“God, I’m tired,” she said.
“Oh aye?” Matthew was standing in only his shirt, a foot or so from the bed. Well, okay; not that tired. The look in his eyes made her toes curl, and with a little smile he pulled off his shirt.
He was back to being the man he used to be – almost. His back was disfigured by a crisscross of scars, his hair was still too short, and there were days when his eyes would darken with memories of humiliation and pain.
But right now his eyes glittered in the candlelight, and when he jerked his head, she stood up to go to him. He enveloped her, a slow dance with her pressed tight against his chest. His lips on her ear, her neck, his fingers flowing down her spine. He was so gentle it made her skin prickle, his fingertips incensing her until she was certain she would die unless he did something else, and did it quick.
They made it to the bed, lips locked tight, hands braided together. She made harsh, guttural sounds when first his fingers, then his tongue, found their way to her cleft. Oh yes! There, there! He kissed her, rose up to kiss her mouth, and she tasted herself on his tongue, on his lips. Now; she wanted him now, and she raised her hips and arched her back in a wordless imploration that he please, please, please… It made him laugh, and he took his time about it, bracing himself on his arms to keep his weight off their growing child. She barely registered when he came, so lost in herself that all she could think of was how everything that was alive in her came together into one point of burning searing want.
“We must do this again,” she murmured afterwards, biting his shoulder. “Soon.”
“Aye, very soon. But you must let me rest a while first.”
“And I’m the one who’s supposed to be recuperating,” she grumbled, making him promise that he’d have her eating her words. Soon. Once he had regained his strength.
*
On one of her walks around town, Alex saw Kate Jones. Both of them came to a halt, Kate mumbled a ‘good day’ and rushed off, while behind her Alex spat in the gutter, took an even firmer grip of Mr Parson’s arm, and hurried home to tell Matthew what Kate had told her about how Fairfax died.
“Kate?” Matthew laughed. “Nay, she couldn’t. And she was pregnant at the time.”
“Well, that’s what she said, and as far as I know being pregnant doesn’t leave you incapacitated,” Alex said, not at all liking how he immediately sprang to her defence.
Matthew shook his head. “She only said it to protect her husband. And besides, she’s left-handed.”
“Oh, and how would you know?” Alex snorted, before remembering that in all probability he did know. He looked away, a deep flush staining his cheeks.
“I just do. The dirk was driven in by someone right-handed – and very strong. It was sunk to the hilt, and Fairfax would have struggled, wouldn’t he?” His mouth quirked. “Quite elegant; she admits to murdering Fairfax for a reason she expects you to be sympathetic with, and yet she knows that once you tell me, I’ll know it’s a lie.” Well; that little oblique reference to the intimacy between him and Kate didn’t exactly improve Alex’s mood.
“She admitted to being willing to let you hang,” Alex said. “But I suppose if you spend enough time thinking about it, you’ll be sure to come up with an exonerating circumstance for that as well.” He attempted to put an arm around her but she backed away. “Don’t; not just now.”
Matthew sighed and let her go. Alex stamped her way up the stairs hard enough to have Mrs Parson stick her head out of the kitchen and wonder why someone had brought a horse indoors.
“So what do you think happened?” Mrs Parson asked Matthew, pouring them both a healthy tot of whisky despite it being not yet noon. “It’s cold,” she muttered at his surprised expression, exaggerating a shiver.
“I reckon Kate is telling the truth – partly. I can well see Fairfax doing to her what he did to Alex.” He grimaced in disgust. “In Kate’s case, he would see it as his right. A bonny lass working off her bond, well, she has no protection.” Mrs Parson nodded; too many of the lasses she delivered were unwed, she told him, the bairns the unwelcome effect of equally unwelcome lovers. Like wee Jenny, the lass must have gotten pregnant the night she came off the boat, and every time Mrs Parson saw her, the lass was weeping, terrified of her master.
“Mmm,” Matthew said, not all that interested in the fate of this unknown Jenny. “Anyway, in this case the bonded lass did have some protection.” Jones; a man who liked the lass, enjoyed having her in his bed, and was not at all willing to share – not this time. So he warned Fairfax off, and Fairfax might have laughed and hitched his shoulders, allowing his prowling eye to rest elsewhere. On my wife, Matthew thought, tightening his grip on the pewter cup.
“It happened,” Mrs Parson said, jerking him back to the present. “It happened and it didn’t harm her greatly, but it saved your life.”
Matthew unwillingly agreed.
“And then?” Mrs Parson prompted.
Matthew drummed his fingers on the table, deep in thought.
“He tried again, mayhap he requested only her hands or her mouth, but somehow he forced himself upon her. And she told Jones.”
Fairfax returning home from the Governor’s reception, carefully hanging up his resplendent coat before sitting down to do some work. The door opens and there stands Jones. Fairfax realising too late that he has seriously overstepped, promising Jones money, property, anything really. Except that Jones already is a partner, and what can Fairfax give him that he doesn’t already have? Fairfax attempting an act of desperate bravado, sitting down to draft a document and sign it, only to turn and see the knife. See it and feel it, the signed document fluttering to the ground as the steel strikes home.
“But there was no document there.” Matthew looked at Mrs Parson, his mind churning. A quill, a blotch of ink, but no paper, nothing on which the quill could have been used. “I wonder…” he said, a smile spreading across his face.
“You’ll not do anything.” Mrs Parson leaned across the table to clasp his hand. Of course not, Matthew assured her, still smiling. He wouldn’t have to.
Chapter 33
“Why are you spending so much time with the registry clerk?” Alex asked Matthew one day.
“Am I? Ah, you mean John. Nay, it is just that we have a lot in common, and he gives me the odd scribing to do.”
“And you tell me I’m a bad liar,” Alex said, shaking her head. Something was afoot, and it didn’t exactly require the sharpest brain on earth to come to the conclusion that this might all lead back to Suffolk Rose. Especially once she asked Mrs Parson, receiving a study of insincere blankness in return. So one afternoon Alex slipped out of the house and made her way to the Governor’s office, hoping Sir William would be there.
Sir William was delighted to see her, but admonished her for being out on her own and with only a shawl against the cold.
“You’ve lived here too long.” Alex grinned. “Remember England? Cold foggy autumns, even colder winters?”
“Pray don’t remind me,” Sir William shuddered. “It is enough just to think of it to bring on the gout.”
“You have gout?” Alex glanced down at his calves, elegantly presented in silk stockings. No, they seemed in excellent shape. Sir William assured her that he didn’t – at least not yet.
“But I will soon be fifty-eight, the grave is beginning to beckon.”
Alex laughed. In comparison with most people, he was remarkably well-preserved, and they were soon in a long discussion about the effects of a varied diet on longevity and health. Given the subject, Alex managed quite subtly to move on to the issues of inheritance, inquiring as to what was needed for a will to be considered legal.
“Why, that it be signed of course,” Sir William said, “and that it be witnessed.”
“And must the witness know how to read?”
Sir William raised a brow. “It would be difficult to witness a deed without being able to read it.”
“Stranger things have happened
,” Alex said, making a money rubbing motion.
“What exactly is it you’re after, my dear?” Sir William asked, his intelligent eyes boring into her.
“I was simply wondering…” Alex let her voice tail off on purpose. “I found it strange, you see,” she added, confusing Sir William even more.
“Found what strange?”
Alex frowned and stirred her tea. Yet another budding tea fanatic, Sir William, although she suspected this was more dictated by fashion than any genuine appreciation of the beverage as such.
“When Mrs Jones was delivered, she was installed in the master bedroom of Suffolk Rose, for all the world the lady of the house, and I thought it strange that Mr Fairfax should have left his property to his overseer. But then, that may just be me – what do I know, maybe Fairfax had no family.”
In response Sir William blew at his tea, long nose visibly twitching as he thought this through.
“Mr Fairfax had a nephew,” Sir William said.
“Ah. Well, maybe he didn’t like him, right?” She sipped at her tea but shook her head at the sugared plums. “Quite a motive for murder,” she said after a lengthy silence.
The governor sat back, regarding her intently. “Fairfax was murdered by that Scotsman, James McLean.”
“No he wasn’t, and neither was he killed by Matthew. My husband may be a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid, and to first kill a man, succeed in escaping unseen and then return to the scene of the crime several hours later…” Alex made a derisive sound. She set down her teacup, and stood, indicating that it was getting dark and that she had to get home. “We’ll never know.”
“No, my dear, I suppose we won’t.” Sir William smoothed down his sash and collar, for all the world as if he were brushing this distasteful subject off him. “I’ll have someone see you home,” Sir William said, gallantly kissing her hand.
“That’s not necessary.”
“I think it best.” He placed a hand on Alex’s sleeve. “You will not pursue this matter, my dear.” There was a finality in his tone that made her nod.
Matthew stood waiting for her, thanking the footman but assuring him that he was capable of seeing his wife home.
“How did you know where I was?”
He was upset, she could feel it in the way he held her arm, steering her in front of him rather than holding her to him.
“What were you doing there?” he asked, ignoring her question. “And you know I don’t like it, that you walk out alone. Not after that…” He broke off, shaking his head.
Alex drew the shawl closer around her, a tremor rippling up her spine to make her nape prickle.
“He’s dead,” she said, angry with him for reminding him of something she worked hard to forget.
“Very,” he assured her, changing his hold to circle her shoulders instead. “So why did you go to see him?”
“You have your secrets and I have mine,” she said, refusing to say another word until they were back in their room.
“Uhhh.” Alex grunted, sighing with relief as she stepped out of her stays. She stretched her back in all directions, hearing the soft pops as bones and muscles shifted. “Almost two months to go,” she groaned, patting her bulk. Matthew laughed and handed her the bed jacket.
“I’ll make you a wee gamble, I bet you the babe comes before the New Year.”
“That’s at least two weeks too early.” She wouldn’t mind if he was right; she felt like a giant blimp. She adjusted the knitted soft cream jacket so that it covered as much of her as possible, and sat down in the single chair.
“I went to see him to ask about inheritance,” she said, assessing Matthew’s reactions. “I found it strange that Jones should be living in the main house.”
Matthew gave her a flicker of a smile. “And what did he say?”
“That I should leave this matter alone. And I will. But I’ll have you promise that you will as well.”
Matthew sat down on the floor beside her and rested his head against her leg.
“It’s already set in motion, so aye, I can promise that I will do no more.”
He explained how he and his new best friend had found reason to review the registered wills of the last six months, Matthew insisting that he had seen an error in one of them, but being adequately vague about where or when. And so they had found the will by which Fairfax bequeathed everything to Mr Jones.
“I merely pointed out that wasn’t it quite the coincidence that it should be signed the same day Mr Fairfax died,” Matthew said. “John was wetting himself with excitement, going on and on about Mr Fairfax’s nephew back in England.”
“So now what happens?” Alex asked.
Matthew made a disinterested sound. “Mr Jones will find himself having to respond to a lot of questions – in particular as Sykes stands as witness, and he doesn’t know how to read. And somewhere along the line they might also choose to question his wife.” He sighed. “They won’t, I think, reopen the inquest regarding Fairfax’s death – it would reflect badly on them all – but they may make it difficult for Jones to remain here. He’ll live under a permanent cloud of suspicion once the gossip begins.”
“The gossip?”
Matthew laughed softly. “John has a very bad head for beer. He will be blathering about this in every inn he visits. And it will stick; gossip always does.” He smiled with satisfaction.
“That’s why he’s backed off from you,” Alex nodded.
“Hmm?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Since Fairfax died, Jones has kept well away from you – you said so as well.”
“And?”
“He doesn’t need Luke’s money anymore, does he? All he wants is to be as discreet as possible, do nothing to attract attention to himself while he works his way unobtrusively into the salons of his new peers, with as few questions as possible asked as to how he came into his property.” She wet her lips. “He isn’t going to like it, being talked about, and he’ll know exactly whom to blame for all the rumours.”
Matthew grinned. “Aye; John.”
*
A week later, Matthew came home in a foul mood.
“Someone warned him,” Matthew spat, slamming the door closed as he entered their room. “In any case, Mr Jones has seen fit to leave.”
“Leave? Now? How?” Alex was having a bad day. Her bladder was being used as some kind of punch ball, Mrs Parson had taken one look at the baby cardigan she was knitting and torn up half of it, telling her that you knitted one row, purled the other, aye? On top of it all, she was into a major chocolate craving. Matthew glared at the driving rain and took a couple of deep breaths.
“He’s sold Suffolk Rose. John came rushing to find me as soon as the deed came in.”
All Alex could feel was relief. The further Jones was from Matthew the better, and to some extent there was an element of achieved revenge in forcing him to leave Virginia, setting off to recreate himself somewhere else with wife and children. Not that she doubted he’d manage very well – Jones was like a huge cat, landing always safely on his feet.
“And has he already left?”
Matthew shrugged; he didn’t know. “At least it will be costly. The few boats presently plying the coast will charge him dearly.” He pulled at his lip. “Maryland, that would be the closest.”
In the event he hadn’t left. Not until three days later, did Mr Jones and his household embark, and by then the gossip had begun to spread, further fuelled by this very strange behaviour. To uproot your family and carry them off in the middle of the winter – surely no man with a clean conscience would risk that? People speculated loudly; Fairfax had no doubt been killed by his overseer, some said, while others insisted they heard the nephew was coming out to claim his uncle’s estate, and this was Jones fleeing with as much of his ill-gotten gains as he could.
The whole town came out to watch Jones leave, a Jones who rode ramrod straight by the cart that contained his goods and family, ignoring the whispered abuse,
the low rustles of laughter and the open finger-pointing. A couple of apprentices hooted, an egg flew through the air, landing squarely between Jones’ shoulder blades, but he didn’t even twitch, keeping his eyes straight ahead.
“Pretty impressive,” Alex said in an undertone to Mrs Parson.
Just as her husband, Kate sat silent and straight on the slow ride through town, her shoulders stiff, her chin raised. It struck Alex that this move might be very much to Kate’s liking, a new start in a place where people wouldn’t know she was a bonded servant. Kate had dressed up; in dark silks and a heavy woollen cloak, she was quite the lady, smiling sweetly at her husband when he helped her off the cart. Her hair hung in golden curls, loose about her shoulders, and when her eyes scanned the crowd they rested a bit too long on Matthew, a slow smile spreading as she lifted her hand. Matthew raised his hand in response, his head inclined in a slight bow. He inhaled loudly when Alex ground her heel into his foot and gave her an aggravated look. Alex just smiled, as sweetly as Kate had just done.
The last longboat, carrying the worldly goods of the Jones family, capsized halfway between the shore and the sloop, with the three rowers coming up to clutch at the overturned keel. From the sloop there came muted exclamations of anger, and even at this distance Alex could see Jones’ large frame, his fist extended towards the sky. Beside her, she heard Mr Parson chuckle, and then Mrs Parson began to laugh as well.
“What?” Alex had difficulties in seeing anything amusing in the present on-going drama. Those three poor men! They might drown, or freeze to death, or be attacked by an alligator – although this latest alternative did seem somewhat unlikely. Then she noticed that all around people were laughing, and when she studied the longboat it was apparent all three men could swim, they were towing the longboat with them back to shore. “Oh, my God! They did it on purpose.”
Like Chaff in the Wind (The Graham Saga) Page 26
