‘Thomas?’
‘And Dorcas too.’ I bit my lip. I could not bring myself to tell Richard of what Mr Paterson had done to Dorcas; I was too ashamed, and, strangely, protective of his reputation now that he was no longer here to defend it himself. ‘But I am not sure how to go about it,’ I continued. ‘I could, of course, simply let them go, but I would like to ensure it as their legal right in case it should ever be challenged. Do you think it could be arranged?’
Richard nodded thoughtfully. ‘As part of John Paterson’s estate, they belong, of course, not to you, but to Daniel. But the trustees could no doubt make a decision. I’ll talk to some of the lawyers sympathetic to our cause. There are several in our group.’
‘And where would they go, Thomas and Dorcas, if they were free?’ I asked anxiously. ‘That’s something else that has been worrying me. I’d like to be able to offer to keep them on as paid servants – Thomas is a rock – but I don’t think it would be right somehow. They would never feel free, would they – living in the household where they were owned body and soul?’
‘I quite agree,’ Richard said seriously. ‘The choice would be theirs, of course, but I would suggest London. There are a goodly number of freed slaves living and working there. Don’t worry any more. Rowan, I shall make sure they have a place to go; and the wherewithal to start a new life. We owe Thomas a good deal.’
‘We owe him everything!’ I said. ‘If he had not stepped in to stop Theo getting away with Daniel, I dread to think what might have happened!’
‘And he will be well rewarded,’ Richard promised.
I nodded. All charges against Thomas had been dropped now, of course. The magistrate had agreed that Theo was responsible for John’s murder and, since Theo was himself dead, the matter ended there.
‘Oh Richard…’ I whispered. Thinking about that terrible day had brought it all back to me with dreadful clarity, and I shuddered as I thought what might have been.
‘Come here, my love,’ Richard said.
I went into his arms, and as he held me and kissed me the demons gradually receded once more, and I told myself I must learn to live with them, and be grateful.
Sometimes remembering can be painful and distressing. But I knew, from bitter experience, it is far preferable to having no memory at all.
* * *
There was something else I had to do. I had to make my peace with my grandparents.
One fine day, Richard drove me to Gloucestershire. We took Alice and Daniel with us, Daniel in his Moses basket, Alice squashed into the seat between us to ensure she did not tumble down.
I was very nervous. I was not at all sure how my grandparents would receive us – I thought that history might repeat itself, and that, like myself and Mama when we had sought refuge, I might not be allowed beyond the front door. But it was Grandmama who answered my knock – a Grandmama who looked small and frail, startled and guilty, and she even asked if Richard and the children wanted to come in too.
‘No, they will wait for me outside,’ I said. This was something I had to do alone.
She took me through to the parlour. Grandfather was seated in the big wing chair. He, too, looked older and more frail. Aunt Linnie was there too, dozing as usual. When she heard my voice she woke with a start, uncertain, I think, as to whether to be pleased to see me or apprehensive at the scene she feared my visit would precipitate.
‘Davina! Oh, Davina! What a surprise…’
‘Rowan,’ I corrected her gently. ‘My name is Rowan.’
‘Rowan? Oh yes! Oh dear, oh dear…’
‘Linnie!’ my grandfather snapped. ‘Be quiet, do! Or else leave the room.’
But Aunt Linnie had no intention of missing anything. She sank back, hands pressed to her mouth.
‘Grandpapa, Grandmama,’ I said. ‘I have come to tell you that I am going to be married again, after a decent interval. To Mr Richard Wells.’
‘Married – again? Married twice?’ Aunt Linnie, who had never been married at all, burst out in astonishment and admiration.
‘Linnie!’ my grandfather admonished her.
‘Richard is the father of my little girl,’ I went on, as if the interruption had never happened at all. ‘You have met him, of course – when you entrusted her to his care.’
Grandmama wrung her hands. ‘Oh Davina, I do so hope that you are doing the right thing! We really do not know what to think about this Richard Wells. Theo always said…’
‘I am afraid Theo misled you for reasons of his own,’ I said. ‘He was the one from whom Mama and I were fleeing. I know it is so, because I have, thankfully, recovered my memory. And I know exactly what happened when we came here. It is not as you told me at all. Grandfather saw my condition and refused to take us in.’
I turned my gaze towards my grandfather. ‘How could you do it? How could you behave so cruelly towards your own daughter?’
Grandfather sat stony-faced, saying nothing.
‘He regretted it,’ Grandmama said. ‘He regretted it at once. Theo was here, visiting, and we asked him to ride after you and bring you back. But everything went terribly wrong. The coachman thought he was a highwayman, no doubt. He refused to stop, and poor dear Theo…’
I cringed. Poor dear Theo indeed! But I said nothing. I doubted I would ever know the truth of what was in his deranged thoughts that night, but there was nothing to be gained from causing my grandparents more distress. I had to try to put the past behind me now.
‘We are so truly sorry, Davina,’ Grandmama said. ‘Not a day has passed when we haven’t thought of what happened and wished we could somehow change things. And we did try, in our own poor way, to do our best for you. When Theo came to tell us of the accident, we took you in and cared for you…’
And took my child from me, and hoped I would never know…
But again, I said nothing of it. The time for recriminations was past, and I did truly believe that, misguided though they had been, they truly had believed that they were acting in my best interests.
‘I have been so afraid,’ my grandmother went on, ‘that we had lost you too. I couldn’t have borne that, Davina. You are all we have left now – you and your little ones. Please say you can find it in your heart to forgive us. We haven’t long left in this world, and—’
‘We shall answer before God,’ my grandfather said. There was a regret and a humility in his voice that I had never heard before.
‘Grandmama, Grandfather, I have been very lucky,’ I said. ‘I have two fine healthy children, and I have the love of a good man. I want to put the past behind me now, and I would like you to share in my happiness. I shall come to see you as often as I can – if you are willing, that is.’
‘Oh, Davina, we should like nothing better…’
When I left, the three of them accompanied me to the door.
‘Oh!’ Aunt Linnie gasped when she saw Richard. ‘What a very handsome man! More handsome by far than Mr Paterson! Though he was very kind…’ she added regretfully.
I kissed them all and promised again to visit very soon.
Then I turned and walked to the carriage, where my happiness and my future awaited me.
* * *
We were married, Richard and I, when a decent interval had elapsed following Mr Paterson’s death. Richard acquired a darling little house for us in a village on the outskirts of Bristol, and continued to work for the cause.
Thomas and Dorcas were given their freedom and, as Richard had suggested, moved to London, where there was a growing community of freed slaves and African sailors. They maintained contact with us, however, and I was delighted to hear they had married and started a family of their own. The hardships and ignominies they had shared had formed a bond between them, it seemed, which had blossomed into love.
There is a saying, I believe, that unless you have never known great sadness, you can never be truly happy. I pray that it may be so for Thomas and Dorcas, for it is certainly true for me. I value so greatly every mo
ment spent with my husband and my children, for I know the agony of being apart from them. And I treasure my memories, for, having been without a past for so long, I know how important each and every one is, happy and sad alike, for each one represents a part of my life, and is a legacy for the future.
This is my world, the destiny I almost forfeited. Every morning when I rise and watch the sun coming up over the hills, I embrace the day, every night I look at the stars and say a prayer of gratitude.
For my life, for my little ones, for the fate which brought me back to Richard.
My one and only love.
1807
He stood on the Clifton heights, looking down on the river that wound its way between the wooded walls of the gorge beneath. Sun sparkled on the water today, a ferry crossed and re-crossed the river, a sailing ship was being towed in on the tide. But it was not a slaver. Not today, nor tomorrow, nor ever again would the ships bring in their human cargo of misery. The trade had been abolished by an act of Parliament and Bristol had seen the last slaving voyage.
He had played his part, he knew, and he was glad. It had almost cost him the woman he loved, but he knew that if he had his time over again, he could not do differently. He could not have lived with his conscience if he had not fought to bring an end to the barbarity, and he knew his beloved Rowan could not either. They had been lucky, so lucky, and it seemed all they had endured had only brought them closer together.
But today, looking at the sun on the water, he knew only an enormous sense of relief that it was over. He could devote himself to his family now with an easy mind.
The running sore that was the evil of the slave trade had been banished for ever.
First published in Great Britain in 2004 by Severn House Publishers Ltd
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
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Copyright © Janet Tanner, 2004
The moral right of Janet Tanner to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788636322
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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