“Shh, don’t cry, lass. Tomorrow I’m released from this prison of pain, and I’ll stand humble in front of my maker – humble, but free.” James fumbled with his other hand and took hold of his Bible. “I would ask you a favour, that you carry the Book back home with you and that you give it to my wife.” He stopped for breath, closing his eyes as he re-oxygenated his blood. “Tell her that I love her. That even as I lie here, so far from home, it is her I see as I draw my last breaths.” He fingered her hair. So soft, like a live pelt, just as Elizabeth’s had been. Now his wife’s hair was grey but still as soft, and he slipped away, drifting into a half-dream where the lass presently at his side was in fact his beloved woman. “Tell her she was everything a wife should be and more,” he whispered, and warm tears slid from under his shut lids.
“Will you be coming tomorrow?” he asked as Alex stood to leave.
“Do you want me to?”
“Aye I do. And I would like it if you smiled at me.”
Alex nodded, gave him a watery smile, and hurried from the room.
*
Matthew moved over to sit in the spot Alex had vacated and pillowed James’ head on his lap.
“Will I tell you then? Will I tell you of Scotland?”
James sighed in agreement and Matthew began to talk; of moors that stretched endless under pale summer nights, of hills that shifted in browns and deepest pinks. He spoke of gorse and heather, of lapwings and hawks. He described the rocky backbone of their country, the silence and the cool clear nights. He whispered to James of the bluebells in the forest and the glitter of frost on the rowan trees, of how water sprang fresh and cold from the hillside, and how in winter the sky hung bejewelled with stars, seemingly so low one could stretch out a hand to touch them.
He talked until James was fast asleep, his breath rapid and shallow, and still Matthew stayed with his friend, recounting the wonders of their homeland so that James would die on the morrow with the memory of the land of his birth fresh on his mind.
In the blackest hour of the night, James woke in panic, and Matthew held him and plied him with whisky until he subsided again. At dawn, James woke again, clearheaded despite the whisky and the pain, and he stood shakily as Matthew helped him dress for one final time. There were no words between them, there was no need, and when the guards came to fetch their prisoner, they found him calm and surprisingly strong, an almost eager shine to his eyes.
The gallows had been built at one end of the small square, and before it thronged people, far more than Matthew had expected. He scanned the crowd to look for Alex, finding her straight in front, her face a startling white. Beside her stood Mrs Gordon and Mr Parson, and Alex met Matthew’s eyes, assuring him that he could stay as close to James as he needed to be, she would be fine. James grasped Matthew’s hand one last time.
“Go with God, lad.”
*
James walked on his own up to the noose, and stood still as the rope was tightened into place. He swallowed and swallowed, gulped down air, wonderful air. Any moment now, and he’d be dead. James felt a wave of fear rush through him and he looked desperately for something, for someone, to ease his way. That was when Alex stepped forward, took off her straw hat and shook out her hair, smiling so hard he feared her face would break. James smiled back, his eyes locked on her.
A faint breeze lifted her hair to float. Someone was droning to his left – the reverend, no less – one of the guards adjusted the noose, shoved him to stand in the right place. Alex raised two fingers to her mouth and blew him a kiss. A drum roll. Another drum roll. Yet another blinding smile from Alex. A third drum roll. He fell, gasped. His eyes flew over the crowd, found her again. His Elizabeth; no, Alex Graham. Elizabeth…my Elizabeth…my.
Chapter 31
Mrs Gordon came to an abrupt stop, her whole face scrunching together until it resembled a wrinkled winter apple.
“Him again,” she said.
“Him?” Alex adjusted the heavy basket on her arm.
“Him.” Mrs Gordon jerked her head in the direction of a man, standing on the opposite side of the street. When Alex looked at him, he backed away into the shadows before walking away. She had but a glimpse of a heavyset man, bearded and with a distinctive limp.
“Who’s he?”
“I have no inkling; but this is the third time I spy him on our heels, and I don’t like it, aye?”
Well, no; nor did Alex, and over the coming few days, she kept her eyes peeled, confirming that Mrs Gordon was right. This unknown man seemed to pop up wherever she went, limping out of sight the moment he realised she’d seen him.
“A man? Following you?” Matthew frowned. “And why have you not told me before?”
“I didn’t know, did I?” she replied, smiling down at the finished smock. This one was not for sale, this one was for her baby. “Mrs Gordon says he came with the ship that berthed last week.” She threw him a cautious look. Ships – or rather the lack of berths on them – were at present a sensitive subject. “There’s bound to be a few more, the harbourmaster said, how the stragglers and the ships that do double trips come in now, late in August or September.” She made a face; she’d be the size of a whale before they got on board, and the idea of braving the Atlantic in late autumn held little, if any, appeal.
“So; this man,” Matthew said, clearly not that concerned with ships at present. Alex leaned back against the tree under which she was sitting.
“He sort of skulks around. From what little I’ve seen of him, he’s on the fat side with dark hair and a beard.”
“Hmm.” For some time Matthew sat in silence, looking pensive. Then he shrugged and stood up gracefully. “Home?”
Since some weeks they lived with Mr Parson, as did Mrs Gordon, and Matthew had overruled Mr Parson’s insistence that they not pay, they were friends of the family. Instead, the two men had compromised on a rate substantially lower than what they’d paid at Mrs Adams, and in return Matthew chopped wood, did repairs and had offered to build new shelving for the store. Alex was in two minds about their new accommodations. She recognised the need to be careful with their money – berths could come very dear as they approached this time of the year as a consequence of supply and demand – but she missed the general bustle at Mrs Adams, and she definitely missed the laundry shed.
“Four years and more, you’ve been in my life,” Matthew said, interrupting her thoughts. “And tomorrow you’ll be thirty.”
Alex mock shuddered; in this day and age more than halfway to her grave.
“Do I look horribly old?” she asked coyly, knowing for a fact that she didn’t. Being pregnant suited her, putting pink tones into her skin that made her look rosy and warm. Matthew chuckled and stooped, pretending to inspect her.
“Nay, not entirely decrepit,” he said, ducking as she attempted to whack him over his head. He dug into his pouch and brought out something, opening her hand to place it in her palm. “Happy birthday.”
She closed her fist around it; another little wooden carving, like all her birthday gifts from him had been. When she opened her hand, she felt herself heating into a vivid red.
“I can’t show this to anyone!”
Matthew slipped an arm around her waist. “Nay, I think it best not.”
She stared down at herself, legs wide, back somewhat arched, and her head slung back in abandon.
“You have a very dirty mind,” she reprimanded him. She twisted the dark piece of wood over and over. “How do you do it? How can you produce something so small and fragile, with such exquisite detail?” He grew with her praise and kissed her on her cheek, assuring her that in this specific case it was a matter of inspiration.
They took the long turn home, strolling along the periphery of the little town. As they came round the corner of the Assembly House, they almost barged into Jones.
“Shit,” Alex said in an undertone, noting that Jones was as flustered by this impromptu meeting as she was. The large man was carrying an overflowin
g leather satchel, rolled deeds sticking out all over the place. He was accompanied by the chief registrar, and whatever conversation the two men might be having, died away at the sight of the Grahams. A curt nod from Jones, a slight inclination of the head from Matthew, and they were off, with Alex more or less dragging Matthew along.
“Alex…” Matthew brought them both to a stop. “I won’t do anything foolish.”
“No, but he might.”
“You think? I get the impression he’s been avoiding me of late.” He threw a black look in the direction of Jones, still in discussion with the registrar. “I wonder why.”
“Maybe Sir William managed to warn him off, you know, when he reminded Jones you were a free man too.”
“Maybe,” Matthew said, but he didn’t sound convinced. Alex threw a look over her shoulder at where Jones was still standing in discussion with the registrar.
“You don’t think…” she broke off, shaking her head.
“Think what?”
“Well, the man. Do you think it might be him, Jones, that has hired him somehow?”
“To do what? Spy on you?” Matthew shook his head. “Whatever for?” But she could see the thought made him nervous. Welcome to the club, mister; that makes two of us.
They detoured by the cemetery, standing for a moment before James’ stone. Matthew hadn’t stinted when it came to burying his friend, and on the smooth surface was engraved not only his name, but the name of his wife. No birth date, as Matthew didn’t know it.
“What will you write on my stone?” she asked him, repressing a cold tremor down her spine. He frowned down at her. “My birth date,” she said, “you can’t exactly put 1976, can you?”
“1632, that’s in line with your age.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t tell the truth, does it?”
His quick reply made her realise that this was something he had spent time thinking about, and it made her feel ill at ease. For reassurance she smoothed her hand over her rounding stomach. Life was growing in her, strong vibrant life that turned and wheeled inside of her. And she was only thirty, and had many, many years before her with Matthew at her side. She slipped her hand into his.
“Do you know how old Mrs Gordon is?”
Matthew wrinkled his brow. “Fifty-five?”
Alex gave him an admiring gaze. “Almost. She’s soon fifty-two.” And looked at least a decade older… Alex had struggled hard to keep the astonishment out of her face when Mrs Gordon told her. “And she’s been married twenty years, had both husband and children die away from her…” Alex let her voice trail off. “How can she still be so generally cheery? If it were me, I’d be permanently depressed.”
“I dare say she’s had those moments too.”
“She was seventeen when she married,” Alex went on, “that seems awfully young.”
“My Mam was eighteen when I was born,” Matthew said, smiling down at her.
“Still very young. I hope any daughter of ours will be older.”
“They will wed as I see fit,” he said with a shrug. “A lass of eighteen is well capable of being both wife and mother.”
“Hmm.” She threw him a look that she intended as forbidding, but it only made him grin.
*
Two days later, Matthew came into the kitchen with Mr Parson at his heels.
“Very odd,” Mr Parson said, “we’ve been through all the inns and boarding houses, and nowhere have we as much as caught a whiff of this man you say has been following you.”
“So maybe we’ve just been imagining it, right?” Alex said, even if she knew that wasn’t the case.
“Hmph!” Mrs Gordon brushed at Mr Parson’s rain-spattered coat. “I saw what I saw, aye? That man is up to no good, mark my words.”
“And the harbourmaster recalls him disembarking,” Matthew said, “a silent man who flitted off before the clerks could get his name.”
“He could be staying at one of the plantations.” Mr Parson sat down at the table.
“Yeah; like the Suffolk Rose,” Alex muttered. But why? A chill rushed through her. “Maybe I’m right; maybe Jones had hired him to, well, finish you off,” she said, staring at Matthew.
“Me?” Matthew shook his head. “It’s you he’s been following. Besides, why go to the trouble of bringing in a man from overseas? He could find a murderer right here, should he want to.”
Alex was sufficiently concerned to raise the issue the next time she met Sir William. He brought his eyebrows together in a worried frown.
“Following you? An unknown rogue?”
“That’s what it seems like,” Alex said.
“And what does your husband say about all this?”
“That I should stay at home and not walk anywhere alone.” Alex grimaced; she’d sneaked out this afternoon, and Matthew would be anything but pleased, even if it was only a quarter mile walk from Mr Parson’s shop to the Governor’s offices.
Sir William laughed and wagged an admonishing finger at her. “You should do as he tells you, although I am most delighted to see you here.” With that he stood, and a minute or so later Alex was out on the street, being escorted back home by the governor himself.
Halfway there they met Matthew, and Alex was rather irritated by how the two men began to talk over her head, for all the world as if she was a disobedient child.
“No, no,” Sir William said, “I am in total agreement with you, Mr Graham. And you’ve not found him?”
“Nowhere,” Matthew sighed, “and I’ve looked.”
“Well, mayhap he’s gone. It would seem neither lady has seen him these last few days.”
“Mayhap.” Matthew bowed in farewell, took Alex by the hand and led her home. He marched her up the stairs, more or less jostled her into their room, and closed the door with a bang. Boy, he was angry, eyes a very light green as he shouted at her to do as he said, and what had she been thinking of, to walk off like that?.
“What is it you don’t understand?” she said. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, okay? And I won’t – I repeat, won’t – stay stuck in here all day. It drives me crazy!”
“You’ll do as I say.” Matthew looked at her and exhaled. “It worries me, lass. What if he aims to snatch you off the street, abduct you like?”
“Me?” Alex laughed. “Why on earth would anyone want to kidnap me?” But she promised she’d do as he said and never leave the house alone.
*
“I’d like to come with you,” Alex said to Mrs Gordon one day. “You know, when you deliver a baby.” Anything to alleviate these hours of boredom, cooped up in the house.
“Why?”
Alex patted her stomach. “I guess I’d like to know a bit more. After all, it’s something I’ll be doing a bit of myself.” At times it scared her; anything could go wrong! So she had decided that she needed to know as much as possible, in an attempt to educate away her fears.
“You had an easy time of it with Mark,” Mrs Gordon said, “and you’re wide enough around the hips. You’ll have easy deliveries, I think.” She tilted her head to one side, black, bright eyes studying Alex. “But you can come if you wish; mind you, it will be at night. It almost always is.”
Alex shrugged. “I’ll cope.”
A week or so later, Mrs Gordon knocked on their door well after nightfall and told Alex to hurry, there was a man waiting to take them at speed to attend a birth. Alex dropped a quick kiss on Matthew’s shoulder, tied her apron into place, and joined Mrs Gordon outside the door. The man on the horse nodded at them and pointed at the mare on a leading rein.
“We must make haste,” he said, dismounting to boost Mrs Gordon to sit behind Alex. Halfway there, Alex realised where they were going.
“This is the road to Suffolk Rose!” she said to Mrs Gordon.
“There are women there as well, no?”
They were led directly into the big house, and Alex noted with surprise that they were making for the master’s bedroom – as far as s
he knew Fairfax hadn’t left a wife. She peeked into the office on their way, shivering as she remembered last time she was here, with Fairfax very dead in his chair.
“Bloody hell!” Alex came to a halt upon entering the bedchamber. Lying in the huge ornate bed was Kate, a Kate who was writhing with a contraction, but otherwise seemed to be in the best of health.
“What are you doing here?” Kate snapped, as disconcerted as Alex was.
“She’s here to help me.” Mrs Gordon dispatched the maid to find water, clean linen, oil and a soft woollen blanket.
“There,” Kate pointed to a corner. “You’ll find the blanket there. I knitted it myself.”
Mrs Gordon wasn’t listening, hands on Kate’s distended belly. “Hmm,” she said, prodding the pelvic area. “Hmm,” she muttered again when her hands moved further up.
“What?” Kate struggled up to sit.
“Twins.”
“Twins?” Kate squeaked, and squeaked even more when Mrs Parson proceeded to wipe her between her legs, all the while muttering comments to Alex.
“You didn’t know?” Alex asked Kate, who shook her head, eyes panicking as her womb hardened into a contraction.
“Oh God,” Kate said weakly, slumping back against the pillows. Alex had by now done her arithmetic and grinned.
“Not Matthew’s.”
“We don’t know that,” Kate said.
“Not his,” Alex repeated, “these were conceived in December.”
“Later than that,” Mrs Gordon corrected, “twins are generally never carried full term.” She raised a brow at Kate. “Where’s the father to be?”
“I don’t know, I think—” She broke off, mouth pinched shut, eyes bugging out with a new contraction.
“You can’t fight it,” Mrs Gordon admonished as the contraction faded away. “You must work with it.”
“Easy for you to say,” Kate muttered, dark eyes flashing.
“So, where is Jones?” Mrs Gordon repeated some time later.
“I think he’s hiding in the stables,” Kate said.
Like Chaff in the Wind (The Graham Saga) Page 24