Whither Thou Goest (The Graham Saga Book 7) Page 11

  “Hmm?” Matthew said.

  “The quarrel.”

  He sighed, very softly, and pressed her to sit even closer to him, her arse wedged between his thighs. “Aye, it was the only thing I could think of, to give him the opportunity to…” He broke off, and she heard him murmur a prayer. A sin. It was a grievous sin to take your own life. Somehow, Alex suspected Leon didn’t care. He was free again, at last.

  Chapter 12

  Providence – Anne Arundel’s Town, if one was to use its official name, but none of its Puritan inhabitants did – in late April was a nice enough place, still not panting under the dense summer heat that would plague it during the summer months. A sensation of spring freshness remained in the air, and from the Chesapeake Bay a steady south-easterly breeze blew, carrying with it salt and oxygen.

  Alex breathed in with relish, and studied the neat little town with affection. In the eighteen years they’d lived in the colony, the nondescript little settlement they had arrived to had developed to have a meetinghouse, an Anglican church, four inns – five if one counted Mrs Malone’s thriving whorehouse, but Alex wasn’t sure one should – several small shops, a complement of craftsmen, three lawyers, and now one physician.

  Unfortunately, Alex reflected an hour or so later, the town also had more than its fair share of ministers, and all three of them now sat ranged before her, with her son-in-law seated to the far left and looking as if he wished he could be anywhere else but here. That makes two of us, Alex thought, going back to her idle study of the floor before her, listening with only half an ear while Minister Macpherson expounded on her sins.

  Matthew had spent most of the last day’s ride in a fruitless attempt to convince the minister there was no reason to pursue the matter. If anything, Leon’s death seemed to have made the minister even more determined to set an example of Alex, his voice rising into a rather unbecoming tenor when he insisted this whole debacle was Alex’s fault. Had she not attempted to meddle with the wounded slave, he wouldn’t have seen himself forced to move her aside, thereby angering her husband. Huh, how convenient for the minister to have someone to blame for Leon’s death.

  Alex wasn’t listening at all by the time Minister Macpherson finished his cataloguing of her crimes. Instead, she was reliving Leon’s violent death, wondering who this Clara might be. It left her with a headache, and she resolutely shoved the memories away. Besides, she had other things to worry about, chief amongst them Minister Macpherson’s face which was swimming disturbingly close to her own – close enough that she had to wrinkle her nose at his stale breath. She blinked and reared back, almost overbalancing on her little stool.

  “I said,” the minister repeated with exaggerated patience, “do you admit to helping the slaves abscond?”

  “No,” Alex replied.

  “Daughter…” Minister Walker peered at her from over his spectacles and smiled. “If you admit to it, we will do gently by you.”

  “I haven’t helped anyone abscond.” Alex sneaked a look to where Thomas Leslie had come over to sit beside Matthew.

  “We have witnesses that say you have,” Minister Walker said.

  “Then they are wrong,” she said, fussing with her skirts.

  “The slaves were clothed and fed—” Minister Macpherson began.

  “Not by me,” Alex interrupted.

  “Nay, I did that,” Matthew voiced from where he was sitting, “and yet I don’t find myself before the bench, do I?”

  Minister Macpherson glared at Matthew but composed himself. “To feed and clothe them was not wrong, as it assures they’re returned in good condition to their owner,” he said, bowing to Mr Farrell who nodded in agreement. The minister paused, adjusted his dark coat and lace collar, and wheeled with impressive elegance to face his fellow ministers. “To hand them a knife, however, was a dastardly deed, allowing them to abscond yet again to wreak terror on innocent people that crossed their way.” He slid his piggy eyes in the direction of Alex and sighed. “I’m sure Mrs Graham considered herself motivated by Christian charity, and so it’s a lesson we must teach her, no more. But she must learn to respect other people’s property.”

  “A lesson?” Mr Farrell rose out of his seat. “I am two slaves short, and I demand compensation.”

  “A later matter,” Minister Macpherson said.

  “Later matter? This amounts to theft, does it not? And thieves we hang! I—” Mr Farrell spluttered.

  “Hang?” Matthew rose to his full six feet three, towering over Mr Farrell.

  “Now, now,” Minister Walker said, “let us get back to the matter at hand. I am sure we will sort the matter of compensation without…err…”

  “Two slaves!” Mr Farrell yelled.

  “I didn’t do it!” Alex’s pulse had picked up during Mr Farrell’s little outburst, and the look he sent her way only served to increase the loud thumping in her head. “I didn’t!”

  Minister Macpherson shook his head. “We have witnesses, Mrs Graham. The slave himself pointed you out as the one who handed him the knife, did he not?”

  “At your heavy-handed hinting! Besides, does his word count for more than mine?”

  “He has no reason to lie,” the minister said, “but you do.”

  Matthew turned the full force of his stare on the minister. “Are you calling my wife a liar?”

  Minister Macpherson acquired the hue of a smoked ham but nodded all the same. “She has perjured herself in front of us all.”

  “No, she hasn’t.” Thomas Leslie stood up. He removed his hat from his head and smiled at Alex. “At the time in question, Mrs Graham lay sunk in fever at my home.”

  Minister Walker gave Minister Macpherson a very disappointed look.

  “But…” Minister Macpherson began and then came to an abrupt stop, the cogwheels inside his head visibly turning into overdrive. He swivelled to stare at Alex, who was trying very hard not to grin, and then pointed his finger at Matthew. “You did it! You gave them the knife!” He looked around the room and then back at Matthew. “You!”

  “I did no such thing!” Matthew said.

  “The knife! Look, the knife!” Minister Macpherson brandished the little knife that Alex recognised as belonging to Adam.

  “Do you think me a simpleton?” Matthew said. “Would I be daft enough to set a knife with my own mark on it in the hands of a slave?”

  “I say you did it! You gave them food and clothes—”

  “Which I have never denied!”

  “…and then you handed them the knife!”

  “Enough!” Minister Walker roared, and as always when that generally mild-mannered man raised his voice, everyone stopped dead. “We won’t lower ourselves to further spectacle,” he said in his normal tone.

  “But…” Minister Macpherson protested, subsiding at the dangerous look in the senior minister’s eye.

  “No buts.” Minister Walker left the room without another word.

  “Someone slipped them a knife,” Mr Farrell said when they bumped into each other by the door, “and as a consequence two of my slaves are dead.”

  “And you were planning on welcoming them home with a fatted calf?” Alex asked.

  “Oh, no,” Mr Farrell said coldly. “I would have had them flogged on consecutive days until they died. But it was my right to do so.” He eyed them both in a way that indicated he blamed them for having cheated him of this particular form of entertainment.

  “It could have been anyone. They could have picked it up from the ground. It was a rather hectic day,” Matthew said. “We’ll never know, will we?”

  “Huh!” Farrell sounded anything but convinced. He eyed Alex, pursing his mouth. “Minister Macpherson is of the opinion that you knew Noah.”

  “He is? And on what does he base that conclusion?”

  “He says you were most familiar with him at the hour of his death.”

  “Familiar? How familiar? I held his hand, Mr Farrell – something I would have done for any man facing
certain death.”

  “He was a slave,” Mr Farrell said.

  “No, he wasn’t. He was a free man, and you knew he was, didn’t you?” With that, she dropped a half-hearted curtsey and walked off.

  *

  “To be fair, Minister Macpherson was but doing his duty,” Julian said as they sat down to dinner.

  “Duty? So, on top of being a minister, he’s some sort of self-proclaimed constable? And wouldn’t it have been more in keeping with his religious calling to show the poor men some compassion, rather than drag them back at double pace through the woods?” Alex shook her head at the proffered serving dish of thinly sliced tongue.

  “Or he could have ridden straight back here with them, and that would have been that,” Matthew put in, “but no, not our Minister Macpherson. He just had to stir up some mischief.”

  “It would help if Alex didn’t goad him so,” Julian said.

  “Goad him? How do I goad him?”

  “You are very well read for a woman,” Julian told her, and Alex decided to let the patronising tone pass, “and last time you met him, you left him looking quite the fool.”

  “That isn’t my fault – he does that perfectly well on his own – and he had absolutely no idea what he was talking about anyway.” Alex snorted softly as she remembered their heated discussion about alchemy. “The elements are as they are, and only an idiot would believe that lead can be transmuted into gold.”

  “Quite a few great men actually think it’s possible,” Julian said stiffly.

  “Quite a few great men have problems accepting the earth revolves around the sun,” Alex replied, “or that you can’t dig your way from here to China.”

  “You can’t?” David looked up from his food with interest.

  “No.” Alex smiled at her son. “It would get pretty hot. The inner core of the earth is all molten lava.”

  “How do you know?” Julian asked.

  Alex shrugged. “I just do.”

  Later, Matthew gave her a little speech along the lines that it would be better if she kept all her vast knowledge to herself. Having said that, he insisted she explain a bit more, looking like an eager schoolboy.

  “Are you saying we float on all that lava?” Matthew looked down at her sketch and then up at her.

  “Yes,” she said, “they’re called…” she made an effort, “…tectonic plates and they move all the time.” She exhaled with pleasure as she freed her feet of shoes and stockings, wiggling the toes against the cool wooden floorboards.

  “Move?” Matthew stamped the floor. “This isn’t moving.”

  “Yes, it is. First, you have the world rotating on its axle, which gives us day and night. Then, you have the whole earth orbiting the sun, which gives us the seasons of the year. And then…well then, you have the plates, floating and bumping into each other. That’s what causes earthquakes.”

  “Hmm,” Matthew was clearly sceptical.

  “I can’t prove it to you,” she smiled, “so you’ll just have to take it on trust.”

  “Hmm,” he repeated, with a twinkle in his eyes.

  *

  Next morning, Alex and Matthew were out and about just after breakfast, walking smartly up Main Street.

  “No,” Alex said, “I won’t do it!”

  “Aye, you will.” Matthew held her elbow in a tight grip. “For my sake and for your own.”

  “It’s him that owes me an apology, so why should I apologise? And for what exactly?”

  “We’ll go in together,” Matthew said, “and I’m sure you’ll think of what to say.”

  It was all Julian’s stupid idea, his insistence that they should attempt to patch up their relationship with Gregor Macpherson.

  “What relationship?” Alex had asked over breakfast, only to have her ears almost falling off by the end of Julian’s long speech regarding the relative status of ministers and members of the congregation, and in particular, female members.

  “I’m not sure I want to be a member of his congregation,” Alex now said, but that only made Matthew frown at her. To him, being a full member of the Providence Puritan-slash-Presbyterian community was extremely important, for reasons well beyond Alex.

  Gregor Macpherson was clearly not in the habit of receiving early morning calls. His jowls sported a lot of grey stubble, there was a spot of egg yolk on his coat, and he was as yet unshod, retracting his bare feet under the table when his servant ushered them in. To Alex, he looked vulnerable – major improvement – even more so when he hastily smoothed down his hair.

  “What do you want?” Minister Macpherson snapped, reverting to good old form.

  Alex took a big breath, curtsied under Matthew’s critical eye, and mumbled something very long and scarcely audible about being sorry for not telling him that she’d been ill.

  “You painted me a fool before them all,” Macpherson complained.

  “I know.” Alex kept her eyes on the floor. A very dirty floor, she shuddered, and what was that, growing in the corner? Mould? “I was angry with you.”

  “With me?” Macpherson had now managed to discreetly remove the egg yolk and was buttoning his coat.

  “Well yes. You assumed that I had given them the knife, and you were very glad to have the opportunity to teach me a lesson.”

  “You need several lessons, Mrs Graham, the main one being in how to behave decorously and modestly among your male betters. I can but sympathise with Mr Graham at times.”

  “Aye,” Matthew sighed, “she’s a wee bit headstrong. On account of her being Swedish, I think.”

  Alex seriously considered kicking him, but desisted – for now. Instead, she stood in silence while Minister Macpherson subjected her to a long tirade regarding virtuous womanhood, ending by stating it would appear that at least she had been a fertile wife and a strong helpmeet to her husband in his daily life.

  “Thank you,” she said, because it seemed to be expected of her, and some minutes later they were back on the street.

  “That went well.” Matthew gave her a satisfied smile.

  “You think?” Alex asked frostily, and set off in the direction of the Hancock home.

  “Where are you going?” Matthew grabbed at her, but she evaded his hand.

  “Oh, I’m just being my normal headstrong me,” she said through her teeth, “and if you don’t mind, I prefer being that alone.”

  Matthew laughed, grabbed at her again, and kissed her cheek. “I like it that you are wild and headstrong, but it didn’t hurt to paint a slightly different picture in there, did it?”

  “I suppose not,” she admitted grudgingly, and took his offered hand.

  Esther Hancock was glad to see them, shooed Matthew off to talk with William, and dragged Alex with her to her little parlour to extract every single detail of what happened the day before.

  Alex rolled her eyes but gave her a short and succinct account, including the early morning interview with Minister Macpherson.

  “That was probably wise.” Esther nodded. “He’s much respected about town, and a firm friend of Mr Farrell who, I hear, isn’t a happy man at present.”

  “He got three of them back,” Alex said.

  “Yes, but not the one he wanted to get back, the tall one – Noah, his name was.”

  “Leon, actually, and he was never a slave to begin with.”

  Esther cast her a look and went back to her embroidery.

  “Where’s the baby?” Alex finally asked, having waited for him to appear somehow.

  “Duncan?” Esther smiled. “Duncan is off to visit his niece and nephews.” Simon’s grandchildren, left motherless after Lucy’s death more than a year ago, three small children that lived with their father, Henry, and their widowed grandmother, Kate Jones. “He does that quite often,” she added, her eyes glittering. “Or rather, Simon goes and takes Duncan with him.”

  “He does?” Alex leaned forward, intrigued. Kate and Simon?

  “Oh yes, several times a week, and quite long vi
sits at that. He comes home quite replete.”

  “Replete?” Alex stared at her.

  Esther waved a hand dismissively. “Not Simon. Duncan. One of the slave girls has a baby, and so, when Duncan is there, she feeds him too.”

  “Ah.” Alex was bursting with an urge to share all of this with Matthew – which she did, the moment they were alone.

  “Simon? With Kate?” Matthew seemed to find the idea ludicrous.

  “Well, that’s what Esther says,” Alex said, “and I think she’s better informed than you are.”

  According to Esther’s amused and detailed description, Kate and Simon had been spending an increasing amount of time with each other over the last year, at first under the pretext of allowing poor bereaved Simon plenty of time with his grandchildren and lately because Duncan so thrived in the healthy air of the Jones’ home.

  “Hmm.” Matthew sounded very doubtful – as if Simon was not good enough for precious Kate.

  “Simon is a very nice man,” Alex said seriously, “and he deserves finding someone, don’t you think?”

  “Oh aye.”

  Chapter 13

  Matthew wasn’t quite sure why he’d agreed to accompany Alex to Kate’s – mayhap it was just to verify that there was no truth to Esther’s gossip about Simon and Kate. It therefore came as something of a revelation to be ushered into the Jones’ residence and not only find Simon there, but also find him clasping Kate’s fingers to his chest.

  Kate was delighted to see them both, if somewhat flustered at being caught holding hands with Simon, and insisted they should settle themselves in the shade. Lemonade appeared at the clap of her hand, with a pitcher of frothing dark ale set down before Matthew.

  “Men seem to prefer beer,” she said, smiling at him.

  In a secluded corner, wee Duncan was fast asleep under a length of sheer linen, and for some minutes Alex busied herself with the wean, at one point lifting the laddie to lie in her arms. Not much to see from where Matthew was sitting – a tuft of dark hair, no more.