"Gabriel, I hope we can be friends," she said.
He clasped her hand in his. "I would be your friend, too." His voice came out childishly high. He cursed himself for sounding so young. Her father's letter had informed them that May was no maiden herself. Once she had been betrothed to an innkeeper's son, who had taken her virtue and then refused to marry her. His bride was full of the knowledge that he lacked.
She took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. This was his first real kiss. At the wedding, he had pecked her cheek. He hadn't known what else to do. His insides ignited when her tongue parted his lips. She lit a fire inside him and he burned. This night he would become a man. In the morning, he knew he would walk and talk differently. Everyone would know just by looking at him. Even Father would be forced to respect him. Her breasts pressed against his chest, making him breathe hard into her mouth.
But when she ran her hands down his back, he stiffened. Would she feel the whip scars through the thin fabric of his nightshirt? At the thought of the whip, the fire deserted him. May seemed to sense this. She stopped kissing him and got up from the bed. So it was all over. He had disappointed her, and she was walking away. In the morning, Father would somehow find out he had failed.
What was she doing, crouched before the hearth? When she stood and turned, he saw she held a lit candle, one hand cupped around the flame. Stately and calm, she glided back to the bed.
"It is better that you should see me." She set the candle on the floor, then pulled her nightgown over her head and let it fall. The candle flames bathed her naked body in gold. Every inch of him ached for her. She was even lovelier when she smiled and curled up beside him.
He kissed her and gingerly embraced her. He didn't want to displease her by doing anything wrong. He stroked her warm back and her hair until she took his hands and pulled them to her breasts, heavy and full. Burying his head between them, he thought he would die right there.
"May, oh May." He no longer cared how green and untried he sounded. He was close to tears.
A laugh ripped out of her throat. He pulled back, looking at her in bewilderment. Was his eagerness so amusing? Had Father heard her laugh?
"Come," she said. "Let's have a look at you." She took hold of his nightshirt, about to whisk it over his head. She would see his lash scars, see how her laughter had made his member shrink. He flinched and pushed her hands away.
"What, so modest?"
For all her laughter, he saw no mirth in her eyes, only exasperation. With as much dignity as he could muster, he stood up.
"I think we can bide our time." He searched for words. "Until we come to care for each other."
"You do not care for me, then?" She laughed as though he were the biggest fool she had ever suffered. Taunting him for his lack of courage, she didn't cover herself but sprawled in her nakedness. "Do I not meet your satisfaction, Master Gabriel, or do you not care for women at all?" Her voice was loud and ugly. Father would hear every word. "Perhaps you prefer your dogs."
Any desire or liking he had for her deserted him that instant. When he looked at her bare flesh, he could think only of his dog Rufus humping one of the bitches—an image that left him nauseated. The tremulous candle flames threw her shape against the wall. Her shadow resembled a giantess with monstrous breasts that would smother him. If he could look at her with the glamoury eye, he would see right through her beauty to how cruel she was within. Little wonder her father had sent her across the ocean; it was no mystery why her former fiancé wouldn't have her. At any rate, May had never really wanted him. Hadn't she balked like a calf led to slaughter when Father had rushed them to the nuptials? She had consented to marry him only out of desperation. She was clutching at straws.
"In your heart, you do not desire me." His disgust emboldened him. "My father bullied us to the altar, but I won't let him bully me in our bed. If we consummate this, it must be done out of love." He spoke coldly, watching her face darken. "Not to serve my father's will."
***
What was she to do with this petulant, contrary boy? Did he expect her to beg him—as if she hadn't already humiliated herself on his account. Any other girl would have wept herself dry, but May could only laugh. The misgivings and resentment she had bottled inside her since Anne Arundel Town exploded. If there was one thing of which she had always been certain, it was her beauty, the power of her body to bring men to their knees. To think that her lawfully wedded husband was the first man who had ever denied her.
At breakfast the following day, she could hardly look at Gabriel. When Nathan wished her a good morning, she wanted to cover her face. What if he had been serious about his threat to send her back to her father? She imagined returning home in her shame, the unwanted bride. Of all the dishonor she had brought on her family, this would be the most unspeakable, the deepest insult. Hannah's future depended on hers. God willing, her sister would join her on this shore and make a more fortunate marriage than May had done. But if she were forced to return, it would spell disaster for her and Hannah both, sully Hannah's name along with her own. She could already hear the village folk saying that her husband had rejected her on account of her being such a whore. After Father's death, she and Hannah would be impoverished, friendless, and forsaken. The blame would hang on May's shoulders for the rest of her days.
After the servants left to do their chores, she heard Nathan upbraiding Gabriel within earshot of the house. "What is wrong with you? She is handsome. You could not ask for a comelier bride."
Gabriel's reply was so bitter that it cut her to the quick: "Handsome is as handsome does."
20. His Wild Things
Hannah
1693
WITH THE RIVER GUSHING and the wind sweeping through the trees, Hannah didn't hear the approaching horse, only the dogs' wild baying. Then she heard a man calling, "Is anyone here?"
Her stomach turned to water. She had left the musket in the house. The sheathed knife in her belt offered little solace. Keeping herself hidden in the bushes, she crept forward in the direction of the barking. She spotted the stranger near the clothesline, where the infant clothes and the obscenely slit birthing gown flapped. The sun caught the golden hair of a young gentleman astride a glossy bay horse. In his polished riding boots and crisp holland shirt, he looked clean and beautiful, like a creature out of a vision. Behind him rode two other men—servants, judging from their clothes. One carried a musket, the other a sword, and both had shovels strapped to their backs. The fair-haired young man was unarmed.
The dogs circled them in a snarling dance, spooking the horses. The two older men reined in their mounts, lest they bolt, but the young man stepped down from his mare and spoke softly to the dogs until they quieted down and rushed to sniff his gloved hands. Unlike Gabriel, his face was clean-shaven. A whole year had passed since she had seen a shaven man—or indeed anyone apart from her lover. In the fray of leaping dogs, he knelt to fuss over Bessie, the pregnant red spaniel that was Hannah's favorite. He stroked her and scratched her neck until she fawned at his feet, exposing her belly with the twin rows of swollen teats. Something in his solicitude toward the pregnant bitch made Hannah drop her guard. Smoothing back her hair, she stepped out of her hiding place.
"Good day to you, sir. What is your business here?" The dogs gathered around her as she spoke.
The young man bowed. "I am Richard Banham, your neighbor."
Could it be true? Did Mr. Banham have a son? Then she remembered him telling her that his oldest boy was studying at Oxford.
"And would you be Mistress Powers? My father said his men took you here last year." He spoke with perfect courtesy, but heat spread over her face. How beggarly she must appear to him, with her threadbare dress stretched taut over her growing belly. She clasped her hands behind her back lest he notice she wore no ring.
"Yes, sir. I am Hannah Powers."
"Yesterday my men saw Gabriel Washbrook traveling downstream in his canoe. Forgive my intrusion, Mistress Powers, b
ut out of neighborly concern, I thought it best to come by and inquire after your welfare."
"My welfare, sir?"
"You are alone, are you not?"
She wanted to hide from his scrutiny. "If I am, what concern is that of yours?"
"It seems most unfitting to leave a woman alone in the wilderness. Forgive me for speaking so bluntly, but especially a woman in your condition."
At once she lifted her head. She didn't want his pity. "He has only gone to Anne Arundel Town to trade furs for supplies. We are wanting sugar, salt, and nails."
The young Mr. Banham shook his head in disbelief. "To leave an expectant mother on her own in the name of sugar, salt, and nails? What manner of man would do such a thing?"
She felt as though someone had struck her. "Again, sir, I would say our business is of no concern to you."
Richard Banham tilted his head to one side. "We could have given him sugar, salt, and even nails had he asked. He needn't have gone so far."
"He will not be beholden to your family, sir. He told me that your father plots to take our land." How easily the our had slipped from her throat. She reminded herself that only Gabriel had legal claim on the property.
"Is that what he told you?" The young man seemed to ponder this. "It is true he hasn't seen a harvest in three years. I do not think the Lord Baltimore will let him linger rent-free for a fourth year." He nodded in the direction of the river. "It appears he has allowed fallen logs and beaver dams to clog the waterway to make it difficult for rent collectors—or indeed neighbors—to travel here. That is why we have come on horseback."
Hannah could think of nothing to say.
"But I fear, Mistress Powers, I have come here for graver concerns than any outstanding accounts Mr. Washbrook might have." Richard Banham had the wide-open eyes of a man with nothing to hide. "I do not wish to alarm a woman in your condition, but I fear you may be in danger. The rumors have traveled slowly northward from Port Tobacco. They are allegations, as yet unproven in a court of law, but if there is even the slightest chance the rumors are based on truth, this is serious business."
Hannah folded her arms. "You speak in riddles, sir."
"I think perhaps it would be best if you sit down."
The only place to sit was either on the ground or on a rotting tree stump. She was certainly not going to invite these men inside the house. "I will remain standing, sir."
"Could you tell me what relation you are to Mr. Washbrook? My father said that his deceased wife, May, was your sister."
An icy dread gripped her. "How did your father hear of May's death? I came here last year believing her to be alive. Your father, though he had not seen her of late, seemed to be of the same opinion."
"That is why you should sit down." He untied his cloak from the back of his saddle and draped it over a tree stump. "If you please, Mistress Powers."
Feeling very odd, Hannah did as she was told.
"What explanation did Mr. Washbrook give you for your sister's death?"
"He said she died of the childbed fever. Her baby daughter lived only a week and is buried beside her."
Richard Banham nodded grimly. "Well, let me tell you of the rumors flying around about Mr. Washbrook. The rumors were started by Patrick Flynn, a former indentured servant at this plantation. He was arrested in Port Tobacco on charges of thievery, being in possession of a gold signet ring and a set of silver knives and spoons that rightfully belonged to Mr. Washbrook. Now, some masters are indulgent with their servants, it is true, but the circumstances were suspicious, especially as Mr. Flynn had no papers saying he was a free man who had fulfilled his indenture.
"He was arrested and charged with thievery and desertion. The Port Tobacco authorities had every intention of returning both him and the stolen goods to Mr. Washbrook. Flynn was put in the stocks and whipped. But when the magistrate questioned him, something very shocking emerged."
He paused. "Flynn freely admitted to stealing the ring and silver and to running away from his lawful master. But he swore on the Bible that he had fled for his life."
Young Banham hitched up his breeches and squatted on his heels so that his face was level with Hannah's. "He said that his master, Gabriel Washbrook, flew into a rage, accusing his wife, May, of committing adultery with at least two of the servants, and that Mr. Washbrook murdered her in a most cruel way while she was still weak from childbirth."
Hannah shook her head. "No. No, sir. That is a falsehood." Her voice broke.
The young man handed her his linen handkerchief. "I know this is disturbing, but I beg you to hear me out." He paced in front of her. "The magistrates wrote down Patrick Flynn's testimony. He claimed that Gabriel Washbrook stabbed his wife in the chest before dragging her into the forest and laying her facedown with her leg inside a bear trap to make it look like a natural death—that she had met a fatal accident while running away from her husband, if you will. But the story went that it happened less than a fortnight after her giving birth. What woman just out of childbed would flee her husband? Unless she had good reason."
Still shaking her head, Hannah pressed her fingers to her temples to quiet the roar in her brain. Don't go crossing the creek, Hannah. He had always warned her to stay away from the bear traps. May accused of committing adultery with the servants. Yes, she could have done just that, as she had done all her life, her beautiful faithless sister. Gabriel had admitted she was untrue. Had he, then, stabbed her in a rage? Hannah touched the sheathed knife in her belt.
"You are overwhelmed, I am sure," Mr. Banham said.
Banham, is he here? She remembered Gabriel saying that on the day she had arrived, his hand gripping the knife handle. And his nightmares during her first week in his house—were they proof of a guilty conscience?
"Never fear, Mistress Powers. I offer you refuge. My horse is strong enough to carry two. I will bring you to my parents' house."
What would Gabriel do if he returned to find her gone? She remembered his gentle hands tracing her body. His hands stitching mittens for her. Those weren't the hands of a murdering man. How could anyone malign him like this?
"What charges stand against Mr. Washbrook?" she asked. "You said the allegations of murder stem from the testimony of a thief." She took a breath, building up her courage. "Vile slander spread by a runaway servant caught with stolen goods. Could he not have told these lies out of malice?"
Richard Banham bowed his head. "The fact that the suspicions stem from the words of a thief is the weakest part of the argument. Indeed, after Mr. Flynn's testimony was recorded, he broke gaol and has not been seen since. Without a witness to stand trial, evidence against Mr. Washbrook is slim at best. However, as his neighbor, I am duly concerned, for if there is any chance that he is a murderer, he must be brought to justice, for he endangers us all." He looked straight into Hannah's eyes. "Especially you, Mistress Powers."
"Do you intend to arrest him yourself? You have no authority."
"Granted, that is true. However, I have come with two witnesses, and I am a lawyer, having recently completed my education at Oxford."
Hannah wished she had the strength of mind to tell him that her father had gone to Oxford, that once she had been an accomplished, uncommonly educated girl and not just Gabriel Washbrook's pregnant mistress.
"Forgive me for asking," he said, "but I do believe your sister is buried on this property."
"She is."
"Can you show us where?"
Grateful for an excuse to get off the tree stump, she led him to the three graves by the river.
"My sister's is the middle one." The autumn crocuses she had planted the previous year bloomed delicate purple.
Mr. Banham's two companions unstrapped the shovels from their backs.
"We would ask your permission to exhume the remains of May Washbrook," Richard Banham said, for once not meeting her eyes. "If there is any truth in the story, it will be revealed by the corpse. If the leg is shattered or fractured, then Patrick Fly
nn's story about the bear trap will be proven true."
She thought the blood would drain from her body. "Surely you cannot do this."
"Mistress Powers, in the name of truth and justice, we must." Something about his highhanded tone told her that he had been condescending to her all along, making a great show of spreading his cloak on the tree stump. But if she scraped away the veneer of good manners, surely he held nothing for her but pity and contempt. A man of his station would look at her uncovered hair, shabby dress, and pregnant belly and see her as Gabriel Washbrook's whore. And if he was such an upright man of the law, what charges might he press on her if she allowed him to take her to his plantation, where she would be wholly under his power? Having a child out of wedlock was a punishable offense—she was guilty of both fornication and bastardy. Once the baby was out of her body, he could have her put in the stocks and whipped until her dress was in ribbons, her shameful flesh exposed.
Hannah pushed herself between the men and her sister's grave. "I forbid it." Abandoning all dignity, she threw herself on the grassy mound. "I do not give you leave to defile my sister's resting place."
Richard Banham let out his breath. "Not even in the name of your own safety? What if it is true that you live alone on this outpost with a ... a base murderer?"
"If you are so concerned, why did you not come here earlier? Why did your father not tell me this last year?"
"The rumors have only reached us of late."
"Rumors," she said pointedly. She had never spoken out like this to a man so far above her. It was Gabriel's doing, Gabriel telling her he would have no master but God. The man's fancy clothes were mere outer trappings. If she stripped them off, he would be no different from any other man.
She looked straight into Richard Banham's eyes. "If you are as honorable as you say you are, you will come back when Mr. Washbrook is here and tell him these things to his face."
The Vanishing Point Page 18
