Forgotten Destiny

by Forgotten Destiny (retail) (epub)

  ‘You will be free of him, that is what matters,’ Theo went on. ‘God alone knows what trouble he would have made, just when your future is secured. Mr Paterson would not take kindly to hearing such derogatory rumours, I am sure. He might begin to wonder about just what sort of wife he has married. And besides, you should not be upset when you are in such a delicate condition. You have the child to think of now, and causing you such distress might do your baby untold harm, even if he stopped short of something worse.’

  ‘Something worse…?’ I seemed unable to do anything but repeat Theo’s words like some sea captain’s parrot.

  ‘I believe he tried to abduct you once,’ Theo said. ‘He may well do so again, and if he is thwarted… well, as I’ve said before, he is a dangerous man, Davina.’

  He took my hand. ‘Come now, let’s forget all about Mr Richard Wells. He’s had his warning; he knows now what he can expect if he cannot curb his obsession with you. He knows there are those who will protect you better than your poor mother could, and will do it, by God!’

  ‘Theo,’ I said, suddenly finding my voice. ‘I don’t want harm to come to Richard Wells, or anyone, because of me. I don’t want beatings and murder laid at my door – I could not sleep at night if I thought such a thing was likely. You must promise me you will never do anything like this again.’

  Theo shrugged. ‘It’s in his own hands.’

  ‘No. Promise me!’

  ‘Oh, very well.’ He half turned away, and added softly: ‘I promise at least not to tell you of it.’

  ‘Theo!’

  ‘But you must promise too,’ he said. ‘You must promise that if ever you come face to face with him you will cut him dead and never place yourself in a position where he might be a threat to you.’

  ‘I do not cut people dead,’ I said. ‘Not even Richard Wells. It is not my way. But if, as you say, he has been given such a stern warning, I should think it very unlikely he would risk repeating the experience. Now, are you going to take me to see Great-Uncle Charles or not? Because, as far as I am concerned, this conversation is at an end.’

  * * *

  I could not, of course, forget it. As we drove down to Queen’s Square, as I sat beside Great-Uncle Charles’ bed, making polite conversation and uttering platitudes about his state of health, which was still, as far as I could see, very precarious, I kept thinking of what Theo had arranged to be done in my name, and cringing.

  He had, I suppose, only been thinking of my good, for he was clearly convinced that Richard Wells was a danger to me, but all the same, he should not have done such a thing. Civilized people did not behave so, and I could not think that Richard Wells was such a threat that he deserved to be beaten, or worse, to protect me. Yet Theo seemed to think that he was. Why, he had even accused him of being the ‘highwayman’ who had tried to hold up the carriage and had caused the terrible accident, and all for the purpose of abducting me.

  A sudden thought came unbidden into my mind, a thought that in all my confused wonderings had never occurred to me before, but which now caused me to go rigid with shock.

  The child. The child he claimed was our child. The child I had dreamed had been in the carriage with me that terrible night, though I accepted it was not possible that she could have been more than a baby.

  Supposing – just supposing – that Richard Wells had seduced or even raped me, and I had borne him a daughter? Supposing my mother had been taking us to the only sanctuary she could think of to keep the little one out of his clutches? Supposing it had not been me he had been attempting to abduct that night, but my child? Supposing he had succeeded? Why, he might even have fired the shot deliberately to frighten the horses, so that he could get away with her without fear of being followed…

  The blood drained from my face, and indeed, I believe, from my body, for suddenly I was icy cold and trembling from head to foot. I swayed where I sat – had I not been sitting, I would almost certainly have fallen. Great-Uncle Charles’ quavery voice was a faraway humming in my ears like a swarm of somnolent bees; the walls of the room seemed to close in around me.

  ‘Davina?’ I think I heard him speak my name, querulous, concerned, but I could not answer. Then I became aware of the urgent ringing of his bell, lifted my misted eyes, and saw his hand on the rope.

  ‘Great-Uncle Charles, there is no need…’ I heard myself say, but my voice did not seem to be my own. And then Theo was in the room, taking me by the shoulder.

  ‘Davina? Davina, are you ill?’

  ‘No,’ I said, just as faintly. ‘No, there is nothing wrong with me at all. I am perfectly well…’

  But I knew I was not perfectly well. The world was spinning around me. I did not think in that moment that I would ever be perfectly well again.

  * * *

  Theo took me home. I went to my room and lay down, and the milling thoughts came to me as if from a long way off. Reason seemed to have entirely deserted me. I had turned too many thoughts and ideas over and over in my head during the past weeks; now they were more jumbled than ever, nothing but whirling demons, and I thought I was going quite mad.

  When Mr Paterson came home and found me there, he was most concerned and insisted upon sending for the doctor, though I tried to dissuade him. I knew no doctor could put right what ailed me. But he sent for him all the same.

  When he arrived, within the hour, I was surprised by how young he was, not much older than me, and certainly no more than his early thirties. His name was Andrew Thorson. He examined me and pronounced that all was well with the baby, but suggested that perhaps I should take a dose of laudanum and rest.

  I did not want to take a dose of laudanum. I had been given it after my accident and I remembered how befuddled it had made me feel even when I was not actually sleeping. Heavens, I was befuddled enough already, without a drug to make things worse! I wanted to be able to think more clearly, not lose myself altogether in a dream-filled haze.

  ‘Is something troubling you?’ he asked, sitting beside my bed and looking at me with soft brown eyes that were full of concern.

  For a moment I was tempted to tell him everything, to unburden all my worries on to this stranger with the kind face. But I knew I must not. Mr Paterson would be paying his bill; he might feel duty bound to share my confidences with him, Hippocratic oath or no Hippocratic oath. And in any case, I was frightened and ashamed. There were secrets in my past, I was sure of that now, dark and guilty secrets that condemned me. Until I knew what they were, I must keep my own counsel.

  ‘No,’ I lied in a whisper in answer to his question, but I could not meet his eyes.

  He sat there quietly for what seemed like an eternity, waiting, I think, to see if I would change my mind. Then his breath came out on a long sigh.

  ‘Whatever it is,’ he said, ‘you must try to put it to the back of your mind for the sake of your baby. That must be your first concern now, or it will be the worse for you.’

  He rose, taking a phial of laudanum from his bag and placing it on the table beside my bed.

  ‘I’ll leave this in case you change your mind. Two drops in a warm posset at bedtime would help you to sleep, and a good night’s sleep is a great healer for body and mind alike.’

  In the doorway he paused, looking back at me.

  ‘Don’t hesitate to send for me again if you need me – or if you need to talk to someone. I gather that you have few friends here in Bristol and I am a good listener, even if I have a great deal to learn before I am a good doctor.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said faintly, and indeed it was a comfort to me to think that there was someone I could confide in if I could bring myself to do so. He was quite right, I was very alone, and especially after Theo’s revelations concerning the beating of Richard Wells. I had thought Theo was my friend and ally, but he had resorted to sickening violence as a result of my confiding in him.

  A sudden thought struck me. ‘Dr Thorson!’ I said urgently.

  Half out of the doorway, he
turned back, head cocked to one side expectantly.

  ‘You were not by chance called upon to treat a man named Richard Wells who was set upon by a gang of ruffians a few days ago?’ I asked.

  His eyes narrowed; he came back into the room.

  ‘You are acquainted with Richard Wells?’

  ‘I’ve met him, yes,’ I admitted. ‘You did treat him, didn’t you?’

  ‘He is a patient of mine.’

  ‘Is he… is he badly hurt?’ I asked. ‘I suppose you think it’s strange that I should be concerned when I scarcely know him, but… well, I don’t like to think of anyone being attacked in such a way, and it has been on my mind…’

  There was a sharp awareness in those soft brown eyes now, and I knew I had said too much. Then a corner of his mouth lifted.

  ‘He’ll live,’ he said.

  ‘And… will it be long before he is up and about again?’ I simply could not stop myself asking, no, not even if he guessed that Richard Wells was part of the confusion that was ailing me.

  ‘Not long, I think,’ Andrew Thorson replied. ‘He’s a strong man and a healthy one when he is not suffering the effects of a bad beating. He’ll mend without much help from me, I should think.’

  ‘Will you be seeing him again?’ I asked impetuously.

  ‘I’m sure I will. Even if not in my professional capacity,’ Dr Thorson said carefully.

  ‘Then will you please tell him I was asking for him?’ I said.

  Andrew Thorson nodded. ‘I’ll pass the message on, certainly.’

  And then he was gone and I was alone. I had spoken rashly, I knew, and perhaps unwisely. But at least I knew now that Richard Wells had not suffered any lasting damage as a result of the attack by Theo’s hired thugs. For the moment, it was the best I could hope for.

  * * *

  I had wondered if, now that he had been warned off in such a scurrilous manner, I would hear no more from Richard Wells. But I rather thought he was not the man to bow under pressure, rather that it might make him all the more determined, and I was to be proved right.

  One morning Thomas came into the breakfast room, where I was lingering over coffee for want of something better to do. I scarcely looked up, since I thought he was there to clear away the salvers as he usually did, and was surprised when he moved soundlessly to stand at my side.

  ‘The carriage will be waiting at eleven as you instructed, ma’am.’

  I frowned, on the point of asking what he could mean; I had not asked for the carriage to be made ready for me this morning. Then my heart began to beat very fast as realization dawned.

  ‘You mean…?’

  Thomas made no reply and his sculpted features gave nothing away.

  ‘Thank you, Thomas,’ I said. He glided away and I was left alone with my tumultuous thoughts.

  I was ready well before eleven, so anxious was I that I should not be late. Somehow I had run over the day’s menus with Cook, though I had not a single thought for what would be appearing on the table; somehow I had allowed Perrett to help me dress, though I was very much afraid she would notice that I could not keep from trembling. I had chosen a simple blue redingote and bonnet which I thought suited me, but was not too grand, since I felt I would be more confident if I looked nice, but did not want it to appear that I had taken too much trouble. My stomach was churning as if it were inhabited by a million butterflies, I was excited, nervous and downright fearful, but nothing could have prevented me from keeping the appointment I felt sure Thomas had arranged for me.

  How did he know Richard Wells? I wondered. How was he able to make contact with him and Mr Paterson not know of it? But I did not wonder for long. I had too many other things on my mind.

  ‘Where are we going, Thomas?’ I asked when I was seated in the landaulet, and he replied: ‘To the home of Lady Avonbridge in the Clifton Woods, ma’am.’

  Lady Avonbridge. The grand lady in whose company Richard Wells had come to Mr Paterson’s reception just before our wedding. Well, at least I could not see that I would be in any danger there – I had been a little afraid that our meeting might be going to take place on some lonely road or in one of the dark, oppressive warehouses on the docks. But I supposed that, given Theo’s violent warning to him that he should have no more contact with me, Richard Wells was anxious that the meeting should be well away from the curious eyes of anyone who might gossip or report back to Theo that his cousin had been seen in questionable company.

  The carriage descended to the river, crossed a bridge, and began climbing again. The smell of burning lime over-powered the stench of the river as the road rose steeply, flanked on either side by thick glades of trees. Then we were turning into a drive between gateposts topped with magnificent stone eagles, and up to the door of an imposing mansion.

  Thomas helped me down; my knees were trembling so much I feared they would not support me. I looked towards the house. The great door stood open.

  And then I saw him, standing there waiting for me. And for a single mad moment I forgot all my doubts, all my fears, and felt nothing but that shaft of pure, unadulterated, heady joy.

  * * *

  He came towards me. He walked, I noticed, with a slight limp, and an angry bruise discoloured one side of his face. Otherwise there was little to show for the beating Theo had arranged for him.

  His eyes were guarded; no reflection now of my crazy joy, which had been swallowed up, in any case, by a dreadful attack of nervousness.

  ‘You came then, Rowan,’ he said.

  ‘Of course I came!’ I returned shortly. ‘How could I not, when you wrote to me in such riddles?’

  He glanced at Thomas, nodded abruptly in acknowledgement, and placed his hand on my back, causing a shiver to run through me as if I had been struck by a bolt of lightning.

  ‘Shall we go inside? This conversation is for no ears but our own.’

  I stepped into the great hall, which was filled with the scent of late roses, arranged in a bowl on a spindle-legged table. No one else was in evidence, no sign of Lady Avonbridge, and no servants either. A door to our left stood open; he indicated that I should go into the room beyond it. I did so and found myself in a richly furnished drawing room where the walls were hung with paintings of aristocratic-looking ladies and gentlemen, ancestors, I supposed, of Lady Avonbridge or her husband, if she had one.

  Richard Wells indicated a chaise set at an angle to the windows, which overlooked the drive and the woods beyond.

  ‘Shall we sit down?’

  ‘Thank you, I’d rather stand,’ I said. Though my knees would scarcely support me, I felt somehow safer standing, more in command of myself and in a better position for flight, or to call to Thomas for assistance if it proved necessary. ‘I don’t intend to stay long,’ I warned him. ‘But I think you owe me an explanation. The letter you sent me…’

  A corner of his mouth twisted. ‘Which you went running straight to Theo Grimes about.’

  ‘I had to speak to someone!’ I returned defensively. ‘I had to try to discover if there was any foundation for it.’

  ‘And you thought Theo Grimes would tell you the truth? A truth that would put an end to all his carefully laid plans? Pshaw! He’s a liar and a scoundrel who wouldn’t know the truth if it jumped up and bit him! And he has some very disreputable friends, too.’ His anger was palpable, and considering what Theo had had done to him, I supposed that was not surprising.

  ‘I am very sorry about what happened to you,’ I said. ‘If I’d known what he would do, I would never have told him about the letter. But, however wrong it was, he was only trying to protect me.’

  ‘Protect you? Protect his own interests, more like! Oh–’ he gestured dismissively – ‘don’t trouble to apologize. I’ve taken beatings before and no doubt I’ll take them again – yes, and give them too. And I know, without you telling me, it was not your doing. The Rowan I knew had too soft a heart to condone the whipping of a mad dog, never mind the man she once loved.’


  I lowered my eyes, biting hard on my lip. The man I once loved… Had I loved him, this hard, handsome man? Something deep inside me was whispering that I had… no, more – that I still did! Why else would I have reacted as I had done to his kiss on the night of the gathering? Why else would I feel this crazy desire just to see him, speak his name, be in his presence?

  Yet my conscious mind was full of the warnings I had been given that he was a desperate, dangerous man, and the sheer improbability of the claims he had made in his letter in order to persuade me – a married woman and a mother-to-be – to meet with him in secret.

  ‘I find it very hard to believe I once loved you when I do not even remember you,’ I said tersely.

  ‘So do I, Rowan,’ he said bleakly. ‘So do I.’

  ‘And—’ I took a deep, shuddering breath – ‘It’s even harder to believe that I could have forgotten that I had a daughter.’

  There. It was said.

  A wary look came into his hazel eyes, wary – and sharp.

  ‘You saw her.’

  ‘I saw a little girl in your arms when I came out of the cathedral,’ I said. ‘But I fail to see how she could possibly be mine. Even if she is yours, which I doubt.’

  ‘Who do you think she is, then?’ he demanded.

  ‘I don’t know. A child you borrowed, perhaps, in order to deceive me. One thing I am sure of, though. Two years ago I was lying critically ill in my grandparents’ house. So you see, it doesn’t add up, does it? You must think me a fool, Mr Wells.’

  ‘Not a fool, Rowan.’ He took a step towards me. ‘Never a fool. And what do you think I am that I should seek to deceive you so? No, don’t bother to answer that. You have come here today because you have doubts about what you have been told. And you are right to have them. But now, about what I have told you. The child is indeed your daughter. Yours and mine. Her name is Alice, and as I told you, she is two years old. She was born at your grandparents’ house when you lay, as you so rightly say, critically ill following the accident.’