Rising Dark (The Darkling Trilogy, Book 2) (3 page)

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 my 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.

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.