“A herbal garden?” Luke sounded amused.
“Aye.” Jacob straightened up. “I’m under apprenticeship to be an apothecary.”
“Oh, aye? And is that what your father has chosen for you?”
Jacob squirmed. “Nay, Da wanted me to be a lawyer’s clerk. But I didn’t like it much, and I wished to see the world, like, so I took ship—”
“Ah.” Luke steepled his fingers. “And so you ended up here, on my doorstep.”
Jacob grinned at him. “Strange, no?”
Luke stood up and came over, bringing his eyes very close to Jacob’s. They were of a height, Jacob noted with pride. If anything, he overtopped his tall, elegant uncle by a scant inch or so.
“Strange? Yes, it would seem so. In particular, when you don’t believe in coincidences,” Luke said.
“Not a coincidence,” Jacob said, wanting very much to touch that silver nose. Was it cold or was it warm? “Nay, it seemed the polite thing to do, to visit with you now that I’m in London.”
Luke stared at him a moment longer and then he laughed. “Polite? Well, I assume it is.” He shook his head in reluctant admiration. “Cheeky lad.”
“Aye.” Jacob mock sighed. “’Tis one of my graver faults.”
Luke laughed again, clapped his hands together, and invited his long-lost nephew to join him at the table.
Chapter 18
“Seriously, Matthew, what were you thinking? Both girls to go with us? My hair will be as white as Mrs Parson’s by the time we come back.” Alex drew her cloak closer around herself and sat down beside him. He fed some more wood into the fire and extended his hands towards it.
“Are they asleep then?”
“Finally.” Alex glanced over to where the three lasses lay curled up close together. “Betty’s very jittery. I suppose she’s worried about her welcome.”
“Aye.” He nodded at the two Chisholm brothers who came over to join them. In general, their Catholic neighbours kept mostly to themselves – except for serving together in the militia, or bartering beasts and produce – but travelling together made sense, especially now with recent sightings of wolf and, far more worryingly, Indian braves.
“Will they be alright?” Alex asked in a low voice.
“Ian and Jenny are at Graham’s Garden,” Matthew said, “and with Mark and Patrick that makes three men.”
“Whoopee, three men to defend four women and six children.”
“They don’t kill, Alex, they come to steal, to find food. And that goes for both the wolves and the Indians.” Not for the Burleys, he thought, but since that December day he’d seen nothing of them, and neither had the Chisholms nor the Leslies.
“I don’t like it, that Ian and Jenny live on their own like they do,” Alex said, “especially not after what happened some months back. And they did kill.”
Sadly, she was right. The homesteads to the north-west of them had been attacked in January, and two of the settlers had been killed, leaving widows with half-grown bairns to fend for themselves.
“Aye, they did, which is why Ian and I have cleared that space beyond the barn. We’ll build a new cabin for them there.”
“That won’t thrill Jenny much. She likes being mistress of her own place.”
“It isn’t her decision. Ian doesn’t want them all alone, not now, with all that restlessness.” Matthew poked at the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the air. “And it will put a stop to anything that may be going on.”
Alex rested against his shoulder. “What would you do, should there be something between Jenny and Patrick?”
“What would I do? It’s more what Ian would do.” He dug into the fire again, an angry movement that dislodged a piece of burning wood.
“But we don’t know – not for sure – even if at times… I don’t know. It’s as if the air between them crackles with tension, even if they’re on opposite sides of the yard.”
Matthew muttered something long and foul under his breath. He had eyes of his own, and, just like Alex, he sensed it, that burning heat between his daughter-in-law and his bond servant. Had he been able to do without him, he’d have dismissed Patrick outright, but during the spring planting he needed him, and, besides, how was he to explain to Ian if he ousted the man now, with the busiest time of the year looming? But, come May, he’d gladly see the young man off his property and urge him never to return – no matter that Patrick’s contract did not expire until September.
“We don’t know,” Alex repeated in a dejected voice.
“Nay, we don’t,” he sighed.
An uneventful two days later – except for the constant chattering of his daughters – Matthew bade the Chisholms farewell and turned towards Providence. Their neighbours, being papists, were bound for St Mary’s City, preferring to conduct their business there.
He held in his horse for an instant, allowing his lasses to take in the wee town spread out before them. Four – no, five – streets arranged in a rough fan-shape with the central docks and the adjoining marketplace as their starting point, the most imposing of them leading up to the meetinghouse. Here and there, narrow alleys connected the streets, houses stood cheek to jowl, some of them narrow and tall with at most one room per floor, others somewhat more well-proportioned with leafy backyards. The original western palisade was looking dilapidated; the northern had all but disappeared, absorbed into a crooked alley that was bordered by stables and houses. To the east, Matthew could make out the half-finished shape of the new Anglican church, twice as big as its predecessor, no doubt to house its growing congregation. As of last October, Reverend Norton was a member of the town council, and for all that he was Anglican and therefore near on half-papist, Matthew liked Norton, an energetic and cheerful man who didn’t hesitate to roll up his shirtsleeves and pitch in when needed.
“It’s…” Ruth stuttered from where she sat behind him.
“Big,” Sarah filled in, leaning so much to the side that Matthew feared she might slide off the mount she was sharing with Alex.
“Not that big,” Betty laughed.
“Big enough,” Matthew said, “and you’ll not be going anywhere on your own, y’hear?”
Both lasses promised that they wouldn’t.
“Do you think there will be letters waiting for us?” Alex asked as they made their way down the long slope.
“No, it’s still too early in the year.” He squinted at the grey horizon. “Although if I’m not much mistaken, there’s a ship on its way in. Probably a sloop from Massachusetts or Virginia.”
“Where? Where?” The girls craned their necks eagerly.
“I was hoping for a ship from England,” Alex sighed.
“Aye, I know.” He leaned over to clasp her hand. “He’ll do fine. Our Jacob will be fine, aye?”
She nodded, giving him a brilliant smile. Tears hung like dewdrops in her lashes.
With the sloop came Mrs Walker, and it was somewhat of a relief to Matthew to be able to give his wife reassurances as to the well-being of one of their lads.
“So he’s alright?” Alex gave Mrs Walker a watery smile and clutched Daniel’s letter to her chest.
“Very,” Mrs Walker said, “he’s settling in well. Harriet is taking good care of him, and he has several friends – good boys all of them.” Mrs Walker launched herself into a description of the wholesome life Daniel was leading, with much opportunity to advance his spiritual progress, regular church visits, occasional evenings spent with his friends, but with most of his time and effort being spent on school. Matthew nodded approvingly at this.
“He’s considered a serious and disciplined student by his tutors,” Mrs Walker finished with a smile. “I’m sure he’ll make an excellent minister.”
Matthew snuck Alex a look, noting that, if anything, she seemed sad. “What is it?” he asked once Mrs Walker had bustled away.
“It gets at me: my son, and he’s leading a life I know nothing about, with people I don’t know, and when he graduates, it might be you’ll be there, but in all probability not me.”
“Of course you’ll come as well.” Matthew kissed her tenderly on the nose. He was still glowing with pride after having read the short letter from Daniel’s teacher, praising his son for his diligence. “He seems happy,” he said after having read Daniel’s own letter, a cramped two-page effort, obviously written under duress.
“Very, seeing as he barely can find it in his busy schedule to write us.”
“That’s as it should be. He’s making his own way in the world now.”
“But he’s so far away,” she groaned, “and I miss him.”
“So do I, lass.” Matthew drew her close. “So do I.”
After installing themselves in the inn, they accompanied Betty to the Hancock home. The lass was nervous – as was her father. A somewhat stilted greeting, a clumsy hug on both sides, and then they were all ushered inside, with William leading the way to the parlour.
“He has some effrontery,” William said, handing over a letter to Alex. “He absconds from my service, secretly weds my daughter, and then sends his letters care of myself.” An unwilling smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That Jacob is quite the scamp.” He produced yet another letter and handed it to his daughter. “For you.”
Betty curtsied and turned the letter this way and that. “May I remove myself to read this in private?”
William nodded that she could, and she whirled out of the room.
Alex opened the letter and read it with Matthew hanging over her shoulder, his eyes flitting over the scrawled words.
“When did these arrive?” Matthew asked, frowning at the date.
William flushed. “November? Yes, I think it was late November – came with the last ship.”
“You’ve had the letter in your keeping since then without passing it on?” Matthew didn’t even attempt to disguise the anger that coloured his voice. “That was an uncharitable thing to do – have you any notion of how worried Alex has been?”
“I was irate,” William said.
“But not with my wife, I hope.”
“With all of you. The son’s behaviour is a reflection on his parents.” William sounded very defensive, ignoring Esther’s protesting gasp. Matthew watched him in silence for some minutes before holding out his arm to Alex.
“We’ll come by for our daughter-in-law when we ride back on the Monday.” With that, he propelled Alex before him out of the room, calling for his lasses.
*
“He’s right, I suppose,” Alex said later that evening. Their daughters were fast asleep on their pallet beds, exhausted after a full day spent gawking at the assembled populace of Providence.
“How so?” Matthew pressed his hand against the lower part of his back, grimacing at the way it all seemed to thud.
“Lie down.” She set to with slow, strong movements that made him grit his teeth in pain. “Well, he is, isn’t he? If I hadn’t talked so much about the world at large then maybe Jacob wouldn’t have decided to take off.” She sank her thumb into a painful spot, and he gasped.
“Uh,” he said once she released the pressure. “Mayhap it was me, choosing to apprentice him here, so close to the sea and the ships. Had we kept him with us, at home, then…”
“And now he’s in London,” Alex said. “Cheeky bastard, isn’t he? ‘
Hi Mama, I’m in London, everything’s great
’ – well, more or less anyway. So, now I’m scared stiff as to what might have happened to him since he got there, and I don’t understand why he stayed behind there. Captain Miles must have known he’d taken off without our permission, and if so he should’ve taken him to Edinburgh.”
“Perhaps he didn’t ask for leave.” Matthew shifted under her hard hands.
“Lie still! London, shit, Matthew, that’s a huge city…”
He nodded and closed his eyes.
“Maybe Simon can try to find him,” Alex said.
Matthew grunted. One lad in a city the size of London – like looking for the proverbial needle.
Chapter 19
It had to be said: Philip Burley had a certain flair to him, in everything from how he carried himself to how he was dressed, impeccable linen contrasting nicely with the deep blue of his dashing coat. That didn’t endear him one whit to Alex, and, in particular, not when he popped up most unexpectedly just as she was leaving the apothecary, her daughters trailing after her.
“Mrs Graham,” Philip said, bowing. Alex controlled the urge to turn on her heel and run. Never, ever show him how much he scares you, she admonished herself, just stare him in the eyes. Except that she didn’t want to, unnerved by the penetrating, assessing look in them – as if he was putting a value to her, estimating how much she might be worth should he sell her.
“Mr Burley, how unfortunate to find you still so very much alive.”
He laughed, shaking his head so his signatory lock of black hair fell over his left eye.
“Why, Mrs Graham, one could think you don’t like me much.”
“Like you? I hate your guts, Philip Burley, and to my dying day, I’ll regret not serving you toadstools the first time we met.”
His eyes lightened into impenetrable ice. “Well, you didn’t, did you? And so, here I am.” He glanced over her shoulder, studying her girls with interest. “See?” he said, directing himself to the Philip lookalike that had appeared beside him. “Quite pretty, aren’t they?”
Walter Burley grunted, his eyes stuck on Sarah.
“We’re partial to fair girls,” Philip said. “In particular to young, fair girls.”
“You…” Alex swung at him, Philip ducked, and came up grinning, eyes like flint.
“Don’t,” he warned, and, at a snap of his fingers, yet another Burley brother materialised, this one so badly scarred Alex knew he had to be Stephen. She threw a look over her shoulder, relaxing somewhat at finding the street busy. Should they try anything, she’d scream – or stab them with her new knitting needles. Still, they were far too close, with Walter more or less drooling over Sarah. When he made as if to touch her daughter, Alex flew at him, slapping him hard over his wrist.
“Don’t you lay a finger on her. Do that, and I’ll—”
“…do what, Mrs Graham?” Philip purred.
“Kill him,” she replied, staring into those eyes as firmly as she could. It only made him laugh.
A hand at her waist, and Alex’s shoulders dropped an inch or two, safe now that her husband stood beside her.
Philip regarded Matthew, a jeering light in his eyes. “Not as afraid now as when we met last?” He chuckled at the responding wave of angry red that suffused Matthew’s face. “You should be afraid, because someday we’ll make you pay for Will.”
“You can try,” Matthew said.
“Oh, we can do more than try.” Philip looked Alex up and down a couple of times. “You have a comely wife. What a pity she’ll soon be a widow.” He smirked. “And, once she is, then who is to stop us from taking what we want?” He nodded in the direction of Sarah.
Rage rose red before Alex’s eyes. She didn’t stop to think. She set down her basket, hitched up her skirts, and kicked Philip, swiping his legs from under him. Philip’s smirk became a surprised squawk, converting into a grunt when he crashed to the ground. Walter rushed forward, shoving Alex so hard she fell. Matthew’s fist drove into Walter’s gut. Walter wheezed like a punctured accordion and doubled up. Stephen cursed and went for Matthew. By now, Philip had regained his feet, and in his hand was a knife.
Alex regained her feet. She raised her arms and crouched to achieve balance, immensely grateful of the time she had spent on upholding her martial arts skills – even if one man and one woman against three determined Burleys didn’t feel like good odds. Why was no one interceding? Why were the people of Providence content to watch, instead of putting a stop to this? And where were her girls? She wheeled, tried to smile reassuringly at her girls, standing very close together. Sarah squeaked, pointing, and Alex turned just in time to see Philip lunge at Matthew.
“Stop!” William Hancock shouldered through the crowd and came to stand beside Matthew, followed by the blacksmith and Reverend Norton, big men the both of them.
Philip fell back, flanked by Walter, who was holding a rock, and Stephen, who was growling like a dog, uneven teeth bared in a snarl. Philip returned his dagger to its scabbard and wiped his face with his hand. He was bleeding from his lip, and for what seemed like an eternity, he stood staring down at his bloodstained fingers before raising his eyes to Matthew. Seconds passed. It was as if everyone was holding their breath, but then someone laughed. Walter whirled and sent the rock flying. The crowd scattered.
Philip put a restraining hand on his brother’s arm. “Not now.” Just as suddenly as they had appeared, the Burley brothers melted away.
Alex tottered over to Matthew, her heart thundering with adrenalin. “I don’t think I like them much,” she said, noting that she couldn’t unknot her hands from where they gripped Matthew’s shirt.
He covered her hands with his, rested his forehead against hers. They stood like that for some minutes, oblivious to the people around them.
“They don’t like us much either,” Matthew voiced, one arm coming out to give first Ruth, then Sarah, a quick, comforting hug.
“No, that’s kind of obvious.” She took a deep breath, glanced at their curious audience, and stepped away from him, smoothing at her cap and apron before turning her attention to her basket and its spilled contents.
“Are you alright?” Matthew asked in a concerned voice, bending down to help her.
Alex nodded, even managing a smile. “No.” She bit her lip. “They’ll never give up, will they?”
“Maybe not, but they’ll never do us any harm.”
“Now, why do I find that difficult to believe?”
Matthew inhaled noisily, stared off in the direction the Burleys had disappeared, and turned to face her. He didn’t say anything; he just held out his hand. Tight, tight, his fingers closed round hers.
*
“They’ll not be back in a hurry,” Minister Walker assured Alex some hours later. She was sitting on a stool in his little study, with Matthew hovering behind her. From the kitchen came the sound of her girls, who had been whisked away by Mrs Walker. In a paternal gesture, the minister patted Alex on the cheek and went back to frowning out the window. “Chased them for a mile and more – they’re well on their way elsewhere by now.”
Alex nodded, her fingers picking at her skirts, her bodice, the fringe of her shawl, back to her skirts. If only they’d been arrested; instead, they were still out there somewhere. She had to grit her teeth to stop herself from crying.
“Nothing happened, my dear,” he said gently.
Alex gave him a false smile. “No, it didn’t, did it?” With that, she stood, grabbed at her basket, and, in a controlled voice, informed Matthew that she had errands to do, and would he meet her later by the meetinghouse?
*
For the coming hour, Alex submerged herself in her purchases. Spices, sugar, salt and tea, wax candles, poppy seed and limes, bolts of linen and serge. Her mood lifted, the fluttering in her belly settled down, and she was humming to herself when her eyes alighted on Kate Jones, flirting mildly with Matthew.
She came to a halt, regarding them from the shadowy doorway of the haberdashery. Her man looked good, his best coat fitting snugly over broad, strong shoulders. Alex felt a surge of pride. He’d just turned fifty, but Matthew still carried himself like a young gallant, that tall lean body of his as fit now as it had been decades ago.
Kate tilted back her head, saying something that made Matthew laugh. Kate shifted closer, and her hand drifted to rest for a moment too long on Matthew’s sleeve. Alex didn’t like that. Even less did she like that he didn’t immediately step out of range.
You’re overreacting, she told herself sternly. So he slept with her all those years ago on Suffolk Rose – slept with her? He’d fucked her, not once but several times – but that was due to circumstances, to Matthew struggling to stay alive in an environment that had stripped him of all human worth and dignity, reducing him to a slave. Still, Kate Jones was far too attractive in her dark green velvet skirts and matching bodice for Alex to remain where she was any longer than necessary. She paid for her purchases and, with a quick nod at Mrs Wilson, darted outside.
“Alex! How nice to see you.” Kate beamed, bejewelled fingers smoothing over the excellent cut of her skirts.
Bloody woman: she looked absolutely gorgeous, even if the skin on her face and neck was somewhat flaky. Alex flicked her skirts into place and adjusted her flower patterned shawl around her shoulders, wishing that she had something as becoming to wear as the outfit Kate was wearing. She felt dowdy in comparison, and it must have showed in her eyes, because suddenly Matthew was very close, his fingers brushing her arm.
“I was just saying to Matthew how I’ve presented the option of your daughter as a future wife to my Henry,” Kate went on.
“Umm,” Alex replied, shooting eyebolts at Matthew. She’d made her opinion on the matter clear enough, hadn’t she? “Ruth is only twelve, and I find it somewhat premature to be thinking of her marriage.”
“Time flies, and suddenly they’re sixteen with a mind of their own – like your boy, Jacob.”
Bitch. Alex fixed her with a cold stare. “Twelve is too young to even be discussing this.” Alex looked over to where her eldest daughter was bickering with her sister, this time over a piece of sticky gingerbread. “Esther isn’t looking well,” Alex continued, firmly changing the subject. “The baby is due when? In two months?”
Kate shook her head. “A matter of weeks, no more; halfway through May, I think. But it’s been a difficult pregnancy, and I think she would have preferred it not to happen. But William so wants another son, little Willie is somewhat frail.”
“It might be a daughter,” Alex said – or kill the mother.
“Let’s hope for a boy,” Kate said, “a healthy, strong son.”
They spent a couple of minutes on more small talk before Kate hurried off, saying she had a cargo of sugar to inspect.
“I thought I’d made it very clear that Ruth isn’t marrying Henry Jones,” Alex said to Matthew once Kate was out of earshot.
“And I told you we haven’t finished discussing it.” Matthew nodded in the direction of the barber’s. “He’s a good-looking lad.”
Alex turned to look at the eldest Jones boy. Tall and big, with his mother’s honey-coloured hair, he was talking to Mr Farrell’s son. Yes, he was handsome, and his clothes were of excellent cut, his boots polished to a shine, and, as she watched, he threw his head back and laughed loudly, revealing a lot of teeth.
“Do you really want to risk holding a grandchild that stares up at you with Dominic Jones’ piggy eyes? Because, let me tell you, I definitely don’t!”
“It’s a good match,” Matthew said mulishly.
“A match that won’t happen, okay?” Alex gripped the handle of her heavy basket and hurried away from him before she do something really stupid like slap him for being an inconsiderate idiot. How could he think she’d want their daughter to marry the son of his former lover?
*
Matthew watched her out of sight and hitched his shoulders. Ultimately, he’d do as he pleased in this matter, and Ruth would do well out of a marriage with Henry Jones – very well. He approached the two young men and shared some words with them, all the while sizing young Jones up. Very much like his mother, he noted with relief; nothing of his father in his eyes or face, except for a certain tightness of the mouth.
Young Farrell was saying something with marked agitation, and Matthew forced himself back to the conversation, shaking his head in amazement as he listened to the tale that was spilling out of the younger man’s mouth. With a mumbled excuse, he hastened off to find his wife.
“…and so the new slave ran away,” Matthew said, “taking with him a further ten or twelve of the Farrell slaves.”
“How did he manage that?” Alex asked.
“They just walked off the plantation back in February, him still in chains. They forced the local smith to strike the irons off them and disappeared into the woods.” He threw her a worried look. “They caught them three days ago, after nigh on two months of freedom. Half-starved they were, and some of them most grateful to be captured.”
“What will happen to them?”
“They’ve brought him into town. He’s going to be punished publicly tomorrow.”
“And the others?”
Matthew didn’t answer. He hadn’t enjoyed listening to young Farrell’s detailed description of the floggings.
“You won’t be going,” was all he said.
*
Alex found the place they were holding him after hours of walking her way here and there through Providence. She should have thought of this immediately. Of course Farrell’s slave would be held in Farrell’s house, not in the makeshift holding cells belonging to the town buildings. She’d never been anywhere close to the impressive Farrell home before, had only exchanged nods with Mrs Farrell on her previous visits to town, and as she stood looking into the cobbled yard, she had no idea how to reach the poor man. All she knew was that she had to try and set him free, whatever the risk to herself.
She shivered and moved closer to the fencing. She knew where he was, because she could hear him, continuous sounds of something that sounded like despair and fear. She eyed the heavy doors to the storage shed and gnawed her lip. Somehow, she suspected waltzing across the yard with a chirpy ‘hello’ wasn’t going to work very well.
She strolled by the house, turned up the small dirt track that led up to the meetinghouse, and stood looking for some time at the narrow overgrown passage that bordered the back of the Farrell complex. After ascertaining no one was about, she ducked into it and made her way towards the buildings, cursing at the amount of offal and garbage that lay in heaps along the way.
“Hello?” Alex heaved herself up as high as she could get, her feet scrabbling for purchase on the planks. The muted sounds from inside stopped briefly before resuming. Alex dropped down, hunted about, and found a discarded stool that she dragged back to stand on. Her nose cleared the lower sill of the small light gap, and she looked down at a man who was staring back at her with a mad glint in his eyes. He was in leg irons, the chain wound round a pole.