“From what I hear, they don’t see much of him as it is. It’s always with the other lass he spends his time, and she has just given him a son.”
“She has?”
“Hancock had a visit some days back. A certain Mr Jones wanted to set up provisions for this new child of his. A most substantial provision...”
“And Kate knows.” Alex nodded, things tumbling neatly into place.
“Aye, I suppose she would, on account of Mrs Hancock being her friend.”
*
It was one of the best moments in his life. Matthew entered the inn and stood for a while to the side, savouring the sweet taste of revenge. Mean spirited, not at all in line with Kirk teachings, and yet it was with a spring to his step that he led the three elders in the direction of where Dominic was dining.
Jones looked up from his meal, knife poised halfway to his mouth. Conversations died away, and the whores scuttled over to stand like a flock of chickens round their mother hen, Mrs Malone. Jones pulled the napkin free from his collar, dabbed at his mouth and stood.
“What? More unsubstantiated accusations about me attempting you harm, Graham?” Jones lifted his lip into a sneer. “As if I would even bother! You’re nothing but a homesteader while I am a man of wealth and influence – friend to the governor, no less.” His small eyes darted round the group of men.
“No unsubstantiated accusations this time, Jones.” Matthew couldn’t keep the triumph out of his voice. “This time there is plenty of proof – and witnesses.”
“Witnesses?” Jones laughed. “Then they lie. I haven’t raised a finger against you”
“Against me? No, no, Jones, you have it wrong. We’re here on account of the missing boys.” Matthew took a step closer to Jones. “It was a foolish thing to do, to abduct children in your hometown. And it must have been God that ensured Jacob was saved that day last summer, by the propitious appearance of Mr Farrell. After all, we both know that had he not been there, you yourself would have carried my son aboard your accursed ship.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dominic Jones straightened up to his considerable height.
“You would say so,” William Hancock snorted.
“It is best you come with us,” Minister Walker said, and there was nothing for Jones to do but to obey.
*
“No!” Jones wet his lips and looked from face to face. “No, of course not! It’s all conjecture.” The collected men facing him stared at him in stony silence.
“My son! My Sydney!” one man moaned, stumbling to his feet. “Where is my son, goddamn you?”
“I don’t know; it isn’t my doing.” Jones’ eyes flitted over the room, rested for an instant on Matthew, moved on.
“It was your ship,” another man said. “You were even on board when some of the lads were carried off.”
“That doesn’t mean I knew everything that went on,” Jones protested.
William Hancock flipped through his papers. “And yet it would seem from this correspondence that you were aware of this lucrative sideline.”
“Correspondence?” Jones’ voice was breathless. “What correspondence?”
In reply, Hancock waved several sheets at him. Jones sank down on the chair behind him and hid his face in his hands. Matthew suppressed an urge to whoop. Jones was as dead as the chickens that hung plucked in the poultry shop. For the rest of the proceedings Jones sat as still as a statue, his eyes locked on the floor between his feet. Twice he repeated that he wasn’t guilty, but his voice was flat and lifeless, and when he stood to hear the foregone verdict, a tremor wobbled through his huge frame. When Minister Walker pronounced sentence, Dominic Jones blinked, a large, meaty hand coming up to caress his fat neck.
*
Matthew stood to one side, his hat crammed down on his head to leave his face in shadow. The square was full of people, and unlike him, most of the men were accompanied by their wives. To his surprise, Kate Jones was there as well, coming to stand not very far from him. She seemed ill at ease, her hands fiddling repeatedly with her dark shawl and the brim of her equally dark hat.
From the other side of the square came repeated shrieks, and when Matthew looked that way he caught a flash of red hair. He winced when he realised Dominic’s mistress had been forced to attend, her hair uncovered to signal her adulterous behaviour, her arms held by two of Providence’s worthies. He felt a twinge of pity for the lass and her wean, but closed off that section of his brain. He was here to gloat. Except that he couldn’t, disturbed by the whole sorry spectacle, the eggs that whistled through the air, the howls of rage that met Dominic Jones as he stepped onto the wooden platform. Grudgingly, he admitted that he acquitted himself well, Jones did; all through the extended proceedings the man kept the fear he must be feeling well under control. Not once did he look in the direction of his wife; to the last his eyes locked themselves on the weeping, terrified young woman and the wean she held in her arms.
“For a man Walter swears is dead and buried, you seem in the best of health,” a voice whispered in his ear, and Matthew wheeled to find Philip Burley staring at him from below a broad-brimmed hat. At his back was Stephen, his face bisected diagonally by a vivid red scar that had healed badly, giving the impression his nose was about to fall off at any moment. Only two, Matthew comforted himself, and his hand dropped to his dirk.
“Mr Graham.” Philip bowed. “And so we meet again.”
“I can’t say I’m glad,” Matthew said. His thigh itched.
“No, I assume not.” Philip moved an inch or so closer.
“You killed him!” Stephen looked as if he was about to launch himself at Matthew but was held back by his brother.
“Not here, you fool!” Philip snapped, gesturing at the crowd.
“He was condemned and executed in due course,” Matthew replied.
“Who? Him?” Philip jerked his head in the general direction of the body that swung from the gallows. “What do we care about him? You killed Will, you bastard.”
“Self-defence, Burley.” Matthew stood his ground, pitching his voice to ensure it carried. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Minister Walker coming towards them, shadowed by a trotting Mr Farrell and a grim-faced William Hancock.
“I don’t care. He was my baby brother and you slit his throat as if he were a pig. For that we’ll kill you; someday we’ll gut you until you squeal with pain.”
“I think not,” Minister Walker said. “And I’ll not countenance such threats.” He had to stand on his toes to eyeball Philip, but eyeball him he did, with William Hancock hanging over his shoulder. “The next time I see you anywhere close to Mr Graham, I’ll have you put under lock and key. Now go! Go, I said,” he repeated, when neither of the Burleys moved.
Philip swept the minister a mocking bow and straightened up to catch Matthew’s eyes. “Please convey my regards to your oh so charming wife, Graham. I’m sure I’ll have the pleasure of meeting her again.” He snickered but beat a hasty retreat when Matthew made as if to throw himself at him.
Minister Walker grabbed hold of Matthew’s coat and stood watching the brothers skulk away before turning to study Matthew.
“It would seem, Brother Matthew, that you’ve made lifelong enemies of them.”
Matthew just nodded.
“Don’t tell Alex,” he said to William as they walked up the incline towards the Hancock home together.
“Why not?”
“It’ll make her more afraid than there is need for her to be.” It sufficed that he was, grappling with the daunting task of getting them home safely now that the Burleys were here. He straightened his spine and clenched his fists, thereby achieving some control over his trembling limbs. Mayhap he should hire an escort.
“Hmm,” William said, but promised nonetheless.
Chapter 45
“Ha
rd night?” Alex asked without a whit of compassion the morning after Dominic’s execution. She was still angry with him for having chosen to spend last night with male companions rather than her.
Matthew groaned and grabbed at her pillow to pull it over his eyes. “Don’t yell,” he croaked. “My head hurts something awful.”
“So it was.” She poked him and one bloodshot eye flew open to glare at her.
“Aye,” he managed to say, looking at her as if he hoped she’d disappear and leave him in peace.
“Where?” she asked, picking up his coat which she found crumpled in a corner. She shook it out, frowning down at a stain on the light grey fabric. “We’re supposed to be in church in some hours, and you only have this one coat.”
He mumbled something indistinct in reply and rolled over on his side, turning a stiff and unwelcoming back in her direction.
Alex sniffed at the lapels and wrinkled her nose at the overpowering stench of cheap and stale perfume. “Mrs Malone’s?” She flipped him over on his back. “I’ve told you I don’t want you to go there.”
“That is not for you to decide.” He licked his cracked lips and rubbed a hand through his thick, tousled hair. He actually looked quite endearing in a rough sort of way – if it hadn’t been for how he stank of beer.
“Fine, but I sure hope you kept Mr Beast here under control.” She grabbed him a bit too hard between his legs, making him yelp.
He moved swiftly, pinning Alex beneath him. “You hurt me,” he said in an aggrieved tone.
“No permanent damage; at least not compared to the damage I’ll do you the day I find out you’ve been with a whore.” She shoved at him.
“I haven’t.” He stared at her through narrow red-rimmed eyes. “I never would.”
“Huh.”
“You doubt my word?” He leaned close enough to have his nose touch hers.
“No,” she said after a heartbeat or two.
“Good.”
Three hours later, they exited the inn, making for the meetinghouse. Repeated head ducking in cold water and an egg or two had banished most of Matthew’s hangover, even if he squinted at the sun, muttering something about his head being on fire.
“I’ve contracted two lads,” Matthew said.
“Two?” Alex frowned. “Do we really need two?” She curtsied to Minister Walker and mumbled a quick greeting to Mrs Walker, who smiled back before hurrying after her husband.
“One was very cheap, and as I’ve also bought five cows, we may need some help to drive them home.”
“Or we tie them together and lead them,” Alex suggested.
“Safety in numbers. There’s no knowing who might want to make off with a cow or two in these uncertain times, is there?”
Alex gave him a sharp look. There was something he wasn’t telling her. He lifted his hat at yet another acquaintance, waiting while Alex dropped a curtsey before resuming their walk towards the meetinghouse.
“But still...” Alex gnawed at her lip. “So how much do we have left?”
“Excluding the ingots, 260 pounds – and the coins we presently carry on us.”
“Which isn’t that much,” Alex informed him. In her own little pouch clinked ten shillings and some pence coins, while he had three gold guineas, five shillings, two or three half-crowns and a couple of groats – before last night’s binge at Mrs Malone’s...
“More than most men earn in half a year,” he said.
*
It was strange to sit in the meetinghouse beside Matthew and see the Hancock family walk in with Jacob in their midst. Her son smiled briefly in her direction before hurrying after Betty, sliding down to sit with the Hancocks. One part of Alex wanted to stand up, tell everyone that this boy was hers, not theirs, while the other told her sternly to sit still and behave.
Matthew’s hand found hers, and he slipped their clasped hands out of sight beneath her skirts. All through the service he held her, and somewhere halfway through the far too long sermon about the first commandment, Alex understood: this was difficult for him too. She squeezed his hand, and felt him squeeze back. A shared smile, his hazel eyes in hers, and it was no longer quite as unbearable to be leaving Jacob behind.
After the service Alex hugged her son and kissed him on the top of his head. “I love you,” she whispered.
Jacob stood stiff in her arms, shifting from foot to foot as he mumbled to her to let him go; what would Betty think? So she did, and Matthew tousled his hair, telling him that he expected Jacob to behave and work diligently on his new master’s behalf. Jacob rolled his eyes and held up ink- stained fingers, making Alex laugh.
*
Saying goodbye to Jacob had momentarily distracted Alex from her suspicions that Matthew was holding something back, but once they were back in their room she turned to him, set her hands at her waist and waited.
“What?” he tried.
“Tell me,” she said.
“Tell you what?”
“Come off it. I know something’s worrying you, okay?”
He gave her a sheepish look. “I didn’t want to frighten you.”
“Well, you already have. It has to be pretty bad for you to keep it from me.”
Matthew sighed and fiddled with one of the quilts.
“The Burleys, I had the pleasure of running into them yesterday.” In a low voice he told her of Philip’s threat, and her belly shrank together into a painful bundle of nerves, making it difficult to remain upright.
“We’ll just have to go canny,” was what she said, seeing him smile at her use of his expression. “It’s not as if we’re defenceless, is it?”
“Ah no, that we’re not. I’ve bested them a fair number of times already.”
*
Mrs Parson was unperturbed when Alex told her. “I heard already yesterday.”
“You did?” It always amazed Alex how Mrs Parson seemed to plug into some sort of invisible network the moment she set foot in a place. In a matter of hours, she’d know everything worth knowing about anyone – including those rather juicy little titbits like did Alex know Minister Walker frequented Mrs Malone’s regularly, or that Mr Farrell’s headpiece had somehow ended up in Mrs Redit’s bed.
“Och aye, and I know for a fact they left this morning.”
Oh God; to ambush them on their way home. Alex took a couple of deep breaths.
“On a ship, aye?” Mrs Parson grinned. “The Regina Anne, and Captain Miles has promised to see them safe and sound to Jamestown. Kind of him, no? They have family in Virginia, as I hear it.”
Alex just stared at her. “You didn’t!”
Mrs Parson looked back, the grin replaced by a formidable scowl. “I don’t like it when someone threatens my people and neither does Captain Miles. So we did something about it. Yon brothers didn’t protest overmuch – but that may have been due to them being trussed up like chickens.”
“With you two at our backs, what do we need to worry about?” Alex clasped Mrs Parson’s hand hard. “Thank you.”
“They’ll be back,” Mrs Parson said. “They strike me as most persevering.”
“Yeah – unfortunately.” In an effort to think of something else, Alex sat back, stretched her legs out in front of her and studied her friend. “So, how did things go?”
“Hmm?” Mrs Parson bent her head to her knitting.
“With Captain Miles.”
“That is none of your concern, Alex Graham.”
No, it probably wasn’t. But from the pleased smile on Mrs Parson’s face, she suspected they’d gone well.
*
Matthew listened, stared, and broke out in laughter. And then he surprised everyone by giving Mrs Parson a hug. After this, he went back to the preparations for their homeward journey, telling Alex he wanted to be well on his way before nightfall – he missed his h
ome, and more importantly his bed, because this squeaky and rickety construction left him with a constant backache.
“I can massage it for you tonight,” Alex murmured, placing a hand on his lower back. He gave her a green look before ensuring Mrs Parson was comfortably seated on the mule and that Moses’ girth was tightened.
“That’s a boy!” Alex hissed when their two new servants hove in sight.
“Fourteen, near on fifteen,” Matthew agreed.
Alex gave him a disapproving look. “A child, Matthew.”
He smiled but didn’t say anything, and when the two came to a stop before them, Alex did a double take. Agnes! Well, no, because this gangling boy was taller than Agnes and had a small, tight mouth that had frozen into an expression of bitterness. But the eyes were wide and grey, shaded by long fair lashes, and the hair was thin and so light it was almost white in the May sun – just like Agnes. He smelled. Both of them did – a rank, heavy odour of sweat and onions and dirt. They bowed a greeting to Alex and Mrs Parson, who studied them with interest.
“Angus?” Mrs Parson said, “Angus Wilson?”
Angus gave her a wary look but admitted that aye, that was his name.
“This will please your sister, no?” Mrs Parson crowed, ignoring Matthew’s forbidding look.
“My sister?” Angus’ eyes flew to Matthew. “Is Agnes serving with you, master?”
“Aye, she is,” Matthew said, “but I wasn’t planning on telling you, not yet.”
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he told Alex later, sounding aggrieved. He was lying on his back while Alex was busy with his thigh, rubbing slow circles over his scar and the surrounding muscles.
“It will be,” Alex soothed, “if nothing else for Agnes.” Around them hung the darkness of the night, scented and warm, and by the fire Patrick was sitting, his eyes on the surrounding, flickering shadows. “Just off a boat?”
Matthew grunted an agreement and rolled over on his front to allow her hands access to his back. “Some weeks back. Bonded himself over to escape his irate master.”
A Newfound Land (The Graham Saga) Page 39
