Rising Dark (The Darkling Trilogy, Book 2)

by A. D. Koboah

  “Actually, she is nothing like them. For one, she is not much to look at and is docile, meek, and suitably pious for you. I am sure the two of you would greatly amuse yourselves by quoting the Bible to each other day and night.”

  “I do not need a wife.”

  “Whether you do or not, I have found one for you. She is extremely wealthy. Look around you, Avery. We are broke. Her wealth can help restore this house and make you a man of some means.”

  I got to my feet again as he continued.

  “Her name is Julia Spencer. She will be coming to dine here tonight, Avery. I expect you to be here.”

  I moved to the door, stopping to glare at him. My voice shook with emotion when I spoke.

  “I will not marry anyone of your choosing, and definitely not at your command, or merely for their wealth.”

  I opened the door.

  “I am not finished, Avery. Avery!”

  The door closed behind me and I was already halfway down the corridor. He did not follow.

  I remained angry for the remainder of that week and ignored my father’s letters. But a few weeks later, I came across Julia at a social function I was required to attend. She was a small, plain woman who might otherwise have gone unnoticed among the other women, who were like dazzling flowers in comparison. What struck me about her was the weariness of her countenance as she sat, sometimes alone or with one or two other women, throughout the dancing that took place that evening. It spoke of years of dejection as she stared either at her hands or at a spot above the heads of the dancing couples, as if she were imagining she was not in the room with them. After watching many men wander past, completely overlooking her, I rose from my seat and moved toward her.

  She saw me approaching, her eyes growing wider with uncertainty and confusion when she saw I did not deviate from my path toward her. When I reached her, she lowered her gaze abruptly and merely nodded her assent when I asked her to dance. Her gaze remained lowered as I made polite conversation, but as the dance progressed, she eventually looked at me and even smiled. I had found her to be a thoughtful young woman with a subtle sense of humour.

  I was sorry to leave the function that evening, knowing it was likely Julia would spend the rest of the night back in her seat avoiding staring at the men and women dancing before her. She remained in my thoughts and a week later, I decided I would see her again.

  We were married a month later. It was a quiet affair followed by a small gathering at my childhood home. I had avoided my father for most of that day, but he found me as we were leaving. He stood at the window of the carriage, glass of brandy in one hand, and took Julia’s hand with his other.

  “Julia,” he said, slurring his words. “I want you to know that we are all very happy to have you as part of our family. I do not think we would have found a more gracious wife for Avery if I had chosen her myself. Oh, hold on, I did choose you, and I must say, I chose exceedingly well.”

  I noticed he was stroking her hand a little too fondly for my liking.

  “And, of course,” he continued, “my door is always open to you, my dear. You can call on me at any time, day or night. You will find me most welcoming and eager, extremely eager, to be of service to you.”

  At that, I pulled Julia’s hand out of his, not entirely pleased about the fact that she was smiling as she thanked him for his kind offer.

  He smiled and winked at me and then at Julia. He gulped down the rest of the brandy and waved, his drunken grin irritating me as the carriage pulled away.

  So on my last evening in England, I left Julia in the carriage when we reached my father’s home, intending to make it a short visit. I entered the drawing room to discover he was not alone. My brother Albert, who was two years younger than me and had been conceived with one of my father’s countless mistresses, was in conversation with two women. He gave a cordial nod in my direction when I entered, appearing relieved when he saw me. He was a tall, lithe, handsome man with piercing dark eyes and an arrogant curve to his lips. He also had a natural reserve that made him appear aloof. The two women he was in conversation with paused to glance my way, keen interest in their eyes. I was acquainted with them only by their reputations and the salacious gossip my parishioners sometimes divulged to me.

  My father was sitting alone by the fire, glass of brandy in hand. I was surprised to see his swords were missing from their pride of place.

  “Avery,” he said, his speech slurred. “I almost believed you would not come and spend any time with us before you departed. I have a gift for you.”

  There was a tenderness I had not heard from him before, but I did not reply as I had just seen Philip, my youngest brother and another illegitimate son of my father’s. At fourteen, he was tall and gangly, with large blue eyes that charmed as much as his sweet nature. I was irritated to see a glass of brandy in his hand and a voluptuous redheaded woman draped over his lap. His head was in line with her large bosom, which was all but spilling out of her garment. And that was where Philip’s gaze stayed.

  I moved to them, took her hand, and gently pulled her off of his lap, snatching the glass of brandy from his hand just as he brought it to his lips. I loosened my hold on the young woman’s hand, but her grip tightened and she moved in close, forcing me to glance at her.

  “Reverend,” she purred, turning to my father before locking gazes with me again. “You did not tell us Reverend Wentworth would be here this evening. I must say that I am looking forward to getting to know you better, Reverend.” She giggled, placing her hand against my chest.

  I placed the drink on the table, giving Philip a severe scowl when he reached for the glass. Chastened, he immediately sank back in his seat and looked down at his feet, two red spots of colour rising to his cheeks. That taken care of, I disentangled the young lady from my person, taking care to be kind yet firm.

  “Miss Webb, if and when you decide to make your way back to the Lord, my church will always be open to you.”

  The smile disappeared from her lips and she took a step back, meaning to resume her seat on Philip’s lap. But seeing my expression, she instead sat on the seat beside him.

  My father got to his feet. “Oh good God, Avery. I have seen neither hide nor hair of you since you accepted this offer to go to the Americas. You finally make an appearance and it seems as if it is merely to ruin this party we are having in your honour.”

  He placed a heavy hand on a vase that had been in my mother’s family since her mother was a child.

  “Father, please be careful with that.”

  I crossed the room and picked it up, walking over to a small table by the window.

  “All of this will be gone when the house is sold anyway, so I would not worry too much about it,” he retorted.

  I stopped by the window and it was a few moments before I remembered the vase and placed it carefully on the table. My hands were nowhere near as steady as they had been when I first picked it up.

  When I faced my father, I was aware of how small my voice was and I felt cold all over.

  “Sold? You intend to sell this house? You intend to sell my mother’s house?”

  He emptied his glass with one lazy swill, placing the empty glass on the table where he promptly refilled it.

  “Yes. The deeds of sale have already been drawn up and I will meet with the prospective buyer tomorrow to sign it over to him.”

  “And exactly when were you planning on telling me this?”

  I was only aware of the fact that I had raised my voice when Albert halted his conversation and looked toward me and my father, exasperation in his features. He ran an unsteady hand through his hair.

  “Calm down, Avery, please,” Albert said, clearly in no mood to referee yet another argument between my father and me.

  My father, as quick to anger as ever, had already grown a shade redder. “You are leaving tomorrow. Why should you care what happens to this house?”

  “I care because it does not belong to you. It belongs to m
y mother. You told me you would restore this house. Instead you intend to sell it behind my back?”

  “The house is a money pit. I refuse to waste any more money on it just to pander to your childish whims. Your mother is dead, Avery. Holding on to this house will not bring her back.”

  In the corner, I saw Albert exhale heavily. But he need not have been concerned, for although years of repressed anger lay in my chest like slow-moving molten lava, my only response was to glare at my father for a few moments and then move to the door.

  “Where are you going?” my father cried. Bleary, drunken confusion hung around his eyes, and his mouth lay open in an oval of hurt. “This is your last night in England. How can you leave when you have just arrived?”

  Albert was by his side now. “Let him go, Father. I am sure—”

  “Avery! You will not leave this house and disappear from my life in this manner. Your mother’s mollycoddling has made you spoilt and petulant and she clearly turned you against me. But that is no excuse for your behaviour.”

  My hand had been on the door, but now I faced him. Albert hung back now, sober and dour as I moved away from the door toward my father. The others in the room had fallen silent and were clearly ill at ease.

  “My mother never said so much as a wrong word about you to anyone. Least of all me. She loved you, God only knows why, but she loved you. Your selfishness killed her, and I have always despised you for that.”

  The colour completely drained from his face and a range of emotions crossed his features. Then the colour went rushing back to his face as he closed the space between us.

  I was not even aware he had raised his fist until it smashed into my jaw. At first I felt no pain, only the force of the contact which sent me sprawling across the floor. I looked up in fear, expecting my father to lash out at me again, but Albert had his arms around my father’s chest. Philip was also at my father’s side, holding on to his arm to try and keep him back. Philip was trembling and all colour had fled his features.

  Face red and breathing heavily, my father shrugged them off. When he spoke, I saw confusion and hurt in his eyes.

  “No matter what you think of me, I am still your father. You have no right to speak to me that way.”

  I got to my feet. When Albert moved from my father’s side to assist me, I pushed him away. I removed a handkerchief from my pocket and wiped away a trickle of blood from my lip. Nausea rose, leaving me feeling weak and shaky.

  “I hate you and I do not understand why she ever loved you,” I whispered.

  Albert had also gone pale and his distress was evident in his dark eyes. “Father, he does not mean that. He is—”

  “I do mean it,” I stated, my voice shaking. “I am just sorry I waited this long to tell you.”

  “You ungrateful, spoilt brat! I have tolerated your sanctimonious ways for too long. You go on and leave with your plain, droll little wife. She is clearly barren so you will never have to suffer the pain of a hateful, ungrateful child!”

  Stung he had insulted two people I loved in the space of two minutes, I stood my ground, although I knew that if he chose to lunge at me again Albert and Philip would not be able to stop him.

  “You may say what you will about Julia. But she is beautiful. And most of all, she is kind and has generosity of spirit and integrity that you, and the women you associate with, will never possess. Yes, she may never bear me a child, but she is enough. She is enough.”

  With that, I left the room to the sound of him screaming my name and cursing.

  I closed the door and sagged against it, the poise I had shown gone. I could still hear him raging in the room, his voice echoing down the corridor. In fact, the whole house seemed to shake with his fury. I made to move from the door and saw Julia standing at the end of the corridor, almost hidden in the dim candlelight. She was completely still, some emotion evident in her features, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She was standing only a few feet away from me where she could hear every single word my father bellowed, but also Albert’s lower, bored drawl in the room behind me. Then it dawned on me and I felt the blood drain from my face. She had heard the whole ugly exchange.

  Before I could try to offer some kind of explanation, she was moving toward me. I braced myself for another angry outburst. Instead she threw herself into my arms and kissed me. When she pulled away, I saw she was smiling, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her dark brown eyes.

  “Did you mean that? Did you mean what you said?”

  I was confused for a few moments, then relief flooded through me. She wasn’t angry. “Of course I meant it. You are beautiful, and you have given me so much in such a short space of time.”

  “Oh, Avery.” She buried herself in my arms before pulling away and looking anxiously up at my face. “Are you hurt?”

  She took the handkerchief out of my clenched, trembling fist and proceeded to wipe at my lip with a tender hand.

  “No, it is nothing.” I caught hold of her hand and held it tightly in mine. “Let us go home.”

  I kissed her gently on the lips before pulling her away with me, away from the sound of my father’s voice.

  We exited the house and were about to enter the carriage when I heard someone call my name. I turned around and saw Philip at one of the upstairs windows. He quickly disappeared. A few minutes later, the front door was wrenched open and he rushed out of the house toward me. He stopped short when he was a few feet away and nervously fingered a button on his waistcoat. Then he threw himself into my arms. For a few moments I was completely still and then I placed my arms around him, touched by this uncharacteristic show of emotion. I realised I should have made the effort to spend more time with him over the years. With me gone, he only had the example my father set to follow.

  When he pulled away, he had tears in his eyes.

  “I will write as soon as I am able,” I promised.

  He nodded and embraced Julia. Albert had come outside during that time.

  He shook my hand and bade Julia farewell.

  We entered the carriage and moved off. The last glimpse I had was of the two of them standing outside my mother’s house swathed in shadow.

  Chapter 2

  The argument with my father cast a dark cloud that stayed with me long after we boarded the ship that would take us to the Americas. My mood dipped even lower when Julia was overcome with sea sickness and so spent most of the long journey below. The journey was especially taxing for her, as her maid, who had been with Julia since she was a child, had fallen ill on the morning of our departure and so had not been able to leave with us as planned. When I was able to leave Julia alone on those occasions when she was able to sleep, I found myself wandering the decks of the ship with my sombre thoughts under an endless expanse of cobalt-blue sky. There was nothing to relieve the eye but dark water for miles around, its rolling, churning surface revealing nothing of the mysteries beneath its depths.

  But as we sailed farther away from England, I found my despondency begin to lighten and then depart altogether. The home where I had grown up, within the shadow of my mother’s misery, seemed an age away, along with the arguments and grudges I had held against my father for most of my life. Surrounded by the capricious, primeval ocean, I finally began to let go of my mother’s ghost. I was a man now and had a new life to start in America with Julia. And in a way I was relieved I would never see England, or that house, again.

  Julia began to feel better a few days before the ship docked and I was glad to have her lively company once more. I expected that the weeks spent below and the sickness she suffered would have told its tale across her face. But she had a glow in her cheeks and looked the vision of health, although she had lost some weight during the eight weeks we spent aboard.

  The last leg of our journey was made in relative comfort and we soon reached Mississippi, weary from our long voyage. Aside from the heat, a dry white heat that had me frequently wiping my brow with a damp handkerchief, we were overjoyed at
what we saw of America, our new home. Unlike the delicate, subdued beauty of the English countryside, Mississippi had an untamed, forceful beauty, the vivid weeping foliage of its vast woodlands, the deep blue of languid lakes and rolling emerald fields that stretched on for miles all around, striking a chord within our hopeful souls. But it was almost too forceful, the tropical fauna a savage hiss that whispered of the unknown—the dark heart of the land and its original settlers. Not to speak of the Africans that worked and toiled the land.

  The slave from the Foster plantation was already at the meeting point when we arrived. His name was Kato and he was what they would call a mulatto. His skin was the colour of burnished copper, but the most arresting thing about him were his eyes, which were emerald green and gave him the overall appearance of a large, devious cat. The other slaves I had seen up until that point all wore ill-fitting clothes, usually a tattered shirt and trousers. But Kato was dressed like a gentleman in a blue coat, breeches, and waistcoat trimmed in gold braid.

  His manner was haughty, scorn dancing behind those eyes when he approached. And when he reached us, he smiled and bowed, his manner almost mocking, before he introduced himself.

  He suggested we leave Julia with another family that had been aboard our ship and take the baggage to a waiting carriage. So, reluctantly, I left Julia on her own and followed Kato to the carriage.

  When I returned, Julia was with a female slave dressed in a grey silk gown. She was probably no more than sixteen years of age and was a deep cocoa brown. She had quick, lively eyes and a small flat nose. A long gold chain with a cross hung from her neck. She stood beside Julia in silence and stared down at her feet, appearing dumb to all around her. But then she glanced up and undisguised fear passed over her features when she saw me, or, more precisely, my dark clothing and white necktie. I moved to Julia’s side, avoiding glancing at the slave girl as I still felt incredibly uneasy around these creatures that seemed not quite human. But the slave could not take her eyes off me.

  “We are to meet...um...Kato? Is that his name? We are to meet him at—”