“He stays,” Alex told Matthew, indicating David. “We don’t send him down to Providence, not now.”
“He must be adequately schooled,” Matthew protested, without much heat.
“He’s needed here. I won’t have two boys yanked away from me in less than a month. Besides, what will it to do poor Adam?”
Matthew sighed but nodded, very relieved that she should insist. It was enough that both Daniel and Ruth were leaving, and next time they saw Daniel, he would be a man of God.
*
“In Boston,” Matthew promised his son. “We’ll come to see you at your ordination.” He threw yet another stone to land in the river before them.
“Both of you?”
“Of course,” Matthew replied, “God willing.” He shared a concerned look with his son, and looked over to where Alex once again stood scanning the distant rolling hills, a sinuous band of dark blue and green against the lighter blue of the sky.
“He’ll be alright, Da,” Daniel said, gripping Matthew’s arm.
“You think?” Matthew gnawed at his lip. “I myself think he must be very confused. And will he remember to say his prayers every night, like a good Christian boy? Will he speak of us in English, say our names? If not…” He swallowed. “…if not, how will he ever make it back to us?”
“He will.” Daniel sounded so certain Matthew felt the constant lump of ice in his belly thaw somewhat.
Julian Allerton was much more blunt, cornering Matthew out in the stables.
“You must pray for him, and I and the congregation will pray for him too. But you must prepare yourself, for I fear he is lost.”
“Lost? How lost?” Matthew bristled, keeping his back to the minister. He concentrated on the burnished golden hide of Aaron instead, counting brushstrokes in his head.
“Matthew…” Julian sighed and settled himself on a nearby overturned bucket. “He’s only ten. The coming years he will spend among savages.”
“Not years – a year,” Matthew said.
“That’s not what Qaachow said.” Julian brushed at a stain on his breeches. “He said he’d bring him back a man.”
“I promised him my son for a year, no more,” Matthew replied through his teeth.
“And what will you do if the year comes and goes, and Samuel isn’t back? Ride out into the wilderness to find him?”
Matthew stumbled, an arm flying out to steady himself against the horse that snorted in surprise at this unexpected embrace. “Aye.”
“No, you won’t. You can’t, not with a wife and a family to care for here. And so your son will grow to manhood among others than us, and when you meet him again, he will no longer be a white man. He’ll be an Indian. He’s lost to you. Samuel Isaac is to all purposes dead, and in his place stands White Bear, but he is no son of yours.”
“Get out!” Matthew said, pressing the currying brush to his chest to stop himself from throwing it at Julian. “Just get out, aye?”
*
Some days later, Matthew settled himself beside Alex and draped an arm over her shoulder, saying in an undertone that it would be nice once they had their home to themselves.
“Yes.” Alex nodded, sounding rather distracted. She pursed her mouth. “I’m not sure I like it,” she said, eyes lingering on their eldest daughter. “Should she really be staying with them?”
Sitting a couple of feet apart, Julian and Ruth were involved in an intense debate about the book that lay in Ruth’s lap, and it was obvious from how their eyes met and held that it wasn’t the book that was the main attraction.
Matthew scratched at his chest. He hadn’t spoken properly to Julian since that encounter in the stables, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to either – not yet. The minister was right. His gut told him so, his heart and mind as well, but it was a truth Matthew couldn’t reconcile himself to, nor had any intention of sharing with his wife.
“And does Daniel know, do you think?” Alex went on, nodding to where their son appeared from the woods, flintlock in one hand, Temperance in the other.
“Temperance does,” Matthew said. “Those two lasses talk so much it must make their ears bleed, and if so, Daniel knows as well.”
“And he doesn’t mind?”
Matthew had no idea. “It isn’t as if they’ll be living close together, is it? He’ll be in Boston with Temperance, not here with his sister turned mother-in-law.”
“Assuming of course that Ruth and Julian are married,” Alex said. “I wonder if they’ve kissed.”
Kissed? Matthew straightened up. The minister kiss his lass? No – he wafted away the thought like one might wave at an irritating fly. Unfortunately, just like a fly, the thought buzzed insistently through his head. Nay, he decided, of course not. Ruth was still a bairn in many ways, and Julian would never abuse her trust. But still…he narrowed his eyes, seeing just how soft Ruth’s mouth was, how her eyes gleamed when she gazed into Julian Allerton’s face.
“If you think it better, she can board with Simon and Joan. She can still spend time with Temperance and take her lessons with the minister, but at least they won’t be sharing the same house.”
Minister Allerton had a dragon of a housekeeper, and Matthew had no real doubt that the minister acted with propriety, but it was always better to close the stable door before the horse bolted.
“Good idea.” Alex beckoned Ruth over and told her it was their opinion that it was better if Ruth stayed with her aunt and uncle instead – she would surely be welcomed, and Joan would appreciate the company. Ruth listened stonily, wheeled and stalked away, her thick red braid like a copper snake against the pale green of her bodice.
“Oh dear,” Alex murmured.
Matthew chuckled.
Julian got to his feet, seemed uncertain whether he should follow Ruth, thereby making his infatuation obvious, or wait.
“Having Ruth stay with Simon is a wise decision, I think,” Matthew said, noting how Julian’s eyes hung on Ruth’s receding back.
*
From the way Julian threw eye darts at Matthew over the table, it was apparent Ruth had told him of her parents’ decision. After supper, Julian requested a private moment with Matthew, looking somewhat put out when Matthew, as a matter of course, invited Alex to join them. Smart move, Alex thought, winking at her husband as she entered the room carrying a tray.
“Are you implying I would dishonour a girl left in my charge?” Minister Allerton looked quite the part, standing as straight as if someone had rammed a poker up his arse.
“No,” Alex said, “but you very much want to, don’t you?” She almost laughed at the way his hue changed, his tanned face whitening so quickly she could count the freckles that dotted his nose.
“Mrs Graham!”
The formality of address only made her want to laugh even more. “Where I come from, we call a spade a spade, and unless you’re an absolute idiot, a green man from Mars, or blind and deaf, the attraction between you and our daughter is tangible – very tangible.”
“A green man from Mars?” Julian sounded intrigued. “Are there green men on Mars?”
“Not as far as I know. It’s just an expression.” She motioned for Julian to sit on one of the stools and handed him a mug of herbal tea, the rich scents of mint and honey making him sniff appreciatively.
“I would never abuse of Ruth,” Julian said, “and I resent that you should feel obliged to remove her from my care.”
Matthew bit into a large slice of squash cake and munched. “She might force your hand. Ruth is a canny lass.”
“I wouldn’t let her,” Julian retorted, smoothing at his sparse hair – a rather unfortunate ginger.
“Oh aye?” Matthew stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. “And a naked lass in your bed wouldn’t lead you to temptation?”
Julian choked, coughing loudly.
Matthew blew at his tea and regarded Julian over the rim of his earthenware mug. “We are right, aren’t we? You have a fondness fo
r her.”
Julian smoothed down his dark coat and thought about it for some minutes.
“Yes, I have a fondness for her. I want to marry her.”
“Hmm,” Matthew said, “you’re a wee bit too old.”
“I’m not yet forty!” Julian snapped. “I’ll be thirty-six in November.”
“And she will be seventeen in December,” Alex said, looking him over. He had very nice hands, and seeing him in shirtsleeves on the fields showed off a relatively good physique. Not like her own man, not by a long way, but then Minister Allerton spent his days mostly reading and writing.
Matthew got to his feet and went over to open the door. “Ruth! Come here, aye?”
Ruth appeared so quickly Alex suspected she had been eavesdropping.
“The minister wishes you to wed. Do you want it as well?” Matthew said.
Ruth just nodded, hazel eyes flickering into gold in the candlelight. Matthew met Alex’s eyes over their daughter’s head and raised an interrogative brow.
“She’s too young,” Alex said.
“That I am not!” Ruth replied heatedly. “I know what I want, I know what I feel!”
“You’re a child, Ruth. Girls your age have crushes and infatuations, and then they grow out of them.” In her time, a girl as pretty as Ruth would have been out having a party most weekends, and boys would come and go. Some she’d kiss, some she’d sleep with, and then one day, when she was much, much older than seventeen, she’d meet her future man. Ruth had apparently said something while Alex was lost in space, looking expectantly at her mother.
“Mmm?” Alex asked.
“She said as how you don’t know what’s best for her,” Matthew said, “but she knows that best for her is to wed Julian.”
“Fantastic,” Alex said, seeing a flare of hope flash through her daughter’s eyes. “But not until you’re eighteen.”
“Mama!” Ruth groaned.
“Eighteen,” Matthew repeated in a quiet tone. “And no betrothal as yet.”
*
Next evening, the house was very quiet. Daniel was gone, the Allertons and Ruth were gone, and where Samuel should be sitting yawned a giant, empty hole that all of them were very aware of. The meal was eaten under silence – even the younger children were subdued, Tom and Maggie escaping to sit huddled under the table.
“You could perhaps tell us the story of Ferdinand the Bull?” Mrs Parson said, handing Betty the bread. “You know, no? The bull that wished only to be left alone.”
“Ferdinand the Bull? How on earth do you know of him?” Alex looked at her in surprise.
“I know a lot of things. Much, much more than you might think, aye?”
“Given that you’ve been around since the Flood more or less, that isn’t surprising,” Alex bit back, and to her own surprise, they were all suddenly laughing. And it felt good to laugh; to sit at her kitchen table surrounded by the sizeable family left to her and laugh, while beside her sat her man, his leg pressed against hers, and on the opposite side sat the woman Alex more and more considered to be her mother. Thank you, she mouthed to Mrs Parson, who just winked before serving herself a slice of bread.
Chapter 17
Abruptly, Henry took to spending the evenings with his friends again. Young Farrell’s fault – it was him and all his enticing descriptions of the new whores that titillated Henry’s mind. Not that he had reason to go, his member was well-exercised at home, but when Lucy wrote something along those lines to Kate, her mother-in-law shrugged.
“He’s a man, Lucy,” she said, thereby exonerating him from a list as long as Lucy’s arm. “Some men are very vital. Don’t let it worry you – as long as he returns to you, and holds to Mrs Malone’s, where the whores are fresh and healthy.”
Lucy made a disgusted face. Need she worry about disease as well?
“I would think not, Mrs Malone isn’t about to risk her reputation by bringing in the pox.”
The pox? It killed you! Lucy sat down, signing that it wasn’t right. Her husband was well cared for – in every sense – at home.
“Those are his friends,” Kate said. “They meet and talk, and sometimes it’s only beer and food.”
Lucy sniffed ostentatiously, shaking her head.
“You smell them on him?” Kate laughed, but her dark eyes hardened. “His father – God curse him – took a woman to live with.” Kate’s fingers tightened round the glass she was holding. “A redhead, very pretty and, from what I heard, quite wild.” She set down the glass and traced an invisible pattern on the polished rosewood table – a luxury item brought at great cost from Portugal. “There was nothing I could do. I was but his wife.”
And, very soon after, she was his widow, but Lucy saw no reason to divulge that she knew all about Kate’s part in getting Dominic Jones hanged.
“They even had a son,” Kate said.
A son? Lucy had never heard a bastard brother mentioned.
“Henry doesn’t know – why should he?” Kate looked out at the black night and gnawed her lip. “I bribed her to leave and never return, and to ensure that she never would, I took some further precautions. As far as I know, she’s still in Jamaica somewhere, bonded to a plantation owner.”
Lucy just stared, impressed by this novel, ruthless side to her mother-in-law.
Kate made a dismissive gesture. “I took a page out of Dominic’s book. It’s a good way to make undesired people disappear, to bond them somewhere very far away.”
Ah. Lucy recalled that her uncle had been so treated.
“Yes.” Kate’s mouth softened into a sad little smile. “Matthew Graham was one such. His brother sold him into slavery, and Dominic reaped the profits.” Kate cleared her throat. “So, the occasional visit to the bawdy house you have to live with, but if it gets more serious, that’s when you have to act.”
Oh yes, Lucy agreed, suppressing a grin.
*
Lucy kicked at the bedclothes in frustration. Well over two weeks since he had bedded her, escaping out after dinner with a hasty farewell to spend the evenings with Farrell and the others. Damn Farrell! And he came back late, slinking in to sleep in the adjacent dressing room instead of joining her in their bed. Because he stank, of course. Even in the mornings, he stank – of cheap perfume and beer and tobacco.
Lucy got out of bed and went to stand by the unshuttered window, crossing her arms over her chest. This was not the way things were supposed to be, not when she was pretty and always smelled nice, not when she had given him three children in as many years. Very rarely did Lucy cry but, as she stood looking out at the dark night, silent tears slipped down her cheeks to trickle into her mouth. She wanted him to be here, with her, but instead he escaped her strangeness, preferring the world of those that could speak and hear to her mute presence.
She rubbed her cheek against the heavy brocade curtains and cried some more. She was a freak – albeit pretty – but a freak nonetheless, and the day would come when even her children would shun her strange company for those that, like them, could hear without the aid of a magic picture.
She sank back down on the bed and dragged a hand across her eyes. Throughout their courtship, Henry had been so attentive, taking the time to read her little notes, making sure he spoke so that she could always see her mouth. But, now, he spoke to his mother over her head, shook his head, and said he had no time when she had things to tell, and then off he went in pursuit of beer and whores. A black-haired one, no doubt, one that taught him all those things he then came back and did with her. No, that was in all probability Mrs Malone herself.
Lucy threw a longing look in the direction of her drawer, but sighed and shook her head. Too dangerous. Mrs Malone was wily and suspicious after Eileen and Moll. Lucy curled herself together and pulled the quilts as high around her as she could – not for warmth but for comfort.
Next morning dawned in extraordinary light, and when Lucy went to the window, she gasped. The air was full of sparkling mist; droplets of water hun
g suspended in the air, glittering like diamonds in the sun. She threw her nightgown over her shift and rushed downstairs, eager to go outside and bathe in all that dewy light.
*
She undulated in the dispersing September mist, her face turned to the sky, and in the shining air, she looked a goddess come to earth. Henry stood in his window and watched her silent dance, her unbound hair spilling down her back, and wondered why on earth he didn’t bed her every night. He knew, of course: she frightened him. The way her eyes devoured him, the silence of her movements, the absolute stillness with which she could sit for hours – it put him in mind of a stalking cat. And then it was the whispered “witch” that now and then echoed in his head. What had happened to them? To Barbra, to Eileen, and to Moll? One moment there, the next no more… Henry shook himself like a dog. Watching his wife in the dewy garden, her face open to the light, Henry smiled at himself. She was deaf, he reminded himself, and all the rest were but fancies.
He made an effort, and she bloomed. He smiled, and she beamed. He sat down to listen and was handed page after page of rambling thoughts. He held out his hand, and she came dancing, and at night he loved her, discovering just how warm and passionate she could be. She fell asleep in his arms and woke to his touch, and Henry was entranced by his beautiful, voracious wife.
*
For a brief interlude, all was perfect in Lucy’s world – some weeks in which she hoped that this was the way things would continue forever. But then Henry was called away to St Mary’s City and the meeting of the Colony’s representatives, and with him went young Farrell. When he returned, it was no longer quite as magic, with Henry once again disappearing to spend evenings – even nights – with his friends. And Lucy’s world shrank back down, to hasty notes and quick caresses, and bitterly she knew that never would she hold him like she wanted to. Not only was she deaf, she was a woman too.
Chapter 18
“He did what?” Robert Chisholm gawked. “Our priest?” He frowned, muttering that after a long, heavy month of work, he had looked forward to celebrating Mass, and there was a new baby to christen, and Liam and Roisin to properly wed and…
Revenge and Retribution (The Graham Saga) Page 14