‘I have to,’ I said. ‘My grandparents…’
‘Your grandparents!’ He swore again.
‘Don’t speak of them like that!’ I said sharply. ‘They are good people, and they love me!’
‘Love you?’ His tone was scornful. ‘How can they love you, and do what they have done?’ The fear was back, prickling over my skin, and this time I faced it.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Pshaw! It’s a strange sort of love that robs you of your identity and hides the truth of your past. A strange sort of love that tears you away from those who care most for you and need you, then marries you off to a man old enough to be your father, for the sake of his wealth and position—’
‘That’s not so!’ I protested.
‘Isn’t it? Oh, I think it is! Theo Grimes and his father have been trying for years to infiltrate the company of the Merchant Venturers. In you they have seen their chance. They are using you, Rowan, for their own ends, just as they use everyone – without scruple – if they see the slightest benefit in it.’
‘No!’ I protested again, unwilling to hear my family slandered so by a man who was, after all, a stranger to me whatever he might say.
Richard Wells’ face darkened. ‘You don’t love him, do you?’ he demanded.
I could not answer. I could not betray Mr Paterson with the truth, but neither could I lie.
‘You can’t love him!’ Richard Wells sounded aghast, as if the possibility had never occurred to him before, and now he was facing the unthinkable. ‘No, I don’t believe it! If you think you love him, Rowan…’ The hand on my arm slipped to my wrist, jerking me roughly towards him. ‘I’ll remind you what love is. This!’
Before I could move a muscle in my own defence, I found myself pressed against him so close I could scarcely breathe. With one hand he still held me by the wrist, the other was around my back, his fingers like rods of steel digging into my skin through the thin silk of my gown.
I gasped with the last of my breath, and as I did so, his mouth came down on mine hard, trapping my lips with his as his hands trapped my body.
I felt a moment’s utter panic. And then, unbelievably, my lips were responding to his, and instead of trying to push him away or beat him off, my hands were on his upper arms, feeling the hard ridge of muscle there, holding him at first tentatively, then firmly. And something was stirring within me, some primeval urgency that was painful and sweet, both at the same time. There was warmth, there was desire, there was a magnetism so strong that without any thought I moved closer, so that my hips were pressed against his. And it felt right, so right!
I clung to him with no thought beyond a need I had never before knowingly experienced and yet which felt as familiar as the drawing of breath. And with it, the joy. Unbridled joy, a sense of coming home.
My lips parted, for all the world as if they knew exactly what to do, and I tasted his tongue. Closer, closer, but I wanted – needed – to be closer yet, and the urgency was a fire in me, chastening me, blotting out all conscious thought.
And then the door flew open, brighter light flooded the little room, and, as if from a long way off, I heard Theo’s voice.
‘Faith! What is happening here?’
The spell was broken; I tried to pull away, but Richard Wells’ arms held me still.
‘You vermin! How dare you…’ Theo was, I could tell, beside himself.
Richard Wells released me; I spun round. Theo caught my wrist, pulling me away behind him, out of Richard’s reach.
‘Don’t touch her!’ he grated out. ‘And get out of this house.’
‘Who do you think you are, Grimes?’ Richard’s tone matched Theo’s. ‘You are not master here.’
‘No, but John Paterson is, and it is his intended wife you are molesting,’ Theo returned. ‘When he knows what you have done, he’ll have you hung, drawn and quartered. So, if you value your life, you’ll go now, before I make him aware of it.’
‘And if I make him aware of a thing or two?’ Richard Wells said. His voice was low and threatening. ‘If I were to tell him he has been taken for a fool, what then? His intended wife, as you call her, is not free to marry him – and well you know it. And there’s more I could tell him, too, that would not please him – your dealings, to begin with.’
‘You know nothing of my dealings!’ Theo raged.
‘I know enough, and I’ll know more yet. But at this moment, it’s Rowan who concerns me. I will not see her wed John Paterson, or anyone else. She is mine!’
So shocked was I by my encounter with Richard Wells, Theo’s abrupt intervention and Richard’s furious tirade, that I had not had the wit to wonder about the things he was saying. But Richard’s retort cut sharply into my conscious mind. The words were an echo of what Theo had said to me before – that the ‘dangerous’ man from whom my mother had sought to protect me had threatened that, if he could not have me, no one else would.
A knot of panic deep inside me seemed to swamp all my other churning emotions. Suddenly, all I wanted was to run away from the angry voices, the claustrophobic room, the uncertainty, the pressures that had been brought to bear on me. My nerves were jangling, my legs trembling beneath me, the pain sharp as a bolt throbbing once again in my temple.
‘Stop it!’ I cried. ‘Stop it, both of you! I can’t bear it!’
‘Rowan?’ Richard Wells sounded alarmed; but it was Theo whose arm went around me, supporting me.
‘Now see what you have done!’ he grated at Richard Wells. ‘Davina has been very sick. Do you want to bring on a relapse?’
‘I want only for her to remember!’ Richard Wells returned harshly. ‘The choice she is making is no choice at all when she does not know what it is she is losing! She must be told the truth, and then—’
‘The truth!’ Theo exclaimed. ‘That’s rich, coming from you! The truth is not something you are familiar with, Wells! Davina’s family saved her from you once and we’ll do it again, if I have to kill you!’
‘Oh please!’ I cried. ‘Don’t begin again! Don’t…’
‘I’m taking her now to her future husband,’ Theo said. ‘And you had better stay away from her, Wells, if you value your life.’ He started with me towards the door, but with a movement surprisingly swift for such a big man, Richard Wells was there before us, blocking the way.
‘Then let her tell me first that she does not want to know what was between us… what will always be between us. Let her tell me first that she is prepared to sacrifice everything for marriage with John Paterson.’ He looked directly at me. ‘Rowan?’
‘I have to marry him,’ I whispered wretchedly.
‘Because your so-called family have told you that you must! They don’t care a tinker’s cuss for you. Rowan, except for what you can do for them! For God’s sake, listen to me!’
‘Stand aside, Wells, and let us pass.’ Theo’s voice was low and threatening. ‘If you do not—’
‘You don’t love him, Rowan!’ Richard Wells said urgently. ‘If you can remember nothing else, think of the kiss we just shared. Does he kiss you that way? Would you want him to? No! And you must not tie yourself to him for the rest of your life! Can’t you see that, at least?’
Tears had gathered in my eyes, tears of panic and confusion, tears for a past I could not remember and a future I dreaded. But: ‘I have to marry him!’ I repeated. ‘I am promised.’
‘Rowan…’
‘Oh please!’ I cried. ‘Just go away and leave me alone!’
For a moment longer he stood there, barring our path, then he moved abruptly, throwing open the door.
‘Very well, if that’s what you want.’ His tone was cold now, cold as ice. ‘I hope. Rowan, you will not live to regret it. But I know you will, if memory comes to you too late.’
He turned, and was gone.
My trembling legs threatened to give way beneath me; the tears ran in a hot flood down my cheeks. I turned to Theo, burying my face in his shoulder and crying out all
my confusion and despair into the fine wool of his coat.
On the chaise, totally oblivious to the drama that had unfolded, Aunt Linnie slept.
* * *
I do not know how I managed to get through what was left of the evening, but somehow I did, with not one of the guests, nor even Mr Paterson, realizing the turmoil that raged within me.
When at last I was able to stop crying, Theo lent me a kerchief to wipe my face and we emerged from the ante-room, leaving Aunt Linnie to her wine-induced slumbers.
The party was still in full swing and no one seemed to have missed me. But of Richard Wells and Lady Avonbridge there was no sign. They must have left, I thought, immediately following the altercation. And a good thing too, for if they had still been in the house, I dreaded to think what Theo might have done. Yet a perverse little bit of me regretted it. The chance to glimpse my past had been there, close enough for me to reach out and touch it, and now it had gone, very likely for ever.
But more, far more than that… Oh, I could feel yet the touch of Richard Wells’ lips on mine, the urgency that had ached and throbbed in me when I was in his arms. I could see his face, strong and shadowed in the candlelight. Hear his voice, urging me not to marry Mr Paterson.
‘What did he mean, Theo?’ I had asked when my tears had stopped sufficiently to allow me to speak. ‘What did he mean when he said Mr Paterson was being taken for a fool – and that I was not free to marry him?’
And Theo, striving without much success to contain his impatience in an effort to calm me down, had replied: ‘He’d say anything, Davina, to try to put doubts in your mind. Forget about it. It meant nothing.’
But it worried at me still; that, and the intensity of my response to him.
I was ashamed, too. Ashamed that I could have behaved in such a wanton way, ashamed, even, of the feelings of desire he had awakened in me. My cheeks burned as I remembered it, and the pain in my temple burned so fiercely I could scarcely bear it. But somehow I kept it all within myself, somehow I hid it and smiled at the guests and made foolish conversation, which they seemed to think was charming. And not one of them, I think, was aware of the turmoil raging within me. Not one, except perhaps Theo, who remained by my side, watching me closely through hooded eyes. And when the last guest had left and Mr Paterson, a little the worse for drink himself, pulled me close, with an arm about my waist and a rum-soaked kiss that mercifully missed my mouth and landed on my cheek, it was Theo who said: ‘I think it’s time we took Davina home, John. You’ll have her all to yourself soon enough.’
‘Indeed, and I cannot wait!’ Mr Paterson said. ‘You were a triumph tonight, my dear. A veritable triumph!’
I smiled at him with stiff lips and went with Theo to the carriage, where I was sandwiched in between him and a still-tipsy Aunt Linnie, whilst Great-Uncle Charles sprawled on the seat opposite, Malacca cane held unsteadily between his bony knees.
I had known Richard Wells in my other life; I now had no doubt of that. There had been something between us. But whether it had been something good or something so evil that I was better off not remembering it, I did not know. The questions were still there, more troubling than ever, questions I might have to live with, unanswered, for the rest of my life.
Only one thing was certain. I was promised to Mr Paterson, and by this time next week I would be his wife. Unless I chose to renege on the agreement. But that would cause the most enormous upset and bring great distress to the only people I could remember showing me love and affection.
I turned my face towards the carriage window, looking out on the dark streets of the city that was now my home, and felt nothing but confusion and utter despair.
* * *
The dream came again that night, and it was just as before. The carriage, occupied by myself and my mother and that mysterious someone who was hidden from me by a veil. The abrupt halt, the face at the window, my feeling of surprise, the shot, the wild, terrifying charge into the blackness of the night, the sense of impending doom, the crash, the edge of all-enveloping darkness. But this time, at the moment when the dream stopped and the darkness began, I cried out a name. And I thought that name was Richard.
* * *
With every day that passed, bringing me closer to my wedding day, my doubts increased, if such a thing were possible. Yet I could see no way out. No way at all.
I talked with Theo again, but the talk got us nowhere; we simply went around in circles. Theo apologized, it is true, for his behaviour on the night of the reception.
‘I’m sorry if I frightened you, Davina, but I could think of nothing but protecting you from that devil. How he had the brass nerve to gatecrash the party, I can’t imagine – but it is clear proof, if proof were needed, of the lengths to which he is prepared to go. Sweet Jesu, when I think of what might have happened…! Why, even as it was…’
He broke off and I knew he was thinking of the scene he had walked in on, but could not bring himself to mention.
I did not wish to mention it either. I felt too much shame. In one respect at least, I had no doubt Theo was right. It was not safe for me to be alone with Richard Wells. Never mind that I was afraid, in the light of what Theo had told me, to trust him. I did not trust myself!
What would have occurred had Theo not come bursting in? I wondered. Oh, I did not think Richard Wells would have harmed me, but there are other things to fear besides physical harm. As it was, I had disgraced myself and dishonoured Mr Paterson. And with the strong feelings which had robbed me of my self-control and sense of propriety, heaven only knows where the encounter would have led me.
My grandparents arrived, taking another of the guest rooms in Great-Uncle Charles’ house, and, whilst I was glad to see them, their arrival brought home to me more clearly than ever the finality of the course I was set upon. And made it more difficult than ever for me to even think of changing my mind.
‘Oh Davina, I know this is the right thing for you,’ Grandmama said.
She was not excitable about the coming nuptials as Aunt Linnie was, but she had a serene look about her, a glow that came from her obvious relief that my future was secure and she no longer had to worry that I might follow my mother and end up living a rackety life, far removed from the respectability they set so much store by. I did feel, however, that I must raise with her the fact that they had not been entirely honest with me.
‘Grandmama,’ I said, when we were alone. ‘Theo has told me something of the circumstances surrounding my accident.’
‘Oh!’ The serene look was gone from her face, replaced by a look of consternation, and, it has to be said, displeasure. ‘He should not have—’
‘He only did so because I pressed him,’ I said. ‘I realize you were only thinking of my best interests in keeping it from me, but it is very important to me that I learn everything I can about my past. Not knowing is dreadful; it plays constantly on my mind.’
‘Perhaps it is better that way,’ Grandmama said stubbornly.
‘Perhaps, but nevertheless…’ I hesitated, then: ‘Theo told me we had been to visit you just before the accident occurred,’ I continued. ‘He said that we were seeking refuge from a man who was a threat to me. I know this is painful for you, but is there anything more you can tell me about that man? What Mama said to you about the reasons she thought he was a danger, for instance?’
My grandmother shook her head. There was a tight, closed-in look to her face now.
‘Nothing.’
‘But surely… she must have said something by way of explanation! I must have said something!’
‘I can tell you nothing because there is nothing to tell,’ Grandmama said. ‘We never saw you and your mother that day. We were out, visiting one of your grandfather’s parishioners who was dying. Your grandfather was administering the last rites to him, and I went along with him in the hope that I could be of some comfort to his poor wife, who was soon to be a widow.’
‘But Theo said…’ I hesitated, confused. �
��Theo said you turned us away, and that you felt terrible guilt at having done so…’
‘Then Theo is mistaken,’ Grandmama said firmly. ‘It happened just as I said, Davina. We were not at home. It was only later that we learned you had come to us – George Hickley saw the carriage at the rectory gate, and you and your mother knocking at the door. He recognized your mother, of course. He had known her as a young woman, before… before she went away. The guilt we bear is that we were not there in her hour of need. She had swallowed her foolish pride, come back to seek our assistance, and we were not there. That is all I can tell you.’
Her face had crumpled, her lip trembled, and she twisted a small square of white lace kerchief between her fingers.
I was filled with disappointment and the all-too-familiar feeling of frustration. Once again I had come up against a blank wall. I was not sure who to believe as to the rights and wrongs of the story, Grandmama or Theo. But one thing was quite clear. I was going to learn no more, no matter how hard I pressed Grandmama.
‘It’s all behind you now, Davina,’ Grandmama said urgently, recovering herself a little. ‘Your future is secure now, that’s all that matters. You must look forward.’
‘But…’ I wished I dared say in no uncertain terms that I did not want to marry Mr Paterson. But whilst I sought for the words, Grandmama took my hand in hers.
‘We do feel guilt, Davina.’ Her lip trembled again. ‘Though it was fate that we were not at home that day, we still wonder if things might have turned out differently if we had been there. To have seen Elizabeth again, after so many years, would have meant so much to me – and to your grandfather, too, though he would never admit it. He is a proud man, and she had hurt him so much. But we did our best to make up to you for what had happened, you must believe that.’
‘I do, of course,’ I said.
‘Everything we did, we did with your best interests at heart,’ Grandmama said, and it was only much later that it occurred to me that her choice of words was strange to say the least of it. ‘Everything. And now… now we know your future is assured. You will be happy with Mr Paterson, I know – and we will be happy knowing it. So now, show me your wedding gown, dear, and let us forget about the sad times and the troubles, and look to the good times that lie ahead.’
Forgotten Destiny Page 9
