Like Chaff in the Wind (21 page)

“I’m sorry,” Kate said, appearing at his side. “I had no intention to—”

“Aye you did,” he cut her off. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Kate twisted a bit. “Well, maybe she should know.”

“Why?” Matthew said coldly. “Why should she be hurt? You always knew I had a wife, I never promised you anything – I couldn’t promise you anything.”

“You should know at least.” She placed a hand on her stomach.

“Know what? That you’re with child? That you think it might be mine?” He looked her up and down. “How far along are you?”

“Six, seven months.”

“Oh, aye? So you don’t know then, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” She put a hand on his arm. “I’m marrying today, by tonight I’ll be Mrs Jones. He thinks it’s his.”

Matthew extricated himself from her hold. “I wish you the best in your marriage,” he said formally and swivelled on his feet to go after his wife. He didn’t look back, not once.

He found Alex in their room, throwing her things together. “What are you doing?”

“I’m moving my stuff out,” she said, “I’ll be sleeping with Mrs Gordon for some time. Forever, perhaps – I don’t feel like sharing a bed with a man who’s been unfaithful to me.”

He looked away, shamed by the look in her eyes.

“Tell me,” she said nastily. “Was she the only one? Or did you find far more comfort than I could imagine, going from one set of arms to the other?”

“You know me better than that.” He heard himself how weak that sounded given the present facts.

“I do? Apparently not! You see, I thought you’d hold to your marriage vows, that you’d be true. But then, I suppose I’m the fool, huh? Men are simple creatures, ruled by their base instincts and we, their wives, must understand and forgive.” She took a step towards him, brandishing a knitting needle. “What would you have done if it had been me sleeping with another man?”

The thought made him grimace and she nodded.

“I thought so. Hypocrite!” She thrust the needle through a ball of yarn and dropped it on top of her other items. A quick twist, and she lifted the bundle.

He stood to block her way.

“Excuse me,” she said coldly.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’ll stay and talk this through.”

“I don’t want to talk, in fact, I don’t very much want to see you either. You disgust me.” Her words tore chunks out of him.

He lowered his face to eyeball her. “You’ll stay and listen.”

“Make me,” she hissed, her eyes spewing blue fire.

He clamped a hand on her nape and kissed her, ignoring her muffled protests, her attempts to stamp him on his foot. He kissed her until she opened her mouth to his. They broke apart, chests heaving.

“It won’t work,” she told him, licking her lips. “Just because you can kiss my breath away, that doesn’t mean I’ll forgive you.”

“Nay, but it helps.” He made a grab for her and brought them down on the protesting bed. “Now,” he said, pinning her under him. “Will you please listen?”

She fought like a spitting cat, her linen cap falling to the floor and her hair a mass of escaped curls on the pillows. He grunted when she landed a punch on his nose. For an instant he raised his hand to hit her back, but instead he kissed her, holding her captive with his weight, and suddenly she was struggling not to heave him off but to bring him close; as close as he could possibly get.

Skirts were shoved aside, his fingers found the velvety skin on the inside of her thigh, and Alex yanked at his lacings, her hands rough and uncaring when they found his member. That way, hey? He pushed her down and entered her, one forceful movement sheathing his entire length inside of her.

She exhaled, softening below him. Again, all the way in, and she flexed her hips to meet his. He slowed his pace and kissed her. She made urgent sounds, but he was having none of it, taking his time to explore her mouth. Slowly; his cock strained inwards, upwards, his balls pressed against her flesh. Oh, so slowly, and Alex near on yowled, hands clutching at his ears, his hair, breath hot against his cheek as she begged him to finish, to not torture her like this. His cock agreed, roaring that it was near on bursting, and could he please get on with it?

He lay in silence afterwards, listening to the sound of their combined heavy breathing. She was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. Matthew inhaled, licked his lips.

“I was very ill, I was near death and she saved me.” He described those weeks in October, his face hidden in her hair. “It was wrong, and I betrayed you doing it. But you see…” He sighed and propped himself up to look at her. “Without her, I think I might have died.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Alex asked, an expression he couldn’t quite decipher flying over her face.

“I hoped you would never have to know.”

She stroked his head, fingering the bare inch of hair. “And is it yours?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t? So she was comforting others as well?” That made Kate sound like a whore, and Matthew gave her a reproving look.

“You have no notion, aye? She did what she had to do to survive.” He lay back down, pillowing his head on her chest. “Will you forgive me?”

“Yes,” she said after what felt like an eternity. She groped for his hand and placed it on her stomach. “This one is definitely yours, so say hello to your next child.”

For a couple of heartbeats he didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. He spread his fingers over her stomach and closed his eyes; thank you Lord, for this miraculous woman, for the life that grows in her. He shifted downwards and placed his lips in a soft kiss on her belly. My bairn. A daughter, mayhap a son; my bairn.

*

All that night Alex lay wide-eyed beside him. Twice she turned towards him to shake him awake and tell him about Fairfax, but twice her nerve failed her, and she slumped back sleepless against the pillow. By morning she knew she had to tell him, however hurtful to them both, because as long as she didn’t, there was no honesty between them – not the honesty there should be. Besides, it was probably only a matter of time before dear Dominic Jones let drop the odd, insinuating comment or two.

She didn’t know how to start, but decided to tell him when they were both out of bed, because she didn’t want the images of Fairfax to superimpose themselves on that aspect of their life. So she waited until they were down by the water, sitting in the speckled shade of a small oak.

“I have something to tell you as well.” Something in her voice alerted him and he sat up straighter. “He made me,” she said, trying to avoid his eyes. “He said that there was an official price and then there was an unofficial service that had to be delivered.”

Matthew looked at her blankly, wary incomprehension in his eyes.

“If I didn’t let him, he wouldn’t guarantee that you’d be alive,” she went on, her tongue thickening with every word. She could see when he put two and two together, an expression of absolute disgust flashing across his face. He slumped in front of her, dragging his hands through his short hair.

“No,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “Oh Lord…”

She had expected him to rage, to perhaps hit at something, and this totally different reaction disconcerted her. She sat beside him, wanting very much to touch him, take his hand. Matthew fiddled with some stones, turning them over and studying them intently. He stood and walked down to the water’s edge, sending stone after stone flying to land with a soft plop. The last one he threw to skip across the rippling surface before turning to face her.

“Tell me.”

Alex bit her lip and shook her head. “What would it serve?”

Matthew was at her side so swiftly she reared back when he fell to his knees before her.

“I have to know,” he said, taking her hands. “I must know. This is not yours to carry alone.”

Alex leaned towards him. “It wasn’t too bad, I’m okay.”

Matthew embraced her and kissed her ear. “You’re a bad liar, lass, and I’ll have you tell me.”

He released her, but kept hold of her hands, his thumbs running in caressing circles over her wrists. She hung her head and began to talk. She described slug-like fingers touching her, how he smelled of cloying eau-de-rose, and what he had done to her from the moment he threw her over the desk to the moment he exited the room.

“I was so scared that somehow you’d notice, or that I wouldn’t bear to have you touch me.” She gave a strangled little laugh and met his eyes for the first time since she had begun to tell. “The moment I saw you, I knew that wouldn’t be an issue. In rags and barely able to walk, you were still my Matthew and whatever price I’d had to pay was worth it.”

“Will it matter?” she asked in a small voice. His continued silence was making her nervous.

Matthew tightened his hold on her hands and drew her close enough that she could rest her head against his chest. They sat like that for a long time, she with her ear to his heart, listening to how his heartbeat thudded its way into her, how his rhythm merged with hers, multiplying itself through her bloodstream to echo in her head.

“Nay,” he finally said, kissing her cheek. “It won’t.”

*

“You told him?” Mrs Gordon sat down with a thump. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know, it felt as if I should.” But she probably never would have if it hadn’t been for Kate showing up. Something dived inside of her at the look on Mrs Gordon’s face.

“What have you done?” Mrs Gordon gave an exasperated shake of her head. “Dear Lord, lass, what have you done? Have you no idea? He’s a man, aye? And you have just told him you’ve been abused by a man he already had reason to hate.”

Alex froze inside. “He wouldn’t!”

Mrs Gordon huffed. “You think not?” She shook her head. “He will make Fairfax pay, and God help us when he does, aye?”

Chapter 28

Alex exclaimed with pleasure when she read the slip of paper presented to her by one of the Governor’s doormen. Just the distraction she needed from her constant surveillance of her husband, her fear that the moment her back was turned, he’d set off to kill Fairfax.

“Look,” she said, waving it at Matthew. “We’ve been invited to a reception.”

Matthew seemed less than thrilled, making Alex sigh. He disapproved of the friendship that had sprung up between her and Sir William, and made no secret of it. Well tough; she enjoyed Sir William’s company, and if anything the incident with Jones down at the waterfront had intensified the relationship, with Alex a regular guest whenever the Governor was in town.

On the evening of the reception, they walked arm in arm towards the Assembly House. Alex had overruled Matthew’s objections and was wearing a borrowed deep blue bodice with a rather daring neckline that had both James and Matthew ogling her before they left, one with appreciation, the other with a scowl.

Matthew was in sober black, with dark silk stockings and blindingly white linen at cuff and neck of the long well-cut coat – all of it courtesy of Mr Parson. Alex threw Matthew an irritated glance. She was looking forward to this evening, and had no intention of seeing it ruined due to him being a possessive jerk. He met her eyes, his mouth curving into the slightest of smiles.

“You look lovely,” he said, drawing her to a stop to kiss her hand. They walked the remaining yards hand in hand.

Alex almost died when the first person she came face to face with, after having queued her way down the receiving line, was Fairfax. In an embroidered coat, greens and reds on pale yellow silk, with a green sash around his waist, and matching silk ribbons at the knees of his breeches, he looked quite the courtier, bowing over her hand.

Her initial reaction was to slap him, or pull out one of her hairpins and stab it through his piggy eye, but she managed to retain some composure, her eyes fleeing to Matthew for support. A muddy green eye captured hers – an eye that spoke of the intent to murder, here, now, should she ask it of him. I’m okay, she assured him silently, but his eyes flitted to her clenched fists, and one large hand came down to envelop hers. That was enough. His touch, his reassuring presence, made her capable of breathing again.

*

When Sir William popped up by Alex’s side, Matthew retreated to stand by the wall. Most of the guests were men, most of them as soberly dressed as himself. Only Fairfax stuck out in his gaudy coat, reminding Matthew of a giant blowfly – and just as nasty to boot. He frowned and stretched, sauntered over to stand only a yard or so from Fairfax, close enough that he could pick up the overpowering smell – no, stench – of rosewater. Fairfax threw him a look over his shoulder and paled, taking a few steps further into the throng. Matthew just smiled and followed.

Once again, Fairfax gave him a look, and with a strained laugh excused himself from the man he was talking to, moving away. Matthew strolled after. This vermin of a man had trespassed where no man was allowed, and Matthew spent an enjoyable hour hounding Fairfax round the room, laughing silently as the fat, bewigged, and increasingly nervous man, attempted to evade him. Ah no, Fairfax; nowhere to run, not here. When Fairfax turned his way, Matthew smiled, displaying all his teeth. Fairfax shivered visibly and shuffled away.

Matthew nodded his thanks to one of the footmen and drained the offered cup in one swallow. The sweetened wine was going to his head, and he retreated to stand in a corner, considering just what he was going to do to Fairfax once he got him alone. One agreeable alternative after the other presented itself, all of them ending with a squealing, begging Fairfax. Oh aye; he caught Fairfax’s eyes and ostentatiously cracked his knuckles.

“Matthew!” Alex said, appearing by his side.

“Hmm?” He relaxed his hands, tore his eyes away from Fairfax.

“I want to go home,” Alex whispered, slipping her hand into his. “I’m not feeling well.”

“No?” Matthew kissed her on her rosy cheek. “You look radiant.”

She flushed, but insisted that she wanted them to leave. “It’s him, I don’t like seeing him.”

No; nor did he. After bidding their host a hasty goodbye, they were soon making their way through the silent darkened town.

*

Alex woke with a start in the predawn darkness, and without checking she knew that Matthew’s side of their bed was empty. She also knew immediately where he’d gone, and she nearly fell down the stairs in her haste to go after him. Why, oh why had she told him, she gulped, why hadn’t she listened to Mrs Gordon’s advice?

“James!” she shook him hard. “Please James, I need your help.”

James scrunched his eyes together in protest, but sat up, listening to Alex somewhat garbled tale.

“So you think he’s gone to kill him?” he asked, tightening his breeches round his narrow frame.

“Yes,” Alex hiccupped. “And then they’ll hang him and I will die.”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” James answered.

Alex insisted that James should ride the mule and walked, no ran, at his side, one hand on the saddle to hold her steady. The three hour walk was covered in slightly more than half the time, and by the time Fairfax’s plantation rose out of the shadows before them, the eastern sky was shifting into lighter hues of grey, dashed with pink.

There were flickering lights in the window of Fairfax’s office, the main door stood ajar, and they walked on silent feet down the passage, halting before the entrance to the study. Alex stepped inside and fell back, hard enough to crash into James.

“Oh God! What have you done, you stupid man?”

Fairfax was sitting in his chair, head lolling to reveal he was – or had been – somewhat remiss about washing his neck. The sumptuous coat he’d been wearing earlier in the evening hung on the back of his chair, and the wide gathered sleeves of his French linen shirt had been pushed back, a quill on the floor under his open hand. Ink spattered the front of his breeches, and round the dirk buried in his chest, there bloomed a stain of blood.

“He was sitting like this when I came,” Matthew said, appearing from the relative darkness of a corner. “And look, you can see he’s been dead for quite a while.” He spat to the side. “I wish it had been me, it should have been me plunging the steel into him, making him squeal in terror and pain. But it wasn’t.”

Now that he pointed it out, Alex could see that he was right. The blood looked dry as did the ink, and when Alex touched the hanging hand it was an icy cold.

“And,” Matthew added, “that isn’t my dirk.” No, because his still hung from his belt, although Alex was doubtful as to how much that would help.

“We have to get out of here,” she said. “We have to leave before someone comes.”

“Too late for that, I’m afraid,” Jones interrupted, blocking the doorway. “Well, well, Graham. Now what have you done? At any rate you’ll hang for this. I dare say it will smite your brother hard.” He smirked, his fingers coming together in a money rubbing gesture.

“I haven’t touched him!” Matthew flared. Two constables pushed their way into the room, eyeing Matthew with suspicion.

“No? And then why are you here at this ungodly hour?” the elder of them said, letting his eyes travel over Matthew, Fairfax and Alex.

“I had business to conduct with him,” Matthew said.

Jones laughed loudly. “Of course you did; business relating to Fairfax and your wife.”

Matthew’s face went a dark red. “What business I had with Fairfax is none of your concern,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Now it is,” the elder constable said, “but maybe you should save it for the trial.”

Matthew backed away from them and in his eyes Alex could see a flash of panic at the thought of ending up yet again fettered and incarcerated.

“Oh for God’s sake, you incompetent morons!” Alex exploded. “That man’s been dead for hours. Since well before midnight! Anyone with half a brain can see that.” She saw a shadow cross Jones’ face, and narrowed her eyes at him. “You did it!”

The elder constable gave her an irritated look. “Jones is – or was – a trusted employee. He has worked for Mr Fairfax for over ten years. And even allowing for the fact that we are but simpleminded fools, your husband seems a far more likely candidate.” He walked over to where Fairfax was sitting and touched the bluish skin. “You are right in that he has been dead for a long time, but that in itself does not preclude your husband from killing him, does it?”

“He wasn’t here! He was with me, in bed.”

The younger officer gave a mild snort. “My pardon ma’am, but you would say that.”

Alex stepped between Matthew and the officers, heaving herself up to balance on the balls of her feet.

“He didn’t do it. You’re just looking for the easy way out. I’m telling you he did, Jones did, and I can bet why as well.” She half crouched, ready to spring, and before her the officers halted, throwing her wary looks. Smart move; she’d kick their teeth out before she’d let them get close to her Matthew.

“Oh really?” Jones drawled. “And why would that be?”

Alex gave him a cold look, hands busy bunching her skirts out of the way.

“Let’s bring your wife in, shall we?” She knew she’d hit bull’s eye from the way Jones’ mouth tightened, but before she could capitalise on that, the younger constable lunged. Alex whirled, a kick sending the young man staggering back.

“Alex!” Matthew said. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t…” She began to cry. “I can’t let them take you away for something you haven’t done. Not again, Matthew.”

“But you can’t kick an innocent man like that!” Matthew sounded scandalised. “He was just doing his duty.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I just can’t.”

The constable straightened up and studied her with grudging respect. “Where did you learn that?”

“In Sweden,” Alex replied, mentally apologising to the Japanese while deciding this was not the time to give him a breakdown of Budo history. She was still standing poised in front of Matthew, but his hand was on her waist, trying to move her out of the way.

She shook her head. “They’re not taking you. Not unless they kill me first.”

*

James had been watching the proceedings in silence. There was no way Matthew would save himself from this, the constables had already made their minds up, and wee Alex’s impassioned defence had not helped, rather the reverse. He threw a thoughtful look in the direction of Jones. He’d seen the flashing expression of guilt when Alex had confronted him, but to insist he’d done it would not help. In this part of the world, Jones was a known quantity while Matthew Graham was but flotsam, an inconsequential nuisance. No, there was but one thing to do, however much it made his bowels cramp. He straightened his back and stepped into the centre of the room.

“I did it, I killed yon fat bastard.” James spat in the direction of the dead man, feeling a blinding surge of rage. He fervently wished he had killed him, in revenge of the life he’d stolen from Matthew and hundreds like him, and he was glad the fat maggot was dead. “For years, decades, he’s been stealing innocent men off the street to work them to their death.” He narrowed his eye at the elder constable; a hastily averted face. “And you knew. You heard too many men protest their innocence and yet you did nothing.” He spat again, sinking his eyes into Matthew to warn him to shut up. “So, now he’s dead. And I hope he burns in hell.”

“You?” Jones couldn’t keep the ridicule out of his voice. “You couldn’t kill a fly – look at you, a walking bag of bones.”

“Oh, aye I can. And I have. I did it, I took the dirk and ran it through his heart.” Once again, he glanced in the direction of Alex and Matthew, willing both of them to remain silent. He could see Alex was about to protest, but Matthew’s hand closed around her arm and she subsided, eyes never leaving James.

“You can’t seriously believe this preposterous tale,” Jones blustered as the constables moved over to tie James’ hands together. “Not only the accusations he levied at poor dead Mr Fairfax, which are of course nothing but fancies, Mr Fairfax being a most Christian and upright character, but also all this nonsense about him killing Mr Fairfax.” He waved a hand to indicate Fairfax’s bulk and turned to stab a finger at Matthew. “He did it! I swear he did!”

“That’s not what you said when you came to fetch us,” the elder constable said, “then you told us you’d found your employer dead and had no idea who the perpetrator was.” He frowned at his own comment, glancing at Jones. “Strange, isn’t it? To kill, slip away unnoticed and then return to the scene of his crime.”

“And now you get it,” Alex muttered. She seemed on the point of saying something more, but Matthew’s hand twisted into her arm and she snapped her mouth shut.

James sighed theatrically. “I have confessed. So why are we still here?” He threw his head in Jones’ direction. “He’s just out to grind his own axe, on account of him not knowing if the bairn in his wife’s belly is his or Matthew’s.” James smiled maliciously at the look on Jones’ face, and raised a brow to the constables. “See? A jealous man.”

Jones broke out in one last voluble protest. How could the constable think this teetering wreck of a man would have the strength to overcome a florid man like Fairfax? Did they perchance think that Fairfax had sat still, perhaps even using his own digits to indicate where to run the knife in? The constables gave him irritated looks; one dead man, one self-confessed killer – why make matters any more complicated? Besides, as the elder pointed out, unless Jones had actually seen Graham kill Fairfax there was no proof, was there? He cut any further discussions short with an angry gesture, bowed in the direction of Alex, and led James outside.

*

Matthew dragged Alex from the room in their wake. Only once they were outside, did his hold relax. James was boosted onto a horse, and when the company of three rode off, Matthew raised his hand in a silent salute. Alex wanted to cry. Matthew took her by the hand, grabbed the mule’s reins with his free hand and began the long walk home.

Now that Matthew’s death by hanging was no longer imminent, Alex found herself prey to a varied assortment of emotions, foremost amongst them anger.