Like Chaff in the Wind (34 page)

“No,” Alex sighed, “but who cares about the truth?”

Matthew sank down on his knees beside her. “I swear to you that Hillview will be safeguarded to our son.”

She looked at him for a long time before stroking his cheek, in a gesture far more maternal than wifely.

“I’m sure you’ll do your best, but what will you do the day Ian comes to claim his paternity? Will you be able to turn him away, knowing without a doubt that he is as much yours as Mark is?”

“Nay he isn’t,” Matthew lied stoutly. “Of course he isn’t.”

“That’s not what you said today.”

Matthew winced at her tone and tried to take her hand.

“No,” Alex shook her head. “I just need to be alone, okay?”

“Will you come down for supper?”

Alex nodded but kept her face averted from his.

*

It was dark by the time she came down from the hill, no longer angry even if she had no intention of letting him know that just yet. After all, how could she be angry with him for losing his temper, when he’d been so cruelly goaded by that toe-wipe he had for a brother? She busied herself with supper, chatted casually with Sarah about tomorrow’s tasks, and made sure the children were fed and put to bed before joining him in the parlour.

They didn’t speak much throughout the evening. The silence grew tangible and Alex was aware of every single breath he took, only feet away from her. Finally, she folded together the half-mended shirt, stood and extended her hand to him.

“Bed?”

She almost smiled at how his shoulders dropped with relief at the sound of her voice. Matthew followed her up the stairs, undressed, helped her with her lacings and retreated to bed. Alex took her time, spent an inordinately long time cleaning her teeth and slipped in to lie beside him. He rolled her over on her side, curving his body round hers. For some minutes they lay close and silent, fingers braided, a general sinking together that was restful. Alex drifted off, suspended halfway between sleep and wakefulness.

“Do you think…” Matthew shifted himself even closer. “…is there any possibility do you think?”

“Possibility?” Alex wanted to sleep, not engage in complicated discussions, but she smothered a yawn. “Possibility of what?”

“That we forgive each other.”

Alex laughed. And then she wasn’t laughing, she was crying, and he had to hold her and shush her until she was able to talk.

“I think you can forgive him, because ultimately you have what you want in life; Hillview and your family.” Alex rolled over with the grace of an overweight elephant to properly see his eyes.

“You; I have you,” he corrected her.

“Whatever,” she mumbled. “Do you want to? Forgive him, I mean.”

Matthew fell over on his back, eyes caught on a fold in the bed hangings.

“I don’t know,” he replied after a while. “But all this anger, it threatens to drown me.”

She propped herself up on an elbow to see his face, visible only as a grey oval in the darkness of the little room.

“Well, don’t expect him to be wallowing in self-recriminations, and after today he most certainly won’t forgive you – not after you shouted out to the whole world he’s incapable of siring children.”

“You’re most comforting at times,” Matthew grumbled.

“I’m just telling you the truth. Anyway, the king seems to be keeping him busy, and if we’re lucky he might send him off on a diplomatic mission to Mongolia or somewhere.” She turned back on her side and scooted closer to him. “He’ll never disown Ian,” she yawned, “not for his own sake, not for Margaret’s sake, but because he doesn’t want you to have your son back.” She was very comforted by her own conclusions, nodding in agreement with herself. “Very warped, your brother is, and if you ask me, someone should have bundled him with the kittens and drowned him as a baby.”

“Alex!” Matthew sounded horrified.

“Well okay, not as a baby,” she amended. “Too bad someone didn’t, though, because Luke will be back. I don’t know when or how, but one day he’ll be back to take this from you.”

“He can try,” Matthew said, “try and fail.” He placed his hand on their unborn child, splaying his fingers in a protecting gesture.

*

The next morning, Matthew rose to do his chores and found his yard full of people, all with a sudden errand to the master. For the coming week, people milled about, their eyes travelling with interest over Matthew. Conversation would be cut short at his appearance, only to resume as he walked away, and he could hear his workers, his tenants, buzzing with the repeated story of how the Graham brothers nearly killed each other. And had they seen the master’s back? Badly flogged, and all because of that miscreant of a brother.

Occasionally, Matthew heard a muttering about the lad, the boy of just nine, and how was it, was he the master’s or wasn’t he? Wasn’t, the majority seemed to agree, for surely a mother would not have cheated her own son out of an inheritance as fine as Hillview. Speculations were swallowed back at the look in Matthew’s eyes, and the men would hurry back to their work.

“Tough,” Alex shrugged when he complained. “That’s what you get when you decide to air a reality TV show.” She laughed at his incomprehension and went on to explain that there were people who invited the public in to partake of every facet of their lives, from squabbles over breakfast to full blown fights in the marriage bed.

“Why?” Matthew asked. Alex rubbed her fingers together in a money grabbing gesture, making him smile. “And you watch? Unknown people living their lives?”

“Some do. And you,” she said, kissing him on the cheek, “you’re Hillview’s own first class celebrity.”

*

For well over a fortnight, Alex kept a constant watch over the lane, convinced that any minute Luke would come storming down with a full complement of men at his back. She took to keeping the loaded musket in the kitchen, went nowhere without her dagger, and never let her husband out of her sight – unless he was accompanied by others.

At night she’d start awake at any sound, and it was at her insistence that Matthew brought home a dog – an old dog, already grey around the muzzle, but according to Matthew a renowned guard dog that now slept in the yard. It irritated her that he should be so unconcerned, shrugging off her worries with a laconic comment that as far as he knew, Luke wasn’t a fool, and to plan any kind of full scale attack on Hillview would be the act of a madman, bringing with it the risk of trial, disgrace and potential death. Hmm; maybe he had a point.

Alex relaxed back into normality as the days became weeks. Luke was far away in London, a heavily occupied man, and with time he’d forget all about Matthew, everyday life reducing his obsessive hatred of his brother to a mere irritation. Besides, on one of his visits Simon told her Luke was now Sir Luke, proud owner of a manor in Oxfordshire, and if so, what on earth would he want with Hillview?

Simon had agreed; Luke was a man of the world, entrusted with one more complex mission after the other, expected to remain at all times at his royal master’s beck and call. And, he added with a twinkle to his eyes, as he heard it a wee bird had whispered details of Luke’s doings into the king’s ear, causing wrinkles of displeasure to form on the royal brow, and so Luke was forced to watch his step – at least for a while.

So instead Alex concentrated on preparing for the imminent arrival of their third child, wondering how she was to cope with two children in clouts. At least Rachel was weaned, delighted with her discovery of a world that contained butter and milk, and nice sticky things like porridge that could be used to decorate one’s hair with.

*

One night early in December, Alex got out of bed, wrapped herself in her cloak, and stepped out into the yard. The budding football player who lived in her womb was kicking its way into the world, and she braced her back against her hands, face to the sky. She smiled when she felt Matthew slide his arms around her, and leaned against his chest.

“It’s coming,” he stated needlessly, letting his hands rest on her hardening belly. She just nodded, relaxing into his arms.

“You best come inside,” Matthew said a bit later. “I won’t have my son born out in the cold.”

“Son?” Alex laughed. “And I suppose you’ve already named him as well.”

“Aye, of course, but I won’t tell you. You have work to do first.”

“Work,” Alex muttered, “what a bloody euphemism.” She took another breath of cold night air and turned towards the door. “Well, come on then, because if you think I’m doing this alone, you’ve got another think coming, mister.”

*

It was just after midnight and the bedchamber was quiet again. A single candle lit the room, throwing most of it into an agreeable duskiness. On the little stool stood a tray, there was still a whiff of blood and fluids in the air, and Alex closed her eyes, tired to the bone.

“I told you, a lad.” Matthew was sitting beside her in bed, the child cradled in his arms.

“It’s a fifty-fifty chance. You’re just a lucky guesser.” Alex sank down, feeling exhausted. A quick birthing, Rosie had commented, quick and easy. Alex wasn’t all that sure about the easy part, but it had all been uncomfortably fast.

“The next one will be a lad as well. Here, he needs you.”

“The next one?” Alex struggled up to sit, took her new-born son from his besotted father.

“The next one.” He rubbed the bald crown of his son, crooning softly. “My wee Jacob,” he whispered, “and you so bonny and strong, hmm?”

“Nothing wee about him,” Alex protested, “he must be well over ten pounds.” She smiled at Matthew and leaned towards him to kiss his cheek.

“Jacob, hey?”

“Aye, Jacob Alexander.” He ran a finger down her neck, up again to touch her mouth. “I love you.”

“Huh, you’re only saying that because you want to get back in my bed – soon.”

Matthew laughed and pummelled his pillow into shape. “I’m already here.” He scooted closer to her, hugged wife and child to him. “And I don’t plan on sleeping elsewhere,” he yawned. A few minutes later, he was fast asleep.

“I love you, too,” Alex murmured to his sleeping head. One eye opened wide.

“Of course you do. Insatiable, you are.”

“Matthew!”

But he was asleep again, a soft steady snoring emanating from him. Alex placed her son in his cradle and moved over to open the small window. She stood for some moments in the cooling draught, listening to the rustling sounds of the night.

“Thank you,” she said to the far away heavens. “For my home and my children, but mostly, dear God, for him.” She grinned; the Alex Lind of old would have laughed herself silly, but then what did she know, hey?

“Alex?” Matthew’s tousled head rose from the pillows.

“I’m here,” she replied. “I’m always here.”

Historical Note

When the first English colony was established in Virginia (and I don’t count the Roanoke debacle) in 1609, the eager participants came with dreams and hopes of easy riches. Sadly, Virginia had no mountains of silver, nor was gold abundant. And those stories of rivers full of sturgeon, of woodlands crammed with mulberry trees (and the accompanying silk worms) proved as false as the myth of El Dorado, leaving the colonists in the rather unfamiliar situation of having to work – and work hard – to survive.

During the first few decades of its existence, the Colony of Virginia was something of a death machine, with mortality rates so high it became difficult to attract new settlers. Things changed when tobacco was introduced to the colony. This addictive golden weed thrived in Virginia’s fertile soil, and with a huge – and growing demand – for tobacco in Europe, the colonists had at last struck gold.

Tobacco is a labour intensive crop. With ever more acreage being put under cultivation, the Colony of Virginia screamed for more people to work the expanding fields, and so the age-old system of indentured servants was transplanted from England to the colony.

The indenture system meant that the planters carried the cost for transporting over the servants, receiving 50 acres of additional land for each servant they brought across. The servant paid nothing for his passage and was placed under contract for four to seven years to work off the debt of transportation. The majority of the people brought over this way signed on voluntarily, but quite a few were deported – some due to crimes, some due to being perceived as dangerous elements. (And yes, Oliver Cromwell deported thousands of Irish men to the West Indies – for the sin of being papists) Others were abducted – or cheated into setting their mark on a contract.

Once the terms of service were concluded, the servant received some sort of severance pay and was free to make his own fortune. Indentures were often badly treated – Matthew’s experiences are in no way atypical to what male servants on a tobacco plantation might have experienced. Forty per cent of the indentures died before the contract ended. Many more had their terms of service lengthened for one misdemeanour or other. A female indenture who became pregnant – no matter if this was due to being raped by her master – would have two years tacked on to her contract.

*

William Berkeley is the longest serving Governor in Virginia history, a complex character that alternated moments of great insight with others of sheer pig-headedness. In actual fact, when Alex arrived in Virginia in 1662, William was in England for a meeting with his superiors, not returning until 1663. However, I needed him to be in Jamestown when Alex was there, and I hope you’ll excuse this little tweak in William’s travelling plans.

William was a man of many talents: he wrote plays, he had a well-developed head for business, he believed in free trade well before that concept was even invented, and he was innovative when it came to agricultural practises. He was an able soldier and a loyal servant to Charles I and his son. He was also extremely intolerant of Puritans and Quakers, he kept a keen eye on his own personal interests, and with increasing age he also developed an increasingly autocratic streak which ultimately led to his downfall in the aftermath of Bacon’s Rebellion in 1676.

It is interesting to note just how many people seem to have crossed the Atlantic a multiple number of times in the seventeenth century – William Berkeley being one of them. Veritable globetrotters, many of them, and this in a time when the sea journey was hazardous, when many ships were lost and time spent at sea could vary from six weeks to well over four or five months. On top of this, bodily comforts were at a very basic level. If you wanted to wash, you did it in sea water, the diet was restricted to salted foodstuffs and biscuits so hard they had to be softened in ale before you could bite into them, and as to sleeping accommodations, well the smaller you were the better. It was even worse if you travelled over in the hold as an indentured servant – and still they came, in hundreds upon hundreds they came, fleeing from a homeland without a future to build themselves new lives in the unknown. I sweep them a bow, these long-gone travellers, and hope they achieved some of their dreams.