She pressed her hand to her heart, her breathing ragged, and I realized I must indeed let this go or risk some kind of fatal attack.
‘I’ll fetch you a glass of water, Grandmama,’ I said, and I left her there with the guilt I knew she must always bear.
* * *
So, she was my child, little Alice, just as I had known she was all along deep in my heart. And I wanted her so much! My arms ached for her, my mind ran in great swirling circles. I must get a message to Richard somehow – I must! Even if it meant braving the docks again in search of him. Someone must know him, surely! But I could not risk Theo learning of it. Theo had had Richard beaten once, next time he might arrange for worse, to ensure I was kept from him, and Alice would not only be without a mother, but without a father too. I must achieve the meeting with Richard without Theo’s knowledge. But how… how…?
And then, when the mourners returned from the burial, the solution presented itself to me, for I saw that Dr Thorson was with them. He must have attended Great-Uncle Charles, I supposed, come to the service as a mark of respect for a patient and been invited back for the customary glass of brandy or dish of tea. Now I remembered that he had treated Richard after his beating, and even intimated that he knew him beyond the strictly professional relationship.
Dare I solicit his help? Could I trust him to say nothing to anyone but Richard himself? He was, after all, my doctor too. He had treated me once and would doubtless attend me at my confinement. Surely anything I said to him would be treated with confidentiality – the confidentiality of his Hippocratic oath?
I could not keep from trembling as I passed amongst the mourners with little dishes of sweetmeats. Grandmama sat in a corner, pale still, very pale, but everyone took it to be grief. Only I knew the truth. And she was watching me like a hawk, afraid, no doubt, that I would begin to rail at Grandfather as I had railed at her.
She need not have worried. I knew that would achieve nothing and I had other things on my mind now. Namely, how to approach Andrew Thorson without arousing suspicion.
My chance came when I saw him standing alone. I took my dish of sweetmeats and crossed to him hastily.
‘Dr Thorson?’
‘Oh, Davina, not for me, thank you!’ he said, with his wry little smile. ‘I’ve eaten quite enough already and my housekeeper will have a feast of a meal waiting for me when I get home too.’
‘Dr Thorson,’ I said in a low voice. ‘Do you remember I asked you once before about Richard Wells?’
‘Yes.’ His eyes were speculative now. I felt he was looking right inside me, seeing what was in my heart. Hot colour rushed to my cheeks; I tried to ignore it.
‘Do you ever see him now?’ I asked tentatively.
‘Not for the last week or so,’ he said. ‘And I won’t be seeing him again for some time.’
‘Oh!’ I was quite unable to hide my dismay. ‘But why?’
And Andrew Thorson replied: ‘Richard Wells has sailed on a long voyage. He will not be returning until late spring at the earliest, and he may be gone longer. I would think it will be many months before he is back in England and I, or anyone else in Bristol, sees him again.’
Thirteen
The desolation I experienced then was worse than anything that had gone before. I had come to a decision. I had learned that Alice was indeed my daughter, and that Richard and I must have been lovers, whatever the rights or wrongs, wisdom or folly of the relationship. I wanted with all my heart to see both him and Alice, wanted it with an urgency that burned like a fever in my blood, even though I was not sure that he wanted to see me now that he knew I was expecting Mr Paterson’s baby. I had been prepared to go to him and take my chances because I could no longer bear to do otherwise. I no longer felt any responsibility towards Mr Paterson or my grandparents – at least none that would keep me from following my heart.
And now, just when the way was clear, Richard Wells had set out on a voyage that would keep him from me for many months! The cruelty of it was like a chill winter wind that blows suddenly in to remove any hope of warm days, and the bleakness of it was a pit of despair.
I would not see him and I would not see Alice, for I knew that, wherever she was, whoever was caring for her, I could not insinuate myself into her life until I had first come to some arrangement with Richard. He had been right to be concerned about the effect it would have on her if I was to take a place in her affections only to disappear again. I would not do so willingly, of course, but Richard might have other ideas. And he would not, I felt sure, take kindly to returning and finding that I had made contact with her without his permission.
My new baby would be born, too, before his return. The baby to whom I still owed a duty of care.
There was nothing for it. I would have to return to Mr Paterson and make the best of it, for the time being at least.
I had no other choice.
* * *
The days passed and the weeks, and it seemed to me almost that I had stepped out of time and stopped living. I existed, yes, sleeping and waking and moving through the days with each one indistinguishable from the one before. I discussed menus with Cook, I carried out my duties of overseeing the household, I did a little needlework, stitching linens to make a layette for my baby, and all in this curious hinterland that seemed oddly divorced from reality.
My relations with Mr Paterson remained strained; I could not look at him without feeling disgust, but he was out a good deal by day and, thank heavens, he did not bother me at night. He did not want to risk another humiliating rejection, I supposed, and possibly did not want to remind me of that night. As if I could forget! Even now, when the house was silent and I lay sleepless, I seemed to hear Dorcas’s screams and sobs, as if they had somehow become imprisoned in the very walls, and echoed out when there was no other sound to drown them.
At least, mercifully, she seemed to have suffered no lasting harm, physically, anyway. The bath and douche that I had given her must have washed away Mr Paterson’s seed, for her thin little body showed no sign of growing thicker about her stomach, though the good food I insisted she should be given had put a little flesh on her thin arms, and her dress no longer hung on her like a sack. I had ordered two new ones for her, but she still wore the old one more often than not. Perhaps this was to hide the silver collar Mr Paterson had had made for her, bearing her name, which I knew she hated; perhaps because she thought she was safer from his unwelcome attentions if she was well hidden beneath folds of fabric.
I did not think Mr Paterson would bother her again, however. I thought that he was truly ashamed of himself – and so he should be! It did occur to me to wonder if perhaps he was visiting the loose women who plied their trade in the mean streets around the docks, and found I could not care very much if he was or not. Just so long as he left me alone, and did not try to force himself on Dorcas, he could do as he liked. And if he caught the pox, it was no more than he deserved.
As I drifted through the days in this strange, abstracted state, something rather curious occurred. Snatches of my past began to return to me.
As first I thought that, like the dreams that came when I was sleeping, the little scenes that entered my head were my own interpretation of the things Richard had related to me, my imagination working with the new food he had provided for my hungry soul. But some of the pictures that came to me had no basis in what he had said. They seemed to belong to an earlier life of which he had said nothing; which he could not even have known about.
Once, when I went to the kitchen to return the day’s menus for Cook’s attention, the smell of the puddings she was boiling evoked in me the strongest sense of the past, but this time, instead of merely leaving me frustrated, a vision came to me of my mother, standing at a kitchen counter, with a whole array of appetizing ingredients laid out before her. And I, a little child, not much older than Alice, playing on the floor with some cooking implements. My mother said to me: Do you want to scrape the mixing bowl? and I jumped up eagerly
. She wiped her floury hands on her apron, lifted me up on to a wooden bench, and I ran the spoon around a crock and licked off the delicious fruity mixture, getting a smear of it on to my nose as I did so. And my mother laughed and said I was a messy little creature, and wiped it away, and I was upset because I had wasted a whole precious mouthful.
The picture was so sharp and clear it unlocked a door in my mind and I knew we had not always travelled with the strolling players. Sometimes my mother had found domestic work and we had lived in the servants’ halls of great houses.
On another occasion when I woke to find an early and unexpected snowstorm had turned the world outside my window white, I remembered my wonder as a child on making the same discovery. I had climbed up on to the window sill, pressing my nose against the cold glass, looking out at the drifts that had built up against the hedges and lay in a thick crust along a low stone wall, the path and garden all hidden beneath a pristine white blanket, and I had begged to be allowed to go outside and play in it, wade through it, leave my footprints on that unmarked canvas.
And I saw a man I knew was my father, a tall man with a pigtail wig that I loved to tug. His features were unclear, but I knew his eyes were blue and that he laughed a great deal and was kind to me, and let me ride on his shoulders. There was no trace of fear in my feelings for him, only a sense of security, of loving and being loved.
These scenes were, as yet, mere snatches, but the very fact that I felt sure they were real memories gave me the confidence to believe my dreams were real memories too. A sense of almost childlike excitement materialized from deep within me, as if I were right on the brink of something momentous. But it was frightening too.
The journey back to full recall had begun, I felt sure. What would I learn about myself along that journey? Would there be things I would rather not know? Almost certainly there would be. No life can be charmed throughout, no life can be nothing but sweet-tasting pudding mix and pristine new-fallen snow and a loving, laughing father. I must have known sorrow as well as joy, and in all likelihood fear and despair, disappointment and betrayal, though I could imagine nothing worse than the things that had happened to me during the last two or three years.
But there might be. Whatever lies I had been told, whatever doctored versions of the truth, one fact was more or less undisputed. My mother and I had fled to Gloucestershire for refuge. Whether it was a flight from some unspecified danger, as Richard Wells would have it, or a flight from Richard Wells himself, as Theo had claimed, I did not know. The more recent past was as thoroughly hidden from me as ever.
And I could not help fearing, with a weight of sick dread, that when I did at last remember, it would have the power to destroy me all over again.
* * *
One day when Mr Paterson was out, as usual, on business, Theo came to call on me.
Though at first he was his usual charming self, yet I knew instinctively this was no mere social visit. Something in his demeanour told me so. I thought he looked older, too, than when I had last seen him, thinner and more drawn. And very soon he came to the point of his visit.
‘Do you remember the conversation we had, Davina, on the day Papa died?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Admittedly, I had given little thought to it since. ‘You were concerned about the state of your business affairs, but hoping that things would take a turn for the better.’
‘Well, they have not,’ Theo said bluntly. ‘They are even worse. My best ship, the Blackbird, is overdue and my creditors are pressing. To be honest, Davina, I am facing ruin. That is why I am here – to ask you a great favour.’
‘Me?’ I said, startled. ‘But what can I do?’
Theo sat forward eagerly, elbows resting on knees.
‘You are John Paterson’s wife, and he is one of the richest and most influential merchants in Bristol. Talk to him on my behalf, I beg you. Ask him to make me a loan. It won’t be for long – just until the Blackbird comes home. I expect her any day, but I can’t afford to wait any longer. The root of the trouble is that I foresold her cargo in order to raise money I needed a few months ago. But the main merchant has found cheaper sugar elsewhere. He is demanding reimbursement of his advance, and I am unable to pay.’
I frowned. ‘Didn’t you have a contract with this man?’
‘Of course, but it’s already been broken by Blackbird’s failure to reach port by the agreed date. Every day I go to the docks, and there is no sign of her. She must come in soon though, and when she does my troubles will be over – for the time being, anyway. I can sell the sugar on again and repay Mr Paterson at once.’
‘But…’ I hardly liked to make things worse by pointing out the obvious, but since he was seeking to involve me, I felt I must. ‘Supposing she does not come home, Theo? Supposing that she has foundered and that’s the reason she is not here already. What then?’
‘Then I truly am ruined,’ he said simply.
‘But you have insurance surely?’ I ventured.
Theo smirked, but there was no warmth or humour in his eyes.
‘Not entirely. The middle leg of the return voyage is an expensive one. Africa to the Sugar Islands is a risky trip. I took a chance on it…’
‘Oh Theo!’ I bit my lip. No wonder Great-Uncle Charles had been angry with him. To risk sailing without insurance was a terrible gamble when it might result in not only the loss of the cargo but of the very means to recoup any losses – the ship itself! Then another thought struck me. ‘Did you say Africa to the Sugar Islands? That must mean your cargo was…’ My voice tailed away.
‘Yes. Slaves. As many as the master could pack in. Oh, don’t look like that, Davina, so disapproving! After all, they are only savages.’
I thought of Thomas and poor little Dorcas.
‘Sometimes I think it is we who are the savages,’ I said coldly, ‘and the way we treat them is less than human. But I don’t want to argue with you, Theo. I realize I shall be wasting my breath.’
‘I don’t want to argue either, Davina.’ He leaned forward. ‘Will you do it for me? Will you ask Mr Paterson if he will extend me a loan?’
‘Don’t you think it would be better if you were to ask him yourself?’ I suggested.
Theo moved impatiently. ‘So, you still haven’t forgiven me, then, Davina.’
‘Forgiven you?’ I repeated, puzzled.
‘For having that rat Richard Wells taught a lesson.’
‘Oh!’ I shook my head incredulously. ‘That has nothing to do with it, Theo. Why, I never even thought of it! No, I just don’t see that it is my place to discuss your financial affairs with Mr Paterson. I know nothing of business – I would not be able to argue the points as you could. I really think…’
‘He’s far more likely to be persuaded by you than by me,’ Theo interrupted. ‘To be truthful, I don’t even think he likes me very much.’
Well, that much certainly was true, I thought. Mr Paterson did not like Theo. My cousin must have seen my hesitation, for he rushed on: ‘Davina, do this for me, I beg you! Everything depends on it. My creditor is threatening to have the bailiffs sent in if I do not repay him, and quickly. I could lose everything – even the house. And no one would trade with a man who does not honour his debts. Word would spread like wildfire – damage has already been done, and that is just the beginning. I would not only be ruined, Davina, I would be bankrupt. If you have any regard at all for me – for the honour of your family – use your influence with Mr Paterson on my behalf, I implore you.’
I sighed. I was not at all sure how much influence I had with Mr Paterson where matters of business were concerned – or indeed, in any connection whatever. But distraught as Theo was, desperate as his plight seemed to be, I did not see that I could continue to refuse to do what I could to help him.
‘Very well,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ll do as you ask. But truly, Theo, I must warn you I am not overly hopeful as to the outcome.’
* * *
I approached Mr Paterson that very
evening; after all, from what Theo had said, the matter was of extreme urgency, and, in any case, I did not want to have it hanging over my head for a moment longer than was necessary.
I asked Perrett to help me dress in a rose-pink gown which I knew was one of Mr Paterson’s favourites – I was not above using my feminine wiles to get my own way, and though, to be truthful, I thought I looked like a great beached whale with my enormous stomach and swollen breasts, I knew that my condition might well work in my favour, for Mr Paterson was still puffed up with pride at the prospect of becoming a father.
I waited until he had eaten a good meal of roasted partridge, and drunk enough porter to mellow him, and then I took a deep breath and began.
‘Theo came to see me today.’
Mr Paterson’s features tightened. ‘Oh, he did, did he? And what did he want?’
This was not promising, but I pressed on.
‘I am worried about him, John. It seems he’s having the most dreadful problems. Someone is pressing him to repay a debt, threatening to set the bailiffs on him if he does not settle quickly, and he’s not in a position to do so until his ship comes home.’
Best not to mention that she was already overdue, I thought.
‘Well, I’m not surprised,’ Mr Paterson said. ‘He’s always sailed close to the wind.’ He smiled faintly at his own unintended choice of words.
I toyed with the stem of my wine glass.
‘I was wondering whether we couldn’t make him a loan, just to see him over this troubling time,’ I said tentatively.
Mr Paterson looked frankly amazed.
‘Whatever made you think of such a thing, Davina?’
I hesitated. I did not want to admit that Theo had been the instigator of my request. Mr Paterson would be far more likely to agree to it if he thought that it was my own idea.
Forgotten Destiny Page 20
