Forgotten Destiny

by Forgotten Destiny (retail) (epub)

  As I slept more deeply, the dreams became more lucid, and overlaid with a strange sense of reality. It was almost as if I had control of these dreams, as if I were floating above myself, looking down, and could know what was coming before I lived it again in that strange and slightly distorted hinterland.

  For a horrid moment I thought I was going to find myself in the carriage again, rattling and rocking towards oblivion, but as if by an effort of will I stopped it and moved further back in time.

  I was on the cobbles beside a harbour. The sun was warm on my face, the water, unlike the filthy Bristol docks, blue and sparkling and lapping gently around the hulls of the ships that rode there at anchor. Their sails were white against the clear blue of the sky; semi-furled, they flapped lazily in the gentle breeze. But, for all the peace and beauty of the scene, there was an ache in my heart. I was not alone yet, but soon I would be.

  I felt strong arms around me; I looked up and saw Richard Wells’ face, not hard and angry as it had been this morning, but tender and loving. He reached out and twisted one of my curls, which had come loose in the stiff breeze, around his finger.

  ‘Don’t look so sad. Rowan,’ he said. ‘I’ll soon be home again.’

  ‘I know you will,’ I said. ‘But I wish with all my heart that you did not have to go at all.’

  ‘You know I must.’ His arms were about my waist, holding me tightly. I could feel the hard strength of his body with the whole length of mine and I pressed closer still, so that there was no part of us that was not touching, and shivers of awareness ran through the deepest parts of me. But the sadness in my heart would not allow me to enjoy them, as I knew I had when we had laid, the night before, in one another’s arms. It was more than sadness; it was dread, a black cloud encompassing me.

  I wanted to plead with him but I knew it would do no good. Not just because his ship was being made ready at this very moment, but because I knew there was some strong reason for his voyage, something that must take precedence over his love for me, something that, in his own words, he had to do, though I could not for the life of me remember what it was.

  The sailors were swarming and sweating, ropes, curled across the decks of the ship, the sails filled and billowed. Time to go!

  He turned towards the shout, answered by raising his hand, pulled me close once more. He kissed me deeply; my lips clung to his lips, my body clung to his body.

  Take care, my love.

  Then he was gone, striding up the gangplank, and I was left to watch the ship depart, growing smaller and smaller until it was no more than a speck on the horizon where sea meets sky, and I was alone. And still I stood there, on that small, neat, clean, bustling quay, with the fishing boats unloading their catch, and the old men sitting in the sun to mend their nets.

  And I pressed my hands to my waist and felt the tiny tick there, first sign of a new life, and there was joy and sorrow both at the same time mixed up in me, and tears wet on my cheeks.

  Dream and wakefulness were blurring; the little harbour merging into my bedroom in the house in Clifton. As I returned to the real world, I found that my hands were indeed pressed to my waist and I could indeed feel the tiny tick of new life beneath them.

  And my face was indeed wet with tears.

  Twelve

  I dreamed a good deal in the nights that followed and I was unsure whether the dreams were my interpretation of the story Richard Wells had told me, or memory beginning to return whilst I slept, jogged by his revelations.

  I saw a little house with roses round the door and the sea just a short walk away across the gorse-covered cliffs, I heard my mother’s voice, I even once dreamed I was in a barn, lit by flares and filled with people, and a man on a makeshift stage, dressed in a strange costume and with an ass’s head in place of his own, was reciting lines whilst other players gambolled around him.

  Once, terrifyingly, I dreamed of fire. The smell of acrid smoke was in my nostrils, I could hear the sharp crack of burning timber and see the flames dancing like the cauldrons of hell against the black night sky. The feeling of fear was so intense it would not go away when I woke; I had to get up and light a candle because the darkness was full of it, and I stood for a long while at the open window, breathing deeply of the cool night air before the vision faded sufficiently to allow me to go back to my bed.

  Often I dreamed of nights of love, my body entwined with another’s, who I knew was Richard Wells, though, strangely, I could not see him. I felt his lips moving over my body, soft as a whisper, the way our moist skin clung, the hardness of him on me and in me. And the exquisite soaring joy that came from being in his arms. Those dreams sustained me, leaving me with the taste of a loving I could not remember ever having experienced, but also sad, with the same sadness I had felt when I watched his ship disappear into the blue haze from the harbour wall, for I doubted I would ever experience such glory in reality again – if ever I had.

  By day I went through the motions of life whilst my conscious mind ran in wild circles and I wrestled with indecision, tempted to throw caution to the winds and follow my heart, yet all too aware of the momentousness of such a thing, and the consequences, not just for myself, but for others.

  Should I go to visit my grandparents and confront them with what Richard Wells had told me? I wondered. Should I speak to Theo again? Should I go to Watchet and see if the place resembled that of my dreams, or if I remembered anything, or if anyone remembered me?

  The one thing I could not do, I knew, was seek out Richard Wells again until I had reached a decision. He had made his position clear – I was to have no more contact with Alice unless and until I made a commitment. There was nothing to be gained by seeing him again unless it was to say that I was leaving Mr Paterson and going to him.

  Not that I was even certain it was an option that was open to me any more.Though surely if he loved and needed me as he said he did, he would be prepared to take me back whatever my circumstances?

  And then fate took a hand. Great-Uncle Charles took a turn for the worse and a message arrived early one morning to say he had died.

  I was shocked, I admit it, and though I had not been close to Great-Uncle Charles, his death seemed to add another dark layer to the feeling of nightmare unreality.

  I went straight away to the house in Queen’s Square. The curtains were drawn in the parlour, and already Great-Uncle Charles had been laid out in a coffin which rested on trestles.

  I went in to pay my last respects and was standing beside his body, thinking how small and shrunken he looked in death, when I became aware of someone in the room behind me.

  It was Theo.

  ‘Oh, Theo, I am so sorry!’ I said. ‘Poor Great-Uncle Charles!’

  ‘Well, at least his worries are at an end now,’ Theo said. ‘And mine are just beginning.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, shocked.

  ‘Things are bad, Davina,’ Theo said. ‘Papa was never a good businessman, I’m afraid. Oh, he managed well enough in his own small way, but he would never expand when the chances were there, and he tried his best to stop me from doing so when I took over the reins. The result is that I am finding it very difficult to make the books balance. We are overstretched in every way – and the debtors will soon begin to press. Now, just to add to it, the doctor will be sending in his bill, no doubt, and then there’s the funeral to be paid for. I’m in a pretty pickle, I can tell you – and that damned husband of yours won’t raise a finger to help. If he had proposed me for a Merchant Venturer, as I felt sure he would once we were family, it would be a different story. The Merchant Venturers have everything sewn up to their advantage, and they always look after their own.’

  ‘Oh Theo, I had no idea!’ I said awkwardly. ‘Is there anything I can do? Speak to Mr Paterson, perhaps?’

  Theo shrugged. ‘I doubt he’d listen. And for God’s sake don’t tell him just how desperate are my straits. False confidence is my only chance of saving the day. And at least now I’ll be
able to do what I think best without Papa constantly finding fault and interfering.’

  I found myself remembering the quarrel I had overheard between Theo and his father when I had first come to Bristol, and Great-Uncle Charles’ warnings to Theo that the course he was set upon would lead to ruin. I still did not understand what he had meant, of course – I knew nothing of the intricacies of the trade, for all that my family and my husband were engaged in it. But I could not help feeling a little frisson of alarm that now there would be no one to curb Theo’s plans.

  ‘You won’t do anything reckless, Theo, will you?’ I cautioned. ‘Whatever difficulties you are in, don’t do anything to make things worse.’

  Theo snorted. ‘It’s a little late in the day to worry about that, Davina. Anyway, things may yet work out. I’m a born optimist. And it’s good that you are with child. If it’s a boy, the day may yet be saved.’

  ‘What on earth has my child to do with it?’ I asked, startled.

  ‘Oh, it will mellow old John no end. He’s proud as punch already, from what I hear of it, boasting to anyone who’ll listen that he is to be a father at last. It’s the talk of the coffee house, with everyone congratulating him and him basking in it.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, my heart sinking. Quite aside from the fact that I did not like to think of my condition being the talk of the coffee house, it only made my burden the heavier.

  ‘You are looking bonny, anyway,’ Theo said. He was noticeably more cheerful all of a sudden. ‘I only wish the babe was mine – I should have married you myself, Davina, instead of arranging for you to wed John. Why did you turn me down so cruelly?’

  ‘What nonsense, Theo! The question never arose!’ I said tartly. ‘And I am not at all sure this is a suitable conversation in the room where your poor father is lying dead.’

  ‘Oh, maybe not,’ Theo said carelessly. ‘But you know what they say. One in, one out!’

  ‘Theo!’ I chided him. ‘That is a dreadful thing to say!’

  ‘Oh, it’s no use getting maudlin,’ he said breezily. ‘He’s had a good life. And this baby of yours will have a good life too, no doubt. And bring a good deal of joy, and some much needed relief to our lives, if I’m not much mistaken.’

  I shook my head. He really was incorrigible. Charming and great fun he could be, but there was also a side to Theo I really did not care for at all.

  * * *

  That very night Mr Paterson came to my room.

  Since I had become pregnant, he had refrained from bothering me, anxious, no doubt, not to do anything which might cause me to lose his longed-for child, and it had been a great relief to me not to have to endure his attentions. I had begun to think – and to hope – that he would leave me alone at least until after the baby was born, and perhaps longer, if I provided him with the son he wanted so badly, for I could not see that he could get much pleasure from his hasty fumblings and not-infrequent failures either.

  But that evening I began to notice the warning signs. There were the little leers and the staring at me over dinner, there was the way he sat rather too close beside me on the chaise afterwards, his plump thigh resting against mine, and the way he patted my hand and let his fingers play with my wrist as he expressed his condolences over Great-Uncle Charles’ death.

  ‘I’m sorry he’s gone,’ he said. ‘Another familiar old face we won’t see again – the port won’t seem quite the same without him. Ah well!’

  It struck me that this might be a good opportunity to solicit on Theo’s behalf.

  ‘Yet you never invited him to join the Merchant Venturers,’ I mused. ‘Nor Theo neither. If you valued him, surely it would be a nice gesture to invite Theo now.’

  Mr Paterson looked at me in surprise; I had never before spoken to him of anything concerning business. No doubt, shrewd as he was, he guessed Theo had mentioned something of the sort to me this morning, but in any event, he was going to make no bones of his feelings on the subject.

  ‘Charles was never invited because he lacked courage and fire, and his wherewithal, in any case, was not up to scratch. Theo has fire and courage, all right, but he’s a scoundrel who might well bring the association into disrepute. And his wherewithal is no better than his father’s, I’m afraid.’

  ‘And never will be unless he has the advantages the association can offer its members,’ I persisted. ‘Why don’t you at least give him a chance?’

  Mr Paterson laughed. Actually laughed.

  ‘And why don’t you, my dear Davina, stick to what you are good at – growing babies and being nice to your husband – and leave business matters to those who understand them.’

  I was mortified – and annoyed.

  ‘You cannot blame me for speaking on Theo’s behalf!’ I flared. ‘He is family to me, after all. And a small family it is, all aging and dying.’

  ‘And you cannot blame me for wanting as little as possible to do with them, Davina,’ he countered. ‘Family loyalties and business do not make good bedfellows. I don’t trust Theo, and I have no intention of inviting him to join the Venturers simply because he introduced me to his beautiful cousin and suggested I marry her. If he thought it would be his entree, then he was, I am afraid, much mistaken. Now, let’s forget the wretched fellow and enjoy what remains of our evening.’

  His hand covered my knee. I managed to move away, hoping he would put my reticence down to his dismissal of Theo, and not realize it was because of revulsion. Whatever his faults, I did not think he deserved to be hurt so.

  To be honest, though, I do not think he even noticed my rejection of him. He was too full of ardour – and strong liquor. I took my leave of him and went to my room, but to my dismay, not so long afterwards, I heard his tread on the boards and my door opened.

  He came into the room carrying a candle. He was wearing his nightshirt, which did not become him. In his fine clothes he was quite an imposing figure; in his nightshirt he reminded me of a fat old woman. But he had it in mind to do things to me that no fat old woman would do.

  He lit my own candle, which I had snuffed, from the one he was carrying, and set them one each side of the bed. Then he lowered his not inconsiderable weight on to the mattress and reached for me.

  ‘Mr Paterson…’ I protested.

  ‘Don’t be like that,’ he chided me, scrabbling up the hem of my nightgown. ‘It’s been a long time, Davina.’

  ‘Because, if you remember, I am carrying your child!’ I said with what hauteur I could muster whilst trying, without much success, to keep my nightgown about my knees.

  ‘But the danger time is passed now, surely,’ he said. He yanked his own nightgown up, and I felt him between my legs.

  Suddenly I could not bear it. I had hated it before, from the very first time, and schooled myself to submit because I must. Now, with the sensuous dreams of Richard Wells’ hard, strong body fresh in my mind, I simply could not bear it. I pushed him away with all my might.

  ‘Stop it!’ I cried. ‘Stop it at once! The worst of the danger time might be over, but I have been feeling poorly all day, and what you intend might well be disastrous.’

  He hesitated. ‘You did not say you were unwell, Davina! You never said—’

  ‘Because I did not want to worry you!’ I said, pressing home my advantage. ‘I have lost my uncle today, and it has upset me a great deal. I don’t know what effect that will have on me, let alone you forcing yourself upon me. Do you want me to lose the child? Because if you do, you are going the right way about it. And I swear you’ll have no one but yourself to blame if I tell you in the morning that I have miscarried!’

  ‘You are leading me a merry dance, my dear!’ Frustration made his voice angry, but he released me anyway. I think that though he doubted what I was saying, yet he was afraid to put it to the test. ‘You tempt me all evening, and then turn cold on me, just when I’m ready to exercise my husbandly rights. I thought when I married a young wife I would have a willing partner, but I see now that I was wrong.’


  ‘It’s for the sake of the baby!’ I cried. ‘How can you be so selfish?’

  ‘Me? Selfish? Are you sure, my dear, that is not the pot calling the kettle black? Are you sure you are not using your condition as an excuse to deny me?’ He moved abruptly. ‘No, don’t bother to answer that. I don’t want you to lie, but I don’t think I want to hear the truth either. Very well, for now, I’ll leave you in peace. But don’t think this is the end of the matter. Oh dear me no!’

  The mattress sprang up as his weight lifted from it and he took up his candle and padded furiously across the floor.

  ‘I shall go downstairs and console myself with a large brandy,’ he said, and the door closed after him.

  My breath came more easily, my heartbeat returned to its normal rhythm. But the sick revulsion did not leave me. I had managed to avoid his attentions for tonight, but for how much longer would I be able to do so? Until my baby was born, perhaps – if I was lucky. After that I would have no excuse at all. But I would feel no differently towards him, I knew.

  Tears pricked my eyes. I closed them against the tears. But I did not put out the candle. I did not want to be in the dark tonight. I could not understand what it was I was afraid of. I only knew I did not want to be in the dark tonight.

  * * *

  I was woken by the sound of screaming. For a moment I thought that the unearthly, piercing cry was a part of one of my vivid dreams, though tonight I could remember none. Then, as I lay staring into the shadows cast by the candle, it came again, and I knew it was as real as the ticking of the mantle clock and the moaning of the wind, which had risen and was roaring in the chimney. And the screams were coming from somewhere within the house.