A Rip in the Veil (33 page)

“But not like this one,” she replied, tears hanging off her eyelashes.

“No, not like this one.”

“He would have had your eyes,” she breathed.

“She would have had your mouth,” he whispered.

Slowly she toppled towards him, and he released her hands to wrap his arms round her, hold her safe against him, while a flurry of wet snow danced around them.

Chapter 26

Mrs Gordon inspected the kitchen, did a quick stroll round the house, hemmed and hawed as she inventoried the pantries and the storing cupboards, and then sat down on the single kitchen chair, folded her arms, and began a long and heated negotiation with Matthew. Half an hour later they were in agreement; Mrs Gordon would come to work for them, replacing the disgraced Mrs Brodie.

It had been Alex’s suggestion to ask her, insisting even when Matthew muttered something about her living very far away and being a midwife to boot, but in the end he’d agreed to send and ask. The reply had come in person, Mrs Gordon riding in on a hired horse, arms clenched tight around its groom, and now she sat by the fire as if she’d always belonged there, her bright black eyes studying Alex with open curiosity.

“How’s your knitting?” she asked, tongue-in-cheek.

“Progressing,” Alex said, deciding to ignore Matthew’s muffled laugh.

“Ah well, that’s good, no?” Mrs Gordon said. “Have you finished anything yet?”

“Umm,” Alex said and hastily turned the conversation to the upcoming party.

*

Five days later, Alex sat down with a thud on the kitchen bench and groaned.

“I’m dead on my feet and the party hasn’t even started yet.”

Joan pulled yet another pie from the baking oven and plunked it down on the table. The whole kitchen smelled of kale and cabbage, there were pies everywhere, and currant cakes and bread and legs of smoked lamb and an awful lot of things that quivered in jelly. Alex intended to keep well away from those. Mrs Gordon and Joan sank down beside her, and in silence they studied the heaped foods before them.

“We’re done,” Joan said, eyeing the fruits of their labour.

“I sincerely hope so,” Alex said, “this should feed an army.”

Joan laughed and stretched, grinding her knuckles into the curve of her back.

“You’d best eat a bite before, unless you fancy fighting for it later on.”

A few hours later, Matthew stood at the barn entrance to receive his guests and tenants, slapping men on the back, bowing to the womenfolk. Alex stood beside him, smiling and curtseying to what to her seemed an endless line of unknown people. For the first time ever, it was Matthew that was the host at the Hogmanay dance, and she could see he was nervous, wiping his hands down the fine cloth of his new breeches – made by his very proud wife, no less.

There was plenty of beer and cider, and it didn’t take long for a general spirit of cheer to settle on the crowd, further augmented by all the food. It was like watching a swarm of biblical locusts; one moment the plates were overflowing, the next there were at most crumbs left.

Mrs Gordon bustled over to ask whether Alex wanted her to replenish the plates.

“Do we have anything left?”

“Oh aye,” Mrs Gordon grinned, “but they don’t want more food, they want whisky.”

“I would never have guessed,” Alex said, thinking that in some respects things were pretty much the same no matter what century you were in.

After the first few dances, she didn’t see Matthew except in glimpses. He danced and laughed, so obviously in his place, with his people, that it had made Alex feel even more alone. It cut her to the quick, the way he melted in to belong with her on the outside, wrong footed in the dances, excluded from jokes and the buzz of conversation by accents that broadened as the evening went along. But she smiled and laughed, danced with everyone who asked, drank far too much cider and laughed some more, before the effort of it all became too much and she settled herself in a dark corner to watch.

“Everyone wants a piece of him,” Simon said, materialising with two brimming mugs in his hands. Alex nodded, her eyes tracking Matthew on the dance floor. He was flushed with exertion, dancing in shirt and breeches only, and as she watched he lifted his blonde partner in a high arc, her wide skirts falling to reveal pink silk stockings. That was the third time he danced with that particular girl.

“Who’s she?” She’d never seen the woman before, of that she was sure, and she couldn’t remember her coming with his Graham cousins. But maybe she had.

“Her? Oh that’s Sarah. They were sweethearts once, before…” Simon broke off and looked at Alex with amusement. “She’s married, aye? And it was nothing but a childhood fancy.”

“I suppose he must’ve had quite the string of sweethearts, what with him being the master’s eldest son.”

Simon considered this and grinned. “He had no luck with the lasses, Matthew. It was always me they wanted.” He expanded his considerable chest and preened, looking very smug.

Alex laughed and shoved at him. “Of course; you must have had them swooning over you.”

Simon winked and stood up, extending his hand to her. “You don’t believe me, I can tell. Let me show you, dearest good sister.” He swept her off to dance, and Alex found to her amazement that not only was he by far the best dancer there, but he was right; as he danced and jumped and twirled her round, he was followed by many, many female eyes.

*

It was almost midnight, or at least she thought it was, and Alex picked up her cloak from where it was thrown across a bench and stepped out into the cold night air. She knew exactly where she was going, hurrying across the yard and over the water meadows, her eye set on the bare patch of hill that rose before her.

The night was clear, with a half-moon hanging like a slice of lemon in the sky, and the stars spread out in twinkling fields around it. She heard the distant baying of a dog, the rustling of things she startled as she walked through the woods, and from well behind came the sounds of fiddles and song.

Alex stopped for an instant to look back at the manor spread out below; candles in the windows, a muted square of light that spilled from the open barn door, and shadowy shapes that even at this distance moved unsteadily on their feet. She wondered briefly if one of them might be Matthew, but then turned back up the hill. She had an appointment to keep.

All day she’d been thinking of them; of Isaac and John but mostly of Magnus. New Year had been his and her thing, because Mercedes hated this marking of time, and would lock herself into her studio to paint, refusing to join in any festivities. So Magnus and Alex cooked and spent the hours counting down to midnight talking about the year that had been. She wondered if he’d be alone this year, or if he’d be with John, but deep down she knew that he’d be as alone as she’d felt the whole day.

All their New Year’s Eves had ended the same way; they’d go out into the garden and stare up at the sky, looking for the North Star. Even when the sky was overcast they’d still go out and scan the skies. And on the stroke of midnight Magnus would toast the star, visible or not, and smile down at his daughter.

“
Skål, lilla hjärtat
,” he’d say and she’d reply in Swedish as well.

“
Skål, pappa
.”

Alex reached her high point and craned her head back to look at the carpet of stars. Like diamonds, little points of glittering ice in a dark sea. She located the North Star, closed her eyes and pretended; in her hand a champagne flute, by her side her father, and from the open door behind them streamed electrical light and warmth. In her head, her father held out his arms and she walked into them and knew that she was safe, because he would never let anyone hurt her again, no one at all.

“So, who do you miss the most tonight?” Matthew’s dark voice made her jump, but she remained standing where she was, shivering in the cold. He moved over to her and placed a warm hand against her cool cheek. “What are the things you need the most, tonight on Hogmanay?”

“Need or miss?”

“Both.”

She looked up at the sky again. “I miss him so much.”

“Who? John?”

She smiled at the edge in his voice. “Magnus, it’s him I miss the most.” She felt ashamed saying that, after all, shouldn’t she be missing Isaac the most? “And I hate it that he’ll be so alone, without me.”

“But he has Isaac.”

“Yeah, he has Isaac. A three-year-old boy.”

“A child of his blood, lass.”

She liked that; and anyway, John would be there for Magnus as well, and so would Diane. A spike of jealousy flared through her gut. Magnus had always liked Diane – too much in Alex’s opinion.

Matthew’s arm slipped round her waist and gathered her close, and she rested her ear above his heart, listening to the steady, strong beat. It trickled into her ear, it flowed through her brain and down her spine – his pulse, reverberating through her. She rubbed her cheek against his coat and his hand came up to stroke her head.

“So,” she said, clearing her throat. “In reply to your question; I miss them all at times, but there’s only one person that I truly need and want, and that’s you, Mr Graham.” She laughed at herself; pathetic, Alex Lind, totally pathetic. But true.

*

This woman of his was breaking his heart, he reflected, all of him throbbing with joy at her last comment. He had to give her something back, and he nudged her face off his chest to see her.

“It’s a new year,” he said, “and I’m standing here with a woman I should never have met.” Alex shook her head in agreement; no, she said, she shouldn’t be here, but here she was.

Matthew closed his eyes and tore the following words from his heart. “I love you, Alexandra Ruth; I love you so very, very much.” And please God, don’t let her hurt me like the other one did, don’t let me know that pain again, now that I’ve bared myself to her. He opened his eyes to find her looking up at him.

“I need you,” she said. “I need you now.”

He held her hand all the way back down. He held it and it scorched him, her skin burning into his and leaving him short of breath. He ignored the revellers out in the yard, except for a peremptory wave, and then they were inside, and he was following her up the stairs, his hands already under her skirts.

His cock twitched with irritation; take her now, on the stairs. Take her on the floor, just take her, goddamn you, before I burst at the seams! So he did, and she was as eager as he was, shoving her warm self against him, and he thought he would die, at least a little, but he didn’t, and she stood on her knees in front of him and he took her like a rutting beast.

Matthew got to his feet and helped her up, and all of him was still twitching and aroused, and he wondered if it was all the beer that made his cock still stand. They almost fell into their bedchamber. He threw the door of their bedroom closed and leaned against the cool wood, panting as he watched her.

“Undress,” he said roughly. “Undress and come here, come to me.” He fumbled with his lacings, tore at his shirt and coat, and fell onto the bed with his stockings on. He didn’t care. He just had to, and there she was under him, over him, everywhere, and he had to, oh God, he had to, and so did she.

* * *

In his garden, Magnus welcomed 2003 in silence. He raised his glass to the unclouded sky, with a half-moon hanging among the hazy stars, and toasted his lost daughter.

“
Skål, lilla hjärtat
,” he said, and in his head he saw her come into his waiting arms.

“
Skål, Pappa
,” he heard her whisper, and a shiver ran up his spine. She was alive, he told himself, alive and well in another time and another place.

Chapter 27

It was an early March day, the shrubs were beginning to show a promise of green, and the hazels hung decorated with yellow tails. At present, Alex was oblivious to it all; to the catkins on the willow, to the odd whites and blues of early anemones, to the cheerful chirping of robins and tits. She was too tired, too wet, and far too angry, scowling in the direction of where a weeping Rosie had disappeared only moments ago.

“Thanks a lot.” PMS, she decided, and went back to the huge washing cauldron. To really make her day, it soon after began to drizzle, a soft rain that soaked through every piece of drying linen on the clotheslines.

“Right,” she said crossly. “That’s it.”

Her black mood lifted somewhat when Simon rode into the yard a few hours after dinner, accompanied by Minister Crombie.

“Matthew’s out in the fields,” she said. “But if you want, I can send Gavin out for him.”

“No, no,” the minister said, “we’re but riding by.”

“Old Mr Williams passed in the night.” Simon jerked his thumb in the vague direction of their closest neighbour. “So here we come.”

“Aye, spiritual and legal support hand in hand.” Minister Crombie grinned and sat down at the table when she offered, attacking her bread and beer with enthusiasm.

“Luke’s back,” Simon said as they stood to leave.

“Here?” Alex squawked, having to sit down when all blood drained away from her head.

“In Cumnock.” Minister Crombie gave her a look and scrunched up his bristling brows into a ferocious glower. “You should press charges, for a man to…” He shook his head; he’d seen Alex a week or so after she’d lost the child.

“Matthew does best not to appear before a magistrate,” Simon reminded him. “However just his grievances, it’s an unnecessary risk when you’re an escaped convict. He won’t be coming here,” he continued, directing himself to Alex. “Even Luke Graham has some modicum of basic shame in him.”

“You think?” Alex replied with an edge, but was relieved all the same.

*

Matthew was tired to the bone when he led the oxen in from the fields. After months of winter lassitude, his body protested at the punishing pace he had kept up for the last few weeks, and there were several more such weeks coming if he was to complete the harrowing and planting before the lambing began in earnest. He grimaced and unclenched his frozen hold on the leather reins.