“Send someone to find him,” Mrs Gordon instructed Alex. “This will be over right quickly.”
Jones looked as shocked as it was possible for him to look, blinking down at the two bundles.
“Two?”
“Apparently, and definitely not Matthew’s.” Far too ugly for that, Alex decided, thinking the two little boys unfortunately looked very much like their father. She retreated a step or two, uncomfortable with being in the same room as him. The bastard didn’t deserve one jot of happiness, not after what he’d done to Matthew, not after what had happened to poor James.
“Twins…” Jones extended a finger, grazing the ginger fuzz that stood from the head of the closest.
“Healthy lads,” Mrs Gordon said, “but you’d best get a wet nurse.” The exultant father nodded, mumbled a ‘well done’ to Kate, and hurried from the room.
In the bed Kate had sunk back into the pillows, purple hollows round her eyes. Mrs Gordon was still busy with the last of the babies, cooing as she swaddled it. Alex cleared the room, bundling wet and bloodied linen in a corner, shaking pillows and smoothing clean sheets into place. In the weak candlelight, the room was peaceful, the soft snuffling sound of new born babies the only thing that broke the silence. A hasty look out the window confirmed dawn was still some hours off, all in all a quick and easy birthing. Mrs Gordon muttered something about finding some honey and hurried out of the room, leaving Alex and Kate alone.
“I killed him.” Kate seemed fast asleep.
Alex sat up straight.
“He tried to force me, saying that Jones wouldn’t mind, that he’d been sharing me occasionally before.” Kate made a disgusted face, one hand picking at the coverlet. “So I picked up his dirk and killed him.” She laughed, opening her eyes to look at Alex. “It surprised him, he sat and looked from me to the knife a couple of times, and then he just slumped back and died.”
“Does Jones know?”
Kate nodded.
“And still he tried to blame it on Matthew?”
Another nod.
Alex knotted her hands. “And if James hadn’t been there to take the blame, would you have let him hang?”
Two brown eyes met hers. “We all do what we have to do,” Kate said. “To survive, I mean.”
If Mrs Gordon hadn’t returned at that moment, Alex would have punched Kate. Now she just turned on her heel and walked out of the room, swamped by a desire to leave this damned house. Immediately.
Halfway home it began to rain. Alex shivered and cursed, wiping her face free of all this water that was making it even more difficult to find her way.
“Stupid,” she remonstrated with herself. “This was a really stupid thing to do.”
Too right; it was pitch black, and with the rain the dirt road converted into a mud slide. Here and there she lost sight of it, and for a couple of minutes of absolute panic she lumbered round among the trees, sure she was forever lost before she realised the road was only feet away. Well; at least the weather had the benefit of keeping any potential rogues at home, and with this reassuring thought foremost in her mind, Alex made it all the way back to Jamestown, staggering in muddy and wet just before dawn.
She was almost at the apothecary when something was thrown over her head. She tried to scream, but the cloth muffled her sounds, and so she fought instead, kicking out wildly at her unknown attacker. A gasp, a hissed curse, and, she drew in breath to cry out again, but a clap to her head sent her to her knees. There was a satisfied snicker behind her. Yet another clap, and Alex was no longer sure where she was. She was dragged off, whoever it was who was pulling her grunting with the effort. Once more she tried to free herself. The responding blow knocked her out.
Chapter 32
“Where’s Alex?” Matthew pounced on Mrs Gordon the moment she came through the door. It was well after sunrise, and for the last few hours he’d been keeping an eye on the road, his heart tumbling at the sight of Mrs Gordon returning with only the groom as her company.
“Alex? Is she not here? She left on her own, several hours ago.”
“Alone?” Matthew said. “Why?”
“I don’t rightly know; she had a tiff with Kate Jones, and then she just stormed out, aye?”
“And you didn’t stop her?”
“Well, I didn’t think she’d gone much further than the kitchen. It was dark outside, no?” Mrs Gordon twisted her hands hard together. “What might have happened to her?”
“I don’t know,” Matthew said, “but I aim to find out.”
The Governor of Virginia looked most displeased. “A woman, abducted; I will not have it, you hear?” He frowned at the constables, at the table, kicked with irritation at one of the chairs. “Either she was taken there, by someone at the plantation, or somewhere close to here,” he continued, “there’s nothing but wilderness in between.” He pulled at his lip, did a little turn, clapping Matthew supportively on the back as passed him.
“He took her here.” Matthew held up her shoe. He had problems speaking and found it near impossible to stand still listening to the governor, when what he should be doing was to scour the surrounding area for his wife.
The governor frowned. “Is it that man, you think?”
“Who else?” Matthew shrugged. But why? Who would want to abduct his wife, and more importantly, who would go to the trouble of travelling all the way across the ocean to do so? He froze. Luke. Aye, that was it. This all smelled of Luke, a failsafe sent off to ensure Matthew never made it home, no matter if Alex found him in time. A huge wave of relief rose through him; Alex wasn’t harmed, she was but bait in a trap meant for him.
“The ship,” he asked, “the boat he came with, where was it from?”
“From London, as I recall it,” the harbourmaster said. He scrunched up his brows. “Yes, from London – it belongs to one of those new trading companies.”
Matthew nodded. “It’s me, I’m the one he wants.”
“You? So you know this man?”
“Nay; but I’d warrant he’s been sent here to kill me.” He swallowed. What had this man done to his Alex? She’s just the lure, he comforted himself, worthless unless she’s kept alive.
“To kill you?” The governor looked him up and down. “Who would go to such extremes?”
“The same man that had me abducted in the first place – my brother.”
“Your brother?” The governor sounded most intrigued.
“Aye.” Matthew had no intention of saying more than that, and after yet another long look, the governor shrugged, turning his attention to the matter at hand.
Sir William had not for nothing been an officer in the army. In a matter of minutes, he had a strategy devised whereby he called in every single child in Jamestown, promising whoever came back with news as to where a stranger was holding a woman a huge reward.
Eyes widened at the size of the pouch Sir William hefted into the air, and off they went, barefoot and silent, to scurry like rats through the little town.
“Bairns?” Matthew was not convinced.
“Send in men and it’ll scare him – or warn him. Send in maids and lads, and he’ll at most think it a childish game. Besides, who do you think knows every single nook and hideaway in this our little settlement?”
It was well after noon when a wee laddie, no more than six, darted into the room. He was muddy up to his waist, the shirt had a tear down the side, but his eyes were bright and there was a huge grin on his face.
“I found him,” he said, “he’s on the other side of the harbour, in one of them old sheds.” His grin faded away. The laddie twisted at his shirt. “She screamed.”
Matthew’s guts tightened into impossible knots. Please don’t do anything daft, lass, don’t try to fight him, not now that you’re heavy with child.
“I swear,” Matthew said, “if he’s harmed her, I’ll…” He wheeled, rushed for the door.
“No!” The governor was fast for his age, his hand closing on Matthew’s coat. �
�We do this intelligently. We must do nothing that risks Alexandra’s life.”
*
She’d woken to the sound of gulls, and after a few moments she’d grasped she was lying in mulch, the ground close to her eyes swarming with little bugs and ants. With a yelp she’d sat up, and the man had loomed over her, telling her to shut up, or else… He’d set his knife to her neck and dragged it lightly over her skin. Alex had scooted away from him and nodded.
Now she was sitting with her back against what remained of a wall, trying to stop her teeth from chattering. Jesus, she was cold, her clothes were far from dry after last night’s downpour, and sitting in the damp of a swamp wasn’t exactly making things better. The man had so far been sitting a yard or so away, but he had begun to fidget, and Alex drew her legs up in preparation. The moment he stood to piss, she’d be off.
“And now what?” she said.
“Hold your tongue,” he growled. Idiot. Very scary idiot, she shuddered, a hand coming up to rub at the shallow cut on the side of her neck. She sneezed. Her throat hurt and she wondered if she might have a fever, given the chills she was having. Her head…a tentative hand to the bump ensured it was none too bad – his blow hadn’t broken the skin.
Just as she’d expected, a few minutes later he got to his feet and limped over to a nearby bramble. She took off. The ground was soft and squelchy, in a matter of seconds her skirts were soaked, and she was nowhere as fast as she’d thought she’d be, made ungainly and clumsy by her swelling belly. A hand closed on her sleeve, she pulled free. He grabbed her again.
“Next time you try such I’ll knife you,” he gasped as he dragged her back towards the little hut.
“Take your hands off me!” She dug her heels in, raised her free arm, and with a grunt brought the blade of her hand down over his nose. He shrieked, blood gushing. Unfortunately, he didn’t let her go, and the way his eyes disappeared into his face, two miniature pebbles of undisguised dislike glaring at her, made Alex worry she might have overreached.
“Once I’ve killed your man, I’ll take my time over you,” he said, squashing her flat to the ground. She couldn’t breathe. There was mulch in her mouth, in her nose, and she screamed. A yank on her hair, something smelly shoved into her mouth, rope burnt into her wrists, and she was hoisted into the air, arms impossibly stretched, only her toes reaching the ground.
“Or maybe I should start with you,” he said, “the brother won’t mind, will he? As long as you both end up dead, as long as none of you return to discredit his name.”
Luke? Oh my God, Luke had sent this…this…torpedo all the way from England? The man pulled his knife, lips thinning into a smile. She didn’t want to do this anymore; she wanted to go home. He walked around her, and Alex couldn’t see him, only hear him. Her bladder contracted. It made him sniff and laugh.
“Not so cocky now, hey? Maybe I should slice off an ear or something and include it with my little note to you husband. Would he like that, do you think?” Something sharp prodded at her back. “That should convince him to come right quickly, and then…” The man cackled, his hot exhalations far too close to her ear. “…well then I kill him, and you can watch.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the knife. She shrank away, he laughed again. A long, jagged tear on the sleeve of her bodice. It hurt; like being caught in barbed wire. He stood in front of her, his swollen nose so close she went cross-eyed.
The dagger tapped at the tip of her nose. Oh God; he was going to slice it off. But he didn’t. He walked round her. She turned her head to try to see him. Like a jack-in-the-box he popped up before her, and the knife drew a long gash along her forearm.
Alex screamed and screamed, but the gag muffled any sound she made to a weak whimper. How long had this gone on? An hour? Two? The sun was well to the west, her arm was a mess of shallow cuts, sleeve and shift slashed to shreds. The man giggled and dug the point of his knife yet again into her arm. Blood trickled down into her armpit. He wiped the blood off with his finger and smeared it over her face.
Jesus! Here he came again. She tried to knee him, but there was nothing to take purchase against, and with a sneer he slapped her leg away. He tore her shift open and touched her breasts. She tried to pull away, her skin puckering when his dirty fingers grazed it. He laughed, set the knife to her right breast. A swift movement and a thin line of red appeared, blood welling like sweet water pearls along the gash. It itched more than hurt – until he set his finger to it and rubbed, hard. She screamed again, choking in the gag.
She sneezed. Her nose was beginning to clog. Concentrate, Alex; don’t cry, for God’s sake don’t cry. Breathe in slowly, open your mouth as wide as you can and pull in what air you can through the rag. Like Darth Vader; a sound that reminded her of a malfunctioning vacuum cleaner, but at least she had air in her lungs. She sneezed again. She slumped into the rope, not caring how it hurt her arms, her wrists. So tired…
*
Sir William tied back his hair and gestured for Matthew to circle to the back of the dilapidated structure before them. Step by careful step, Matthew moved through the undergrowth, flinching at every sound he made. A quick look over his shoulder showed him Sir William and his men were approaching the shed just as cautiously, and to his far right he could make out the round shape of the harbourmaster, flitting silently over the marshy ground.
Too slow; this was taking far too much time! What if…no; Matthew forced the horrifying images of his wife lying dead to the back of his mind. He crouched and crawled, slid like a serpent along the ground, and after what seemed a lifetime the hut rose before him, a grey ruin of a building.
The back wall was gone, and there, hanging from the roof beam was Alex. For a horrifying instant Matthew thought she might be dead, but then she sneezed and a man appeared by her side. Alex shrank together in her ropes and Matthew wanted to weep at the sight of her. A blade glinted and Alex’s eyes flew open, a sound like that of a drowning kitten in a sack escaping from her gag.
Matthew roared. Like a bear he charged, low to the ground and with his dirk in his hand. The man jumped, grabbed hold of Alex and pressed his knife to her neck.
“I kill her,” he screamed. “One step closer and I kill her.”
Matthew slid to a stop. The man laughed. A shot went off, and with a surprised ‘eh’ the man slid to his knees, knife falling from his hand. Matthew sprinted the last few yards that separated him from Alex, and from what remained of the front door came Sir William, pistol still in hand.
“How unfortunate,” he muttered, using a toe to nudge at the dead man. “Now we’ll never know the truth behind this, will we?”
Matthew didn’t care; he was glad the bastard was dead, but what had he done to his wife? He stood holding her while Sir William cut the rope, and with a little whooshing sound Alex collapsed into his arms.
*
“It’s not too bad, aye?” Mrs Gordon looked up from where she was bandaging Alex’s arm. “He’s cut her a couple of times – it’ll heal right quickly.”
A couple of times? The arm was patterned with cuts, shallow for the most of it, but here and there deep enough for Mrs Gordon to put in a few stitches. She frowned and sat back. “No, I fear the damage done to her by yon ruffian is no great matter, but a whole day in this damp heat in wet clothes…” She shook her head.
“I’m okay,” Alex croaked. “I’ll be fine. I just…” She moaned and closed her eyes.
For well over a week, Matthew didn’t leave their little room. Occasionally Alex woke, smiling in weak recognition when she saw him before sinking back down into heavy, feverish sleep.
When Mrs Gordon offered to sit beside Alex so that he could take a little turn or mayhap rest, he refused. He had to be here, with her. He changed sheets and shifts, helped her to pee and watched with concern as the fever rose and fell, rose again, and fell but slightly.
On the eighth day Mrs Gordon examined Alex thoroughly and sat back.
“It’ll be alright,”
she said in a voice weak with relief. “You see? The phlegm she coughs up has thinned and her fever is much lower - still high, but lower.” Matthew wanted to cry. Instead he picked up Alex’s hand and placed his thumb against her wrist. Not her normal beat; a fast, strong pulse that pumped her blood round in an effort to combat the invading disease.
“Will it have harmed the bairn?”
Mrs Gordon shook her head. “Nay, the wean will be alright.”
*
Alex lay for a long time blinking up at the ceiling. She turned her head. Matthew was dozing in the chair. When she called his name, he jumped, fell to his knees and hid his face against the blankets.
“Matthew?” Alex licked her lips. She was terribly hungry and very thirsty. She patted his head. Why was he crying? Had something happened? She blinked, trying to recall where she was. Slowly it came back to her. In Virginia…Kate had twins, and the bitch would have let Matthew hang to save her own neck. A jolt of red hot anger coursed through her. The man…the knife… Her hand rested on her stomach for an instant; a soft kick, a gentle prodding inside of her.
“Matthew,” she murmured, yawned and fell asleep.
It was early October by the time she was sufficiently recovered to be up and about, and by then it was too late. No more ships, not this year, the harbourmaster said. Alex was washed with relief – and despair. She stood for some time staring out across the waters, her cloak pulled tight around her shoulders.
“He’ll keep, lass,” Matthew said, draping an arm round her. Alex sighed. By the time they got home, Mark would be well beyond three, and all his life he’d lived without them. No doubt safe and cosseted, but by other people, not by her.
For a couple of days she moped, but when Mrs Gordon’s wedding day dawned grey and rainy, she was back to her normal self, bustling about as she helped Mrs Gordon get dressed. In black, of course – why change the habits of a lifetime – but with a pretty shawl around her shoulders, and a brand new lace cap.
The ceremony was a quick affair, the party was not, and it was well after midnight before Alex could undo her stays. From below came music and song, and Alex suspected the new Mrs Parson intended on partying for quite some hours more. Where she got her energy from was an open question, but whatever it was Mrs Parson was imbibing, she wasn’t sharing it with Alex, who sank down to sit on the bed.
Like Chaff in the Wind (The Graham Saga) Page 25
