Daniel, on the other hand, was but a tiny defenceless babe. He still suckled at my breast, he knew the smell of my skin, the feel of my arms about him, the sound of my voice when I talked to him and softly sang him to sleep. He had never been parted from me for a single day of his life; he would look for me, and pine. No wet nurse could take my place; her milk might fill his little belly and satisfy his hunger, but his warm safe world would be a barren, empty place.
For all that I had no doubt that Mr Paterson loved him, he was not a man capable of showing that love. Though in the early days he had sometimes wheeled Daniel around the garden in his baby carriage, that novelty had worn off. I had never once seen him cuddle Daniel, and when he cried, Mr Paterson became instantly impatient. He would see that his son lacked for nothing where worldly possessions were concerned, I knew, but worldly possessions are not everything – far from it!
As for the values he would pass on – they were certainly not ones I wished Daniel to accept without question. A ruthless attitude where business and money were concerned, an obsession with being first in the pecking order, the careless belief that one man could own another, body and soul, and there was nothing wrong in that, these were not ideas I wanted my son indoctrinated with. And though I had put it to the back of my mind, I had never forgotten Mr Paterson’s treatment of poor little Dorcas, either. He had used her shamefully because she was his and she was there. He had dismissed her as beneath consideration because, as he had reminded me, she was ‘only a slave’. I did not want Daniel exposed to such views with no one to temper them. Supposing, when he became a young man, his father should suggest to him that he cut his teeth by raping some young black slave?
No, I could not leave Daniel. It was unthinkable. And therefore I must stay. Mr Paterson had made the decision for me, as, it seems, men always have the power to do. With his ultimatum he had made me a prisoner even more surely than if he had indeed put locks on the doors, for which I had no key, and bars at the windows. Somehow I would have found a way to escape. But the ties with which he had bound me were stronger by far. The bond of a mother with her child. Fine as gossamer yet indestructible. He had left me no choice at all. I must stay.
* * *
I cried more tears that night than I can ever remember crying in the whole of my life before. I cried them into my pillow and on to Daniel’s defenceless, downy head as I cradled him to my breast. I cried with passion, the sobs tearing deep within me, and I cried softly, the tears sliding down my cheeks, tears of bitter disappointment and tears of despair. And when the grey light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, I heard the patter of raindrops on the window and knew that the sky was weeping too. For my lost hopes, for my lost child, for my lost love, for my lost future.
I took care, however, that Mr Paterson should not see my tears. My pride would not allow it. I faced him over the breakfast table, pale and drawn, but dry-eyed.
He had not gone to the coffee house for his breakfast this morning. He wanted, I suppose, to be sure that I would take heed of his warnings before leaving me alone. If I had decided to make a run for it, taking Daniel with me, there is no doubt he could have sent the constables after us, recovered his son, and had me thrown into jail for child-stealing as he had threatened; but it would cause him a great deal of trouble which he no doubt wished to avoid, and cause a scandal that would have been the talk of the town. So he took his breakfast at home and seemed in no hurry to leave afterwards. He barely spoke to me, and when he did, his voice was cold and hard, and the things he said unpleasant.
‘Tidy your hair, can’t you, Davina? Strands will end up in the butter!’ Or, ‘That cousin of yours will have to sell his house to pay his debts to me and to others, no doubt, but don’t think, just because he is related to you, I shall relent, or offer him a roof over his head.’ And: ‘Is that Daniel I hear crying? No – don’t leave the table. Let the maid attend to him. You will only upset him the more. Your face this morning would turn the milk sour.’
And so would yours! I wanted to retort, but I did not. I bit my tongue, knowing that the more I antagonized Mr Paterson, the longer this unpleasantness would last and the worse it would be for me and for Daniel. I had to live with this man for the rest of my life; better that it should not be a battleground.
At last he left the table and went to his study, and I was free to go to my own rooms.
Perrett was dangling Daniel on her knee and entertaining him with a rattle.
‘You don’t look well at all this morning, Mrs Paterson,’ she said when I went to take him from her. ‘You go and have a lie down. I’ll look after Daniel. He’s fine with me, aren’t you, my cherub?’
‘I know he is. He’s very fond of you, Perrett,’ I said, taking him all the same. ‘But it will soon be time for him to be fed.’
‘Oh not yet, surely…’ She broke off, knowing it was not her place to argue, but looking at me oddly, just the same.
‘Perrett,’ I said, a little sharply. ‘I am perfectly well, I assure you, and I am sure you have things to do.’
‘Yes, madam.’ She bobbed a curtsey and left the nursery. I had affronted her, I knew, and I was sorry for that, but I needed my son in my arms, and I needed to be alone.
I sat in the low chair that I used for nursing and offered Daniel my breast, more for my own need than his, for, as Perrett had rightly said, it would be an hour or more before it was time for his next feed. I held him close, taking comfort from the slightly sleepy and intermittent pull of his little rosebud mouth on my nipple, and breathed in the sweet baby smell of him.
‘You are all I have now, Daniel,’ I murmured. ‘All I will ever have. But it will be enough for me. It must!’
And, from somewhere in the past, came the echo of my words.
You are all I have now, Rowan. But it is enough, and I knew it was my mother, speaking to me when I, too, was just a child. Older than Daniel, yes – a little girl with unruly curly hair, dressed in a cheap cotton gown and a pinafore, but still a child nonetheless. And I recalled the solemnity I had felt, and the sadness.
My father was gone. Gone for ever. Never again would he play the fool with me, letting me ride on his back whilst he crawled around on all fours pretending to be a horse. Never again would he make the beautiful haunting music I loved to hear, playing his fiddle whilst my mother danced with me in her arms, round and round, faster and faster, until we collapsed, breathless, giddy, laughing. Never again would he perform his amazing tricks to amuse me, never again nurse me in his lap as we travelled from place to place and I fell asleep with my head against his chest and the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses’ hooves in my ears and the sway of the carriage lulling me to sweet dreams.
I had stood beside my mother at the grave side, holding tight to her hand as his coffin was lowered into the cold, dark earth, bewildered, lost, unutterably sad, hearing the priest intoning phrases which were meaningless to me, but sounded more mournful than anything I had ever heard. My mother had tossed a blood-red rose down into the gulf to rest upon the plain wood box that hid him for ever from my view, and urged me to do the same. I had not wanted to drop my flower, it had seemed to me that, as long as I held it in my small moist hand, it was not finally over; there was still hope. I had cried: No, no! I want Papa’s flower! I want Papa! and she had not forced me to part with it, but allowed me to take it home with me, where I slept with it under my pillow until it was squashed and faded and the petals dropped, and then I had tied them into a corner of a kerchief, and the faint haunting perfume was, to me, some morsel of comfort, a talisman that I carried with me wherever I went.
And: We must not be too sad. Rowan, my mother had said. He wouldn’t want us to be sad. We have to be joyful for him, and I thought it was strange that she should talk of being joyful with the tears running down her cheeks. And I wound my arms around her neck and pressed my face to hers, and she said: Thank God for you, my darling little one! You are all I have now. But it is enough. Many people have lived their whole
lives and never known such love and happiness as I have known. And though he is gone, I still have my memories. And I still have you.
I thought now of her words.
I, too, had known love and happiness, and though my memories were still incomplete, they were there, just sleeping, and they were returning to me. And I had Daniel. It was what I must cling to.
The sound of a clock striking somewhere interrupted my reverie.
Dear God, was it already ten o’clock? The hour when Richard had said he would come for me?
In a panic I jumped up and ran to the window. And there, outside, was the carriage and Richard himself, tall, strong, purposeful, striding up the steps to the front door, disappearing from my sight beneath the stone balustrade that overhung it, his knock reverberating throughout the house.
I ran from the nursery on to the landing. Mr Paterson must have answered Richard’s knock, for as I scurried towards the head of the stairs, I heard his voice, loud and belligerent.
‘She’s not coming with you, Wells. She’s had a change of heart.’
And Richard’s reply: ‘You can’t keep her here by force, Paterson.’
‘She is remaining with me of her own choosing.’ Mr Paterson again. ‘Now, get off my doorstep and desist from bothering me and my wife, or I swear you’ll be sorry.’
‘I am going nowhere, Paterson, until I have seen Rowan. What have you done to her, you bastard? Beaten her? Tied her up?’
‘I need to do none of those things,’ Mr Paterson said coldly. I heard his footsteps on the tiled floor of the hall and he called up the stairs: ‘Mrs Paterson? Come down here! I know you’re skulking and listening! Come and tell your paramour that you will be remaining here, with me. Come on now!’
My feet faltered on the stairs, I held Daniel tightly to me with one hand whilst the other gripped the bannister rail as if for dear life.
Mr Paterson was at the foot, waiting for me. He gripped me roughly by the arm and thrust me forwards. Richard took a step towards me. It was all I could do not to pull away from my husband’s grasp and run into his arms.
‘Tell him!’ Mr Paterson roared. ‘Tell him yourself of your decision.’
My lips were dry; my mouth worked, but no sound came.
‘Tell him!’ Mr Paterson repeated harshly.
‘I cannot come with you,’ I whispered.
‘Rowan – you can! He cannot prevent you!’ In my arms, Daniel whimpered.
‘I cannot come with you,’ I said again.
‘You know your place is with me!’ His voice was low, urgent. For a moment it was as if we were quite alone.
My heart was in my eyes; I prayed that he could see it, pleading with him to understand.
‘Tell him to leave you alone. Go on – tell him!’
‘Please, Richard,’ I whispered. ‘Please forget me! I am Mr Paterson’s wife. I cannot come with you.’
‘Now are you satisfied?’ Mr Paterson grated. ‘You’ve seen her and she has told you of her decision. Now – get out of here before I call a constable and have you arrested. Go on – leave my house! And leave my wife alone!’
For a moment longer Richard stood there, as if trying to decide whether he should take me by force, rip me from Mr Paterson’s grasp and carry me bodily to the carriage. I could bear it no longer; it was more than flesh and blood could stand, being forced to look the man I loved in the face and send him from my life for ever.
‘For the love of God, Richard!’ I cried. ‘For my sake and Daniel’s, do as he says, and go!’
His face hardened then, his mouth an angry line, his eyes narrow slits in the weatherbeaten face I loved. His hands were balled to fists at his side, his powerful shoulders tight and oddly threatening. Then: ‘If that is what you want, Rowan, then so be it,’ he ground out. And turned on his heel.
Mr Paterson did not, as I had expected, drag me immediately back into the house. With that unforgiving hand gripping tight to my elbow, he made me stand there and watch as Richard strode down the steps and climbed up into the carriage. He made me stand and watch as the reins clipped sharply against the horses’ sleek handsome backs and the carriage began to roll forward. He made me stand and watch it move away down the street.
Then, and only then, he pushed me back into the hall and slammed the door so hard that the glass rattled.
‘Good,’ he ground out. ‘Now perhaps the bastard will understand. But if ever he comes near you again, Davina, if ever I think for one moment that you are cuckolding me with him… well, you know, I think, what will happen. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered.
‘Now – get to your room,’ he ordered, as if I were a wayward child.
I went, creeping back up the stairs on legs that felt heavy as lead. I had denied my love, I had denied my daughter, I had been forced to utter words that had torn me apart. Now, I must somehow get my grieving over and done with, put it to the back of my mind as if it had never been, and attempt for Daniel’s sake to rebuild my relationship with Mr Paterson.
It was ironic, I thought, that whilst my past had been hidden in a cloudy veil, I had been able to accept the life he had offered me.
I had always known the return of my memory might be painful for me, even as I had desperately wanted it. But I had never, for one instant, realized just how painful it would be. To glimpse what had been and what might yet be, to see my child and have her torn from me for a second time, was a torture so exquisite I thought it was more than I could bear.
But somehow, for Daniel’s sake, I must. I had already blighted enough lives. I must not blight his too.
Sixteen
For the next two or three days Mr Paterson never left the house. He was, I suppose, as yet unwilling to trust me not to try to make my escape and take Daniel with me.
I could not, of course, have gone far – Thomas had been instructed that I was no longer to have use of the carriage, and it would have been impossible for me to walk all the way over to the Clifton woods even without a baby in my arms. With him, I most certainly would not attempt such a thing. I would never expose his delicate lungs to the pestilence and disease that hung in the air near the river, which I would have to cross on foot, and I knew that when Mr Paterson caught up with me, as he surely would, he was more than likely to implement his threat to have me thrown into prison and remove Daniel from my care for ever.
No, I dared not risk such a thing, and Mr Paterson must have known it. But perhaps he was not confident that Richard would not return to try once more to persuade me to go with him, though thought that most unlikely. What, after all, could he hope to gain from it? I had told him, face to face, that I could not – would not – go with him, and there had been a dreadful finality about the set of his shoulders as he stomped away. No, I did not think Richard would return to try to persuade me to change my mind. I had made my decision and it was not in his nature to wheedle and plead. He was too proud a man, used to controlling his own destiny, not dependent on the whims of others. For I knew he might feel he had been made to look a fool, and that, I felt certain, was not something he was likely to risk a second time, though I hoped with all my heart that he understood that in reality I had no choice at all.
On the fourth day, however, when I came down for breakfast, I found that Mr Paterson had already eaten, and saw that he was dressed for going out. My numb misery was punctuated by a feeling of relief. His surly presence these last days had been oppressive; it seemed to permeate the whole house, even the nursery, where I escaped whenever I could to sit with Daniel.
‘I’ve business that has to be attended to,’ he informed me. ‘I hope you can be trusted, Mrs Paterson.’
Not once since I had told him of my intention to leave him had he called me Davina, but always Mrs Paterson, presumably to remind me that I was his wife, his chattel, as if I needed reminding!
‘I shall have little opportunity to be anything but trustworthy,’ I replied stiffly. ‘And in any case, I have my baby to care for
.’
He nodded brusquely. ‘I’m glad that you seem to be accepting where your responsibilities lie,’ he said. ‘But I shall not be gone long. Thomas will drive me to my office and wait whilst I do what I have to do. I have told Cook to expect me back for a midday meal, and I shall expect you to share it with me.’
‘Naturally,’ I replied, though I was disappointed. I had hoped to have the best part of the day to myself.
‘Good.’ He strode to the door, paused, turned back. For just a moment the mask of cold fury that had hardened his features whenever he looked at me these last few days dropped away, and I caught a glimpse of the anguish that lay beneath it. ‘We’ll get through this, Mrs Paterson,’ he said.
‘Will we?’ My tone was harsh. It was not what I had meant to say. I knew that he was hurting just as I was, and that it was my fault. I knew that I had failed to keep my side of the bargain that is marriage, and caused him great pain. But I could not bring myself to admit it, or bend to him even a little. His good points were all obscured from me now. I looked at him and saw, perhaps unfairly, a man who had trapped me into marriage. I saw a man who had raped a defenceless African girl and dismissed it as unimportant because she was only a slave. I saw a man who had resorted to the greatest cruelty imaginable – threatening a woman with the loss of her child – in order to keep me with him. And I felt nothing but hatred and scorn.
I would never forgive him, nor forget, and I wished I had the courage to tell him so. But for Daniel’s sake I had to try to make this home of his bearable, if not happy. So I said nothing, though I think the curl of my lip and the coldness in my eyes might have been a clear expression of my feelings.
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