement the summer.