Forgotten Destiny

by Forgotten Destiny (retail) (epub)

  ‘Yes. They seemed convinced it was he who—’

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Theo interrupted me. ‘Thomas was devoted to poor John!’

  Hardly devoted, I thought, but I did not want to go into all that. Instead I said: ‘I can’t believe it of him either. Not really…’

  ‘What proof do they have?’ Theo demanded.

  ‘None that I know of. Just that he was seen running away…’

  ‘They have the wrong man, I’m sure of it!’ Theo said forcefully. ‘A proper search must be made of John’s premises. I wish now I had gone in myself when I heard the news, but I was so anxious to get to you. I hope no one conceals evidence for their own purposes. I can’t believe the murderer can have been there and left no clue as to his identity!’

  The pouch seemed to burn a hole in my pocket. This was my opportunity to tell Theo what Thomas claimed to have found. But I knew that if I did so, Theo would take it directly to the constable or the magistrate, only too ready to assume guilt on Richard’s part. After all, had he not already warned me just how ruthless Richard could be in his pursuit for me? Oh yes, he would certainly go directly to the magistrate. I had to speak to Richard first, give him the opportunity to explain…

  ‘I’ll go to John’s office at once, and see if I can discover any clue,’ Theo said, turning for the door.

  ‘No!’ I reached out and caught at his sleeve.

  Theo looked at me, perplexed. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because…’ I was thinking frantically.

  Theo’s carriage was here, outside the house. It could provide me with a means of transport to get to Lady Avonbridge’s house, and thence to the interview I so much wanted with Richard. But I could not tell Theo that. He disapproved totally of Richard, would never hear of me going to him. No, I had to think of another excuse – and quickly!

  ‘I want to go there myself,’ I said.

  ‘What! Davina – the scene of a murder is no place for a lady…’

  ‘But it is my duty,’ I said. ‘I have to see the scene for myself, Theo.’ I drew myself up. ‘It is my duty,’ I repeated. ‘I am – was – his wife. Please, lend me your carriage…’

  ‘I think it most inadvisable, Davina. But if you are set upon it, I will come with you.’

  ‘No!’ Again I spoke sharply. ‘No – the best thing you can do for me, Theo, is to take care of Daniel for me. He has never been parted from me for a single moment since he was born, and I cannot conceive of leaving him now with anyone who is not family. Please… do this for me. I shall not be long gone.’

  For a moment I thought Theo would continue to reason with me, or even refuse my request. His eyes narrowed, his face thoughtful. Then, to my surprise, he nodded.

  ‘Very well, Davina. If you insist. I must warn you this will be upsetting for you in the extreme, however.’

  ‘I know it, but it is what I must do,’ I lied.

  He took my hand. ‘Remember I am here for you. When you return, I shall be here for you. And have no fear, I shall take very good care of both you and Daniel. Hold on to that. I shall take good care of both of you from this moment on. You need never be afraid or alone ever again.’

  The misting tears filled my eyes. I pressed the hand that held mine and felt bad that I was deceiving the cousin who was one of my few relatives in the whole wide world.

  ‘Thank you, Theo,’ I murmured. ‘You are good to me indeed.’

  And, full of emotion as I was, set upon my quest as I was, I failed to notice the look on his face, the strange light in his eyes, that would have warned me, had I seen it, that Theo cared for me a great deal more than I had realized, and that the comfort and support he promised me went far beyond cousinly duty.

  Seventeen

  I took the carriage. I instructed Theo’s coachman to drive me direct to Avonbridge Hall. He looked, I admit, a little surprised, but he said nothing. He was a servant of the old school, used to doing as he was bid without question.

  My heart was beating fast with nervousness, my thoughts churning. It was almost too much to hope for that I should find Richard there, I knew, but at least Lady Avonbridge should be able to tell me where I could find him. I hoped against hope that she would not tell me he was at the docks. If that were the case, it might very well be that he had indeed gone to Mr Paterson’s office and killed him, either in a temper, or, worse, in cold blood, driven on by his determination that we should be together.

  The thought made me shudder afresh. However strong our love and our desire to be together, nothing could ever justify murder. Mr Paterson’s blood would be upon my own hands; the guilt would be with me until my dying day. And though there would be nothing now to keep us apart, I could not love and live with a man who had done such a thing – and I could not be content for him to raise my children either.

  But I did not know yet that it was so, I told myself. And until I did there was no point tormenting myself with it. But it was there in my mind, all the same, and I leaned forward to ask the coachman to make the best possible speed.

  My knees were trembling as I climbed down from the carriage, my hand, too, as I raised it to knock at the great front door of Avonbridge Hall. A butler came to answer; he looked down his nose at me when he saw I had no calling card to present, but nonetheless went off to inform his mistress that I was there, and returned, a few moments later, to show me into the drawing room. As I entered, Lady Avonbridge herself, imposing as ever, rose to greet me, but there was no warmth or friendship in that greeting.

  ‘Mrs Paterson! This is quite a surprise.’

  In spite of my nervousness – Lady Avonbridge intimidated me even at the best of times – I kept my head high.

  ‘I am very sorry to call on you unannounced, and I hope it is not inconvenient. But it is imperative I should speak with Richard, and I have no idea how to find him except through yourself.’

  ‘Indeed!’ She surveyed me with hauteur. ‘I’m not sure that I should help you, Mrs Paterson. I warned you once before that you should not play with Richard’s emotions, asked you not to hurt him again, but you paid no heed. You chose to raise his hopes of a reconciliation only to dash them. You elected to remain with your husband rather than come to Richard and your daughter.’

  ‘I had no choice,’ I said. ‘My husband issued me with an ultimatum – if I went with Richard, I would never see my son again.’

  She sniffed. ‘You chose your husband’s son over the daughter you have with Richard.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, spirited suddenly. ‘And if you can’t see why, then I really don’t have the time to explain it to you.’

  A corner of her mouth quirked. ‘Not so meek, I see, Mrs Paterson.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I don’t mean to be impolite, but really time is of the essence. I must speak with Richard urgently.’

  ‘And does your husband know that you are here?’ she asked archly.

  ‘My husband is dead,’ I said.

  I saw the surprise flicker over her face, then she sniffed again, pressing her fingertips together and looking at me with disconcerting directness.

  ‘I see. So now that you have lost one protector you are looking for another.’

  The last remnants of my patience snapped. ‘Lady Avonbridge, I know that you are a good friend to Richard, but—’

  ‘He is not here,’ she interrupted me. ‘You have had a wasted journey, I’m afraid.’

  My heart sank. ‘Can you not tell me where I can find him?’

  She gave a light laugh. ‘I can tell you – for all the good it will do you. Richard is in London. He left this morning.’

  Relief coursed through me. If he had left for London this morning…

  ‘Thank God!’ I whispered faintly.

  And then it came to me in a flash. What Lady Avonbridge had told me meant nothing. Nothing at all. Richard might well have left the house this morning to go to London, but he could easily have gone to the docks first. He could have gone to Mr Paterson’s office, killed him
, and been well out of the way by the time the alarm was raised. On his way to London – a perfect alibi. And a perfect hiding place, too, if anyone pointed the finger of suspicion…

  ‘Oh!’ I gasped, as all my doubts were resurrected, and pressed my hands to my mouth.

  ‘Rowan.’ It was the first time Lady Avonbridge had called me by my given name, but I scarcely noticed. ‘Rowan – would you care to enlighten me as to what all this means?’

  Her tone was kinder than before, there was less hostility in her gaze. And suddenly I saw her for what she was. A woman with great influence in this town. A woman of means. A woman of integrity and courage. A woman I could trust with the truth.

  ‘Lady Avonbridge,’ I said, ‘my husband did not simply die. He was murdered this morning as he sat at his desk. Someone broke his head with a heavy instrument. Our slave, Thomas, has been accused of the crime and is no doubt languishing at this very moment in some stinking cell – if he has not already been taken by a lynch mob. But before they came for him, he showed me something which he claimed to have found on the stairs leading to Mr Paterson’s office.’

  I pulled the pouch from my pocket, held it out to her with the lettering uppermost.

  ‘It’s Richard’s, isn’t it?’

  She took it from me, turning it over in her beringed hands. ‘It certainly looks like it.’

  ‘So, what was it doing on the stairs to Mr Paterson’s office?’ I demanded. ‘Why was he there, if not for—’

  ‘Not so fast!’ Lady Avonbridge interrupted once more. ‘This pouch is no proof at all that Richard was on your husband’s premises this morning or at any other time. It has not been in his possession for a long while. Do you remember the beating he took from a gang of thugs? The pouch was stolen from him then. I know that to be the case because its loss affected him more deeply than did the beating. “My bones will heal,” he said to me, “but my pouch, which was given to me by my grandmother to mark a special birthday, is gone for ever.” No, I am certain as can be that, whoever dropped that pouch, it was not Richard. And equally certain he will be delighted to have it back in his possession.’

  My mouth was dry suddenly. Was she speaking the truth, or attempting to protect Richard?

  ‘Whoever attacked Richard stole his pouch,’ Lady Avonbridge went on. ‘There was a good deal of money in it, which is doubtless long gone, but it seems to follow that the same ruffians are to blame for your husband’s demise. Thieves and vagabonds, willing to beat or kill for what they can get.’

  ‘Yes!’ I said it eagerly, relief returning. She was right, of course. It had been ruffians who had beaten Richard senseless, for all that they had done so at Theo’s instigation. Doubtless they had been only too ready to take what they could get by way of extra payment. And those same men would prey on any victim whom they thought might be worth their efforts. Mr Paterson was known in the city as a man of means. If he had been alone in his office he might well have seemed an easy target and fallen victim to their evil greed.

  But it seemed Richard had never mentioned to Lady Avonbridge that he knew who had been behind the terrible beating he had taken – to protect me, perhaps…

  ‘He led you to believe the attack was simple robbery, did he?’ I asked.

  ‘I assumed it to be,’ she agreed. ‘Though there are plenty of men in this town who would be glad to see him incapacitated, or even dead.’

  Her words shocked me. ‘Richard?’ I asked in disbelief.

  ‘Oh yes.’ She smiled slightly. ‘Richard is much hated for his crusade, I’m afraid, and has made many enemies.’

  ‘His crusade?’ I repeated, puzzled. ‘What do you mean, his crusade?’

  ‘Has he never spoken of it to you, then?’ Lady Avonbridge asked.

  I shook my head. ‘Since our reaquaintance, there has never really been the time nor the opportunity to talk much,’ I said. ‘And there is still a great deal I do not remember.’

  ‘And have you never wondered where it is he goes, what he does?’ she asked, looking at me in frank amazement.

  ‘Of course I wonder,’ I admitted. ‘But I know he is a sailor, and I assumed—’

  ‘He was a sailor,’ Lady Avonbridge corrected me. ‘It is some years now, however, since he followed that calling. Richard works now for the abolition of the slave trade. He travels the country, organizing meetings. He distributes pamphlets, he conjoins likeminded people in an effort to bring pressure to bear on Parliament and have the laws of the land changed. Here, in Bristol, he is the leader of a group who meet regularly to formulate plans and strategies. They are a motley group, lawyers, wheelwrights – your own doctor, Andrew Thorson, is one of their number, I believe. And there are even one or two slaves who sometimes manage to attend the weekly meetings when they can slip out unnoticed. They are not in a position to contribute much, of course, but the contact, and the knowledge that Englishmen are working on their behalf, gives them hope.’

  ‘That is how Thomas comes to know Richard, then!’ I said.

  ‘Indeed. Thomas goes to the meetings whenever he can, and has been able to provide useful background information regarding the trade. Though Richard, of course, has seen it for himself, and been so repelled by it that he felt he had to give over his life to working for its abolition and freedom – or at least more rights – for the poor souls taken against their will and sold into purgatory.’

  ‘Yes!’ I said, her words stirring faint memories. ‘Yes, I do remember something of it! But if he is no longer employed as a sea captain, how does he make a living? There can be no money in fighting for the rights of poor slaves…’

  Lady Avonbridge smiled slightly. ‘As you may or may not know, Richard’s family is well-to-do, and they support him in his mission. And I… I do what I can too. He has my backing and the use of my house. It’s little enough, but it eases my social conscience, and provides a safe haven for him to work from. For what he is doing is dangerous, make no mistake of it. The fortunes of this city were built upon slavery, and though the rich merchants no longer need to trade in human life to support their extravagant habits, they are greedy. They don’t want the calm waters of their millpond ruffled by the likes of Richard. If he met his death in a back alley some dark night, they would no doubt dance on his grave.’

  I shivered.

  ‘Some of his enemies would stop at nothing,’ Lady Avonbridge went on. ‘Richard has always known that. He had only just begun his mission when he first met and fell in love with you, but he knew he was set upon a dangerous course. It was for that reason that he installed you in the little house in Watchet – well away from his enemies in the city of Bristol. He did not want any possible repercussions to fall on you. But it was not far enough, it seems. Richard believes the fire which destroyed your home was the work of arsonists seeking their revenge upon him.’

  A chill whispered over my skin. I smelled again the dense, acrid smoke, heard the crackle of the hungry flames, as I had done on occasion since it had come to me in the dreams that had been the beginning of my memory reawakening.

  Our house burned around us, forcing us to flee, and setting in motion the whole terrible chain of events which had followed – the work of Richard’s enemies?

  But no, there was something wrong with that theory, something I could not put my finger on, something I still could not remember, no matter how hard I tried. Maybe it was not something I had ever truly known, merely surmised or suspected, and that was why it eluded me, yet at the same time whispered to me that whatever Richard might think, I did not truly believe we had been the victims of disgruntled slave traders and their henchmen.

  ‘Rightly or wrongly, Richard blamed himself for your fate,’ Lady Avonbridge continued. ‘It made him all the more determined to continue his campaign. He did not want you to have died – as he believed – in vain. And besides his work here, in England, he has sailed for the far corners of the earth, gathering evidence of the atrocity that is slavery, and seeking evidence to bring to justice those who fl
aunt what laws already exist. His most recent voyage, to the Sugar Islands, was one such mission. He suspected there are those who trade slaves to the Spanish, who are known to be the cruellest masters of all. The poor souls sold to the plantations there live but short and wretched lives, whipped to continue working until they drop and die like flies in the terrible conditions they are forced to endure. He has that evidence now, and has gone to lay it before those who can act upon it. There is one slave trader in this town who will shortly find himself in conflict with the authorities – one whom he has been at odds with for some time, and whose wickedness he is sworn to put an end to.’ Her eyes met mine, holding my gaze steadily. ‘I think I should tell you – that trader is your own cousin, Theo Grimes.’

  A wave of shame overcame me. I had known that Theo dealt in slaves. I had even known he was flouting the law of the land by trading with the Spanish. But somehow I had failed to grasp the full implications of it – that what he was engaged in was even more wickedly cruel than the trade as I had witnessed it, besides being illegal. Perhaps I had been too concerned with my own affairs; perhaps because he was my own flesh and blood I had tried to blot it out from my mind. It is not a pleasant thing to believe one’s own flesh and blood can be guilty of something so abhorrent, and I had perhaps been too ready to think the best of Theo and put an acceptable complexion on the aspects of his character I did not care for. I had tried to make excuses for the beating he had arranged for Richard. I had pleaded with Mr Paterson to save him from ruin…

  Oh dear God! A sudden terrible thought came into my mind. Leaving thieves and vagabonds aside, there was someone else besides Richard and Thomas who had a motive for wanting Mr Paterson dead. Theo! Mr Paterson was calling in the loan he had made him, and Theo was not in a position to repay it. If Mr Paterson insisted, as he had told me in no uncertain terms he intended to do, then Theo would be ruined. Was he capable of murder? Certainly he had arranged for Richard to be beaten and threatened…

  The pouch! Yet another dreadful thought assailed me, turning my blood to ice. Both Lady Avonbridge and I had jumped to the conclusion that the men who had attacked Richard had also murdered Mr Paterson, and had dropped the pouch in their haste to escape from the scene of the crime. Now it occurred to me that perhaps the pouch being dropped on the stairs was no accident. Was it possible it had been left there deliberately with the intention of incriminating Richard? If Richard was arrested and charged with murder, Theo would have nothing more to fear from him. He would no longer be free to work against the evil trade, and if he was discredited, labelled a common criminal, hanged even, the evidence he had gathered against Theo would never be presented in a court of law.