“But he…” Charlie counted in his head, “he was not yet two and twenty.”
“Youth in itself is no protection against death, is it?”
Charlie agreed. If his uncle hadn’t come to find him… He was flooded by a wave of gratitude, and shifted closer to Matthew on the bench they were sharing.
“Why?” he asked.
“Hmm?”
“Why did you come to find me?”
“Well, I didn’t do it on account of the love between me and my brother,” Matthew said with an edge. He lifted his face to the sky, sitting with his eyes closed. His thick lashes glistened with moisture, and with a start Charlie realised his uncle was weeping.
“I did it for Jacob. I did it because he would have wanted me to. He loved you.” Abruptly, Matthew stood and walked off.
*
Klaas was becoming something of a burr, Alex reflected, but smiled all the same as her host popped up from behind a rose bush, clearly delighted to see her. She had hoped for some hours alone in the cool dusk, but she couldn’t very well berate the man for enjoying his own garden.
Matthew she had left inside, struggling over the letter he had decided to write to Luke, and his mood had been so frayed by the time she made her fourth suggestion that she had decided it was best he was left alone to his creative endeavours.
“Charlie can write,” she had suggested as she left the room.
“Nay, he can’t. Haven’t you seen his finger?”
“His finger?” Mentally, Alex rushed through the various wounds and cuts and scrapes she had seen on Charlie’s body. She couldn’t remember anything wrong with his hands.
“They broke one of them,” Matthew had informed her, and scowled at the as yet blank piece of paper before shooing her out to leave him alone.
“Still no boats?” she asked when Klaas came over to sit beside her.
“No, but they’ll come.”
“I’m in a bit of a hurry. I have a baby to deliver.” She hoped their family had received the letter they had sent from Jamaica, and wondered how they were all coping without them. Probably very well: both Ian and Mark were grown men with competent wives.
Klaas gave her a surprised look, and allowed his eyes to wander down to her waist.
“Not mine! My son’s.”
“Ah.” Klaas nodded, still staring at her – eyes drifting from her face to her breast, from her chest to her legs, back to her breasts.
“You’re gawking,” Alex said, amused by the wave of red that flew up Klaas’ face. She nodded in the direction of where Matthew was coming towards them. “And he’s a very jealous man.”
Klaas was suddenly on his feet, and with an apologetic little bow said something about having to review his ledgers before taking off up the path.
“That man looks at you as if you were a bone and he a dog,” Matthew remarked when he sat down in the spot Klaas had vacated.
“Mmm?” Alex said.
“You know exactly what I mean.” Matthew followed the harbourmaster out of sight before extending the paper he held in his hand to her.
Brother;
I have found him. As I write, Charlie sleeps in a room close by and he is nowt but a bag of bones, but alive. I dare say he will carry the ghosts of his ordeal with him to his dying days – something I am in a better position to fully comprehend than you – but hopefully he will heal, even if it takes years.
“Is it too harsh?” Matthew asked.
“Harsh? You’re just telling the truth.” She went on with her reading, scanning the brief description of their travels and adventures before they found Charlie, and dropped her eyes to the last paragraphs.
Don’t ever think I set out on this quest on your behalf. Nor did I do it for your son, my nephew, who to me bears an uncanny resemblance to his sire. I did this on account of Jacob, my lad, who spoke always warmly of you and your son. He would have rushed to the aid of his cousin, and seeing as Jacob is dead, I went in his stead. Had it not been for him, I wouldn’t have found it in me to help you, for no matter how I have tried, I haven’t forgiven you for the iniquities you put me through.
Seeing Charlie a destroyed man brought it all back: the constant hunger, the humiliation, the slow destruction of my inner core, and the rage that surges through me even today threatens at times to eat me alive. That is perhaps the greatest of the wrongs you’ve done to me. I live constantly in the shades of that long ago, unable to forget, and therefore to forgive. It diminishes me as a man. It leaves my soul corroded, and all because of you.
Alex folded the paper together with shaking hands. “Is that the way it is? Do you live in constant shadow of the long ago?” She felt strangely insufficient.
“Nay,” Matthew said with a crooked smile. “But, now and then, the darkness still rises inside of me.”
“And you never tell me,” she said, terribly hurt.
“No, I handle it on my own.” His hand came down to grasp hers. “It soils me, and I don’t want you soiled as well.” He raised her hand to his mouth, and kissed her palm. “I need you to be my beacon of light when my fire flickers and fails. I can’t have you tarred with the pitch that at times wells inside of me.”
She rested her head against his chest, listening to the reassuring sound of his heart and his breathing. “It was so very long ago, Matthew, a lifetime ago. Isn’t it time to just let it all go?”
“I can’t, and these last few weeks… Don’t you realise this is how my dear brother wanted me to live out my last years? In chains and constant despair, far from you and my home?”
Alex dragged her face back and forth across the cotton of his borrowed shirt. “But you didn’t.”
He tightened his arm around her. “Nay, I didn’t, on account of having a most miraculous wife who came and found me.”
“Best decision of my life,” she said, kissing him softly on the cheek.
*
“Brown is in town,” Klaas said some days later, stuffing his pipe with slow, measured movements. They were sitting outside, savouring the cool evening breeze.
“Och aye?” Matthew straightened out of his slouch.
Klaas lit a taper from the lantern and sucked with concentration until the tobacco began to glow before sitting back with a soft grunt.
“Whatever for?” Alex asked.
Klaas blew some smoke her way. “Business, I imagine. And he’ll be coming here, I think, to ask for Marijke’s hand.”
“Oh,” Alex said, thinking that should she ever see the planter again, she’d be seriously tempted to ram a poker up his arse.
Klaas sighed noisily. “I’m not looking forward to it. He’ll not take it well when I refuse him, and Brown…” he cleared his throat, “…well, he makes a most uncomfortable enemy.”
“So do I,” Matthew said quietly.
They didn’t say anything for a while, the only sound Klaas’ sucking at his pipe.
Matthew rose. “I’d best see to my weapons.” Without waiting for Alex, he strode inside.
Chapter 33
“Calumny!” Mr Brown insisted, “She’s a viper, that woman, pure venom drips off her tongue with every word she utters.”
“A what?” Matthew wasn’t about to allow this preening peacock of a man to insult his wife, and stepped up close, glad of his inordinate height that had him looming over Brown.
“You heard! A gossipmonger, a scold, a…” Brown seemed to choke on his anger; his fine brown eyes flamed when he looked at Alex who just looked back. “Ingrate, to partake of my bountiful generosity for days on end, and then to repay by spreading unsubstantiated stories of my abuse.” He laughed jarringly, and shook his scented dark curls.
“As I recall it, your hospitality was more or less forced on us,” Alex said. “It was your hare-brained idea to play chess with Matthew for Charlie’s release.”
“Release?” Brown spluttered. “How release? The man is convicted of treason! Are you now saying you intend to set him free?” He turned to one of his companion
s, making an agitated motion of his head. “No respect for the king’s justice, and now they will set a rebel loose!”
“I bought him off you,” Matthew said, “and you knew all the while that he’s my nephew.”
The elder of the two men accompanying Mr Brown fixed pale eyes on Matthew. “Your nephew?”
“Aye,” Matthew replied.
“And is it then your intent, sir, to set him free?”
“Nay, of course not. I aim to put him to work like a beast in my fields, abused and mistreated as he was here.”
Mr Brown flushed a bright red. “A slave – he’s to live out his life as a slave.” He pointed at Charlie who was doing his best to remain invisible – difficult for someone as tall and as fiery of hair as he was. “And look at him! In shirt and coat as if he were a gentleman, and no longer in chains!”
“Hmm,” the elder companion said, frowning. “I’m afraid I must insist he is shackled. That is the way the sentence was laid out.” He motioned to the younger man. “Take him to the smith, and have him fitted into chains.”
Charlie mewled, pressed himself flat against the wall.
“No,” Matthew said, blocking any access to his nephew.
“No?” The elder man gave him an incredulous look. “That is not for you to say.”
“I say it all the same. No.” He stared the other man down, and turned to nail his gaze into Mr Brown. “Did you tell them that you sent men after us to kill us?”
“I did no such thing!” Mr Brown protested, but his eyes flew all over the place, giving lie to his statement.
“Mr Brown!” the elder man gasped, and Matthew nodded.
“Seven, they were,” Matthew said, addressing Brown’s companions. “Twice they came, and yet they didn’t succeed.”
“He’s lying,” Mr Brown insisted. “Really, gentlemen, how can you even listen to him? You know me well enough to know I don’t condone violence – at least, not among free men.” His younger companion snickered, a glance flying between him and Brown.
“And yet that’s what happened,” Matthew said, “and I dare say your overseer is still in a bad way. I recall slicing up most of his side.” As if by chance, his hand came down to rest on his sword.
Mr Brown found the moment opportune to leave, throwing over his shoulders that the Governor would be informed, and what would Matthew Graham do when they came to chain his nephew? “And forget about him leaving the island,” he added with a sneer. “The Governor won’t allow it.”
Matthew sank down to sit beside Charlie who was still shaking with fear.
“It’ll be alright,” he said, even if at present he couldn’t envision quite how they’d get out of this corner. Mayhap they could dump Charlie into a barrel and smuggle him aboard a ship? “Can you swim?”
“No.” Charlie wound long arms round long legs, and hid his face against his knees. “They’ll come for me, and not even you, Uncle, will be able to stop them.” Matthew didn’t reply, sharing a helpless look with Alex over Charlie’s bent head.
The Governor sent Matthew a curt note, informing him that Charles Graham had been sentenced to death and had his sentence commuted to a life of servitude, in chains, on Barbados.
“I will not countenance the man to be carried off the island, thereby subverting the course of justice, and he will, no matter that he is now under your ownership, be fitted with chains within the week.”
Matthew crumpled the paper and sent it sailing into the hearth. “Damn Sassafras Brown! Now what do I do?”
Klaas plopped his lip a couple of times before giving a dejected shake of his head. “Mr Brown stands high in the confidence of the Governor, no doubt helped along by the fact that the Governor is severely in Mr Brown’s debt.”
“He is?” Alex asked, looking up from where she was mending one of Matthew’s shirts.
“A betting man, the Governor, and as you yourself have cause to know, Mr Brown is an adept player, not only at chess but also at dice in general.” Klaas sucked at his pipe. “A boat, a swift boat. You must pray for one to come in within the coming days.”
*
“Apparently you have a hotline to God,” Alex said to Matthew two mornings later.
“Hotline?” Matthew asked, his eyes stuck on the welcome sight of the Althea entering the Bridgetown harbour.
“You know, you call, He listens.” Alex smiled.
Matthew gave her a displeased look. “Such levity isn’t appropriate when talking about God.”
Alex shrugged. “Let’s just say that you’ve been praying much more than I have these last two nights.”
“Aye, that I have.” He draped an arm around her shoulders, and gave her a little squeeze. “But you, my little heathen, you don’t do much praying.”
“Yes, I do, but mostly in silence and without any fixed form.”
Matthew kissed her cheek. “Plenty of time for us to study the Bible together on our way home,” he promised, laughing at the way her face squished together at the thought.
Captain Jan listened to the whole sorry tale, eyed Charlie with some compassion, and assured them that he would do what he could to help. “But I have cargo to take on, and that will take some days.”
“Some days?” Matthew said. “How many days?”
“Three?” Captain Jan replied with a shrug. “We sail on Saturday.”
“Three!” Matthew’s eyes flew to Charlie. The Governor was sending men around on Thursday to ensure the dangerous rebel was once again appropriately shackled.
Captain Jan made an unconcerned sound. “A day or two in chains has never killed a man. And once on board, we’ll get them off him.”
Charlie stood up and left the room, his large fist crashing into the wall.
Next morning, a pale Charlie followed Matthew to the local smith, his eyes glazing over as his ankles were once again fitted with fetters. It was a long walk back to the harbourmaster’s house, with Matthew having to shorten his stride substantially to pace himself to Charlie’s careful shuffling. His nephew was in pain: the unhealed skin around his ankles had broken open, blood staining the linen bandages. Men and women stopped to study his progress, suppressed giggles and whispered comments following in Charlie’s wake. Halfway back stood Brown himself, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face.
“Ignore him,” Matthew said to Charlie in a low voice. “Don’t look at him, just keep on moving.” And Charlie did, a slow walk that left him covered in sweat by the time they made it back to the relative safety of Klaas’ home.
Captain Jan joined them for supper that same evening. Once the table had been cleared, Klaas ushered his male guests into his little study, making Matthew bite back a little smile at the offended look on Alex’s face. Well, that was how things were mostly ordained, he tried to convey with a little shrug. In reply, he got a loud snort.
“We’ll be done loading late tomorrow,” Captain Jan said, “and I suggest we bring you aboard that night and set sail immediately.” He held out his pewter cup for a refill, and said something in Dutch to Klaas who replied with a biting edge.
“What?” Matthew asked.
“I was just pointing out that the Governor is no fool,” Captain Jan said, “and so we must be discreet.”
“We’ll use the jetty at the bottom of my garden,” Klaas suggested. “We’ll have to pole the boat for some yards, but at least we’re not in open view.”
*
On Friday evening, they stood on the jetty and waited, all three of them straining towards the regular sound of oars coming towards them. They had said their farewells well over an hour before, and now Klaas was standing some feet away, a blinded lantern in his hand to guide the boat in. He muttered in irritation.
“The tide is beginning to turn,” he whispered. “Why did it take them so long?” He exhaled when the prow of the boat became visible, blinked once, twice, and raised the lantern in surprise.
“The dog?” he said. “Why has he brought his dog?”
“Pr
obably because Charlie can’t swim.” Alex gave the Dutchman a hug and kissed him on both cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered, and stepped into the boat.
Charlie was helped to sit, and Matthew was last, using his legs to shove the boat off before leaping aboard, making the whole little boat careen disconcertingly.
“Show-off,” Alex muttered, her knuckles cramping on the thwart. Matthew’s teeth shone white in the night.
They had all begun to relax when they were hailed loudly from the side. Two boats floated out of the gloom in their direction. Captain Jan cursed viciously and told his rowers to hold, snapping his fingers to Othello. The dog lumbered to his feet, and once again the little boat tilted. Charlie squeaked and grabbed on to Alex who sat closest. Sassafras Brown held a lantern aloft, and grinned.
“Oh dear, oh dear,” he said. “What have we here?” Anything else he had planned to say was lost when Othello at a whispered command from his master jumped, flying like a hairy, extremely heavy bullet towards the surprised Mr Brown. Othello landed on the starboard planking, and his additional hundred-odd pounds overturned the boat, and suddenly the dark was filled with frightened voices and the frantic thrashing of men in the water. Unfortunately, their own boat was rocked as well, and with an oath Alex fell overboard, dragging a hapless Charlie with her.
She broke the surface, spitting like a drowning cat. “Charlie?” Oh my God! With his chains, he must have sunk like a stone, and now he was dead, and it was all her fault. She dived, trying to peer into the gloom. No Charlie. “Charlie?” she gargled, before diving yet again.
“Here, Alex,” Matthew called from several yards away. “We have him here.”
She heard him say something soothing to Charlie, and swam on the spot, trying to get her bearings. There, she could make out the longboat thirty yards or so from her, with Captain Jan at its prow, lantern held high. Her skirts dragged at her legs as she began to swim. Halfway there, something else got hold of her, and with a surprised little ‘eh’ she was pulled underwater.
*
“Alex?” Matthew swam in circles. “Alex, where are you? Alex?” Where was the woman? Matthew did a frantic full turn, trying to see anything, something in the dark. To his far left, he could still hear the men from the overturned boat, but Alex seemed swallowed by the sea.
Whither Thou Goest (The Graham Saga Book 7) Page 28
