A Newfound Land (10 page)

“But you don’t—”

Matthew shushed her. “Nay, I don’t hold with it, but I won’t wear us both to the bone. We can afford it.” He did sums in his head. The sizeable amount of money they’d brought across had shrunk alarmingly over the last few years, but there was quite a lot left.

“Yes, I suppose we can.” She grinned. “It’s sort of fair, isn’t it, that dear brother Luke is indirectly paying for all this.”

Matthew looked away. A princely sum, Simon had called it once he had concluded the negotiations with Luke. Five hundred pounds as compensation for all the ill turns Luke had done Matthew. Not at all enough, in Matthew’s book, and every now and then he would still wake and want nothing so much as to beat his beloved brother’s face to pulp. His hands balled into fists.

“And then we have the money for Hillview,” Alex said, oblivious to his tense silence. “More than 200 merks when all is said and done.” Aye, that remained untouched, a general accrual for the future of their children.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked as she dried herself.

Matthew sank down on the bench and nodded.

“Will it always?” Alex sat down beside him and took his hand.

“It was my place, the one constant in my life. Since I was a bairn, I knew I was born to Hillview and would pass it on to my son. But now I never will. I was incapable of upholding the covenant with my people, with the generations that preceded me and the generations to come. I’m the weak link in the chain, the unhardened metal that gave...” He had to laugh at her expression, wildly rolling eyes and a pretend yawn. She didn’t have much patience with him in his maudlin moods, and mayhap that was for the best.

“You did what you had to do, and the chain lives on thanks to your choice. Your sons will grow to manhood in a place where it’s up to them to shape themselves a future, unencumbered by the constraints of class or conventions.”

“...unencumbered by the constraints of class or convention...” Matthew smiled and used a towel to pat at her wet hair. “A philosopher as well?”

“I’ve been known to think – women do at times.”

“They do? In my experience, they mostly talk.”

“Huh,” she snorted.

“It doesn’t matter,” Matthew said as they walked back towards the house. He craned his head back to look at the stars, scattered like randomly thrown specks of glittering glass on a velvet backdrop.

“What doesn’t?”

“If I miss it, yes or no,” Matthew said. Alex faced him, the whites of her eyes a pale bluish colour in the moonlight. “The bairns don’t miss it; to them this is home now. I suppose that means it is.”

“
O, my America, my Newfoundland
,” Alex quoted.

“...
My kingdom, safest when with one man mann’d, my mine of precious stones, my empery; how am I blest in thus discovering thee...
” Matthew went on. “John Donne didn’t have Maryland in mind, I reckon.” He grabbed her arse hard enough to make her squeal.

“Poor her,” Alex said. “Imagine walking the world with a name like America.”

Chapter 12

“But why did you give it to him?” Alex looked at the velvet pouch on Matthew’s desk. A collection of coins – however Magnus had found those – but mostly gold, nine small ingots, three to the ounce according to Magnus, that Matthew had handled with appreciation.

“It’s his anyway, right?” Magnus said. “Anything you own is his.”

“Well, thanks for reminding me so succinctly.”

“It’s a belated dowry.” Magnus grinned. “But I did actually set some conditions.”

“You did?”

“That you buy some ready-made clothes for the whole family and that he please, please bring back some books.”

“You might be disappointed,” Alex said. “It’s not as if there are tons of novels lying about.”

“No, but anything else than the Bible, Shakespeare and Don Quijote would be welcome.”

*

“If you’d told me beforehand that the Leslies were coming along, I might have opted for staying at home. As it is, my ears are falling off with her constant talking.” Alex smiled pleasantly at Elizabeth, standing on the other side of the clearing where they’d spent the night. “And I’m not quite sure how she does it, but somehow she always makes me feel lacking. Either my dress is not modest enough, or my hair is too uncovered, or I laugh too loud...” A twist and her hair was up, fastened by a couple of hairpins before she covered it with her cap. She pulled up her stockings and gartered them, the bright red ribbons quickly hidden beneath her skirts. Not quickly enough, though, and she turned her head in time to see Elizabeth’s mouth set in a straight line at this new evidence of Alex’s flightiness.

“And it doesn’t exactly help that all you do is talk to Henry Walton.” Alex dug a hard elbow into Matthew’s side. He uttered a low warning sound and shook his head, stopping with a wince. “Too much to drink?” she said, receiving a beady look in return.

“So what did you talk about all last night?” Alex asked once they were up on the horse, ambling along several yards behind the rest of the party.

“We spoke of his new life here. Of how his building is progressing, and how he will provision himself for the winter, and if the new bairn they’re expecting will be yet another lad, and—”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture.” Alex looked Henry over and stifled a small laugh. “What does a woman as attractive as Kristin see in this bottle-shouldered man?”

“You’re judging by appearances alone.” He shifted in the saddle until her bottom nestled snugly between his thighs. “And I know for a fact he is most well-endowed.”

“What did you do? Line up and measure them?” She laughed at the resulting image. “It must be a comfort for him to be able to leave Forest Spring and his family in Lars’ capable hands – did you notice there was yet another cabin up by now? I suppose it must be meant for when Lars marries that girl of his.” Which she hoped would be soon – repeatedly over the last few weeks she’d seen Lars in the woods around their home, no doubt sniffing round for Fiona. She frowned; there was something off about the huge young man, no matter that he’d make Adonis himself weep with envy.

“He doesn’t have a betrothed,” Matthew said, “or, rather, the betrothed he had is dead.”

“Dead?” Alex craned her head back to look at him.

“Aye, very dead: they found her savaged in the woods a year or so ago. A bear, they reckon.”

“But why would they say he’s still engaged?”

“Mayhap he feels he still is,” he suggested.

Well, that would go some way to explain Lars’ brooding presence, Alex supposed. “How terrible!”

Matthew grunted. “Aye, a very sad story; sad and well-rehearsed.”

“How do you mean?”

“What I said; well-rehearsed, and I doubt Henry was quite as drunk as he appeared to be.” He tightened his hold on her waist. “You’ll not go to see them on your own.”

“Why not? You think it might be dangerous?”

“Grief can be deranging.”

“Grief?” Alex made a derogatory sound. “Not much of that around when you gallop around in the woods and bonk your neighbour’s maid whenever you can.”

“Bonk?”

“You know what I mean.” Alex frowned. “He won’t like it, will he? That Fiona isn’t available to him.”

“Probably not. But that’s something he must come to terms with. And he’s a well-built man, strong and comely. The lasses must be swooning for him.”

Not if they had any sense of self-preservation, they wouldn’t. Into Alex’s brain swam the bruised face of the dead miller’s daughter. She had looked as if she’d run into a rabid bear – a human bear. Coincidence, she told herself sternly. Still, the thought lay like a chafing stone in her mind.

“Do you—” she began, but was interrupted by Elizabeth, who’d halted her horse to wait for them.

“You really shouldn’t be riding abroad in your present condition,” she said to Alex, nudging her horse into a walk beside theirs.

“Oh, I’m alright,” Alex said.

Elizabeth snorted. “That was not what I meant. A woman so obviously with child should remain at home.”

In Alex’s book, that was a huge exaggeration, her hand coming down to rest on the as yet quite discreet swell.

“Really? Why? Do you think I might inspire men to indecent thoughts?” Alex felt Matthew vibrate with laughter behind her.

“Nathan would never allow Celia to leave home while breeding.” Elizabeth ignored Alex’s question. “He’s adamant in that his wife must refrain from too much bustle at present.”

“Did she want to come along?” Alex asked.

“She pines for her mother at times.” Elizabeth’s tone signalled that this was a major weakness.

“To be expected,” Matthew said. “She’s but sixteen.”

Elizabeth’s mouth pinched together. “She’s a wife now. She should put all her efforts into pleasing her husband and being a dutiful, obedient wife.”

“Just like you’ve always been to Peter,” Alex said.

Elizabeth gave her a long look. “Yes, I have always set my husband first and followed where he has led.” She kicked her horse into a trot.

“As long as he’s walked in the general direction you intended,” Alex said to her retreating back.

Matthew laughed out loud. “You think Elizabeth rules the roost?” He laughed some more and looked over to where Elizabeth had now rejoined her husband.

“Don’t you?”

“Nay, that I don’t. Peter is very much the man in his own house. But he’s wise enough to allow his wife some leeway, to let her think that at times it is she, not he, that decides.”

“Oh, just like you do then,” Alex muttered.

Matthew let his hand slide down to rest on their child and squeezed. “Nay, not as such. You and I take most decisions together.”

*

Two days later, Matthew held in his horse on the outskirts of Providence.

“It’s grown, hasn’t it?“ Alex looked down at the little town spread out before her.

From the docks – about the size of three Olympic pools – four streets, of which three were narrow dirt tracks no more, fanned out up the slope to where the central feature, the meetinghouse, dominated the settlement. To the west a rustic palisade, to the north equally primitive fortifications. Some intrepid souls had built outside the constricting fence, but mostly Providence’s inhabitants preferred to live within their walls.

Around and beyond the docks stood warehouses; even further away were the boarding houses and taverns that served the sailors. The streets were bordered by narrow houses, most of them quite humble, even if here and there somewhat more impressive buildings indicated the worth of their owners. And all of this against the backdrop of the glittering Chesapeake Bay, a wide, smooth expanse of water. A ship was slowly making its way up towards the mouth of the Severn, a dark splotch against all that shimmering blue.

Closer to town came the stink of habitation: privies, piled offal, the disgusting stench of accumulated stale blood and intestines from behind the butcher, the general aroma of far too many unwashed bodies in clothes that had been worn well beyond their laundry date. Alex wrinkled her nose fastidiously, noted a new inn, a bakery, and the colourful sign declaring the presence of a barber surgeon.

“So where is this famous establishment, Mrs Malone’s brothel?” she asked.

“Nowhere close to where you will be.” Matthew helped her off the horse, dismounted and handed the reins to the stable boy. “You won’t go anywhere close to the further docks.”

“Not even with you?”

“Not even with me. It’s no place for a well-bred woman, and you wouldn’t like it – not at all.”

“Maybe I should be the judge of that,” Alex muttered, but with no real heat. She could imagine just how squalid the area would be. She’d seen her fair share of ports.

*

“I’m not sure this is how I want to spend a fine autumn morning,” Alex said the next day.

Matthew tightened his grip on her elbow and increased his pace, informing her that seeing as it was Sunday they were going to kirk, and that was that. He nodded to acquaintances on his way there, every now and then he stopped and introduced her, and Alex smiled and curtsied, very much the doting, dutiful wife of Mr Matthew Graham. Once at the meetinghouse, she followed him into the whitewashed interior and slid in to sit on a bench.

“Oh God, how much longer?” Alex groaned two hours later. Matthew squeezed her hand and sent her an irritated look. She subsided back against the bench, letting her mind escape from the boring sermon.

The meetinghouse was packed, but whether that was because of devoutness or because of social constraints was up for discussion. To not attend was to risk both fines and public denouncements for ungodliness, and Alex supposed that might be somewhat bad for business in a town dominated by the congregation elders. Her eyes drifted across the women, most of them in muted colours like her own dove grey, and lingered on the impressively silent children, equally soberly dressed. Here and there she saw a dash of blue, of soft russet or pale yellow, but mostly it was grey and brown, and she was swept with a longing for T-shirts in bright colours and with ambiguous messages, jeans that sat tight around your legs and showcased your curves, and Converse sneakers in red or wild purple. She sighed and fidgeted, accidentally bumping into Matthew. She was hot, she was bored, and she went back to her silent scrutiny of the congregation.

*

Matthew felt Alex stiffen beside him. She sat ramrod straight with her eyes locked on someone sitting several rows down on the other side of the aisle. He followed her gaze and his hold on her hand became a clamp, his fingers twisting themselves so hard round hers that Alex let out a muted little yelp. Jones! Here, in his kirk, for all that he was Anglican as far as Matthew recalled. With him sat his wife, Kate, and a long row of sandy-haired children. Matthew’s throat worked with the effort to swallow. Kate... As if he’d called her name, she turned, her eyes sweeping the room and finding his. He saw how they widened, darkening with surprise, and she leaned towards her husband and whispered something in his ear. Jones just nodded, keeping his eyes on the minister.

Kate sneaked yet another look at Matthew, and he smiled at her, receiving a slight curving of the mouth in response. Still with hair somewhere between sun and honey, and dark eyes that had once been his only tenuous link to life. Not only her eyes, but her body as well, wrapping itself around him when he had needed it the most. Kate seemed to see what he was thinking, because her smile widened, a triumphant edge to it as she directed it at Alex. And Alex retook her hand, folding her arms over her chest.

“I thought the purpose of going to church was to concentrate your thoughts on God,” Alex said once they were out in the sun. “Not sit and drool over a former lover.”

To his irritation, Matthew felt himself flushing. “I wasn’t drooling.”

“No? I could have fitted an apple into your mouth, so wide did it gape.” Alex escaped into the shade of a plane tree, and he followed her, regarding the people as they came out of the meetinghouse. Neighbours and business partners, the men relaxed now that the religious part of the day was over, laughing amongst themselves while their wives made quiet conversation in small groups. Kate was in one of those groups, talking with animation while her eyes scanned the crowd.

“I think she’s looking for you. Go ahead, be my guest and go over to her.” And if you do you won’t be touching me anytime soon, her eyes told him, shards of a dark, daring blue under the brim of her straw hat.

“Alex...”

She turned her back on him and waved at Elizabeth, approaching them through the crowd with Peter and Henry Walton in her wake.

“What a good preacher!” Elizabeth said once she was within what she considered hearing distance, which in practice meant everyone within a furlong heard her. “It’s at times like these that I realise how much I miss the spiritual guidance of a minister in my day to day life.”

“Yes, it definitely inspired you to pure thoughts, didn’t it?” Alex gave Matthew a barbed smile, hooked her arm in under Elizabeth’s and strolled off.

*

Alex threw Matthew a look over her shoulder. Her husband’s long mouth had set into a thin, displeased line. Huh, as if he had any reason to be pissed off! It was him and his open gawking at damned Kate that was the issue here, wasn’t it? Well, okay, maybe she was overreacting – a bit – but she hated it that he should smile at Kate the way he did, a softness in his eyes and face that made her want to twist his goddamn balls until he squealed.

“Oh look! Celia’s parents!” Elizabeth dropped Alex’s arm as if stung, grabbed at her husband and dragged him off towards an elderly couple surrounded by three young men.

Alex made a face at being so blatantly dumped and turned with a sigh towards where she’d left Matthew, but he wasn’t there anymore and neither was Henry Walton. Instead, Alex found herself eye to eye with Dominic Jones and his wife.

“Great, my favourite people in the world.” Alex gave them a false smile. “Why can’t you just drop into a hole somewhere?”

Up close, Kate looked somewhat worse for wear, with a dissatisfied set to the mouth and skin that was covered with red, flaking patches, especially over her nose and right cheek. Still, there was no denying Mrs Jones was a handsome woman, her golden colouring expertly set off by the shimmering, tawny velvet she was wearing. Alex twitched at her grey skirts with irritation.