Fate, The Relentless Hunter.

A strange prediction takes on a new life.

After his mother had retired, Richard turned to his sister and took her hands in his. She had not seemed to have changed noticeably in the years he had been away, so there were some things he could be thankful for. “It’s good to be home at last, Constance, even if only for the one night. It must be hard on you and Mama being without father too, but at least he survived the worst, and the navy is now having an easier time of it. He will soon be home to give you one worry less.”

His sister had been quiet for too long since he had arrived. She had stood back and watched as their mother had given free rein to her own emotions and had kept her own under control. Now, she was able to vent her own bottled up feelings and anxieties as she reached out and held him for herself. “Oh, Richard, what would you know of worry? Every rider that comes into the street; every carriage; every knock at the door, and our hearts are in our mouths.” He noticed a few tears start down her cheeks.

“Mother and I have lived with nothing but worry, day in and day out, year after year. We are the ones left to wonder and worry why we have had no letter for a month or more, and to read the accounts in the papers; the deaths; the wounded; the missing; and wonder where you were in it all, and whether we would ever see you again. Then your next letter arrives and gives us hope once more, though by the time we receive even that, you could have been long d….” She did not like that thought. “However, no more of that. You are here now.” She brushed away her tears. “We should at least try to make your one night at home as pleasant as we can.”

He knew some of the worries they felt, but dared not tell them any of his own. The less they knew of what he was doing, or the violence that constantly surrounded him, the better. He steered the conversation off into another direction, and one he knew she would be interested to hear about. “I told you and Mama some of it—what happened with that carriage on my way here—but I did not tell you all of it. It was an interesting experience in another way. You remember those coins we both have?” She nodded, obviously puzzled, waiting for him to continue. “I saw a third one tonight, just after I intervened in that robbery. He could see that his sister had difficulty believing what he was saying. “Best if you tell Mama nothing about that though.” His sister was not entirely sure what he might be talking about.

He produced the pistol; the small compactly folded paper and the ring, as well as the coin on its ribbon, from a pouch in which he kept his papers close by him while his uniform was being seen to, and put them on the table. He saw his sister reach out immediately for the ribbon with its coin, and study it intently. She looked up at him with some surprise, as she saw what it was, but said nothing as he told her the little that he knew.

“That coin was in the road. The rest of it he either dropped, or it must have spilled from one of the robber’s pockets, which I suspect I ripped with my saber point as I struck at him. I decided not to discuss it until Mama had gone off to bed. She will have a restless enough night as it is without dreaming of brigands. It was obviously hers—the young woman’s—with a green ribbon like that around it and the perfume on it.” He took it from her and sniffed at it with his eyes closed. “Haunting.” He laid it on the table. “It must indeed belong to the young woman that was in that carriage, and that is all I know about it at the moment. I do not know who she was, I know nothing of her, and yet I intruded on her behalf this evening. I could not let a band of thieves and possible cutthroats get away with accosting honest travelers now, could I?” His sister was contented just to listen. “I had a strange sensation about it all at the time. The one night I am in England; that exact time of night; that street, this one city; this country, and we two—that young lady and I—arrive at the same place at exactly that time. More than coincidence? I don’t know what to believe now, but I didn’t know anything about any of this until after they had gone, or I might have tried to stop them leaving. It was a violent enough affair at first, even before I intervened, but I soon resolved it.” He had said little about how he had resolved it, though it must obviously have been violent. “I wish I had taken the effort to learn more of them—those ‘voleurs’—as well as the old man and his passenger, but if I had hesitated, I may have been forced to kill one or two of them. As it was, one of them was too ready with his pistol for his own good.”

The meaning of his words, ‘too ready for his own good’ were not lost on his sister. The man might well be dead.

He thought further upon what had transpired. “There was something about that young woman in the carriage—the old man too—and I had the feeling that both of them were just as curious about me, too. Nonetheless, they were anxious to be gone from there and from me…,” he chuckled, “…although that should not be so surprising considering what had just happened to them; the sudden violence, my shocking appearance; the location—one of the worst parts of the town for thieves and footpads—and the lateness of the hour.”

His sister picked the ribbon and its coin up again from the table where she had placed it, and at the same time lifted a similar coin from her own neck, also on a ribbon, and compared the two. She examined them closely; seeing the same twelve edges; the same designs—astrological symbols or something like them around the perimeter, the same raised octagonal figure in the center, and the same alphabetic characters engraved into the edges. She turned them over and compared them carefully. “Richard; they are identical in every way.” She waited for him to tell her more.

He knew she would be surprised, and would have as many question as he did, but with neither of them able to answer any of them. “I know. Strange, isn’t it? I found it after they had gone, or I might have said more than I did before they left. I recognized it when I examined it in more detail under a street light. You could have knocked me over with a feather.” He retrieved his own and laid it down beside the others. His sister saw the recent damage on his coin and said nothing. His mother would not have let that go un-noticed or without comment. He related his strange feelings about coming across that particular coin, and so like the ones he and his sister wore. They examined it together as they compared all three of their coins with their strange designs and unusual symbols. Except for the recent damage to Richard’s, they were identical in every way. It was the first time, either of them had seen any such medallion other than their own in almost twenty-three years, though they had been aware that at least one other existed, and would affect them both in some strange way. They had learned that the ‘fates’ of those three who had been given those coins at birth, or shortly before or after, were intricately intertwined in some way, later in their lives. It seemed that it had now happened, though neither of them understood any of it, or had even entirely believed it, until now.

“Was she French, Richard? That is what we were told of the young woman who would have this.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear her speak, and I never clearly saw her. The old man with her spoke English as well as you or I, and I suspect they must have been related somehow. He was certainly not a servant; but authoritative, and confident in himself once the threat had been removed. He dressed like a gentleman. She may have been his daughter. I think he may have been a soldier himself at one time the way he looked at me and my uniform.” He smiled. “He was like us; observant, quiet, and saw far more than he said. I could almost sense his mind working. What is just as strange, is that he may also have known my horse and it, him, for he reached up and patted it at one stage before I might warn him—Colonel Stephens’ horse. I was given him just a few hours ago when Stephens shipped out. The horse didn’t take his fingers off for that, as he might have done, and usually tries to do, as our own stable lad discovered.” He nodded his head with understanding as he stared off into the distance, seeing nothing. “Yes, they knew each other, which means they know Colonel Stephens too. Ah well, that’s a start, though I will have no time to learn any more than I did, unfortunately.”

“But, did you not sense anything about her?” His sister seemed confused. “Perhaps it is not hers. Perhaps it is not exactly like ours.” She looked at them again even more closely. “Yet it is.”

“What is it about these coins, Con? I suppose they are coins, medallions, talismans perhaps, or tokens of some kind. I haven’t thought about them for years Are they meant to allow us to recognize each other in some way?”

“I don’t know the answer to that, Richard. I thought I understood that they were meant to be protective of us in some way, as well as helping to bring us together at the right time, whenever that might be. Perhaps tonight was one of those times.”

He laughed and picked up his own. “Well mine certainly did, so far. Protect me. If I had not been wearing it as I was, I would be dead. Has it now lost its value to me I wonder, after I use up my allotted lives, however many there might be; nine for a cat, they say, ten for a woman.” They were both lost in thought at that moment. The young woman in the carriage had sensed something about him; or might she have been repelled by the sudden shocking violence? He could not know. He yawned suddenly and laughed at his sister’s expression as she was also provoked into yawning with him, as often happened. “But I am tired, Constance, and so are you.” He fought back another yawn. “Two o’clock in the morning and I’m ready to nod off here even, and not thinking clearly, and I will need to think about those concepts of Fate and Destiny.”

She slowly rose to her feet, and put her own talisman back around her neck. “Are they not the same?”

“Perhaps, but I am not sure. I had a feeling that fate was the convoluted and tumultuous journey, with all of its ruts and bumps, and destiny was, as is implied; the destination; the culmination of that fate. Too clever even for me to think about at the moment.” He yawned again. “Beg pardon. I was never fully convinced that what I had learned of this over the years made any sense, and now for some reason it suddenly does, and I find I do not understand that. I never was one to believe in such mumbo jumbo, or Sortilegio; magic, as the Spanish say, though I kept quiet for fear of offending Mama, and perhaps even of disturbing…” he waved to the outside of the house and toward where the garden was, “…you know. Jos. If she senses any of this, still.”

Constance did know what he was referring to.

He fell silent for some moments. “But what am I doing? I kept Mama from her bed longer than I should, and now you too. We will have time to talk tomorrow in the morning before I leave. So much to say and relate, and so little time to do so. I need to go and see Mrs. Marsden too before I retire, or Mama will be annoyed with me more than she already is, for taking five, or was it ten years off her life, or so she said.”

After his sister had kissed him, reluctantly let go of him, and had left him, he fought back his exhaustion and examined both the pistol and the gold ring. The ring seemed to be of a family seal, and was heavy and ornate. The pistol was unique also, and he noted that there was nothing to have stopped it being fired if the man had been able to raise it in time. He unloaded it. Its handle was inlaid with mother of pearl and silver, spelling out the initials G.D. and with a similar seal, as he had seen on the ring. It bore a makers name that he did not immediately recognize, though it seemed to be French, engraved on the barrel. Neither of them were the typical habiliments of common robbers or highwaymen but were more the accoutrements of a gentleman of means. He wished it had not been so dark that he had not seen more. Perhaps they had been taken from others they had robbed, but he began to doubt it. From what he recalled, they were better dressed than the usual criminals in those parts. He went over in his mind again, what he could remember of the scene. Perhaps it had not been a robbery at all, but an attempt to make off with both the carriage and those in it; but for what reason? There was too much skullduggery that went on in the city after dark, even before he had left, and now it might have got worse. His mind could see many possibilities, but he would not know more than the little he already did know without asking the older man. Except he did not know who he was or where he might be found. He regretted not following him now.

Had he seen that coin earlier, he would have followed them. He pushed the other items to one side and picked up the small piece of paper. He unfolded it and laid it out flat on the table. There were three clearly written words at the top; ’Wellbeck Ho. Palestrina’. Below them, there was a listing of numbers, in a single column, and in a gradually increasing succession, in steps separated by fives or sixes, up to twenty seven or more, but none beyond thirty-one. Then a line was drawn across beneath them, and then they began once more at a low number, and then rising from there again. They seemed to be days of the month, but otherwise meant little to him.

After some moments of examining each of the items in more detail, he put them out of the way.

He was out of bed soon after daylight and found the clothing he had arrived in, to be clean, dry, and ironed. They had been left just inside his door. He had not been disturbed by the servant who had left them there. The leathers were better secured than they had been and were more supple. Indeed the whole thing looked respectable, and even smelled better. Skerritt, who served in many capacities to see to his Colonel’s safety and comfort, and to whom the uniform belonged, would be grateful for that.

Soon after that, before he breakfasted with his mother and sister, he had felt a great urge to go into the garden, and had found himself in the corner of the garden where he knew that the old gypsy woman who had given him his own coin, along with that given to his sister within days of his birth, was buried. He had spoken to her there as though she were alive. She was well remembered by others, and loved, though he remembered nothing of her, and relied upon what his mother and sister—barely four at the time—had said of her. She had died the same day she had arrived at the house, as she knew she would, and even to the minute, as she had foretold. He reached out and ran his fingers over the inscription chiseled into the limestone plaque set in the wall, trying to find some meaning in the brief remnants of the tale that he remembered:

JOS,

Daughter of Sab and Tomas 7.

1792.

In many ways, it seemed that she reached out from the grave to influence them all. The dead seemed still to be able to guide the living, but in a good way in this case. He wished he had known her, but all that there was, was a sketch done by his mother, to keep some semblance of a better memory alive. Nothing said of her was ever said unkindly or with reservation or qualification to detract from it, but always in love and gratitude for what she had done, bringing a newly born babe—him—back from death. She must have been a remarkable woman, gypsy or not, even a witch—though it had been an unkind comment to say that of her, and the servant girl had been cautioned never to refer to her that way again—to have engendered such a depth of kindly feeling on such short acquaintance. She had been barely three hours from her arrival in the house, to her violent death, run down by a horse in the street. She had known it would happen to her, and exactly like that from what Williams, the butler, had said of it, and she had not tried to avoid her fate, but had seemed to welcome it. He, for his part, accepted that there were some things beyond his understanding, and that seemed to be one of them, to go along with the many others that lay behind him. He had survived beyond all reason so far, himself, and had stopped trying to understand it, but just accepted what was. He knew that he owed his life to her, but did not understand any of that either.

He had spoken to her—the old woman lying there—as though she were still able to hear and understand all he said. He had described the events of the previous evening; how her prophecy had suddenly begun to mean something where it never had before, and of his confused feelings about it, both before and after finding that coin, so like his own that she had given him within days of his birth. It was a habit he had learned from his mother and sister; to take care of that area and to speak kindly whenever he might think of it and was in that place. Somehow, they all owed that old woman so much that might never be adequately repaid. He knew some of her history but would need to know more when the time was ripe. His sister would tell him, if he did not learn of it from his mother. He had cleaned some fallen leaves off that simple grave, knowing that if he had not done so, that Williams or his mother or sister would have done, later on that same day. He felt a strange comfort after doing that, and returned to the house, meeting his mother as he walked in the door. They were joined within moments by his sister, and they all walked off to the breakfast room, arm in arm.

“Mama, I suppose I should tell you more of last night, before I arrived. I discussed it with Constance after you had retired, but I did not need to trouble you with it then. I need to know more from you if I can.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out the pouch holding that coin on its green ribbon, and as they sat down at the dining table, he laid it before her without saying anything for some moments. Constance laid her own beside it for her mother to see that they were exactly the same.”

“Where did you get this?” Their mother was pale. She compared them both, and could see no difference between the two of them. Richard did not produce his own and cause any questions to be asked of the damage to it. Explanations like that, tended to become difficult.

“A young woman lost it last night when I intervened on her behalf in an attempted robbery. On my way here. I told you some of it.”

“Who?” Her eyes scrutinized his face. “Did you learn her name? Did you speak with her? Was she French? Did you learn where she lived?” His mother was anxious, and hung upon his every disclosure of that circumstance. “Oh, I am glad you did not tell me of it last night now. I had trouble enough sleeping as it was.” She waited for him to tell her more.

“I do not know any of those details, Mama. I did not think to ask at the time, as I only discovered this, on the ground after they had gone.” He looked closely at his mother. “I know I have heard the story from time to time, but as a boy I paid little attention to any of it, and did not even believe it might have a meaning for me; not as much as it did to you. It does now. Looking back on it, I think I sensed something last night about that young woman—something I never sensed before—and so did she about me I think, from the way she responded. However, with other feelings running high, as they were, there were more immediate things to think about. Please, what can you tell me that I might better understand now? I have forgotten more than I should have, but now it begins to mean so much more to me.”

And so, his mother held his hand, almost unable to suppress her inner feelings of excitement, as she related once more, but in much more detail this time, of those events that had surrounded him at birth. She told of how a strange and elderly gypsy woman who had arrived at their home out of nowhere, had been invited into their home without any words actually being spoken, or questions being asked of her by Williams, who had seemed to be suddenly helpless to block her, as he was well-capable of doing, if he had even considered doing so. She had slowly made her way down to the kitchen of the house, followed by Williams, as though every part of it had been familiar to her.

Their mother related the rest of it as she remembered it, brought back to her in more detail and more clearly than she had ever remembered it before. Her baby son had not been expected to live until that woman had appeared, and had set him off on a proper course in life. She had opened the top of her dress, and had encouraged the baby to suckle of her, even as devoid of nourishment as her tired old breasts had been. Afterward, he had been able to suckle of his mother’s breast, which he had been unable to do until that moment.

That was when that same woman had given her daughter, Constance, just four years old at the time, the coin she wore from that moment on. She had given another just like it to the baby too, telling them some of what it all meant, and how their fates were intertwined with the fate of a young woman who had not yet been born; a French girl. She could say little more—or so the gypsy woman had said—without jeopardizing what fate might intend for them all. Within a few hours of her arrival, she had been dead.

A grave had already been prepared for her at her request, in the corner of that same garden she had strolled about with their mother, and she had given simple instructions as to how her grave was to be tended. She had not asked for any more than that, though anything she had asked would not have been denied after what she had done. She requested that they should visit her there when possible, and speak with her at that place when they could do so. For some reason, none of it was questioned as to its peculiarity at that time, and none of it was doubted.

It had been a daily visit for his mother and sister, as well as Williams too. He had been the one to have followed her in the carriage after she had walked away from their house and had witnessed the accident, almost exactly as the woman had foretold it would happen, and to the very minute. He understood none of it, but he accepted it. He had gathered her up and seen her brought back to lie interred in peace in that corner of the garden as she had requested, but all of that had been more than twenty years ago now.

After that discussion and retelling of that story, his mother and sister relaxed with him until he had to leave. His mother was trying hard to hold back her concern and tears, and had to bite her tongue not to lecture him like a young boy and tell him to make sure to wash behind his ears. She wanted to straighten his clothing about him as she used to do. She was sad at seeing him ready to go again, though he was not so badly attired as to disgrace the uniform now. He retrieved both the ring and gun from where he had left them and dropped them into his pocket. He would load it later, before he left. It was a nice looking pistol and would come in useful. The man, who had thought to use it on him, had forfeited both his gun and his ring by his actions. Richard tucked the paper away in the same pouch with that medallion, for further reference, and hoped he could make more sense of it in the present light of day, and after a brief night’s rest, than he had. He embraced his sister and his mother. He was thankful that they held their tears back until after he had gone, wondering if they would ever see him again. He felt sad himself, but there was nothing he could do about it.