Serpents in the Garden (The Graham Saga)

by Anna Belfrage

  *

  Luke listened in silence as a most aggravated Richard Collin expounded on Jacob’s deviousness, detailing meeting after meeting between Jacob and the fair Charlotte. The goldsmith couldn’t sit still, pacing the room as he talked, his big hands fisting whenever he spat out Jacob’s name.

  Luke poured Richard yet another glass of wine. “Silly lad! I have repeatedly warned him off.”

  “To no avail.” Richard threw himself into a chair. “Do you think he’s bedded her?”

  Luke considered the question. There was no question that Jacob very much wanted to bed her, but Luke doubted that she had allowed it to go that far. And, to give Jacob his due, he was so besotted he’d insist on wedding her first.

  “No,” Luke said.

  Richard stood and tweaked his dark coat into place. “Seven, then, and don’t be late.”

  “Oh, no,” Luke promised, “I’ll be punctual, most punctual.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Richard said in lieu of farewell.

  “Keep what in mind?”

  “That he’s your nephew.” Richard let the door swing shut behind him.

  Luke opened the door. “Richard!” He waited until the goldsmith had turned his way. “I avenge my own. Best you don’t forget that, aye?”

  *

  “…and what about garlic?” Master Castain said, holding up the door to let Jacob through.

  “Ah well, garlic…” Jacob took a deep breath to launch into a description of all the uses of this versatile little onion, but was cut off by a beefy hand that came down over his mouth. Jacob struggled, and someone clobbered him over the head. Vaguely, he heard Master Castain’s loud protests, how the door to the shop squeaked open, and the master was pushed inside before the key turned, twice.

  Jacob was pulled to his feet. Dazed, he was led through streets full of people, people who stopped what they were doing to gawk before hastily returning to their tasks. He had by now regained his senses and tried to fight himself free. A decisive yank, and he had one arm free, but three against one were uneven odds, even more so when something sharp dug into his lower back.

  “Come along nicely, or else…” The blade dug that bit deeper, and Jacob’s inhalation whistled down his windpipe. Sweet Lord, but that hurt! He rose on his toes in a vain attempt to evade the knife’s tip, and tried to control the loud thumping in his head that he recognised as his racing heartbeat.

  They marched him past St Mary-le-Bow, took a left down Friday Street, and well before they reached Maiden’s Lane, Jacob knew where they were going, his stomach tightening into a hard knot at the sight of Richard Collin’s house. When he was led into the secluded yard and tied spreadeagled to the fence, he had to swallow hard not to cry.

  He didn’t like the glint in Richard Collin’s eyes, nor did he like the look of those hands. And then pain exploded in his face, in his chest, in his abdomen, as Richard proceeded to beat him from top to toe. He almost fainted when Richard broke his nose. A foot was brought down on his toes, and he yelled out loud. His head snapped back when a punch was driven into his chin, a blow on his ear had his head ringing, and all the time blood was flowing from his nose, dripping from his bitten lip. An eyebrow burst, and Jacob sagged in his ropes, crying for Da. He heard Richard’s heavy breathing; a hand grabbed hold of his hair and forced his head back. Jacob could barely see.

  “Enough?” Richard asked.

  “Enough for what?” Jacob managed to say, his tongue probing his teeth.

  “Enough that you never approach my wife-to-be again.”

  “Your wife-to-be?” Jacob coughed. “So it’s no longer enough to abuse her? Now you have to force her to marry you as well?”

  “Abuse her? Is that what she’s been telling you? That I make free of her on a nightly basis?” Richard leaned very close, but Jacob only saw him in a haze. “I’ve never touched her, you fool, and I hope for your sake that you haven’t either.” He straightened up and kicked Jacob in the balls. Jacob couldn’t scream, he couldn’t breathe – all he could do was register the excruciating pain that had his privates howling in agony.

  After that last kick, Richard snapped instructions, and Jacob was sluiced in bucket after bucket of water. Someone crudely reset his nose, which almost hurt as much as the original break, and then he was led off to where Richard was waiting.

  “Had I wanted to truly maim you, I would have crushed your hands,” Richard said, “but I promised that this time I wouldn’t. However if I ever – ever – find you anywhere close to Charlotte again, I will. Understood?”

  Jacob fisted his hands. Yes, he understood. Without his hands, he was doomed to poverty, unable to work at anything but the most menial of tasks. His brain was incapable of processing everything that was happening to him, but one thing kept echoing round and round, and that was Richard’s cold assurance that he had never touched Charlotte. Jacob tried to clear his mind. If not, then why all the herbal remedies? Why all these detailed stories of evenings spent behind her bolted door while her inebriated stepfather pounded at it?

  He concentrated on studying his ten whole fingers. He had no idea why he was here, looking like a dishevelled ruffian, or who Richard had promised not to maim him for life. Charlotte, of course, he smiled, seeing a weeping Charlotte on her knees, begging for him. It heartened him, this image of his distraught love, her fair hair undone, her blue eyes looking pleadingly at her stepfather.

  “Come with me,” Richard said, and for all that he could scarcely walk, Jacob shuffled after him. He shivered in his wet clothes, his face was a throbbing mess, and at least one tooth was missing. He wondered if he had swallowed it as he had no memory of spitting it out.

  He was dragged up a flight of stairs and led into a dark-panelled room, where he was pushed to sit on a stool. Jacob took shallow breaths and leaned back against the wall. He very much wanted something to drink, and then he wanted someone to tuck him into bed and promise him all this hurt would soon be over. Mama…he gritted his tender jaw in an effort not to cry. Instead, he wiggled his toes and a shaft of pain shot up his leg.

  There was a commotion by the door, several male voices talking and laughing at once. Gingerly, Jacob opened one swollen eye and, to his consternation, the first person he saw was his uncle. He closed his eyes, hoping thereby to remain invisible. A careful peek indicated that hadn’t worked very well, because here came Luke, eyes blazing in an uncommonly pale face. Luke was intercepted by two of Richard’s men, and from the ensuing argument, Jacob gathered that his uncle intended to rip their hearts out unless they allowed him access to his nephew. The men were adamant, and with a glowering look that should have reduced both of them to smouldering ashes, Luke retired to stand on the opposite side of the room, his eyes never leaving Jacob.

  Jacob wanted to reassure him, tell Luke he was alright, but everything hurt too much, and so he just opened his mouth a couple of times, blearily taking in his lavish surroundings. There was a table placed centrally in the room, and Jacob counted to twenty candle holders, all with burning candles, which seemed excessive given that summer daylight still lingered outside the long small-paned window. St George and the dragon, Jacob concluded after having studied the stained glass for some time. Dark polished floors, walls that were decorated with tapestries, several small tables that held goblets and flasks of wine – this room was grander than Uncle Luke’s parlour. He fidgeted. He needed to pee and his balls hurt.

  *

  “Ah, quite the blushing bride-to-be,” Richard said when he came to fetch Charlotte. She tried out a smile and straightened her spine. In the tight brocade bodice, her breasts rose high and round. Richard extended his hand. She glided over the floor, fully aware of how fetching she looked with her unbound hair falling down her back. Her heart was beating like a trapped bird, and when his fingers clasped hers, she could hear a golden fetter close around her wrist.

  She entered the parlour on Richard’s arm, and the first person she saw was Jacob, a shivering, befuddled Jacob tha
t gawked at her as if she’d been an angel come to earth. Richard made a warning sound, and Charlotte swept by Jacob without as much as a glance.

  “My dear, you must of course greet our guests,” Richard said, indicating the men who were standing near the centre of the room. Charlotte smiled and swept them a deep curtsey. She knew one of the men was Jacob’s uncle, and a quick inspection made it very clear who that was, his bright eyes regarding her with such dislike she wanted to sink through the floor.

  After some minutes of polite remarks, Richard steered her across the room to where Jacob was sitting hunched on his stool. Charlotte was inundated with shame for what had been done to him. He didn’t deserve this, not for loving her and giving her flowers and holding her hand.

  “Do you know who this is?” Richard asked.

  Jacob’s head jerked back, something green and dangerous moving in his eyes.

  Charlotte cleared her throat and made a number of looking Jacob up and down. “No,” she said, “but I’d assume he’s an apprentice given his scruffy appearance.”

  Jacob slumped at her words.

  “What has he done?” Charlotte asked, parroting the lines she’d been told to say.

  “Done? Oh, he’s played at Icarus, my dear. Flown far too near the sun and singed his wings.” Richard chuckled at his own joke and led Charlotte to stand in the middle of the room, just by the table. She wiped her sweaty hand on her skirts and sneaked a look at Jacob, who was sitting with his head lowered. She looked the other way, and there were those intense green eyes framed by hair the colour of a fox pelt.

  Richard proceeded to explain why they were here, declaring how glad it made him that his sweet ward, his precious Charlotte, had at last found it in her heart to accept his offer of marriage. Precious Charlotte simpered and tried to look as happy as a bride-to-be should look. He held out the dripping quill, and it seemed to her that the door to her gilded cage slammed permanently shut when she signed her name to the contracts on the table. She stood very still when Richard kissed her on the mouth, and then she was excused, curtseying deeply before fleeing the room.

  *

  Luke refused the wine and the sweetmeats, grabbed Richard by the elbow, and propelled him to stand by the window. “I told you I avenge my own.”

  Richard threw Jacob a disinterested look. “He’s not badly hurt. A broken nose is no great loss.” He looked at Luke’s silver nose and smiled.

  Luke increased the pressure to the point that Richard uttered a muted yelp. “You touch him again, Master Collin, and you’ll have more than a broken nose to worry about.” Luke leaned forward so that his mouth was very close to Richard’s ear. “And yon lass… Her eldest sister was a slut, the second one as well, and as I hear it wee Hetty is also generous with her favours. Marrying them doesn’t stop it.” He could see that struck home, and with an infinitesimal bow, he released his host and went to take his nephew home.

  Jacob could barely stand, leaning heavily on Luke as they made slow progress down the stairs.

  “My foot…” he mumbled through his bruised and battered mouth. “And my nose…” Once in the carriage he wept, silent tears coursing down his cheeks. Luke could do nothing but clasp his arm, but that made Jacob inhale loudly, so Luke let go, patting Jacob’s thigh instead.

  Getting Jacob inside required two footmen, every single step accompanied by a strangled gasp from Jacob. Luke shushed and helped him undress; he himself lowered Jacob into the bath, saw to his bruises and shallow cuts. He had his barber-surgeon sent for and held Jacob’s hand while the toes were set, after which he put him to bed, patting the clean linen sheets into place round Jacob’s body. He smoothed at the heavy fringe, sweeping all that hair away from his nephew’s pale and battered face.

  “Da,” Jacob murmured. Luke sat beside him for a long time, wondering how this nephew of his had so effectively managed to capture his heart.

  *

  Charlotte heard the bolt draw back and sat up in bed. She had hoped he wouldn’t come, that with the signing of the contracts she had bought herself a period of grace. Richard entered the room and stood for some time by the door, regarding her.

  “I hear you’ve been telling these most unflattering tales about me, about how I rape you, night after night.” He sauntered towards the bed, undoing the buttons of his coat.

  “I have never—”

  He put a finger to her lips. “Don’t lie, Charlotte.” He had by now undone his breeches and Charlotte stared with trepidation at his swollen member, poking its way out through the cloth. “And after tonight, it will anyway all be true.” He pushed her down and she didn’t protest or fight. This was her soon-to-be husband, the man who controlled all her worldly goods, and her body was his to use as he pleased. It was a very long night for Charlotte Foster.

  Chapter 36

  “I hate snakes. I really, really hate them.” Alex threw an apologetic glance at her husband, but remained on the table, the huge iron frying pan in her hand.

  “It’s not venomous,” David said. “It’s a corn snake – pretty, isn’t it?”

  Objectively, it probably was: a soft brownish yellow decorated with deep red blotches, but Alex was in no mood to see it. “I don’t care what it is, or if it shits gold. Just get it out of here!”

  David lifted the snake off the floor. “You’ve hurt it.”

  “Tough. It shouldn’t be in here to begin with, should it?” She glared at her eight-year-old.

  “I had to put it somewhere,” David said. “If I leave it outside, Adam’s corbie goes for it.”

  “Good. I’m all on Hugin’s side, and if I see it again, well then – wham!” She brought the frying pan down hard on the tabletop, making David and Matthew jump. With a last reproachful look, David took his pet outside.

  “Are you planning on staying up there for long?” Matthew asked.

  “Can you guarantee there are no more snakes?”

  “Here? Aye. Outside, no.” He helped her down from the table and took the frying pan from her. “Four rattlesnakes, lass. That’s all we’ve killed in the years we’ve been here.”

  “But we’ve seen more,” Alex said with a grimace. “And, speaking of snakes, what’s this I hear about Constance showing up at Leslie’s Crossing?”

  Matthew just shook his head. “Come for her bairns, she says, and she has her father with her to back her up.”

  “That won’t help, will it? And, besides, Peter and Constance are still married.”

  “Unfortunately.” Mrs Parson entered the kitchen on tiptoe. “No snakes?”

  “No, not anymore.” Alex said.

  A shaft of sunlight struck Mrs Parson full in the face, and the old woman squinted, raising her hand to shield her eyes. As always, she was dressed in black, her collar, cap and cuffs starched into perfection. The hair was a silky white with very little grey in it, and, at times, all of her creaked when she moved. But her black eyes remained the same: inquisitive and intelligent, they assessed the world around her as quickly now as they had always done.

  “Still alive, am I?” Mrs Parson asked with an edge, making Alex start.

  “I think so, and if not, you’re a scarily solid ghost.”

  Mrs Parson laughed and sat down in her chair. “So, wee Constance, when did she arrive?”

  “Yesterday,” Thomas replied from the door, allowing Mary to enter before him. “What happened here?” he asked, taking in the thrown benches, the shattered clay pitcher and the blond dents in the dark floor.

  “Snake,” Alex said, “a huge thing all over my kitchen floor.”

  “Three feet at the most,” Matthew corrected her, righting the furniture. “A corn snake.”

  Thomas put on his most serious face. “Oh, one of those dangerous snakes.”

  Mary set her basket on the table and uncovered several meat pies. “We decided we could dine with you. Our Adam and Judith are with the girls.”

  “That bad?” Alex said.

  Mary rolled her eyes. “And we live in a
separate house. What it must be like for Ailish and Nathan, I can’t imagine.”

  “Throw them out.” Alex placed mugs and plates on the table.

  “Oh, he will,” Thomas said. “Constance is presently committing the gravest mistake in her life. My brother has quite a vindictive streak in him when roused, and he didn’t appreciate being called an old farting fool by his wife.” He sighed, nodding his thanks when Agnes served him some beer. “No, I fear it will be a long time before she sees her sons again – and nor will he grant her a divorce. No grounds.”

  “He can do that? Refuse to divorce her, maintain her on what he considers reasonable, and deny her access to her children?” Alex actually felt sorry for Constance – for like a microsecond.

  “Yes,” Thomas said, “of course he can. Nor will it help her to appeal to the ministers.”

  “So, where will she go?” Alex discreetly spat out a piece of gristle.

  “Back to her father to ease his old age,” Matthew said sarcastically, “and not until Peter dies will she be free to marry elsewhere.”

  “And we live a long time in our family.” Thomas grinned before digging into his second helping of pie.

  “I brought you something, Matthew,” Thomas said once he’d finished eating. He produced a book from his coat pocket. A new book… It made Alex’s fingers itch. Not once since she had left the twenty-first century behind had she seen a book in such condition, the pages crisp and unturned, the leather back unbroken.

  “What is it?” she asked, kicking in the general direction of Matthew to make him hand the book over.

  “Ouuf!” With a dark look at Alex, Thomas bent down to rub his shin.