Forgotten Destiny

by Forgotten Destiny (retail) (epub)

  She is two years old.

  Two years old. Two years ago I had lain unconscious in my grandparents’ house.

  It must be a trick. It must be! And yet somehow there was a rightness to it, a rightness that had no foundation in logic, but came from the heart of me, from somewhere buried deep within my being. My thoughts whirled around and around as I stood with my back pressed against the wood panelling of the door to support me, staring alternately into space and back at the letter.

  A tap on the door made me start violently; the paper fluttered from my nerveless hands to the floor.

  ‘Mrs Paterson?’ It was Perrett’s voice, thick with a soft West Country burr. ‘Is everything all right, Mrs Paterson?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Perrett.’ I was afraid the turmoil I was experiencing would be evident in my voice, but to my amazement it sounded reasonably normal.

  ‘Is there anything you need?’ Perrett asked. ‘Can I do anything for you?’

  ‘No – no, I’m perfectly fine. I’ll be down in just a moment.’

  ‘Very well, madam.’

  I waited until I heard her footfalls disappear along the landing before I risked moving away from the door to pick up the letter from where it had fallen. Then, without stopping to look at it again, I quickly folded it and placed it inside my bodice.

  I must join the others downstairs. Mr Paterson must already be concerned about me and the time I had taken, or he would not have sent Perrett up to seek me out. If I did not go down to the parlour, and quickly, he would no doubt come looking for me himself, afraid that the voyage and carriage journey had taken its toll on me.

  For a wild moment I wondered if I should pretend that I was indeed unwell and gain a little much-needed privacy. But it might not work out like that. Mr Paterson, in his present mood, might very well insist on sitting at my bedside, smoothing my brow and holding my hand, and if he did that I thought I would go quite mad! Better to act normally, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

  And besides, there were things I wanted to do that I could not do if I was confined to my room. Pressing things, such as getting Thomas alone and asking him just how he had come by the letter and how he had known that its contents were best discovered by me when there was no one with me to witness my shock. It would not tell me anything about Richard Wells’ outrageous assertions, but at least it would be a start.

  Taking a deep breath and composing myself as best I could, I went downstairs.

  * * *

  The condition of pregnancy, I suppose, covers a multitude of sins. It can be used to excuse any peculiar behaviour, and everyone who witnesses it simply nods sagely, exchanging knowing glances and smiling indulgently. If I had not had my pregnancy to hide behind, heaven alone knows how I would have managed to get through the day without anyone suspecting something was not simply troubling, but obsessing me, or even worse, deciding that I had, whilst out of the country, gone stark raving mad.

  I could not concentrate on any conversation – and there was plenty of that, for Mr Paterson had sent to invite his good friends Sir Harry and Lady Amelia Bell to dine with us. He maintained it was to enable him to catch up on any important developments that had transpired in his absence, concerning the Merchant Venturers; I suspected it was, more likely, to give him the chance to boast about his forthcoming fatherhood, for he wasted no time in imparting the news to his friends.

  ‘Wonderful news, Paterson! Wonderful news indeed!’ Sir Harry clapped Mr Paterson on the back. ‘This calls for a toast, does it not?’ He raised his glass. ‘To your son – if son indeed he be! And may he be the first of many!’

  ‘Oh Harry!’ Lady Amelia remonstrated. ‘You’d be less ready to say such a thing if you were the one who had to bear a whole brood of children and bring them into the world!’

  She turned to me, kissing me on the cheek and adding more softly, for my ears only: ‘Congratulations, my dear Davina! And don’t worry about what I said. It’s not so bad – at least, the worst of it is quickly forgotten in the joy of holding your baby in your arms. And the first is the worst by far – the others follow much more easily.’

  The first. But perhaps this was not the first child I had borne, if the outrageous claim in Richard Wells’ letter was to be believed. At once I was back in my reverie, my thoughts racing, and I could only mutter nonsensically in reply.

  I could not eat. The food – a good piece of roast beef, especially prepared by Cook for our welcome-home meal – stuck in my throat and I pushed it around my plate, staring at it as if it might miraculously provide the answers to my whirling questions, and cutting it into tiny pieces which were still too much for me to swallow.

  Their voices were nothing but a background hum, like a swarm of angry bees; occasionally I realised with a start that someone was speaking to me and dragged myself out of my private world to make reply. But for the most part I was lost, drowning in confusion and churning emotion.

  I thought the nightmare would never end, that I would be trapped for ever in this web of social nicety. It was, I think, the most claustrophobic evening I have ever endured, forcing myself to go through the motions whilst my thoughts raced, chaotic and totally disconnected. But at last Lady Amelia touched her husband’s arm and rose.

  ‘I think it is time we were leaving, Harry. Davina is looking very pale.’ She smiled at me. ‘You must be exhausted, my dear, and the last thing you need now is to overtire yourself. You have the little one to think of, too.’

  The little one. A girl with hair turned gold by the sunshine…? But no, of course, she meant the baby I was carrying. Mr Paterson’s baby.

  ‘I am tired,’ I said. ‘I admit it.’

  ‘Of course you are! This travelling is all very, but now you need your rest. Harry! Do finish your drink, my dear, so that we can be on our way. You have to be up early, too, remember. There’s a breakfast meeting of the Merchant Venturers, or so you told me.’

  ‘Oh, I suppose you’re right.’ Sir Harry drained his glass and stood up, to my enormous relief. ‘You’ll be there, too, of course, Paterson. It’s a good thing you’re back. I had thought to brief you this evening with regard to developments, but in the event it seemed a pity to spoil a good dinner with business.’

  ‘Developments? What developments?’ Mr Paterson asked, and my heart sank, thinking they were going to begin all over again and my release from this unwanted company would be delayed yet further.

  To my relief, however, Sir Harry seemed as unwilling now to talk business as he had been earlier.

  ‘Too late to go into it now. That troublemaker has been at it again, stirring things up on every level, but I think we’ve enough parliamentarians on our side not to have to worry too much about him. Those that represent us know on which side their bread is buttered. But it seems there’s been some law-breaking, with Bristol ships involved. You’ll hear all about it tomorrow.’

  None of this made any sense to me; I was twanging with impatience now for them to be gone.

  ‘Come along, Harry!’ Lady Amelia insisted.

  As if by magic, Thomas appeared with Lady Amelia’s cape and Sir Harry’s cane; perhaps he had been listening at the door, I thought, anxious as I was for them to take their leave so that he could get to his bed. He looked at me gravely as he helped Lady Amelia into her cape, but the expression in his jet-black eyes was quite unreadable. And, of course, there was no opportunity for me to ask him the questions that were burning on my tongue.

  Then, thank heaven, our visitors were gone, and Mr Paterson was summoning Perrett to help me get undressed, and bidding me goodnight.

  ‘I think I’ll stay down a little longer, my dear – have another brandy,’ he said, and then, to my intense embarrassment, reached out and patted my stomach. ‘No point coming to bed with you tonight, I dare say. And no need either!’

  I must have blushed, because he added apologetically: ‘I’m indelicate, I know, my dear. But then, I’m just a rough trader at heart, and you’ll hav
e to become accustomed to my ways.’

  Mr Paterson’s indelicacy was, at that moment, the least of my worries. I retired to my room, glad to be alone at last, but knowing there was no escape from myself or from my chaotic thoughts and churning emotions.

  * * *

  When at last I fell into an exhausted slumber, the dream came again. My mother and I in the carriage, rocking along the rutted road. And the other – the one I could not see, hidden by the veil. As before, I reached out to move it aside. And this time it fell away. And behind it I saw the little girl with the sun-bleached hair; the little girl Richard Wells had held in his arms.

  I reached out for her and she came to me, round and baby-soft, firm, sweet-scented. Her little arms went round my neck, her head, with that fine cap of hair, rested trustingly against my chest. And an overwhelming feeling of joy welled up in me and the tears were wet on my cheeks.

  I knew the dream would continue as before, relentless as a stormy tide, and I could do nothing to stop it. Panic and a feeling of utter helplessness replaced the joy as the galloping runaway horses dragged the carriage behind them to disaster. And I held on to the little one as tightly as I could, desperate to keep her safe. Then we were rolling, over and over, and I knew the darkness was coming and that when I opened my eyes she would be gone. For there was still nothing I could do. Nothing at all.

  I woke with a start. My arms were empty, empty and aching with the emptiness. My face was wet with tears, my body bathed in a fine mist of perspiration.

  It was real, that dream, so very real! And in it the child had indeed been mine, not a doubt of it. But it was, of course, all nonsense, the product of my fevered imaginings. The child could not possibly have been in the carriage with me at the time of the accident. It had occurred more than two years ago and she was, according to Richard, only two years old now. In my dream she had looked exactly as she had looked when he held her up to see me – or for me to see her – outside the cathedral. Just the same. Not a babe in arms, but a pretty little girl.

  What in the name of heaven did it all mean? Was I being deceived – and deceiving myself into giving credence, for even a moment, to his claims? Or was I really a mother already, without knowing it?

  I thought of the ease with which I had conceived, of the lack of any real pain when Mr Paterson had consummated our marriage. Might it be that I had not been the virgin he had thought me? But would he not have known? Surely such a thing would be obvious to a man? But Mr Paterson had been so concerned about his own performance, or lack of it, that he might well have given little thought to me.

  With a little shock I remembered what Richard Wells had said in anger on the night of the reception – that Mr Paterson was being taken for a fool, and that I was not free to wed him. Could it be that was because I already had, not only a child, but a husband? Was that what he had meant? But if so, then why had he allowed the marriage to take place at all? Why had he not come into the cathedral and interrupted the service? Why had he not been there to object when the question had been asked of the congregation whether anyone knew of any just cause or impediment why I might not become Mr Paterson’s wife? Instead, he had lurked outside with a child in his arms and done nothing to intervene at all.

  None of it made any sense – none of it. But they could use me as a plaything, all of them, because I had no memory beyond the past two years, no way of knowing if I was being told the truth. So far, I had accepted everything I had been told; now I knew that someone was lying to me, for the stories were no longer compatible. Someone was lying – but who? And why?

  When I had undressed, I had slipped the note Richard Wells had sent me out of my bodice before Perrett could see it and slid it out of sight beneath my pillow. Now I took it out, crossed to the window, where bright moonlight shone in to make it almost light as day, and unfolded the paper.

  Did you not know our daughter? She is two years old and she needs you. So do I.

  ‘She needs you.’

  The words tore at the strings of my heart and again I felt the firm little body clasped tightly against mine as I had felt it in my dream.

  I had to know. Somehow, I had to know the truth. I could not live my life with the uncertainty.

  But how could I discover where the truth lay? And when I had it, what would I do with it?

  I stood at the window in the moonlight, empty arms wrapped around myself, shivering a little as the air cooled with a pre-dawn chill. I knew I would sleep no more tonight.

  * * *

  With all that was on my mind, I had quite forgotten that Mr Paterson was to take breakfast at the coffee house with the Merchant Venturers. Though I had thought I would not sleep, I must eventually have dozed after returning, cold and aching with tiredness, to my bed, for, the next I knew, Perrett was pulling back the curtains and setting a cup of chocolate beside my bed.

  ‘Here we are, Mrs Paterson. Cook’s sent up a lovely drink for you. And there’s hot water in the jug for you to wash when you’re ready. Oh – and Mr Paterson said to tell you he’s left already for his meeting and didn’t want to disturb you.’

  ‘Thank you, Perrett.’

  I felt drained, as tired still as if I had not slept at all, with eyelids that burned and a mouth that felt thick and furred, but it was an enormous relief to hear that Mr Paterson had already gone out. The thought of having to make some sort of sensible conversation with him when I felt so dreadful, and my brain was still so full of billowing cobwebs, was a daunting one.

  ‘You take as long as you like before you get up,’ Perrett said in her soft West Country burr. ‘You’ve nothing to do today but spoil yourself. And I think that’s what you should do. Just ring when you want me.’

  I managed a smile. During our weeks abroad I had become very fond of Perrett. She was a cheerful girl, and most reliable. And I thought she rather liked me too. She had confided in me one day that her previous employer had led her a dreadful dance and been impossible to please. ‘I shall try not to be like her, then,’ I had said, and Perrett had replied: ‘Like her, Mrs Paterson? Why, you couldn’t be if you tried! You’re more like us.’ Then she had clapped her hand over her mouth, horrified at her outspoken indiscretion. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean—’

  ‘I am like you, Perrett,’ I had said then. ‘I never had a maid before – I might have become one myself if I had not married Mr Paterson. And can’t I call you by your given name? It would be much more friendly. What is it?’

  But: ‘Oh no!’ she had replied quickly. ‘That wouldn’t be proper at all! It’s Becky, if you want to know, but you mustn’t call me by it. That wouldn’t be proper at all!’

  So Perrett she remained, but the warmth continued between us too.

  Now I thanked her for bringing me my chocolate and enlisted her help.

  ‘Would you ask Thomas to make the carriage ready for me?’ I asked. ‘I should like to call on my family. I haven’t seen them since the wedding.’

  The idea had occurred to me during the wee small hours. For one thing, it would give me the opportunity to speak to Thomas alone; for another, I wanted to question Theo. He knew more than he had told me, I felt sure, and even if he did not, he was in a better position than I to make enquiries.

  When I had finished my chocolate, Perrett returned to help me dress, and I managed a little breakfast, though I felt knotted up with nervousness. The landaulet drew up at the door with Thomas, immaculate as ever, in the driving seat. He gave no sign that anything unusual had occurred between us yesterday, and I waited until we were safely out of sight of the house before I asked him to pull over.

  ‘Thomas, I have something to ask you,’ I said, my voice tight with apprehension. ‘It’s about the letter you handed me yesterday on my return.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He was not looking at me, but staring out over the horses’ nut-brown backs. His handsome profile gave nothing away.

  ‘How did you come by it?’ I asked.

  Thomas glanced at me, his features still implacabl
e.

  ‘Mr Wells asked me to deliver it to you, ma’am.’

  I frowned. I do not know what I had expected, but it was most certainly not this.

  ‘He came to the house, you mean?’

  ‘No, ma’am. Not to the house.’

  ‘Then how…?’

  Thomas’s face was inscrutable. ‘I’d rather not say, ma’am.’

  ‘I don’t understand…’

  ‘He simply asked me to see that you received it as soon as you returned from your wedding tour, and to tell you that it would be best if you opened it in private.’

  I could tell I would get no more from him as to where he had encountered Richard Wells.

  ‘When was this?’ I asked.

  ‘The day after you left, ma’am. I told him you were expected to be away for some time, but that I would do as he asked as soon as I was able.’

  ‘I see. And if I were to ask you to take him a reply, would you be able to do that?’

  ‘I would, ma’am.’

  ‘Or tell me where I could find him?’

  ‘That might be more difficult, ma’am.’

  ‘I see.’ There really was no more to be said. ‘Thank you, Thomas. Drive on.’

  He did so, and I stared unseeingly at the grand new homes we were passing in Park Street, more confused than ever.

  * * *

  I was not entirely hopeful of finding Theo at home. When I had been staying at the house in Queen’s Square he had often been out on business during the day, and in any case it had occurred to me that, if he had been accepted into the Association of Merchant Venturers following my marriage to Mr Paterson, he might well be at the very same meeting that my husband had left early to attend.

  When I rang the bell, however, and Johnson answered it, she was able to tell me that he was indeed at home, though Great-Uncle Charles was confined to bed with an unpleasant cough and wheezy chest. She showed me into the parlour and shortly afterwards Theo joined me there.