“I’m not talking to you.” She gave him an ice cold look. “So just go.” She turned away from him. Daniel was still crying, long, shaky hiccups that made him cough up milk, open his mouth to wail and then go back to eating. Matthew remained where he was, resting his shoulders against the door. She reminded him of a lioness, a dangerous female beast that crouched in defence of her young, except that this cat didn’t have yellow eyes but bright blue ones that peeked at him before sliding off to rest once again on the wall.
“Can’t you try to understand?”
“Of course I understand! But that doesn’t help does it? The outcome will be the same for my son.”
“Our son, and I said I didn’t know.” He ignored her stiff back and went over to sit at her feet, resting his head against her skirts. He could feel her soften, sense how she relaxed in his proximity. “You must help me, Alex. You can’t leave me to handle this on my own.”
“How can I help? For me the choice is self-evident.”
He craned his head back to catch her eyes. “Is it?”
Alex looked away. “No,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Of course it isn’t.”
Chapter 17
The man who rode in some days later was spattered with mud up to well over his knees, his horse dipping its head in exhaustion. Ian took one look and darted off, evading both Alex and Matthew before diving into the woods.
“Ah,” Alex said. “The prodigal son is requested to return, but decides he doesn’t want a fatted calf.”
Matthew chuckled and went over to meet the traveller with Alex at his heels. Ever since their strange discussion the other day they had sidestepped the issue of Ian, concentrating instead on the remaining weeks of harvest work. But he thought about it a lot, and in the night it would happen that he lay awake with eyes stuck on the ceiling with several ‘ifs’ ringing in his head. If Luke were to… if he, Matthew, should… if Ian … would Alex? And what about Mark?
“Matthew Graham?” The stranger looked round the small manor with an air of condescension, plump mouth curling into an amused smile as he took in the stables, the few servants. No doubt nowhere close to Luke’s grand house, Matthew thought, frowning in warning when the man’s eyes lingered for far too long and with far too much familiarity on his wife. “I’m here on behalf of Luke Graham, Robert Brown, at your service.” He swept off his hat and produced a letter that he handed to Matthew.
It was short and very much to the point; Ian had left his home without parental approval and was now to be returned home immediately to be firmly dealt with. Matthew’s mouth tightened, but there was nothing he could do. Ian was Luke’s son and must be returned.
“It’s been difficult for the lad,” he said to Brown, receiving a blank stare in return. “What with his brother and all.”
Brown shrugged. “He’s had the mistress right worried, he has. I dare say he’ll receive a warm welcome, and well does he deserve it.” He mimed an aching backside and grinned, his smile faltering somewhat when Alex glared at him.
“May I offer you hospitality for the night?” Matthew said. “I dare say both yourself and your horse could do with food and rest.” One more day with Ian, one more evening, one more night, and then he’d never see him again, not until Ian was a grown man. It tore at him; his son, and the dear Lord help him, because, he, Matthew, couldn’t.
“That’s kind of you, sir, and I will gladly accept.” Brown dismounted and set off towards the stables, leading his horse behind him.
“Not in my clean sheets,” Alex said. “I bet he’s as filthy under those clothes as he is on the outside.”
“Aye,” Matthew nodded, “but then he’s English.” Not much of a jest, but Alex pulled her lips into a faint smile before saying something about going after Ian.
“I’ll go,” he said.
“Oh no; you take care of your guest – make sure he understands he’s sleeping in the hay, okay?” With that she was off.
Ian heard her well before she broke through the screen of shrubs that bordered the hilltop, but remained where he was, eyes locked on the undulating sea of heather in front of him; purples, pinks, here and there a dash of brown.
Aunt Alex kneeled down beside him. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
He made a strangled sound and she put her arm around him.
“It’ll be alright, Ian. They love you, even if they’re mad at you for running off – any parent would be. And once you’ve gotten used to it, you might even like having a baby brother.”
He shook his head. “Half-brother, because that’s what he is. And now Father will always see himself in Charles and in me he’ll see Uncle Matthew.” He rubbed his face against the rough fabric of his cloak, wishing yet again that Charlie had never been born. He tore at his hair; if only it had been as red as Charlie’s! “And he doesn’t like Uncle Matthew.”
She sighed. “No, he doesn’t, does he?”
“I don’t want to go back, Father will be so angry at me for coming here, and Mam…” Ian drew in a long, uneven breath. “… Well Mam does as he tells her to.” Father would belt him, he’d take Salome from him and then he’d be sent away to be brought up in another household.
“I think they’ll mainly be glad to have you back, safe and sound – I would.”
Ian shook his head. “Not them, not now that they have the wean.”
“Don’t be silly; yes, they seem to have lost their heads a bit over the baby, but it will pass, okay? And in your parents case, they’ve tried for so long, so of course they’re all over Charlie.” She gave him an encouraging smile, head tilted to the side.
“That’s not it.” He huddled into his cloak. “Before Charles I was the only son Father would ever have. Now he’s no longer sure if I am his son – or if he wants me.”
“Oh, Ian,” Aunt Alex gave him a hard hug. “Of course he wants you. Any father would be proud of you!”
Ian tore free and stumbled to his feet. “Which one? Which one would be proud? They don’t even know themselves whose son I am! Not even Mam knows, not for sure.” He dragged his hand through his hair, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying. It didn’t help, his vision blurred with tears. “Who am I? Where do I belong? Here? No, because Uncle Matthew has other sons. There? No, because now Father has another son as well.” He took a step or two towards the moss and looked back at her. “I’m not yet twelve, but already all alone…”
Two leaps and he was out on the moss, setting off at a run. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, jumping over stones and gorse, splashing through puddles. He ran until he stopped crying and then he ran some more, straight out into that heaving, flowering mass of pink.
Matthew brought Ian home, carrying him as if he were a small child. The boy was drenched from falling into terns and small springs, and Alex took one look at him and ordered him to bed, sitting by his side to make sure he swallowed down every last drop of the broth she brought him. Alex caressed his cheek and to her surprise the boy curled up as close as he could, face hidden in her skirts. Jesus… Alex smoothed at his hair, overwhelmed by very protective feelings towards this boy.
“I can find an excuse to keep you here for now. It won’t help in the long run, but if you want me to, I’ll make sure Mr Brown leaves without you tomorrow.”
He nodded once, burrowed even closer.
Alex stroked him over his knobbly back. “You always belong here. Remember that, okay?” He moaned, thin shoulders shaking. Then and there he took that final leap into her heart, jostling for space with her own brood. She smiled wryly; a pushover, Alex Graham, that’s what you are – at least when it comes to needy children. She sat beside him until he was fast asleep, her hand held hard in his.
“Chickenpox,” Alex said. “If you want to check, be my guest. It’s highly contagious and if you haven’t had it as a child… well.” As if on cue Daniel began to shriek, waving his arms in the air. Alex wasn’t lying; Daniel’s genital area was covered in the trademark blisters, travelling up his stomach and across his chest. She was, however, lying when she insisted that Ian might be coming down with it too.
“Frankly, I don’t think my brother-in-law would much appreciate if his eldest son was dragged home ailing, and imagine what he’d say if the baby got infected.” She eyed Daniel and turned innocent eyes on Mr Brown. “Some die, you know.” A major exaggeration. Mr Brown looked flustered; the idea of travelling for eight days with a sick child clearly held little appeal.
“Chickenpox? Is it something akin to smallpox?”
“Very similar,” Alex nodded. He shuddered, and Alex smiled to herself. “I’ll write a letter, and I’m convinced both his parents will agree that we mustn’t risk Ian’s future health.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “At his age it might affect his future… err… fertility.” No, that was mumps, but apparently Robert Brown had only the vaguest concepts about illnesses in general, and he took a hasty step back from her and the crying child.
“It is for the best if I leave as soon as possible,” he muttered, escaping to the other side of the table. Oh yes; the sooner the better, as far as Alex was concerned.
Alex signed the letter, blotted it and folded it together.
“There,” she said, handing it to Mr Brown. And where was Matthew? He should at least say goodbye to Brown. “Have you seen the master?” she asked Sarah, but Sarah’s reply was drowned in a frantic clucking, here and there interspaced by high, excited voices. “Bloody hell; now what?” Alex rushed for the hen house, with an interested Brown in tow.
The hen coop was in chaos, the hens fleeing in all directions from a determined Rachel, who seemed set on grabbing one. There were feathers everywhere; in the air, on the ground and stuck all over Rachel’s hair. Jacob was in there with her, helping as well as he could, and on the outside Mark was hanging on to the latched gate, laughing his head off.
“What in the world do you think you’re doing?”
If she hadn’t been so angry, Alex supposed it would have been amusing to see the way her children gawked at her. The hens continued to squawk and flap, Jacob stuck his hand into Rachel’s, and Mark made as if to sidle away.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Her hand came down like a clamp on his arm.
“It wasn’t me,” Mark protested. “I’m not in there, am I?”
Rachel’s mouth opened in an ‘o’. She threw a reproachful look in the direction of Mark.
“You locked us in. Said we weren’t coming out without a hen.”
Mark twisted. “It was your fault! It was you who said you could wring a hen’s neck.”
“What? You dared her to kill one of my hens?” Alex scowled at Mark who shrank away. “Idiots, the lot of you. This will probably put them off laying for days, but I’ll leave it to you to explain that to your father, shall I?”
An hour later a still laughing Mr Brown had bid them farewell and Alex sank down for a quick breather. Her children were confined to the kitchen bench, three pairs of hazel eyes throwing her cautious looks. Even Rachel was silent, trying out her best smile whenever Alex’ gaze rested on her.
“No, mistress, he’s not in the stables or in the barn, and it’s only Samuel and Robbie out in the field. They say the master rode off early this morning, but they don’t know where.” Sarah sounded apologetic.
“Hmm.” Alex regarded her children. They had to be punished, but she suspected sending them off to spend the rest of the day in their bedroom was going to be received with relief, and from the way they were looking at each other it was obvious both Mark and Rachel were counting on being let off with nothing more than a mild slap to the wrists. You wish, she thought, turning various alternatives over in her head.
Matthew came riding over the water meadows, nodded a greeting to Samuel and Robbie and handed Ham over to Gavin before making for the house. He hoped he wasn’t too late to bid Ian a proper goodbye, but look as he might he couldn’t find Brown’s horse. Ah no; Ian was gone, and he hadn’t been here to hug him one last time. He kicked at the ground and came to a halt by the hen coop. What had happened here? A fox mayhap? But there was no blood, only a flock of ruffled hens, a few of them seemingly dead. He frowned and increased his pace.
“Why are there five dead hens in the coop?” he said, making his whole family start.
“Oh, they’re not dead,” Alex said. “They’re just suffering from shock.”
“Ah.” Matthew let his eyes travel over his children while Alex retold the events, struggling to keep the grin that wanted to break out under control.
“All of them were in on it,” Alex said mournfully. “Well, not Daniel, but that’s probably on account of him not being able to walk yet. And he has chickenpox, poor thing.”
“Nor Ian,” Rachel piped up. “He has the pox too.”
“Ian?” Matthew turned to face Alex. “Is Ian still here?” One part of him was overjoyed, the other apprehensive.
“You heard; the poor kid has the chickenpox. I can’t send him back contagious to his baby brother, can I?”
Matthew looked at her in silence, a slow smile spreading over his face. Tender-hearted, this woman of his, capable of being protective towards a lad she recognised as being a potential threat to her own son’s future.
“The pox, aye?”
“Serious,” she said, looking concerned. “Will probably take months of convalescence. At least that’s what I wrote to Luke. Among other things…”
Matthew sighed; he could imagine those other things.
“Not to worry,” Alex said, “he probably won’t be able to read my handwriting.”
A couple of minutes later the three elder Graham children trooped off in the direction of the henhouse.
“It must be swept and scrubbed entirely clean,” Matthew called after them. “No dinner until you’re done,” he added before closing the door.
“Where were you this morning?” Alex patted some ground oatmeal on Daniel’s irritated skin, smoothed down his smocks and set him down on a blanket.
“No clout?” Matthew smiled at the waving legs and leaned down to pinch at a rosy toe.
“Fresh air helps, I think. So, where were you?” She nodded a thank you at Sarah, and took a bite of the meat pie.
“Up on the moss. Peat, aye?”
Alex gave him a disbelieving look. He shook his head in warning and waited until Sarah left the kitchen. “Today they hang,” he said softly. “All five ministers, including Minister Crombie. So I stood up there and offered up a prayer for their souls, God help them.”