Death be Not Proud (17 page)

My pulse raced, my collar itching where the wool began to stick to my damp skin. I felt trapped, suffocating. “I'm too hot.” I started to unbutton my coat and Archie set up a wail of frustration, trying to grab at the buttons. I slid my coat off, and he began to bellow, his red face clashing with his sand-gold hair.

Flora was jumping up and down. “An elephant, an emu and… nine lords a leaping… and…”

My mother came in from the next room, summoned by the noise.

“Golly, it's gone dark… goodness, Flora, what
are
you doing?”

“No he's not,” Alex interrupted. “
That
man – he's just standing there and he's getting all wet.”

My head swivelled. “Who is, Alex?” My nephew turned towards me, pointing out of the window. “That man is – he's just standing by the church looking at us.”

I followed where he pointed and the hammering in my chest stopped. I went cold.

I leapt to my feet, thrusting Archie into his startled mother's arms as the room went suddenly quiet and everyone stared. And then I flew out of the room running, running across the stone-flagged floor to the front door, flinging it wide, sleet stinging my face, driving into my eyes. Down the broad steps, then stopping dead, frozen onto the pavement, yards away from him. He hadn't moved, his arms stiff by his sides with knuckles white-clenched, oblivious to the freezing water running down his face, soaking him as he watched me watching him.

Waiting.

I dragged the back of my hand across my eyes, clearing them of ice and tears.

“You'll catch your death out here, Matthew…”

He moved then, across the cobbles, and he held me, his face pressed in my hair, and I cried and laughed, feeling his strength against me, not letting him go. And I felt warm again although the water drenched every inch of our bodies.

“I thought I would never see you again,” I whispered into his neck, when I could trust myself to speak without my heart breaking.

“Emma, my Emma,” he said, and he didn't need to say anything else because the contentment in his voice said it all.

“I thought you were angry with me, f… for what I found out. I thought I would never see you again.”

He unwrapped his arms from around me long enough to take my face between his hands, and his eyes echoed my agony. Very gently, he kissed each of mine in turn. His voice became low, and saturated with the emotion he fought to govern.

“There is
nothing
you could do to make me angry with you, Emma. I could no more stay away from you than…” He shook his head and my heart thudded unsteadily as I reached up with my fingers to touch his face, to smooth away the furrow from his brow. Ice clung to his dark lashes, and formed drops like tears on his high cheeks.

“Matthew,” I murmured, “I understand now why you couldn't tell me; I'm so sorry for what I've put you through.”

He opened his eyes and looked down at me.

“What
you
put
me
through? Emma…” He seemed at a loss for words and he raised his face to the sky as if the freezing water would help clarify his thoughts. “After all you have been through… and now that you know… now that you know who I am… I don't understand how you can still be standing here
with me, like this, knowing what you do.”

“I love you – whoever you are.”

“But is that enough? It isn't fair on you; none of this is fair on you. None of it.”

I heard an ominous undertone to his words, and began to shiver uncontrollably. He smiled, but it spoke of regret. “Come, your family are watching and you need to get warm.”

He took me by the hand and started to walk towards the open front door, but I hung back, reluctant to share this moment with anyone else. Understanding my hesitancy, he stopped, draping his coat – already dark-patched and heavy with frozen rain – around my shoulders. I had to know before we went inside.

“Do you forgive me?”

He shook his head. “No, my love, you've done nothing wrong – nothing I didn't deserve. It's more of a question of will you be able to forgive me?”

In answer, I laid my head against his chest, my arms around his waist, pulling myself close to him. “Will you forgive me, Emma?” he said, almost to himself. Above us, the street lamp had been fooled into thinking it was dusk as low cloud compacted and the wind redoubled its efforts, sleet thickening into snow. A car drove past slowly, its headlights on, dancing flakes in the yellow beams of light. Matthew glanced towards the house.

“Let's get you inside before you freeze. Will your family let me in, do you think, or am I
persona non grata
?” And he smiled again – a tired, restrained smile.

 

The light had been switched on but the hall stood empty and quiet once we shut the door on the wind, and I breathed a sigh of relief for the brief respite before we faced the family.

“Before we're interrupted…” Drawing me towards him, he kissed me again. He took my hands in his – warm as mine were cold – and where a smile had touched his eyes, now I saw worry. “You look so pale, my love; how are you?”

I remembered my silent prayer for him in the church and the peace that followed, and understood that now I knew he was all right, I would be too.

“I'm better now.”

“I'm glad…” he started to say, but then his head snapped around as the brass handle of the sitting room door turned and, whatever he had been about to say, he kept to himself. My father appeared in the doorway, his expression giving nothing away. Behind him, sitting on the sofa, the twins sat remarkably still. Beth stood behind them, watchfully, jigging a fractious Archie up and down in her arms.

Dad spoke. “Emma, your mother wants to know if she needs to lay another place at the table.”

I tried to keep my tone even, as if Matthew had been expected all along and just dropped by for a chat.

“Yes please, Dad; Matthew will be staying.”

I took Matthew's hand in mine possessively, and he squeezed it reassuringly. I waited for the challenge, the bullish response, but there was none. My father unexpectedly smiled.

“Right, I'll tell Penny; it'll be good to have another male to talk to.” He addressed Matthew directly. “I don't know if anything I have will fit you, but you are welcome to have a look. Emma, you know where my things are; would you show Dr Lynes, please? Lunch won't be long.”

The door closed behind him. Matthew put a finger under my chin and tipped my open mouth shut.

“There, that wasn't so bad, was it?” he chuckled.

“What did you do to him? That wasn't my father – that
was an… an
alien
,” I stammered, still staring where my father had been a moment before. “Alien,” I repeated, taking in Matthew's features, so familiar to me now, so beloved, that I found it hard to question his existence. “Matthew, what happened? Why are you…?” But my questions were cut short as the door opened again and the blonde curls of my niece appeared. She squealed in surprise as she saw us, and bobbed back behind it, accompanied by a burst of laughter.

“Perhaps now is not the time to discuss your mortality,” I muttered, taking him by the hand and leading him towards the stairs.

 

Few of my father's clothes fitted Matthew's athletic frame, but since he didn't feel the cold and would hardly suffer from hypothermia, he opted to borrow a thick jumper that made it look as if he had made the effort to change. I placed him in front of the fan-heater in my room to dry the rest of him while I changed. He turned his back as I took off my wet clothes, giving me a degree of modesty, and examined my room.

“So this is where you grew up,” he stated.

“Uh huh.” I slid the zip up the auburn panelled skirt and wriggled the waistband around until it sat at the back.

“How long have your family lived here – in this house?”

“I'm decent,” I announced, dragging a boot out from under the bed. He faced me, catching me around my waist; I giggled.

“Decent? Ah well, never mind,” he said with a note of disappointment. “So, how long?”

“Um, about since… 1780-something, I think. It was a much grander house then but they divided it just over a hundred years ago. We have the bigger half but next door has a lovely garden. Shame, really; Mum would have liked
the tennis courts and Dad would have killed to have a proper garden to poddle in. And you won't dry if you don't stand in front of that thing, you know.” I pushed him back until he stood obediently in front of the fan-heater again, and he pulled me with him so the warm stream of air flowed around us both.

“Did you know Stamford – you know… back then, before… well, before…?” Since I was not sure how to continue my line of thought, my question petered out. He rested his chin on the top of my head as I leaned against his chest and breathed in the smell of him – a mix of his fresh, mountainy scent and the wet wool of his clothes.

“Yes, it's changed quite a bit, except for the churches. And the inns. And the river; it was always flooding then.”

“It still does.” Moments passed in which he began rocking me gently. “Matthew?”

“Mmm?”

“I've been to Martinsthorpe, you know. Yes, of course you do – the photo – but what I mean is, I've been there and your house – your home – it's gone. I don't know whether you want to, but I can take you there, if that's… if you would like to see where it was.” He stopped rocking and I looked anxiously up at him.

“Thank you, but it was a very long time ago; I didn't expect it to be there still. I haven't thought about it in a long time.” He resumed the rocking.

I chewed my lip, wondering how far I could go. “Do you remember much about your life then or… or about what happened?”

He stopped again and leaned back a little so that he could see my face clearly.

“You are quite remarkable, Emma D'Eresby. Any woman
– any
body
– in their right mind would have turned tail and run, given what you know of me. But here you are, worried about hurting my
feelings
about something that happened nearly four hundred years ago.” He rubbed his forehead with the knuckle of his thumb. “Emma – I should be dead. You should be worried about
why
I'm not dead. You should be worried about
you
– not me.”

I nodded. “Oh, yes, I know I should and all that, but time is only the passing of moments, Matthew, and that doesn't alter your past or the nature of… of what happened. And it's bound to leave its scars on you, in the same way it has – to a lesser extent, perhaps – on me. Just because it was a long time ago doesn't mean it doesn't matter.”

He took my left hand and extended my arm, pushing the sleeve up a little to reveal the scar. He checked it with a professional eye, kissed it, then rested his cheek on my warm skin.

“I didn't mean
that
sort of scar,” I said, watching the play of light through his hair.

“I know you didn't,” he said, his voice reflective. I stroked his hair and, for a moment, he remained quiet and still under my touch. Then he straightened.

“I should have known better than to take up with a historian. First she discovers who I am and then she has to analyse the data. I suppose you have lots of questions for me?”

“Yes, lots. But if it makes you feel any better, you are still a man of mystery. I said that I know
who
you are, Matthew, but I still don't have a clue about
what
you are.”

“That makes two of us.” He shook his head incredulously. “And yet here you stand.”

“Yes, here I stand,” I agreed.

 

On the way down the stairs, hand in hand, I remembered what had been bothering me since my father asked if Matthew would stay for lunch.

“But you don't eat anything, do you? It's going to look very obvious.”

He didn't appear to be troubled by the prospect.

“I can eat a little, even if I don't need to; it won't kill me. And besides, I've had plenty of time to perfect avoidance tactics.” He glanced out of the corner of his eye. “A bit like you, somewhat.” I nudged him in the ribs before I remembered how hard his body was. He rubbed my elbow better for me.

“It's a good thing that wasn't the other arm; that really
would
have hurt.” He grinned, kissing my frown.

We went into the sitting room, the heavy door's squeaking hinge announcing our arrival. The twins had long since given up being good and were rolling around on the floor between the furniture, seeing how far they could go before they crashed into one another. Mum and Beth had heard us approach through the children's raucous play, and were already sitting in receiving mode, bolt upright and correct. Archie swayed and rocked on Beth's lap. My sister smiled anxiously when she saw us and stood up, pulling her jumper down over her hips in the nervous way she had. Our mother was sitting quite still on her chair, her hands clasped in front of her, her mouth thin like a straw.

“Mum…?” I started to say, but Matthew let go of my hand, stepping forwards and inclining his head as he neared her.

“Ma'am.”

Beth's jaw dropped but Mum assessed him unsmiling, and then me, before smoothing her hands over her tweed skirt as she rose to greet him. The children stopped rolling, and lay still on the floor on their backs, heads bent backwards as they
watched the adults upside down. In the hall, the long-case clock
donged
ominously.

“Dr Lynes, this is quite a surprise. I don't think we expected to see you, but you are… welcome.”

Matthew looked at her steadily. “Thank you, ma'am, I'm glad to be here. I'm grateful for your hospitality.”

There was a pause in which Beth and I exchanged glances, then Mum let her shoulders drop and put out her hand to him, and they declared an unspoken truce. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must help Hugh get the vegetables finished if we are to eat this side of Christmas.”