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.
Matthew opened the book to read the flyleaf. “The Pilgrim’s Progress,” Matthew read out loud.
“Oh!” Alex leaned over the table. “I had this when I was a child!” Not in this version, obviously: a heavy book in grey covers with several colour plates – in particular, she remembered the picture of Atheist, almost toppling over with mirth as he derided Christian.
“You did?” Thomas laughed. “I think not, Alex. Not unless you are much, much younger than you look. This book is not yet three years old.”
For a moment, Alex was tempted to tell him the whole story, from when Christian sets out from his house, pointed in the direction of the wicket gate by the Evangelist, and how he strays from his path due to all the characters he meets. Mr Worldly Wiseman, Help and Hopeful with whom he crossed the River of Death…
“Alex?”
“Hmm?” She returned with a mental thud to find Matthew regarding her. She stretched out her hands to caress the dark red leather. “It must have been the cover that triggered a memory. More beer, anyone?”
*
“It’s just…” Alex shook her head, slipping her hand into Matthew’s. “I suddenly realised how often I had read it, and I have no idea where I got it from. Definitely not the kind of book Magnus or Mercedes would have given me.” They were sauntering towards the river for some time on their own.
“As I hear it, Master Bunyan is an impressive preacher. Mayhap he spun a tale you liked.”
She nodded, her eyes lost in the blue of the summer sky. “He dies. He leaves his family, driven by this great need to deliver himself from sin, to find God, and he does, and he’s so happy, but all I could think of was his wife and his boys, left all alone without him.”
Matthew’s lips curved into an exceedingly sweet smile. “I don’t plan on leaving you.” He raised their braided hands and kissed them.
“Never?” she quavered.
“Not until I die, and not even then, I think.”
“I don’t want you to die,” she said through a constricted throat.
“Aye…it’s easier to contemplate the thought of dying than that of being left behind.”
Alex couldn’t reply; she just nodded.
“Ah, lass, come here, aye?” He gathered her close and she buried her nose into his shirt and inhaled, drawing in the warm, reassuring scent of her man. He kissed the top of her head; she clung to him. Matthew nuzzled her neck. “I’m still here,” he said, his exhalations tickling her. “And there’s plenty of life in me still.” A big, warm hand slid down her back, his other hand followed suit, and she was being held impossibly close, all of her squashed against him.
A couple of heartbeats later, she was on the ground. He was shoving her skirts out of the way, and she was tugging at his breeches. A wordless, intense coupling, a reconfirmation that he was virile and here with her, would be for many, many more years. Alex lost herself in the here and now, relishing his strength, his weight, the sound of his heavy breathing, how he groaned her name when he came.
Afterwards, she held him, tightening her hold when he made as if to roll off.
“No,” she said, “not yet. I need…”
Matthew subsided and, for the coming minutes, she stroked his back, his arms, his head. When he snorted her in the neck, she giggled. He did it again, and she laughed, laughing even more when he tickled her.
“Better?” he said as he helped her to her feet. Alex smiled and nodded – but it wasn’t, not really, because now that he asked, the suffocating realisation that one day he might die and leave her all alone was back.
*
Alex was sitting in the graveyard, shredding a white rose to pieces, when Ian came to find her.
“Mama?”
“Mmm?” She laughed when he held up a bruised thumb.
“Will you blow on it?”
She blew and he sat down beside her. “Can you bend it?” she asked, nodding when he bent his thumb up and down. “You’ll live.”
“What is it?” He studied her narrowly.
“I don’t know.” She gave him an embarrassed smile and went back to her rose shredding. “I guess I’m just having one of those days when mortality hangs heavy.”
She kept on seeing herself standing to the side while they buried Matthew, and just the thought had fear clawing at the inside of her chest. To wake alone, go to sleep alone, live out day after day alone… Alone amidst all their children, every single one of them a painful reminder of him. So she had come to sit here, beside Magnus, and she wasn’t sure that had helped at all, because all she could hear was her father’s sarcastic laughter whenever the concept of afterlife was discussed.
Ian heard her out, not saying anything, but his arm was a comforting weight around her shoulders, and it was so much easier to talk to him of how afraid it made her to imagine a world without Matthew than it was to speak to Matthew of it. She refused to mention the Burley brothers, but their threatening presence hung heavy all the same, and Ian tightened his hold on her shoulders, a brief, one-armed hug.
It grew dark around them, a fragrant summer night laced with honeysuckle and the blooming mock oranges that stood like sentinels around the graveyard. Before them, the ground fell away in a gentle slope towards the main house, and, further away, the river was a band of light grey, bordered by the darkness of the woods. Alex reclined against Ian, and for some time they sat in silence.
“She’s with child,” Ian said, and she could hear the joy fizzing through him.
“That was quick.”
“You knew?” He sounded unsurprised, more resigned.
“Let’s just say that Betty has been coming in very late – or should I say early?”
“Does Da know?”
That came out much more apprehensive, Alex noted.
“He isn’t blind. The two of you have been going around as bright as fireflies the last four or five weeks.”
“Ah.” Ian fiddled with his belt. “Is he upset?”
Alex snorted. Matthew had won his bet, hadn’t he?
“Bet?” Ian sounded confused.
Alex patted his hand. “It makes us both very glad. However, it’s not exactly going to make William Hancock a happy bunny, is it?”
*
Alex found all this haste somewhat excessive, but Matthew and Ian were adamant: the wedding must take place before Betty began to show – for her sake. So, off they went to Providence, armed to their teeth and with Dandelion at their heels. Once in Providence, Matthew shooed Ian and Betty off to talk to Minister Walker, before taking Alex by the arm and setting off in search of William.
“No.” William set his mouth in an implacable line and shook his head. “Absolutely not.” He half turned towards Esther for support but she kept her eyes on Harry, her shoulders rigid with reproof. “I have other suitors for Betty, some of them most advantageous.”
“For her or for you?” Alex heard Matthew sigh, and she didn’t need to look at him to know he was looking at her with mingled pride and exasperation.
“For her, of course,” William retorted, his cheeks going a purplish pink.
“But she wants to marry Ian,” Alex said.
“And before that she wanted to marry Jacob!” he flared.
“Actually,” Alex said, “you wanted her to marry Jacob. They just brought things forward a bit.”
By now, Matthew had managed to get his hand in through the side slit in her skirt and pinched her, hard. Alex muffled a yelp and Esther’s eyes flew to meet hers with concern.
“I’m afraid matters have proceeded beyond the point where they can be stopped by a parental no.” Matthew got to his feet, uncoiled himself to his full height, and went over to stand close to William, overtopping the lawyer by several inches. “The lass is carrying my grandchild, and I won’t have it born a bastard or, even worse, raised by a man no blood kin to it.”
“Slut!” William hissed.
“She loves him,” Matthew said, “and she knew you wouldn’t consent unless you had to.”
“I can still say no,” Hancock threatened.
“Aye, you can. But it’ll be a wee bit difficult to explain that to the ministers. In particular now that Betty and Ian have admitted their sin and expressed their wish to do the only right thing: wed.” Matthew placed a tentative hand on William’s shoulder. “It’s not a bad start to a marriage, to know you love each other.”
“No,” William grudgingly admitted. “I suppose it isn’t.” His eyes drifted over to Esther, a shadow of a smile playing over his lips.
*
Betty Hancock spent the last night as a formally unwed woman in the room she had for so many years shared with two of her older sisters. The room was hot and uncomfortable, reminding her of that night almost two years ago when she and Jacob… Betty backed away from the memories of a heavy fair fringe, eyes framed by thick lashes and a long mouth.
She opened the small window and stared up at the clouded sky. Hot and rain, not the best of combinations, and especially not tonight, when what she wanted was a star-studded sky and a crescent moon to gaze at. Jacob had written a very nice letter, and Ian had twisted like a hooked worm at Jacob’s stiltedly worded blessing. Scamp, she smiled, she had no doubts he’d taken great pains to come up with the exact wording, making sure his big brother felt properly indebted to him – for life.
“God bless you, Jacob,” she whispered to the June night.
*
Next afternoon, sweat beaded Betty’s upper lip, her chest, her lower back. Her thighs were slippery with it, and a quick look at Ian showed he was sweating as much as she was. She half laughed, converting it to a discreet cough. How could she possibly be this nervous? He tightened his grip on her hand, and from the way his fingers trembled, she knew he was as affected as she was. She was barely aware of the people around them, of Minister Walker in front of them. All she concentrated on was his strong comforting hand that was holding on so hard to hers. And then it was over, and she was Betty Graham – for real.