Serpents in the Garden (The Graham Saga) Page 7

  Jacob took his time getting back to the wharves. He strolled up and down the narrow streets, spent two shillings on a small silver ring for Betty, bought himself a sticky bun, and eyed every lass he saw with interest. His Betty would be like a dull pigeon among a flock of glamorous peacocks had he brought her here, he reflected, feeling somewhat disloyal. Always in muted colours, always with high-cut bodices, she’d stick out like a sore thumb among these enticing creatures.

  Low necklines, frothy lace and gleaming silks and velvets… He gaped at the creative hairdos, intricate compositions of braids and curls that succeeded in displaying very much hair to the world, despite the immaculate caps or hats that perched atop. And their faces…cheeks that glowed a delicious pink, mouths that looked suspiciously red, and darkened lashes that lowered themselves at his overt staring.

  He was in a state of half arousal when he turned into the alley leading down to the water, and there, leaning against a wall and highlighted by a lantern above her, stood a wench that smiled at him. Jacob was not an entire innocent, and he knew this was a whore, but she was pretty for all that. His cock was nosing at the cloth of his breeches, and he was young and had money in his pouch. Captain Miles would never know, nor would Betty, so he followed when she led him up the creaky stairs. He gasped when her hand closed on his member, and for a moment he was sure he loved her, this woman who spread her legs for him and helped him come inside of her.

  Half an hour later, it was dark outside, and the evening fog had transformed itself into a drizzle that seeped through Jacob’s coat in a matter of minutes. Not that he cared, humming to himself as he relieved himself into the river. He shook his cock and adjusted his breeches, ensuring the little pouch still hung where it should, very close to his privates. He didn’t hear the murmured conversation behind him, nor see how the girl he had just paid nodded her head in his direction, laughing under her breath. And he definitely didn’t hear the footfalls until it was too late and a club came down upon his head, bringing him to his knees. Two things happened that saved his life: one, he toppled over the edge and fell into the swirling waters of the Thames; two, he wasn’t entirely unconscious and managed to keep himself afloat until he bumped into a wooden jetty.

  Chapter 8

  “Have you seen Daniel?” Alex frowned at Ruth, who was busy folding her brother’s clothes. “And really, Ruth, he should be doing that himself. You’re not his servant.”

  Ruth shrugged. “I don’t mind. Tomorrow he’ll be gone.” Her back curved, and Alex came over to sit beside her.

  “He’ll be back.”

  “In a year and that’s a very long time.” Ruth’s arms wound themselves round her waist in a self-hug.

  “But he was gone all last year as well.”

  “Nay, he wasn’t. He came home for Hogmanay, and he was here for the spring planting.” Ruth wiped at her eyes. “This time he goes away, and when he comes back he will have changed. Just like Jacob.”

  “Jacob? How do you mean?”

  “The year he was gone from harvest to harvest on account of him being ill over Hogmanay – he had changed.”

  Alex smiled slightly at the memory. The thirteen-year-old came back a tall fourteen-year-old, the boy permanently supplanted by the young man. She looked down at Ruth and stroked the dark red head. “It was still Jacob, wasn’t it?”

  “Aye, but not quite. He sat with the men, talked with the men, not with us.”

  “But he still played with you, didn’t he? And he chased you all over the farm the night you and Daniel stuffed his pillow with crickets.”

  Ruth grinned. “Aye, that was fun. But it was still me and Daniel, and soon it won’t be, because he’ll be gone.” She sounded forlorn.

  “That’s the way it is, honey.” Alex kissed her daughter on her brow.

  “I’ll miss him; so very much will I miss him.”

  “You still have Sarah, and—”

  “Sarah?” Ruth gave an irritated shake of her head. “That’s not the same. You can’t talk to her, and all we do is quarrel and fight.”

  “And whose fault is that, hey?” With that parting shot and a little tug at Ruth’s braid, Alex left the room.

  Alex continued her desultory search for her son, but neither David nor Samuel had seen him.

  “Agnes, have you seen Daniel?”

  Agnes looked up from the butter churn. “I saw Angus and he was waiting for him,” she said, going back to her long, steady strokes.

  “Angus?” Alex was surprised. Daniel and Angus had never been close. Agnes didn’t reply and Alex took off in the direction of the river. Daniel was a water child, and she suspected he was going to miss the river much more than he was going to miss anything else.

  If it hadn’t been for the deer, Alex might not have seen them, but the sudden movement startled her, making her head snap up, and that’s when she saw Angus and Daniel on the other side of the clearing. Daniel was stiff as a board, his back pressed against a tree, and before him stood Angus, his hands on Daniel’s shoulders, his pelvis pressed against Daniel in a way that made Alex’s hackles rise.

  The pale blond head bent itself towards Daniel who twisted his face violently to the side. Alex was inundated by an urgent desire to do Angus some grave, bodily harm. Instead, she ducked behind a bush and called loudly for Daniel. When she straightened up, Daniel was alone, slumped against the tree.

  “Daniel?” Alex kneeled down beside him. He seemed to be crying, and this stumped Alex, because maybe Angus and Daniel were closer than she’d understood, and… Oh my God, maybe Daniel was homosexual, but would a thirteen-year-old know that? And if he was, what kind of an unfulfilled life would he be doomed to live?

  She cupped his face and forced him to look her in the eyes. “What were you doing? You and Angus?”

  Daniel stared at her with very blue eyes. “I didn’t know what to do. He was weeping and telling me how it would all be worthless with me gone, and…” He wiped at his arms. “He touched me, he pressed himself against me, and then he kissed me.” He scrubbed at his lips with the back of his hand. “I didn’t want him to,” he groaned, his eyes wide. “Why, Mama? Why did he do that?”

  Alex thought long and hard. She was going to nail Angus’ skinny arse, but at the same time she couldn’t help feeling sorry for this troubled young man.

  “He hasn’t had an easy life,” Alex said, sitting down. “His mother died when he was very young; then came the soldiers and arrested his father for being a Covenanter, and you know how they were all sold off into indenture to clear the fines.”

  Daniel nodded. “Like Da.”

  “No, your da was never arrested or fined. But he probably would have been had we stayed – which was why we chose to come here. Anyway, Angus’ father died on the way over, and Agnes and he were separated once they landed here. He was only twelve…” Alex sat back against the tree and tilted her head in Daniel’s direction. “I think he’s very lonely and, sometimes when you’re lonely, things happen in your head and you do things you’re not supposed to do.” She took her son’s hand, running her fingers over his smooth skin. “He won’t do it again, but I don’t want you telling anyone about this.”

  Daniel obediently agreed. “Is he a sodomite, do you think?”

  “Daniel Graham! Where have you learnt a word like that?”

  “It’s in the Bible, how the men of Sodom wished to have carnal knowledge of the angels God sent, and Lot begged them not to.” He peeked at her from under dark lashes. “I never understood why he offered them his daughters instead.”

  “No, that does seem a very uncaring thing to do. Is it a bad thing to be a sodomite?” Alex asked, contriving to sound as innocent as possible.

  Daniel looked away. “It’s an abomination. It’s stated clearly in Leviticus that man should not lie with mankind.”

  “Oh.” As far as Alex recalled, Leviticus was one very long, tedious description of sacrifice after sacrifice after sacrifice. It was obvious she’d never gotten to the
juicy parts. She pretended to think for some time. “No, I don’t think Angus is a sodomite. I think he’s a very unhappy man.” And if he as much as laid a finger on one of her boys again, she was going to tear his balls off, but that was something she kept to herself.

  *

  For the first time ever in their long marriage, Alex chose not to tell Matthew about something. She needed to think, and decided she would talk to him upon his return from Providence instead. Ultimately, of course, she had to tell him, and her guts twisted when she considered what the consequences might be for Angus – and for Agnes.

  “What is it?” Matthew asked her when she served him breakfast. Outside in the yard, Mark had saddled up the horses, and Angus and his sister were busy distributing the packing on the three mules.

  “Nothing.”

  He made a disbelieving sound, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her down to sit on his lap. “Is it Daniel?”

  She shrugged and nodded, trying to look very dejected. From the way he narrowed his eyes at her, he wasn’t entirely taken in.

  “You’ll tell me when I get back,” he said as he stood up, and to her huge irritation, Alex could feel her cheeks heat with telltale blood. Lucky she’d never aspired to being an undercover agent, because she’d have failed miserably, most of her thoughts standing plain on her face for the world to see – okay, maybe not the world, but definitely her man.

  He grinned and set a finger to her cheek. “When I come back, aye?”

  Alex stood for a long time waving after her son and husband, scowled in the direction of where Angus had dropped out of sight, and went off in search of Mrs Parson.

  “Hmm,” Mrs Parson said once Alex had finished telling her. “You should have told Matthew. It would be best if wee Angus leaves.”

  “That’s precisely why I couldn’t tell him. We should at least try and find out what happened to him and see if we can help him.”

  “Some men are born that way,” Mrs Parson informed her, making Alex blink.

  “How would you know?”

  “You don’t get to my age without seeing a thing or two,” Mrs Parson said drily. “Angus is a man; a young man, and mayhap a damaged man, but all the same a man, nigh on nineteen. And Daniel is a half-grown lad. Nothing can excuse what you saw.”

  Alex swallowed. Mrs Parson was right and, upon his return, Matthew would be very angry with her for not having told him.

  “Maybe I should talk to Angus.”

  Mrs Parson raised her brows. “That isn’t for you to do. ’Tis the master that must handle such.”

  *

  Over the coming days, Alex did some discreet sleuthing. An odd question here, another one there, and given that Agnes was a sweet but rather dense girl, she didn’t find this newborn interest in her brother strange, but replied offhandedly. Yes, he was much shyer around people now than she remembered him being as a child, and, no, she didn’t think it strange that he didn’t have a lass to go out with – he was still but a lad. Alex rolled her eyes at this but made a hemming noise, feeling very devious. Was he sorry that Daniel had left? Ah, aye, that he was; wee Angus had a fondness for Daniel. Agnes went on to comment how fond he was of the wee lads. She didn’t notice the shudder that passed through Alex.

  “It’s going to be quite cold tonight,” Alex said to Agnes late one afternoon. Agnes didn’t reply at first, but concentrated on the load of dripping steaming linen she was transferring from the cauldron to the rinsing trough. The laundry shed was full of steam, Alex’s hair curling into heavy ringlets with the damp. Betty helped pour cold water over the hot sheets before she and Alex began the tedious process of first scrubbing and then rinsing the lye out, after which the sheets were wrung and placed in one of the wicker baskets for Ruth and Sarah to carry outside and hang.

  “I won’t mind,” Agnes said, sighing as she filled the cauldron with yet another load. “It will be a right relief to have some cold air after a day in here.” She wiped her sweaty face with her apron and scowled at the barrel in which the remaining unwashed clothes were soaking.

  “I was thinking of Angus,” Alex said. “It might make sense for him to sleep with Patrick in the room off the stables rather than up in the loft.”

  “Angus?” Agnes frowned. “He won’t sleep behind a door.”

  Betty gave Agnes a curious look. “He won’t?” she said, scrubbing at a grey stain on one of the sheets.

  Agnes shook her head and used a wooden ladle to stir the lye into the boiling water. “Not since he was brought here. The master doesn’t mind.”

  “Why not?” Betty asked.

  Agnes stopped stirring and looked at Betty. “I don’t know; mayhap it’s a sense of freedom he misses?”

  That made some sense, Alex conceded. Being only twelve when he arrived in Providence, Angus had been bonded for fourteen years to pay for his and his dead father’s passage. He still had seven years left on his contract.

  “He was very wee,” Agnes said, her face softening.

  Not so wee anymore, Alex sighed. Now he was a lanky man with guarded light eyes and an aversion to any type of contact beyond the absolutely necessary. He even avoided his sister, and at first Agnes had come to Alex to ask for advice, but now she no longer did, having seemingly given up. Always alone, Angus was, never interacting – except for the few times he played with her boys. Alex tightened her hold on the sheet she was presently rinsing, and decided then and there that until Matthew got back, her boys wouldn’t be having any alone time with Angus – however prejudiced that sounded.

  “Two more loads and then we’re done,” Alex said, forcing her thoughts away from Angus. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m going to treat myself to a long, very hot bath in the tub afterwards.”

  Betty looked at the well-scrubbed pine tub. “Must we?”

  “Not this time.” Alex grinned. “This time I was suggesting it as a reward.”

  *

  Her constant vigilance of Angus was disrupted by the Indian. One early morning, Alex snuck out of the house, making for the privy. When she came back, an Indian was standing in her yard, blocking her path. Alex came to a halt, feeling vulnerable in only her shift and shawl. The Indian was dressed like a white man, in ragged breeches and a white shirt that was in severe need of a wash. A coat several sizes too big completed the ensemble, decorated by the odd feather and what looked like braids sown onto the shoulders. Were braids, Alex amended: several long, dark braids of human hair.

  “What do you want?” she called, hoping either Mark, who was in the stables, or Mrs Parson would hear her.

  The man didn’t reply. Instead, he extended a wrapped package to her. Alex backed away; the man came after.

  “For you,” he said.

  “No thanks.” One of the dogs began to bark. The Indian threw a look over his shoulder, and when the large yellow dog came loping towards him, he moved swiftly. The package was shoved into her hands, and he set off at a run in the direction of the woods. In a matter of seconds, he was swallowed up into the forest. The dog made as if to follow, but Alex called Dandelion back.

  “Mama?” Mark came running from the stables, tagged by Patrick. “Are you alright?”

  She nodded, but had to bite down on her lower lip to stop it from wobbling. The man had come and gone unhindered. Had he wanted to, she’d have been dead, her braid added to his gory collection.

  “What’s that?” Mark indicated the package.

  “I don’t know.” She told him of their visitor, and her son’s face set in an impressive scowl.

  “Here? In our yard?” He shook his head. “Worthless dogs.”

  “Not all of them,” Alex said, patting Dandelion. “Besides, he can’t have been here long, and I guess he knows how to move so as to avoid setting them off.”

  By now Mrs Parson had joined them, a rather impressive appearance in starched nightdress, bed jacket, overlarge cap and a shawl.

  “So what did he give you?” she asked.

  “I’m not s
ure I want to know. Somehow I don’t think it’s a delayed birthday gift.” Alex unwound the dirty cloth to find a small wooden box, around which was wrapped a paper.

  In the box was a heart, pierced by a miniature knife. Alex threw it away from her.

  “It’s a pig’s heart,” Mark said after inspecting the organ. Alex nodded. She’d seen that too.

  She held out the sheet of paper to him. “Read.” It cost her just to say that one word.

  “Someday I aim to have the pleasure of delivering your husband’s heart in a similar way,” Mark read out loud. “Bastard,” he hissed, crumpling the paper into a ball.

  The letter was unsigned. In Alex’s head rang Philip Burley’s laughter, and to her shame she began to cry, blubbering like a child in her son’s arms.

  Chapter 9

  On the morrow of their departure for Providence, Jenny had woken to Ian’s kisses. From kissing, he decided they might as well progress to other things, and Jenny was still half asleep but her body was most willing.

  Afterwards, she made a contented sound and shoved at him. “We have to make ready. Your father will be by shortly.”

  “He can wait,” Ian said, but rolled off her anyway. “Are you sure you should be going?” he asked as he pulled on his breeches. He dragged his hands through his dark hair in lieu of a comb, tying it back with a scrap of ribbon.

  “We have been over this,” she replied, rifling through her few petticoats in search of her flannel one.

  “But the wean…” He covered her flat stomach with his hands.

  “The babe will be fine, and we’ve agreed that I ride with you, just in case.” She shooed him out to start loading her cheeses into the pannier baskets while she made breakfast.

  “Patrick will be coming by later on account of the cows,” Ian said, swallowing down the eggs she served him. Jenny arranged her face into a mask of blank indifference before she turned to nod at him. Patrick…the name made her breath hitch with anxiety.