“I would? Not likely.” He smiled at her – or rather leered – and a pink tongue darted out to wet his plump lips. He indicated that she should sit, and sat down as well, regarding her in silence for a long time.
“Assuming that Graham is indeed working for me, why would I want to sell him? He’s well broken in by now.”
Alex had to stop herself from spitting in his face. Broken in? This was a man they were talking about – her man – not some beast of burden. He was back to gawking at her chest, small dark eyes gleaming with interest. He dropped his gaze to her waist, did a quick up and down the contours of her legs and smiled. Alex shifted on her seat. Fairfax grinned, clearly delighted by her discomfiture. Ignore him, concentrate on the matter at hand.
“He was abducted,” she said, “deceitfully sold into indenture. He’s an innocent man who has never been convicted in any court and by rights he shouldn’t even be here.” Once again he smiled, that overlarge tongue coming out to lick his lips. “I’ve heard the most amazing rumours,” she continued, working hard to remain unperturbed by his staring, “of a planned venture whereby planters here actively participate in the abduction and subsequent indenture of free men.” She attempted a light laugh, raised her eyes in his direction. “But surely that’s something no God-fearing man would ever do. At least that’s what I told Captain Miles before coming here today.” That struck home. The smile was wiped away, replaced by an expression Alex could at best describe as a frightened scowl.
“Miles? Here?” he said, smoothing his features back into blandness.
“I travelled over on his ship,” Alex said.
“Hmm.” He cracked his knuckles, pursed his mouth together and regarded her for a long time. Finally he shook his head. “Terrible, how terrible this must be for you – and your husband.” As if he cared, but Alex nodded all the same.
Fairfax strolled over to the door and opened it wide, barking for someone to find Jones. He yelled some more, and a maid appeared with lemonade and heavy cut glass goblets, serving them before she curtsied her way out of the room.
Fairfax sat down, fussed with the tails of his coat to ensure they fell just so, and went back to studying her, a speculative look in his eyes. He conversed about the weather and the strenuous climate, inquiring as to how she liked Jamestown. Was she perhaps planning on settling? No, she told him, perturbed by his continued inspection, she had a son to return to, a boy of two. He nodded that he understood, and drained his glass just as Jones came through the door.
“Ah, Jones!” Fairfax clapped his hands together at the sight of his overseer, a large, heavyset man with huge hands. He carried a short whip, swatting it every now and then against his boots, and Alex recognised him as the man she’d seen at the harbour the day she arrived. “Tell me Jones, is Mr Graham still with us?”
Jones looked nonplussed. “Mr Graham?”
“Matthew Graham,” Fairfax clarified.
Jones pulled at his lip. “Yes, he’s out on the new fields.”
“Ah.” Fairfax nodded, swivelling to face Alex. “It would seem you may be in luck, Mrs Graham; your husband is still alive and healthy.” Jones coughed, an amused expression flashing over his face. Oh God; she choked on a rush of saliva. He’s alive, she told herself, however badly used he’s still alive.
She managed to give Fairfax a grateful smile. “May I see him?”
Jones shook his head. “He’s a day’s ride away. They’ll be back in a week.”
A week! Anything could happen in a week. Alex’s stomach contracted at the thought of being this close and then…
“Maybe I could ride out to him?”
“No,” Fairfax replied in a tone that brooked no discussion. “Too dangerous, and I would not want to see you harmed.”
Almost fifteen months since she had seen him last, and now one more week seemed unbearable. Alex knotted her hands into her skirts and concentrated on blinking back the tears that welled in her eyes. He was alive and that was all that mattered. One more week she could wait, of course she could.
Fairfax dismissed Jones. “Make sure Mr Graham is here next Friday,” he said, receiving a surly nod in return. “Good news,” he smiled, pudgy fingers toying with the perfumed curls of his wig.
“Very,” Alex said.
“And now all that remains is the little matter of the price.” Fairfax poured her some more lemonade before sitting back in his chair.
“I will of course compensate you for your purchase price,” Alex hastened to tell him.
“Of course you will, Mrs Graham, but I don’t think that will be enough.” He leered at her, displaying yellowing teeth. Bastard; he was going to charge her an overprice. Alex squared her shoulders. Even if she had to pay twice the amount he’d paid, she had the money to do so – just. Fairfax rose, moved over to his desk.
“So, shall we draw up a contract?” The quill rasped on the thick paper and he blotted the ink before handing her the document to read. “You can read, my dear?”
She nodded, her eyes flying over the scrawled words to find the price. Twenty pounds, the same as he had paid for Matthew, and Alex felt a flush of shame at having so misjudged this man.
“We will sign it afterwards,” Fairfax suggested.
Afterwards? Something plummeted inside of her at the look on his face.
He tapped the deed with his finger and grinned. “This is the official price. The real price includes an element of…service.” He positively beamed when she began to protest, already half out of her chair. “I hold his life in my hand,” he reminded her, “and you, my dear, is the price I set on it.” He undid his brocade coat and sat back expectantly.
For an instant she considered blurting that she knew, that she would expose him for what he was to the community, but in the same moment she realised that she couldn’t – not if she wanted Matthew returned to her alive.
“Please…I’ll pay you more, I’ll—”
“Oh no, Mrs Graham; I have no need for more money. I do, however, have other urges.” He crooked a finger to beckon her over. “It’s up to you, my dear,” he added when she remained where she was, incapable of taking even one step in his direction. With a sigh he stood up, retrieved the document and made as if to tear it up.
“Wait!” Alex swallowed and swallowed. “I’ll do it.” She forced her legs to move towards him.
“I daresay it won’t take that long,” he said as he pushed her down on the desk, hands already shoving the skirts out of the way.
*
An eternal half hour later, Fairfax buttoned up his breeches, smirked at Alex and left the room, whistling. Alex got to her feet and began to order her clothes. She was shaking from head to foot, crying as she pulled at her garments, yanked at her lacings. Despicable man! She was sore everywhere, and in her mouth lingered the rancid taste of him. She wiped at her lips, dragging the back of her hand back and forth. Oh God! All of her smelled of him, and between her legs…
Folded on her skirts lay the contract, now duly signed, and she tucked it inside her bodice, thinking fiercely that of course it was worth the price. She was nauseous with shame at what had been done to her, and in her head rang a little voice that wondered what Matthew would think of it all.
Mrs Gordon looked at Alex, looked again, and her face set in an impressive scowl.
“What did he do to you?”
“Not now.”
Mrs Gordon muttered but didn’t push, hurrying after Alex up the lane.
The afternoon was beginning to shift into dusk and they both walked briskly, none of them wanting to be this far out of town when it grew dark. Halfway back Alex began to cry, long heaving sobs, and Mrs Gordon stopped and hugged her.
“I found him,” Alex snivelled, “he’s alive, and come next week I can come and get him. Look,” she said, digging into her bodice, “look, I even have a contract!” She threw the document onto the dirt road and cried even harder.
Mrs Gordon bent down to retrieve the deed and tucked it into her o
wn bodice. She pulled Alex close and shushed her, stroking her tenderly over her head. Alex cried and cried, she clung to Mrs Gordon who stood like a rock, whispering that it would be alright, and that she’d keep her lassie safe, no matter what.
“So, what did yon worm of a man do to you?” Mrs Gordon asked, once Alex’s sobs had subsided.
Alex rubbed her sleeve hard over her swollen face.
“He did what he wanted to do. He set the price and I had no choice but to pay. Which he knew, slime ball that he is.” She absentmindedly used her nail to remove a blot of wax from her skirts. “We’d best get moving, the light’s going fast.”
“Matthew will never forgive me,” Alex said once they’d resumed walking. Mrs Gordon rolled her eyes in an exasperated gesture.
“You had no choice, lass.”
“I know that, and you know that, but to Matthew it will never be that clear cut. One part of him will always think I should have refused.”
“Aye, and then he would be dead and none of us would need to worry about his opinion,” Mrs Gordon muttered.
Alex smiled weakly.
“Are you planning on telling him?” Mrs Gordon asked.
“I don’t know. Should I?”
Mrs Gordon did yet another eye roll. “Of course not! Not unless you absolutely have to.”
“But that would be dishonest.”
“All truths don’t need to be told lass. Trust me, aye? He doesn’t need to know.”
Once they got home, Mrs Gordon insisted that Alex take a bath and then she tucked her into bed, wrapping the quilts tight around her.
“There is one thing we must do,” Mrs Gordon said, frowning down at her knitting.
“What?” Alex asked through a yawn.
“We must make sure there is no child.”
Alex’s eyes flew open in consternation. A child! With that disgusting toad of a man?
“When did you last bleed?”
Alex counted back the days and relaxed against the pillows. “Four weeks ago.”
Mrs Gordon just nodded and went back to her knitting. “No major risk then; we’ll wait for some days, and if nothing happens we will help it along. I have what I need, I think, and if not that sweet Mr Parson will find it for me.”
“Mr Parson?”
“The apothecary, and a right little treasure trove his store is.”
Despite everything, Alex smiled. Not yet three weeks here, and already Mrs Gordon had herself an admirer. What was it with this woman? Did she perhaps use some sort of secret perfume?
*
Eight days later, Alex set out for Mr Fairfax’s plantation, and in her pouch she carried the price of twenty pounds, and at her breast lay the signed contract. This was going to create a huge dent in their finances, but she didn’t care – not today. She had washed her hair, put on clean linen, and was quivering all over at the thought of seeing Matthew again. As she approached the plantation she began to tremble for another reason; let Fairfax not be here, let her not have to see that satisfied smirk again.
It was a huge relief to hear that Mr Fairfax was indisposed and have the whole transaction handled in silence by his overseer. She hoped the toad would die of this indisposition, or have his member rot and fall off – leave him incapacitated forever. At least she wasn’t pregnant, so thank heavens for small mercies.
“Well then.” Jones got to his feet after having counted the money for the third time. “Let’s go and find him.”
He led her out into the yard and told her to wait by the barns.
“I can come with you.”
Jones shook his head. He had his instructions and they were very simple; she was to wait here while he found her man.
She watched him stride away and stood and held herself together, wondering why it felt as if she was about to disintegrate into atoms now, when he was so close. I’m afraid, she admitted, I’m so afraid of what he has become.
Chapter 21
“Graham!”
Matthew turned towards the voice. Obey, he reminded himself, always obey. After the flogging he had become pathetically docile, a beast that went wherever he was pointed, and now he shuffled towards Jones hoping that it wouldn’t be too much additional work, because he was too tired, too hungry, and some days all he wanted was to lie down and never rise again.
He no longer allowed himself to hope, never looked in the direction of the road, and every now and then he asked God to take him soon, not leave him to die piece by piece in this unbearable existence. And yet…there were still moments when his head rang with her laughter, when she danced before his eyes, and in her blue, blue gaze he could see just how much she loved him. These fragmented images filled him with quiet joy, a conviction that he had to live through at least one more day, a week, a month.
Matthew came to a silent stop in front of Jones. His foot throbbed, and he threw a look at the soiled bandage that he’d wrapped around it in an attempt to protect the gash where a hoe had sunk into it, just below his ankle.
Jones flicked his riding crop against his buck hide breeches. Once, twice, thrice the leather cracked, and every time Matthew had to force himself not to flinch.
“You have a visitor,” Jones informed him.
Matthew kept his eyes on the ground. He’d seen Jones play this particular game far too many times to fall for it, and he wasn’t about to give anyone the pleasure of seeing first hope, then disappointment, wash across his face.
“Your new owner,” Jones clarified and lifted his whip in the direction of the curing barns. A new owner? Apprehension rushed through him, and he raised his face to look in the direction Jones was pointing.
Had he been alone he might have tried to call her name or even broken into a run. Now all he could do was stand absolutely still as the ground under him seemed to sway and fold, praying silently to the good Lord that she not be a mirage, please God, not that.
“Go on!” Jones barked, unfreezing him. “Get yourself over to her, now. I have instructions to see you off the property immediately.” At Matthew’s continued immobility, he raised his hand in a threatening gesture, and Matthew, to his shame, cringed and began to move.
He was acutely aware of how he must look through her eyes; dressed in rags, dirty and unkempt, his hair and heavy beard crawling with lice. And that was only on the outside, the damage to his inside was far, far worse.
He stumbled towards her. He must seem a scarecrow, stick thin limbs protruding from what little was left of his breeches and shirt. He tried to lengthen his stride, swayed like a reed, and almost fell. His knees buckled, he had to stop, take a breath, take two.
He looked at her from under the fringe of matted hair, and she was just as he remembered her, all the way from the unruly curls escaping constraints of cap and braid, to the way she smiled, arms held out. She had come! His Alex was here, her eyes uncommonly dark and brimming with tears.
Matthew lifted his face, stretched his uncooperative lips into a smile. He heard her loud intake of breath, and here she came, the lace cap fluttering to the ground as she ran towards him. She crashed into him, and only her quick reactions saved them both from tumbling to the ground. His Alex; so warm, so strong and full of life. Her arms wrapped themselves around him, she said his name, she wept and laughed. Matthew closed his eyes, stuck his nose in her hair and inhaled.
After that initial embrace they didn’t touch on their way back to town. It was a long walk, and Matthew’s foot screeched in protest, causing him to limp. And yet he plodded on, wanting very much to take her hand. But he didn’t, far too conscious of his griminess, his torn fingernails and heavily callused hands.
As they walked towards the boarding house, Matthew became aware of all the eyes; eyes that regarded him with revulsion, her with pity. She must have felt them too, because suddenly her arm was slipped through his, and they walked arm in arm through the town.
Once at the boarding house, she steadied him up the stairs, hanging back as he entered the room.
“I’ve ordered a bath,” Alex said, indicating the tub. “I thought that maybe…” She went a dusky pink. “…maybe you’d like me to wash you like I used to do?”
A lifetime ago, in a world where he was whole. Matthew studied himself in silence. He was caked with dirt, from his bare feet to his crown. God knew what he would find once he started to wash the protective layers of dust off him.
“But maybe you’d prefer to be alone?”
He heard the uncertainty in her voice, and wasn’t sure how to reply. He didn’t want her to see him this way, but she would sooner or later anyway. In her eyes he saw her need to touch him, to let her hands rediscover him, and it made all of him crawl, an involuntary shudder rippling through his body.
“Fine,” she said with a brittle smile. “I’ll leave you alone then, right?”
His shoulders slumped with relief, and with a strangled sound she left the room, almost barging into the lad carrying two huge buckets of hot water.
He regained some sense of self with each sluicing, watching with abstracted interest how his body reappeared. Horribly thin, full of welts and unhealed scars, but still, to some extent, him. He stepped out of the dirty water and inspected himself in the shaving mirror. The eyes of a damaged man in a ravaged face stared back at him, and he took a shocked step back. It would help to shave, he told himself, and lifted a shaking razor to his face.
The beard came off in narrow swathes, baring skin that was startlingly white in comparison with the rest of him. He fingered his features, trying to reconnect with himself, looking for something of the old Matthew in the stark face that looked back at him. A death’s head, he thought, the bones plainly visible under the tautened skin.
Alex recoiled at the sight of him. He’d shaved his head as well, and the shirt she’d left folded for him hung flapping round his frame. He smiled ruefully at her reaction and ran a hand over his bare skull.
“I had to,” he said, and those were the first words he said to her. Even his voice was somehow different, he reflected, as dark as always but cracked. Alex nodded and moved closer, inching towards him as if she feared he might turn and bolt, like an unbroken horse.
Like Chaff in the Wind (The Graham Saga) Page 15
