Destroy the man.
So, while the skaters whizzed about and everyone else was otherwise occupied, Matthew had walked away, following the path he knew would lead to her
Bridget was bundled against the cold, her gloved hands clutching an old, worn book to her chest. She admired the promise of Spring before her with a smile, the sunlight dazzlingly bright, the trees empty and barren now, but with new buds stirring within, giving her hope. Oh, the memories she could conjure from this spot. So much joy. The first time she’d met Matthew, the first time they sat together and talked, the first time he’d held her hand, their first kiss. She swiped a tear from her cheek.
“I hope that tear was for me.”
She jumped from her seat and spun around.
He felt calmer now, seeing her in such distress. Yes, her feelings were as tumultuous as his own, no matter how hard she fought against them. “You look surprised to see me, dear.” He strolled around the bench, amused by her confusion, and sat. “You’re not going to pretend you haven’t been waiting for me to come along, are you?”
“Of course I haven’t!”
“No? Pity.” He patted the space beside him. “Come and sit with me – like old times. You needn’t look down the road, no one noticed my leaving the skating pond and coming here… all too busy laughing and making merry. Interesting aside, I saw your husband go to the pond’s edge. Gad, you don’t think he’s going to try to skate, do you? I wouldn’t want to miss that for the world.”
Her face flushed with anger, her fists clenched. Why did he always have this effect on her? Why did he always end with cruelty? She hated Matthew more than anyone else on earth at times – but, God help her, she also loved him to the point of madness. Even his bitterness, which she understood, and his selfishness and arrogance, which she sometimes shared… more’s the pity.
“Oh, stop sputtering. I was only teasing.”
“No. No, you were not. You say vile, hurtful things deliberately.” She sat as far away as possible from him and stared forward.
“I know. I do, don’t I? Sorry. I seem to enjoy upsetting you, oddly enough. I’m a sick bastard, what can I say? Well, enough about me. You’re looking more beautiful than ever, Bridget. I like what you’ve done with your hair, and your figure is just as luscious as I remember. The Highland kilts must jump around you like rabbits to a hole. Probably think Alex is your father, what? Does he beat them off with his cane?”
“Enough! I can take no more of you!” She stood too quickly, dropping what she was holding in her hands.
“Aha. What have we here?” The book had landed by his boot so he snatched it up before she could. “Not so fast, lassie. What are we reading these days? Poetry? I remember you always did have a syrupy, romantic streak…” He stopped speaking suddenly. For a moment, all was quiet.
“Give that back to me. Now, Matthew.” If she didn’t leave soon she’d burst into tears.
Matthew stared at the cover, turned the book over. “This is the book I gave you.”
“Yes. Please may I have it back.”
“I would have thought you’d thrown this away ages ago.” His mind spun, emotions stirring more than he cared to admit. The book of poems by Robert Burns was one his mother had given him as he went off to Oxford, a memento more precious to him than diamonds, and he had given it to Bridget out of his love for her years before.
Opening the cover, he read the well-remembered inscription out loud. “With all my love.” There was a sudden lump in his throat. “Well, damnation, I’d forgotten I’d given you this.” That was a lie. He’d thought about it every day, for years. “Why ever did you keep this?”
She stared at the trees, spoke so softly he barely heard her. “It was all I had left of you, besides our son. I placed it in Ewan’s crib when he was first born and there it remained until he was given a child’s bed, and then I sewed it into the cotton mattress of that. No one else ever knew. You see, I wanted you to be near him, somehow.” Slowly she sat back down on the bench, sighing at all they had missed together. “Oh, Matthew, he was a beautiful baby, and so good – and, now he’s a wonderful boy. He wants to see the world and experience everything. And he laughs all the time, no matter what problem he’s faced with – he can be a little devil at times, yet he could charm the stars from the sky.”
“Sounds an awful lot like my father.”
“Must be. It certainly wasn’t mine. My papa rarely ventured outside a library. But not our boy, Matthew. He is always searching for adventures.” Swiping away the tears she studied the snowy horizon rather than look into Matthew’s eyes, dark and brooding now, heavy with wants that were beyond her ability to give. She took a deep breath. “Alex has decided that if Ewan wishes to come here, to attend school here, we’ll not stand in his way.”
Matthew’s jaw clenched. “My, that’s awfully big of him.”
“Matthew, please, I don’t wish to fight with you anymore. Forgive me for doing what I had to do at the time. Forgive me for everything.”
His heart nearly broke when he saw tears stream down her cheeks. She was his life, always was and always would be. “Forgive you? Never. I love you too much for that.” He pulled her to him, his mouth covering hers, demanding and needy. When his tongue swept across hers she was his again, body and soul, lost to a love out of her control. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she kissed him back, tasting both their tears.
“You’re mine,” he whispered, his forehead touching hers before their lips met again, the kiss even deeper, his hands sliding into her hair. Bridget thought she would die from love….
It was then that they heard the first screams.
Chapter 28
In the blink of an eye the world had gone mad. Shrieks and cries and children’s screams filled the air as people began running toward the skating pond. There were shouts for help, for ropes, for tree branches – people pushed and shoved at each other, they yelled out names, they shouted for God. The pond icemen, the skating club members, park keepers, spectators all were in full panic. Matthew and Bridget reached the crest just in time to see a large chunk of ice give way.
The screams somehow intensified.
Men and women rushed onto the ice to their children, their loved ones, their friends, only to scramble back in terror as more and more cracks formed under the added weight. Matthew heard Darcy’s shouts above the din, pleading with people to stay back; few seemed to listen. He saw his father down on his knees, his hands outstretched to someone in the icy water. He was screaming.
Someone ran past and Matthew attempted to grab his arm, nearly getting clobbered when the hysterical man took a swing at him and tore off in another direction. He grabbed for another man stumbling past. “How many have fallen in?” he shouted over the din.
“My God! The ice! They’re drowning! Let go of me, I must find my wife.” And with that, the man raced off.
Terror stopped Matthew’s heart cold.
Amanda.
The realization struck Bridget at the same moment. She pulled away from Matthew and began running, “Alex! Ewan! Oh, dear Jesus!”
He pulled her back, turned her around to face him. “Alex was speaking with Uncle Wills before I left.”
“No! You said Alex walked down to the skaters!” She covered her mouth with her hands and looked around wildly. “My boy!” she was hysterical. “Where is my boy?”
Matthew shook her. “Get hold of yourself. Stay away from the pond, darling – you’ll be trampled there – go, seek out my uncle. I’ll find my brothers and we’ll look for them both.”
He then began running down the hill, pushing people from his path – all the time shouting, “Amanda! Alex! Ewan!” He scanned the crowd for them, searching, searching. “Stop, Clarissa!” He shouted when he caught sight of his wife running onto the ice. He ran to her. “Clarissa!” She slipped, falling under the mob as it pushed and trampled across her hands and legs. He strong armed his way through, shoving people aside, pulling her up and into his arms
. She was wailing and crying so hard she made no sense.
“Have you seen her?” he shouted. “Clarissa, answer me! Where is Amanda?”
“Out there!” She pointed to where people were trying to reach those struggling in the water. “She’s there! Our baby’s fallen into the water!”
Matthew immediately began running along the icy bank through the crowds, the police whistles and screams deafening. Men were ripping branches from trees, finding ropes and throwing them into the water, anything for rescuers or victims to grab onto – there must have been twenty people bobbing in the freezing water, men, women and children, their heavy clothing pulling them down.
Then he saw Harry, Luke and his cousin George, all reaching into the water, grabbing hold of friends and strangers alike. Nephews and nieces of his were huddled on the bank weeping, two soaking wet and bundled in blankets. Matthew had seen everyone but his precious daughter. Where was Amanda? Where was his baby? Buffeted by strangers he staggered onto the slippery ice. “Amanda! Amanda!” He screamed over the clamor, again and again.
“Please, God, save my child.” His hands raked through his hair, he spun around madly. “I know I’ve been awful, but please don’t punish my baby. I’ll change, I promise…”
A shout came from nearby, people were pointing and waving their arms. “The boy! Someone take the boy!” Matthew quickly recognized Ewan being carried onto the shore and he began to run, stumbling just as he reached his son, pulling him into his arms, pushing the dripping hair from the child’s face. “Are you all right?”
Before the boy could respond others called out. “It’s giving way here!” Suddenly people were running past him and back up the snowbanks. The men lying on their stomachs, tossing out ropes to people, freezing now themselves and exhausted, scrambled backward.
Matthew passed his hand over Ewan’s face, kissed his forehead, and sobbed when the boy wrapped his arms around his neck. The child was shivering from the cold water, but alive.
“Give him to us.” Holding a blanket out, a stranger reached down for Ewan. The child began to panic then, he screamed, fighting against hands that were trying to take him away. He only burrowed deeper into Matthew’s arms.
“Your mother’s coming for you, Ewan. You’ll be safe now.” Matthew had spotted Bridget running along the path, struggling through the crowd. Then there was a horrible cracking sound, more ice beginning to give. “Let go, son. This man will take you to your mother,” he whispered into Ewan’s ear. “His mother is coming. Take the lad…”
“No!” cried Ewan, pointing back to the water. Matthew had no time for this, he needed to find his daughter. He struggled up the incline slowly to hand the boy over. “No!” Ewan was hysterical, twisting in his arms.
“Whatever is the matter?”
“My Papa! My Papa! There!”
Matthew spun around. “Where, Ewan? Where is he?” And then he saw the child in the water – still and limp as death, her blonde hair covering her face, her heavy cloak soaking. Some brave soul was in that freezing lake holding her up, even while their own head kept disappearing under the icy waters.
Amanda Rose.
He immediately shoved the boy at the nearest person and jumped in, the shock of the cold nearly stopping his heart. People were yelling to him but he couldn’t concentrate on what they were saying, all he could see was his daughter’s tiny face, her lips pale and blue… and, then she was gone. No! He screamed, struggling to swim in his heavy coat and boots. When he was finally near he grabbed for her blindly, wildly splashing his arms, gasping for air. Nothing. He dove under the water but it was too dark. All he saw were the vague outlines of a half dozen other wildly thrashing people – until…
Suddenly there she was, her golden hair floating around her. He pulled her to him and immediately broke the water surface, gasping for air. “Baby girl,” he croaked, “baby girl, open your eyes for your Papa! Please!” One second, two seconds, three… the eyelash flutter was brief but wonderful – her eyes blinked a few times and she coughed out water. She was alive.
Then Matthew saw another form struggling beneath the water so he reached down and grabbed that man’s collar, hoisting him above the surface, the fellow sputtering and coughing. It was the man who had risked his life to save Amanda's, the man who had been holding her up, keeping her alive.
It was Alex Durand.
“I’ve got you, Alex,” Matthew rasped out, wrapping his arm around Alex’s waist. Holding them both in his arms he then began searching for help, for something or someone to grab onto. Several men called out, passing a rope to each other and waving to him. Thank the Lord.
“… my boy…?” Alex could barely speak.
“Yes, he’s safe,” Matthew barely managed as well, his own lips now trembling in the cold. “Can you hold onto my neck while I secure us?” He somehow had grabbed the rope tossed out by the men huddled near the ice’s edge. They shouted for him to hurry as he tied it around his waist, then they began to pull them in.
“Your daughter…?”
“Alive.” Matthew trembled, not from the cold now. “You saved her, by God. Alex, you saved my child. She looks nearly frozen, but she’s alive.”
“Thank God,” whispered Alex, just before he passed out.
After a few minutes, or a few hours – Matthew could hardly tell – he found himself on a bench, his hands clasped between his knees as if in prayer, his family scurrying around him, everyone talking at once. His brother, Luke, crouched down before him. “Did you say something, Matt? Do you want another blanket?”
“No. No, Luke. Give them to the others.”
“Are you all right?” Luke grabbed Matthew’s hands and rubbed them. “How are your hands?”
“They sting.”
Luke nodded. “Good, that means circulation is returning.” Still, Matthew was so still, so calm… so out of character. “What is it? What’s bothering you?”
“I don’t know how he was able to do it, you know. How did he do it?” Matthew shook his head as a cup of hot tea was passed to him. “Do you know if Durand is all right? Has anyone seen him? Has anyone seen Ewan? What happened when we came ashore – I remember nothing.”
“Well, we were told you both collapsed and then these men came running up to carry you off. It was one of Uncle Wills neighbors who saw it all and found us; but I have no idea where Alex was brought, or Ewan. All I can tell you is one of Papa’s footmen heard that a carriage has brought Alex and Ewan both to Anne Marie and Jamie’s house. I haven’t the slightest whose carriage it was, though. Not one of ours. Father sent the footman off again for his personal physicians to hurry over there. I’m certain a doctor will soon be in attendance.”
Harry joined Luke and placed his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “Matt, I don’t want you to worry about anything except getting yourself and your little one back to father’s. Are you able to walk?” Matthew heard the emotion in his brother’s voice and clasped his hand.
“Yes, certainly. Don’t worry so for me, just see that my child is cared for, please Harry.”
“The carriages are waiting everyone, let us get ourselves home.” Darcy’s sedate, calm, measured words were followed immediately by Fitzwilliam’s rough shout, “Move! Now!”
Matthew began to stand, his body responding slowly, his mind a fuzzy mess. “Wait! Clarissa!” He looked around frantically. “Where is Clarissa? Has anyone seen my wife?”
“Seen and heard.” Luke barked out a laugh. “Your wife rivals father at shouting orders. As of this moment she has secured the warmest, most comfortable carriage for you and Amanda, has had hot bricks stolen from other carriages, and is waiting for you there now, holding your daughter in her lap. I would get a move on, if I were you. That woman is a force of nature and she wants you carried to her if necessary. We tried to explain how big and heavy you are, and how impossible carrying you would be, but she just shouted all the louder.”
Matthew shook his head. “I will never understand women.”
Luke and Harry both helped Matthew to his feet and all three began to walk. “I would never say this to another soul – however, she’s actually been quite wonderful,” Luke said, his amazement evident. “Who could have guessed?”
Chapter 29
Jamie Durand closed the door gently to his brother’s room, turning to the woman sitting in the chair. “Are they asleep?”
“Yes,” whispered Bridget. Her husband and son lay side by side in the big canopied bed, Alex soundly sleeping while his boy snored softly, curled into his father’s side.
“I just saw the last of the doctors out, thought you could use a respite after such a long day, perhaps rest a little yourself? There’s an adjoining bedroom to this where our children always sleep their first year.”
“Thank you, Jamie, but there’s no need. Your servants have provided me with a chaise and blankets to use in here, if that’s all right?”
“Of course. Whatever you wish.”
“I cannot thank you enough for allowing us to stay in your home. It makes me feel so much safer.”
“Nonsense. Alex is my brother. Our home is yours.” He sat beside her, took her hand. “I’ve sent a footman over to Claridges’ to collect your things. You’ll be with us as long as you wish.
“That sounds wonderful.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’ve never seen so many physicians at once. They were all amazed Alex is doing so well, weren’t they? They said… they said…” Unable to continue, she buried her face in her hands.
Jamie gathered her up in his arms, brushing away his own tears. “Hush, now, lass. No souls were lost today by some miracle. Our own Ewan and Alex, Amanda Rose and Matthew, alive and recovering. We have much for which to be thankful to our Lord.”
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