Death be Not Proud

by C F Dunn

  “Do you forgive me?”

  He shook his head. “No, my love, you’ve done nothing wrong – nothing I didn’t deserve. It’s more of a question of will you be able to forgive me?”

  In answer, I laid my head against his chest, my arms around his waist, pulling myself close to him. “Will you forgive me, Emma?” he said, almost to himself. Above us, the street lamp had been fooled into thinking it was dusk as low cloud compacted and the wind redoubled its efforts, sleet thickening into snow. A car drove past slowly, its headlights on, dancing flakes in the yellow beams of light. Matthew glanced towards the house.

  “Let’s get you inside before you freeze. Will your family let me in, do you think, or am I persona non grata?” And he smiled again – a tired, restrained smile.

  The light had been switched on but the hall stood empty and quiet once we shut the door on the wind, and I breathed a sigh of relief for the brief respite before we faced the family.

  “Before we’re interrupted…” Drawing me towards him, he kissed me again. He took my hands in his – warm as mine were cold – and where a smile had touched his eyes, now I saw worry. “You look so pale, my love; how are you?”

  I remembered my silent prayer for him in the church and the peace that followed, and understood that now I knew he was all right, I would be too.

  “I’m better now.”

  “I’m glad…” he started to say, but then his head snapped around as the brass handle of the sitting room door turned and, whatever he had been about to say, he kept to himself. My father appeared in the doorway, his expression giving nothing away. Behind him, sitting on the sofa, the twins sat remarkably still. Beth stood behind them, watchfully, jigging a fractious Archie up and down in her arms.

  Dad spoke. “Emma, your mother wants to know if she needs to lay another place at the table.”

  I tried to keep my tone even, as if Matthew had been expected all along and just dropped by for a chat.

  “Yes please, Dad; Matthew will be staying.”

  I took Matthew’s hand in mine possessively, and he squeezed it reassuringly. I waited for the challenge, the bullish response, but there was none. My father unexpectedly smiled.

  “Right, I’ll tell Penny; it’ll be good to have another male to talk to.” He addressed Matthew directly. “I don’t know if anything I have will fit you, but you are welcome to have a look. Emma, you know where my things are; would you show Dr Lynes, please? Lunch won’t be long.”

  The door closed behind him. Matthew put a finger under my chin and tipped my open mouth shut.

  “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he chuckled.

  “What did you do to him? That wasn’t my father – that was an… an alien,” I stammered, still staring where my father had been a moment before. “Alien,” I repeated, taking in Matthew’s features, so familiar to me now, so beloved, that I found it hard to question his existence. “Matthew, what happened? Why are you…?” But my questions were cut short as the door opened again and the blonde curls of my niece appeared. She squealed in surprise as she saw us, and bobbed back behind it, accompanied by a burst of laughter.

  “Perhaps now is not the time to discuss your mortality,” I muttered, taking him by the hand and leading him towards the stairs.

  Few of my father’s clothes fitted Matthew’s athletic frame, but since he didn’t feel the cold and would hardly suffer from hypothermia, he opted to borrow a thick jumper that made it look as if he had made the effort to change. I placed him in front of the fan-heater in my room to dry the rest of him while I changed. He turned his back as I took off my wet clothes, giving me a degree of modesty, and examined my room.

  “So this is where you grew up,” he stated.

  “Uh huh.” I slid the zip up the auburn panelled skirt and wriggled the waistband around until it sat at the back.

  “How long have your family lived here – in this house?”

  “I’m decent,” I announced, dragging a boot out from under the bed. He faced me, catching me around my waist; I giggled.

  “Decent? Ah well, never mind,” he said with a note of disappointment. “So, how long?”

  “Um, about since… 1780-something, I think. It was a much grander house then but they divided it just over a hundred years ago. We have the bigger half but next door has a lovely garden. Shame, really; Mum would have liked the tennis courts and Dad would have killed to have a proper garden to poddle in. And you won’t dry if you don’t stand in front of that thing, you know.” I pushed him back until he stood obediently in front of the fan-heater again, and he pulled me with him so the warm stream of air flowed around us both.

  “Did you know Stamford – you know… back then, before… well, before…?” Since I was not sure how to continue my line of thought, my question petered out. He rested his chin on the top of my head as I leaned against his chest and breathed in the smell of him – a mix of his fresh, mountainy scent and the wet wool of his clothes.

  “Yes, it’s changed quite a bit, except for the churches. And the inns. And the river; it was always flooding then.”

  “It still does.” Moments passed in which he began rocking me gently. “Matthew?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I’ve been to Martinsthorpe, you know. Yes, of course you do – the photo – but what I mean is, I’ve been there and your house – your home – it’s gone. I don’t know whether you want to, but I can take you there, if that’s… if you would like to see where it was.” He stopped rocking and I looked anxiously up at him.

  “Thank you, but it was a very long time ago; I didn’t expect it to be there still. I haven’t thought about it in a long time.” He resumed the rocking.

  I chewed my lip, wondering how far I could go. “Do you remember much about your life then or… or about what happened?”

  He stopped again and leaned back a little so that he could see my face clearly.

  “You are quite remarkable, Emma D’Eresby. Any woman – anybody – in their right mind would have turned tail and run, given what you know of me. But here you are, worried about hurting my feelings about something that happened nearly four hundred years ago.” He rubbed his forehead with the knuckle of his thumb. “Emma – I should be dead. You should be worried about why I’m not dead. You should be worried about you – not me.”

  I nodded. “Oh, yes, I know I should and all that, but time is only the passing of moments, Matthew, and that doesn’t alter your past or the nature of… of what happened. And it’s bound to leave its scars on you, in the same way it has – to a lesser extent, perhaps – on me. Just because it was a long time ago doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

  He took my left hand and extended my arm, pushing the sleeve up a little to reveal the scar. He checked it with a professional eye, kissed it, then rested his cheek on my warm skin.

  “I didn’t mean that sort of scar,” I said, watching the play of light through his hair.

  “I know you didn’t,” he said, his voice reflective. I stroked his hair and, for a moment, he remained quiet and still under my touch. Then he straightened.

  “I should have known better than to take up with a historian. First she discovers who I am and then she has to analyse the data. I suppose you have lots of questions for me?”

  “Yes, lots. But if it makes you feel any better, you are still a man of mystery. I said that I know who you are, Matthew, but I still don’t have a clue about what you are.”

  “That makes two of us.” He shook his head incredulously. “And yet here you stand.”

  “Yes, here I stand,” I agreed.

  On the way down the stairs, hand in hand, I remembered what had been bothering me since my father asked if Matthew would stay for lunch.

  “But you don’t eat anything, do you? It’s going to look very obvious.”

  He didn’t appear to be troubled by the prospect.

  “I can eat a little, even if I don’t need to; it won’t kill me. And besides, I’ve had plenty of time to per
fect avoidance tactics.” He glanced out of the corner of his eye. “A bit like you, somewhat.” I nudged him in the ribs before I remembered how hard his body was. He rubbed my elbow better for me.

  “It’s a good thing that wasn’t the other arm; that really would have hurt.” He grinned, kissing my frown.

  We went into the sitting room, the heavy door’s squeaking hinge announcing our arrival. The twins had long since given up being good and were rolling around on the floor between the furniture, seeing how far they could go before they crashed into one another. Mum and Beth had heard us approach through the children’s raucous play, and were already sitting in receiving mode, bolt upright and correct. Archie swayed and rocked on Beth’s lap. My sister smiled anxiously when she saw us and stood up, pulling her jumper down over her hips in the nervous way she had. Our mother was sitting quite still on her chair, her hands clasped in front of her, her mouth thin like a straw.

  “Mum…?” I started to say, but Matthew let go of my hand, stepping forwards and inclining his head as he neared her.

  “Ma’am.”

  Beth’s jaw dropped but Mum assessed him unsmiling, and then me, before smoothing her hands over her tweed skirt as she rose to greet him. The children stopped rolling, and lay still on the floor on their backs, heads bent backwards as they watched the adults upside down. In the hall, the long-case clock donged ominously.

  “Dr Lynes, this is quite a surprise. I don’t think we expected to see you, but you are… welcome.”

  Matthew looked at her steadily. “Thank you, ma’am, I’m glad to be here. I’m grateful for your hospitality.”

  There was a pause in which Beth and I exchanged glances, then Mum let her shoulders drop and put out her hand to him, and they declared an unspoken truce. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must help Hugh get the vegetables finished if we are to eat this side of Christmas.”

  The conspicuous tension went with her. I exhaled quietly and turned to my sister as I introduced her, and she swung the baby onto a hip, extricating a hand. “And this is Archie,” I added. Archie held a strip of peeled cucumber in one fist which he attempted to fit into his mouth, eyes wide as he stared at Matthew. As she held out her hand, Archie chose that moment to lunge forward. Quicker than a whip, Matthew caught the baby in mid-air as he plummeted towards the floor.

  “Here you go, young man,” he said, handing him back to his shaken mother, who clasped his squirming, protesting body close to hers. She gazed at Matthew with undisguised awe.

  “Thanks.”

  “Not at all,” he said and broke into one of his melting smiles. Beth hadn’t been exposed to him before, and she flushed a deep red. I would have been outrageously jealous had it been any other woman but my sister. My married sister. My happily married sister who was eight years older than me.

  “Thanks so much,” she said again, weakly, finding it necessary to concentrate on wiping Archie’s chin free of dribble. Matthew turned to the twins. Alex viewed him warily from around the edge of the sofa. Flora still lay on her back, a dark-brown plastic horse with a black mane forgotten in one hand.

  “Hello, you must be Flora,” he addressed her. The only time I could remember telling him about the twins was weeks ago, and in passing. Perhaps with long life came a good memory. He tilted his head on one side so he could see her better.

  The little girl frowned at him. “Are you from the television?” she asked, rolling onto her stomach. Matthew looked at her, puzzled by the context.

  “No, he’s from America, bubblehead,” her brother observed from his vantage point. I had forgotten Matthew would sound American to everyone else; I could hear only the English undertones.

  “Quite so. And you must be Alex.” Matthew curved around and matched my nephew’s rather serious expression. Alex nodded cautiously, backing away.

  “I understand you are a collector of coins.” He crouched down so as to be almost level with the boy’s dark head. Alex stopped retreating and raised his chin, his initial shyness waning.

  “And military mem’rabilia – especially arrowheads. I’ve found arrowheads and a piece of armour. Daddy took me to Losecoat Field; there was a battle there in 1470.”

  “That’s very impressive,” Matthew commented.

  “And he took me,” Flora butted in, now on her knees and wriggling until close to Matthew’s elbow. “And I found a piece of horse harness – it was from a warhorse, you know, the piece that goes here.” And she illustrated by clamping her pink finger crosswise in her mouth.

  “The bit?” Matthew asked. Flora nodded earnestly.

  “Daddy’s taking us again this holiday – he said he would – and Grandpa says there was a de Eresby there and he got his head chopped off by the king. King… king…” Alex turned to me for help, looking vexed as the name evaded him.

  “Edward the Fourth,” I whispered.

  “Edward the Fourth,” he repeated gravely, as if he had remembered it himself. “And Emma said she’s going to go too, didn’t you, Emma?” Alex challenged me to deny it.

  “Did you indeed?” Matthew looked at me, trying not to laugh.

  “I might have said that I would think about it.”

  Flora fixed me firmly with her most teacherly expression – the one she normally reserved for Alex when she thought he was getting beyond himself.

  “Yes, you did, Emma, I r’member. But you can come too,” she said, beaming up at Matthew. “I can show you where I found the bit, if you like.”

  Beth gave her a hushing look. “I’m sure Dr Lynes has better things to do than walk around that pile of mud, Flora.”

  Flora’s face fell and Beth flustered as she realized she had overstepped the mark.

  “There’s nothing I would have liked better,” Matthew said, chucking the little girl under the chin so she smiled again.

  “So you will come? And Emma too?” Alex said eagerly, his thin little face animated as he looked between us both.

  Matthew shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, I can’t this time. I’m flying back to the States tomorrow and I’m taking your aunt with me. Maybe next time.”

  I barely disguised an involuntary gasp with a cough. The twins started to plead, their joint wheedling rising in a familiar drone. Matthew dropped his voice so the children stopped moaning and had to lean forward to hear him.

  “I used to beg my father to take me to a battlefield when I was about your age, and do you know what I found?” The twins shook their heads in unison, eyes round. “A long sword, about…” he narrowed his eyes as he looked at the twins, “… as long as you are, Alex.”

  My nephew jumped to his feet. “This big!” he put his hand on top of his head.

  “Indeed – just as big as you, with a broad cross hilt about here…” he drew a bar across Alex’s collarbone, “… and a well-weighted pommel. Do you know what that is?” The children shook their heads again. “That’s the handle. And this was a fine hand-and-a-half sword, so whoever it belonged to would have been very sorry to lose it.”

  I realized with a start that he must be referring to the same battlefield, only he would have walked it nearly 400 years before the children were born.

  “Whose was it? Whose was it?” Flora bounced up and down on her knees, making the Imari bowl on the fragile side table shake worryingly.

  “Well, my father thought that it must have belonged to at least a knight, if not a lord, and he dropped it during the battle.”

  Alex grabbed Matthew’s arm. “Did he try to escape?”

  “I think he must have done. He wouldn’t have thrown his sword away casually, so he either dropped it, or…” He let the question hang between them.

  “Or he was killed!” Alex whispered, fascinated.

  Beth inched forward to listen, despite herself. “Do you still have this sword?”

  Matthew untangled himself from the children and stood up, ruffling Flora’s hair as she tried to hang on to him.

  “I do – it’s at home.” He looked fleetingly at me
, before being distracted by Flora riding the toy horse up his back. He caught her under the arms and swung her up as easily as he had held Archie, and she squealed with delight.

  “That is a mi-ghty fine steed you have there, young lady,” he drawled in a perfect Midwest accent. “What’s his name?”

  Flora started telling him and Beth took the opportunity to pull me to one side by my sleeve.

  “Where on earth did you find him?” she hissed. “He’s downright gorgeous and he’s great with kids. No,” she corrected herself, “he’s not so much gorgeous – though he is, mind you – he’s compelling.”

  “Yes, and he’s mine,” I retorted, pulling a face at her, but liking her description of him all the same.

  “Doesn’t have an older brother by any chance, does he?” she said, peering around me. The three of them were engaged in discussing the finer points of the plastic horse and possibly horse armour at the other side of the room.

  “No, he’s unique,” I said wryly.

  She shook her head in mock wonder. “What’s wrong with him, then?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with him,” I said abruptly, and she picked up on it immediately, raising her eyebrows in questioning surprise.

  “I didn’t say there was, Em. That’s the point – he seems almost too perfect.” I opened my mouth to reply but she went on rapidly before I had a chance. “So you’re going back with him tomorrow? You’ll miss Christmas. Golly, what will Mum and Dad say to that?”

  “So it seems.”

  Her eyes widened. “You didn’t know, did you? You mean you didn’t discuss it first? He assumed you would go? And you agree? That’s a first!” She guffawed and Archie put a wet fist of fingers to her mouth. “Bleagh, thanks Arch.” She blew a raspberry at him and he laughed. “I can’t say I blame you, though; I can quite see what all the fuss was about.”