Revenge and Retribution (The Graham Saga)

by Anna Belfrage

  “He wasn’t thinking clearly, and Ruth says how devastated he is by all of this. His whole life is on the verge of collapsing. His daughter gone and branded a witch, his wife about to die at any moment, and you, his best friend, lost to him because of one irrational, rash act.”

  Matthew just shook his head, obdurate.

  Alex exhaled and got to her feet. “Before you throw it all away, why not reflect a bit on all you’ve shared and done together. Why not recall all those times when he’s been there for you, and perhaps this great wrong is eclipsed by all the good turns he’s done you. Like when he saved your life in Cumnock – several times, actually – or when he rode like the wind with you from Edinburgh to give you a badly needed alibi. All those months when he took care of Hillview and Mark, allowing me to go off in search of you, the way he helped you win Ian back from Luke. And all of that you’re going to throw to the wind, just like that?” Alex bent down and kissed him on his cheek, noting that he needed to shave.

  In the low afternoon sun, she saw just how tired he was, and her heart went out to him. “He’s your friend.” She placed firm fingers on his lips when he attempted to interrupt. “Your friend. And he needs you now, as he has never done before. Is this the time to leave him out in the cold?”

  Matthew averted his face. “I’m too angry. I fear that if I see him, I’ll hurt him – badly.”

  “And you care enough for him not to want to do that.” She smiled, smoothing back his hair and reaching into her petticoat pocket for something to tie it back with.

  “Aye,” he admitted grudgingly.

  Alex patted his shoulder. “Go and see him – for your sake, if nothing else.”

  *

  Matthew found Simon making his way down Main Street, head bowed. When Simon saw him, he froze mid-step. Hands fluttered up to smooth at his wispy hair, he tugged at cravat and waistcoat, and stretched his lips into a wary smile. Matthew remained where he was, making an effort to keep his hands relaxed and open along his sides. Simon took a couple of hesitant steps, ending up well within reach of Matthew’s fists, should he be so inclined. A deep breath, yet another, and Simon closed his eyes, jutting out his chin as if giving Matthew permission to wallop him one.

  “If I was planning on beating you senseless, I would wait until after dark,” Matthew said. “Just a question of settling down to wait until you made your way down to Mrs Malone’s.”

  Simon’s eyes flew open, his face mottling into patchy red. “I go there to eat.”

  “Oh aye? And is that why you return home in the wee hours so drunk you can barely piss without wetting yourself?”

  “No, I drink to forget what lies waiting at home. It doesn’t work very well, mind you.”

  They fell into step with each other, Matthew with his hands clasped behind his back, Simon mimicking his stance.

  “She’s hurting badly,” Matthew said to break the silence.

  “Aye, but that has been a fixture in her life for years. You don’t know how it is to live with someone so afflicted, no matter how bravely she bears it. For her sake, I’m glad that she is close to finally passing on, but as to myself…” Simon choked, digging into first one, then another ornate coat pocket for a handkerchief. “I don’t know what to do once she isn’t here beside me,” he admitted in a voice trembling with despair. “It will be a right lonely place, this world, without my Joan.”

  “As it would be for me, without Alex,” Matthew said, unable to avoid the accusing edge to his tone.

  “Ah, Lord!” Simon swung towards him, and in his face, Matthew saw his naked shame at what he’d done. “I… Oh God, Matthew! When I saw you struggling to keep her here with you, I wanted to rush and help you, but didn’t dare to, and I swear I didn’t know it would be that bad for her. It wasn’t my intent, I swear.”

  “But you stood there and accused her of witchery.”

  “Nay, I never did that,” Simon said. “If you collect, I said very clearly that I didn’t think she was a witch.”

  “You called her a time traveller! Before that group of men, you disclosed the one secret you should never have mentioned – not if you love Alex and me both.”

  “I know what I have done – I have just been to see Minister Walker, taking it all back – and there’s no excuse but that of a desperate father confronted with the horrifying fact that his daughter was called a witch, a concubine of Satan. And, even worse, the father knew that some of it was the truth, but couldn’t let his child go up in flames without attempting to save her.”

  “And so you threw Alex into the fire,” Matthew concluded.

  “Aye, so I did. I thought, nay, I hoped, that if Alex could tell of how these pictures existed independent of their creator then they might see Lucy for what she was: a child entranced by power and magic, not truly a witch. I didn’t think further than that.” He bowed his shoulders together in misery. “Lucy wasn’t always a good person, but she didn’t intend for the child to be dragged away.”

  “Nay, I don’t think so either. But the whore and the slave girl – well, those she intentionally tricked.”

  “Her husband favoured them, and she was jealous.” Simon sighed. He put a tentative hand on Matthew’s sleeve. “Will you forgive me, brother of my heart?”

  Through narrowed eyes, Matthew looked down at him. “I’ll try. I can’t give you more than that, not now.”

  Simon nodded, kicking at the ground in a gesture that threw Matthew back thirty years in time, to when he and Simon went everywhere together.

  “It will have to do. At least you haven’t broken every bone in my body as you threatened you would,” he added in a lighter tone, and in his eyes a glimmer of the old Simon shone through.

  “Don’t tempt me,” Matthew snapped.

  *

  Alex was very pleased with her little peace brokering effort, and decided to reward herself by splurging on some precious spices and tea, spending an agreeable hour in the apothecary’s and exiting with several small packages, including a vial of poppy syrup and some camphor. To her relief, no one seemed to have heard of the recent events in the meeting house – well, beyond the staggering fact that Lucy Jones had gone up in thin air.

  “Alex! Wait!” Alex recognised the voice and stood waiting for Kate, who hurried towards her, accompanied by a small man in an oversized coat she introduced as her chief clerk. The man was dismissed, and Kate beamed at Alex and suggested they walk down to the warehouses – she’d just received a shipment of indigo from Jamaica.

  Alex was ambivalent. She liked Kate – despite the fact that every time she saw her she was reminded of Matthew’s infidelity all those years ago – but was taken aback by how chirpy Kate was, given the circumstances. A facade, no more, she realised once they were on their way, Kate’s voice stripped of all gaiety as she expressed just how sorry she was for Alex’s recent ordeal, dismissing Simon’s accusations as ridiculous and incredible.

  “You a time traveller?” she snorted. “How could he possibly think anyone would believe something that ludicrous?” She went on to talk about Lucy, and to Alex’s surprise, Kate seemed to be on the verge of tears, describing in terse sentences just how much she’d loved her daughter-in-law. Well, Alex reflected, she supposed it was nice that someone missed Lucy. She sure didn’t.

  The warehouse stood to the left of the main dock, a tall, sturdy wooden building painted in red, and with doors that creaked when Kate pulled them open. After the brilliance of the December afternoon, the space was enclosed and dark, and although Kate seemed not at all disturbed, walking briskly towards the ladder leading upwards, Alex hung back, imagining all kinds of creatures living and breathing in the dark.

  “Alex?” Kate’s voice floated down from somewhere high above. Sun filtered in through several small apertures set just under the roof, casting narrow beams of light on the upper floors.

  “I’m coming.” Alex set down her basket by the door and made for the ladder. Something rustled. Not a rat, too big for that.

/>   “Hello?” she said. A shadow detached itself from the wall. A man.

  “Oh, don’t mind him,” Kate called. “It’s just Smith.”

  “Smith?” Alex had her hand on the ladder.

  “An itinerant – but literate. He’s helping us with the inventory.”

  “Ah.” Alex set her foot on the lowest rung.

  A hand closed on her, yanked her with force backwards, another hand clamping down over her mouth. “Mrs Graham, I believe.”

  Bloody, fucking hell! Alex would know that voice anywhere, had nightmares in which it figured, and now it was breathing into her ear, tinged with amusement. She groped behind her, found something that wasn’t cloth and pulled – hard.

  “Aaaah!” Burley wailed, and Alex was free, running for the open door. He caught up, wheezing heavily, and Alex was washed with relief as she recalled Philip had been badly hurt in the recent altercation with Matthew. Not hurt enough, though, because he took a leap ahead, blocking off her way of escape.

  “Why the hurry?” he gasped.

  “Things to do, places to be,” she replied, sidling away from him.

  “I think not. I think this, Mrs Graham, is when your luck runs out.”

  It took a huge effort not to squeal and run. Instead, she took yet another step away from him – unfortunately, that also meant stepping away from the door.

  He grinned, hair as dishevelled as always falling over his face. With a scraggly beard, with a limp and with one hand pressed to his side, he still managed to scare the heck out of her. Where was Kate? For an instant, she raised her eyes to the wooden ceiling. Philip grinned again, took hold of the ladder, and tipped it to the floor.

  “I dare say she’s hiding. Mrs Jones strikes me as a woman who much prefers her countenance unmarked, and I…” He produced a knife. “…well, I’ll not take kindly to being interrupted.”

  Alex attempted a sigh. “Persistent, aren’t you? It would be a much better world if you just rolled over and died.”

  Philip Burley chuckled, a most disconcerting sound. “I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: it takes a lot to frighten you, Mrs Graham.”

  “You think?” she hiccupped.

  “I do. Now, of course, you’re so frightened you don’t quite know what to do.” The blade sliced through the air, as if he were practising his coming moves. Alex shook her head, taking several quick steps backwards. “And you should be,” he said and charged.

  Fear gives you wings. Like a trapped swallow in a barn, Alex darted back and forth, with Philip always keeping himself between her and the door. But he was tiring fast, having to stop to draw breath on several occasions, and Alex felt a glimmer of hope, edging determinedly towards the dusky skies she could see through the half-open door. She swallowed, bunched her skirts, and rushed for safety. He pounced. Like a rugby player in flight, he flew through the air towards her, blade held aloft, and Alex was thrown to the ground, squashed flat under his weight. He laughed, one hand closing over her windpipe.

  “Oh dear, oh dear. And so the invincible Mrs Graham is brought to ground.” He was shoving at her skirts with his free hand, knife held in his mouth, but the pressure on her throat was such that she couldn’t do much to stop him. He raised his hips, seemed to be tugging at his breeches, and then his full weight was back, and he was horribly, horribly close.

  He laughed. “Will it please Matthew Graham, do you think, to know his beloved wife died well served?”

  Black spots rose before her eyes: there was no air, no strength to defend herself with. He laughed, grunting as he manoeuvred himself in position between her legs. She attempted a slap, she set her heels to the ground and tried to shift away, and his fingers dug into her throat, squeezing so hard that she had to give up, lie like a broken rag doll below him. She could feel him half-engorged against her thigh, and any moment now she would die. She could see it in his eyes, in the brandished knife.

  There was a whacking sound. Philip’s mouth fell open in an ‘o’ before he slumped, pinning her to the ground with his unconscious weight.

  “I’m so sorry…I… Sweetest Lord! Almost too late…I had to jump, and… Alex, are you alright? Here.” Kate rolled Philip to the side and helped Alex up. She spat at Philip, but her hands were trembling as badly as Alex’s own, and for a moment they hugged, clutching at each other.

  “Thanks,” Alex said, surprised she could sound so normal when her heart had taken up residence somewhere in the environs of her collarbones.

  “It was the least I could do. I should have recognised him.” Once again, Kate spat.

  Together, they tied him up as well as they could, using Alex’s shawl and Philip’s belt. Kate pulled the door closed, pushed the bolt in place, and set off at high speed up the main street.

  “We have to find the watchmen,” she threw over her shoulder to where Alex was following much more slowly. “And this time he’ll hang.”

  Just like that, Alex’s legs gave way, and she sat on her knees in the street and cried. He would die. Finally, this nightmare would be over, and never again would he touch her or talk to her. She smoothed at her skirts, pressing her thighs closed. Oh God, if Kate hadn’t hit him when she did… Someone was talking to her, a hand came down on her arm, and she screamed, slapping it away.

  “Alex?” Kate’s face hovered before her. “It’s alright, sweeting, I’m right here.”

  “I…” she stuttered.

  “Shush, dear,” Kate said. “Come, let’s get you back on your feet, shall we?”

  Alex somehow got off her knees. “The watchmen – find them.”

  *

  Philip Burley didn’t hang. When the watchmen reached the warehouse, they found it empty, a torn shawl left on the floor as a parting gift. The resulting hue and cry was fruitless. Nowhere was there a trace of Philip Burley, not under his own name or that of Smith.

  Very late in the evening, a young boy came forward, blubbering that he hadn’t had much choice, and that the man had threatened to kill him if he didn’t row him over to one of the sloops.

  “Shit,” was all Alex could think of saying when Matthew brought her the news.

  “On his way to Charles Towne,” Matthew said, stretching over the table for some more bread. He glanced at Alex and used his free hand to caress her face. He hadn’t stopped touching her in one way or the other since hearing of her ordeal, and she couldn’t get close enough to him, requiring his proximity, his warmth to reassure herself things had ended well – this time as well.

  “Or Jamestown,” Julian said.

  “Aye. No great difference, is it? The important thing is that he’s no longer here.” Matthew scowled. “So close!”

  “Let’s hope he falls overboard,” Alex said.

  “Too easy,” Matthew muttered, “far too easy, aye?”

  Alex shoved away her plate. Would this never end?

  Chapter 29

  The appearance of Ruth just after dawn next morning woke the entire Allerton residence. Untidily dressed, her hair still in its night braid, Ruth rushed to her father. “You have to come, Da. She’s dying and Uncle Simon…” She burst into tears.

  Matthew was already pulling on his clothes, making for the door, Alex at his heels. Too late, Alex moaned, she should have gone to see her yesterday, and now she’d left it too late to say goodbye to her friend. They ran through the empty, silent streets, and at Joan’s house, Matthew took the stairs in twos- no, threes – in his haste to get to her side. Alex rushed after, nearly falling over her skirts.

  Joan was still alive. By her bed sat Simon, a Simon Alex had never seen before, pale and shivery. At their entrance, he stood up to allow them room, and Alex squeezed herself into the narrow space closest to the wall, settling herself on Joan’s right-hand side. Joan smiled weakly at her, raising her hand a couple of inches before letting it fall back onto the bed.

  “You came,” Joan breathed.

  “I did,” Alex said, “and I would never have forgiven you if you hadn’t waited for m
e.”

  Joan actually laughed, a breathless sound that was cut short by a strange, racking cough.

  “And what would you have done?” she said.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Probably asked Rachel and her angel pig to make your life in heaven somewhat overexciting.”

  “Angel pig?” Joan closed her eyes, drew a couple of shallow breaths. “You have the most remarkable notions, Alex.”

  “Actually, the pig is Matthew’s notion, not mine. He says how Rachel would be very unhappy without at least one pig, and so, of course, God makes sure she has one.”

  Joan’s mouth relaxed into a genuine smile. “Aye, God would.” Her fingers sank into Alex’s arm. “I didn’t think I’d be frightened, but I am, very frightened.”

  “Hush.” Alex caressed her sister-in-law’s face. “I’m here, right? We’re all here. Look, Simon, Matthew and me. We’ll help you over.”

  “Help me over to what? Likely to hell.”

  “Listen, you,” Alex said ferociously. “If God doesn’t whisk you up immediately into heaven, He has a major fight on His hands, okay? You tell Him from me that if He somehow overlooked you while handing out the winning tickets, then He better find one quick or I will twist His divine balls until He squeals.”

  Joan’s eyes snapped open. “Alex!” she exclaimed, and then she died.

  “She’s dead,” Simon said, and for the first time in all the years Alex had known him, his voice was flat and monotone. In his hands, he turned one of Joan’s lace caps round and round, not daring to look at his wife who was already shrinking into a corpse on the bed.

  Of course God exists, Alex reflected as she closed Joan’s eyes, found a strip of linen to tie her jaw closed, and arranged her hair to lie neat and tidy around her head. He exists and so does the immortal soul – otherwise, how would it be so immediately obvious when someone passed away? I meant it, she added severely to God, so You better make her welcome. She likes honeyed mulled ale, and if You can find her a raspberry pie that will make her very happy. She deserves it. You and I both know she didn’t have much of a life down here, did she? And with that she turned to hug Simon close.