Free Echoes of a Promise by Ashleigh Bingham Page B

cringed inwardly, but sent the good people away with the impression that poor Victoria was bearing up to her loss remarkably well.
    No one was aware of the nightly dreams in which Peter called to her with an urgency that left her in tears when she woke. Neither did they notice how her breath caught and she tensed with anticipation whenever footsteps were heard approaching the house, or a shadow appeared on a wall. Twice she’d called for the carriage to stop when she thought she’d glimpsed him amongst the crowd of shoppers at the markets in Wells. Her head told her that it could never be Peter returning, but her heart refused to abandon hope.
    ‘I doubt that poor Victoria will remain a widow for long once she comes out of mourning,’ the ladies said over their teacups, whenever they tallied the names of eligible gentlemen who began calling at Cloudhill.
    But Emily and Martin sensed the depth of her grief when they saw her setting out for long, solitary walks into the countryside, or spending her days in a whirlwind of unimportant domestic activities. Toby occupied hours of Victoria’s time, too, as she played with him on the nursery floor or took him out into the garden on a sunny day.
    She maintained a correspondence with Captain Latham, but he spoke of no plans to sail back to England yet as he’d found a lucrative market in San Francisco. His first letter only hinted at the grief torturing him when he described Peter’s sudden illness and his burial three days later on a remote island in the Java Sea.
    I am devastated that when the fever struck I was helpless to save him, even though he was dosed with every drop of quinine we had on the ship. When he knew that he was dying he instructed me to write his Will, and asked for all your letters to be placed with him in his grave. The last words he spoke were of you.
    When she was alone, Victoria sobbed her loneliness and heartbreak until she could cry no more. In company she continued with the pretence that her pain was easing.
    Emily’s confinement came on the September day that was expected, and another baby boy, Harry, was delivered safely into the Clifford family. Amidst the joy and congratulations, Victoria put aside the letter from London which had come that morning, and it wasn’t until Emily had been comfortably settled for the night and baby Harry was feeding, that she went to her room to open it.
    The contents left her puzzled. It came from Mr Horace Bartley-Symes , a solicitor of Oxford Street, stating that he had been given the honour of handling the Last Will and Testament of her late husband, Captain Peter Latham, and that she, Victoria Latham née Shelford, had been named as sole beneficiary of her husband’s estate. This comprised a half-ownership of the barque Fortitude , as well as the late Peter Latham’s share of the profits accrued in recent business enterprises, namely £9367. Would Mrs Latham, at her earliest convenience, be so good as to notify the lawyer how she wished to receive her bequest?
    ‘Oh, Martin! I can’t possibly claim half the ship. The Fortitude belongs to Uncle Henry and I don’t feel I have the right.’
    ‘Vicky, m’dear, Captain Latham is quite aware of your husband’s bequest. He was the one to write the will for Peter, remember?’ He lay a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘Your husband has made you a wealthy lady, and in leaving you his share of the ship, he’s made sure that your fortune is going to increase. My recommendation would be to invest your inheritance in the Fortitude ’s future ventures.’
    But Peter’s money could never fill the emptiness in her heart. For that to happen she needed to find some purpose in life. But where should she turn when she left Cloudhill? Even though Emily andMartin had made it abundantly clear that they considered her to be part of their family and urged her to stay, Victoria felt a growing restlessness. She needed to find a path of her own. But where did it