done, but that should Betty reach eighteen with Jacob still not back, well then…
Matthew drained his beer and beckoned for another one. And another, and another. He sat sunk into black gloom and regarded the bustle around him; the lasses that flirted and laughed; the men that panted with expectation.
Mrs Malone herself appeared for an instant, a statuesque woman with the most magnificent red hair Matthew had ever seen, even if Alex had drily informed him that it was dyed – anyone could see that. The madam let her eye rove her small kingdom to ensure her girls were working diligently, and after satisfying herself that all the private rooms were in use, she nodded at her barman and disappeared up the stairs – in all probability to count up her profits.
There was something of a commotion by the door, and Matthew looked up blearily to where a group of men were exclaiming in anger and disgust, glaring at a black stranger. Black? Matthew knuckled his eyes. Aye, black, or at least a deep brown. One man, whom Matthew recognised as Mr Farrell, was waving his arms around in agitation, pointing at the dark man and repeatedly slurring an angry “slave”. And then Mr Farrell wasn’t standing up anymore, but was flying in a neat arc through the air to crash against the counter.
Women shrieked; men screamed and raged. Matthew ducked instinctively when a bottle came flying through the air towards him. The barman was attempting to regain control when Mrs Malone reappeared with a musket. The roar was deafening, and for a split second everyone in the establishment stood frozen to the spot. That was all Mrs Malone needed. Using her musket as a club, she made her way through the crowd until she reached the door where she pointed at the black man and told him to get out – now.
Matthew was impressed. In dishabille, with her hair hanging undone down her back and her heaving bosom very much on display, Mrs Malone looked verily like an Amazon, and the way she wielded her musket only served to further strengthen that opinion. She stood panting by the counter, resting back on her arms in a way that had the gawking men drooling over all that exposed flesh.
“How is he?” she asked, indicating Mr Farrell who lay groaning on the floor.
“The effrontery,” Mr Farrell managed, sitting up with his hairpiece in his hand. “A black man to bear hand on such as me. I’ll see him punished, I will.” He got to his feet, one arm hanging awkwardly by his side. “What say you? An escaped slave is on the loose, and you’ve all seen how wildly he attacked me.” An assenting rumble rose around him.
“I say we go a-hunting!” one man called out, and several men hooted their agreement.
Mrs Malone frowned and murmured something to the barman.
“Before you do,” she interrupted, “let me offer you something to drink – on the house.”
Not only an Amazon, but an Athena as well, Matthew concluded, throwing the madam an admiring look.
Chapter 10
Matthew woke very late next morning with uncomfortably indistinct memories of the remainder of last night. A very pretty lass…Henriette? Caroline? Matthew groaned and hid his face in his pillow. What had he done? His head throbbed, but a careful inspection assured him all of him was whole. He sniffed at his torn shirt and grimaced. He smelled like a bawdy house! Oh God; Alex would flay him alive.
The door opened, and he flinched at the sharp shaft of light.
“Awake?” Ian’s dry voice sounded amused.
“Uhhhh,” Matthew replied, hoping Ian would understand. A hand appeared with a cup of cider and Matthew gulped it down.
“It seems I got you out at the last moment,” Ian went on with an element of reproof. “That wee lass had a good grip on you.”
“I was drunk,” Matthew informed him haughtily. He closed his eyes. “I’m still drunk.”
“I don’t think Mama would care why.”
“Nay.” A quick shudder at the thought of Alex’s reaction flew through Matthew.
He was still
Matthew drained his beer and beckoned for another one. And another, and another. He sat sunk into black gloom and regarded the bustle around him; the lasses that flirted and laughed; the men that panted with expectation.
Mrs Malone herself appeared for an instant, a statuesque woman with the most magnificent red hair Matthew had ever seen, even if Alex had drily informed him that it was dyed – anyone could see that. The madam let her eye rove her small kingdom to ensure her girls were working diligently, and after satisfying herself that all the private rooms were in use, she nodded at her barman and disappeared up the stairs – in all probability to count up her profits.
There was something of a commotion by the door, and Matthew looked up blearily to where a group of men were exclaiming in anger and disgust, glaring at a black stranger. Black? Matthew knuckled his eyes. Aye, black, or at least a deep brown. One man, whom Matthew recognised as Mr Farrell, was waving his arms around in agitation, pointing at the dark man and repeatedly slurring an angry “slave”. And then Mr Farrell wasn’t standing up anymore, but was flying in a neat arc through the air to crash against the counter.
Women shrieked; men screamed and raged. Matthew ducked instinctively when a bottle came flying through the air towards him. The barman was attempting to regain control when Mrs Malone reappeared with a musket. The roar was deafening, and for a split second everyone in the establishment stood frozen to the spot. That was all Mrs Malone needed. Using her musket as a club, she made her way through the crowd until she reached the door where she pointed at the black man and told him to get out – now.
Matthew was impressed. In dishabille, with her hair hanging undone down her back and her heaving bosom very much on display, Mrs Malone looked verily like an Amazon, and the way she wielded her musket only served to further strengthen that opinion. She stood panting by the counter, resting back on her arms in a way that had the gawking men drooling over all that exposed flesh.
“How is he?” she asked, indicating Mr Farrell who lay groaning on the floor.
“The effrontery,” Mr Farrell managed, sitting up with his hairpiece in his hand. “A black man to bear hand on such as me. I’ll see him punished, I will.” He got to his feet, one arm hanging awkwardly by his side. “What say you? An escaped slave is on the loose, and you’ve all seen how wildly he attacked me.” An assenting rumble rose around him.
“I say we go a-hunting!” one man called out, and several men hooted their agreement.
Mrs Malone frowned and murmured something to the barman.
“Before you do,” she interrupted, “let me offer you something to drink – on the house.”
Not only an Amazon, but an Athena as well, Matthew concluded, throwing the madam an admiring look.
Chapter 10
Matthew woke very late next morning with uncomfortably indistinct memories of the remainder of last night. A very pretty lass…Henriette? Caroline? Matthew groaned and hid his face in his pillow. What had he done? His head throbbed, but a careful inspection assured him all of him was whole. He sniffed at his torn shirt and grimaced. He smelled like a bawdy house! Oh God; Alex would flay him alive.
The door opened, and he flinched at the sharp shaft of light.
“Awake?” Ian’s dry voice sounded amused.
“Uhhhh,” Matthew replied, hoping Ian would understand. A hand appeared with a cup of cider and Matthew gulped it down.
“It seems I got you out at the last moment,” Ian went on with an element of reproof. “That wee lass had a good grip on you.”
“I was drunk,” Matthew informed him haughtily. He closed his eyes. “I’m still drunk.”
“I don’t think Mama would care why.”
“Nay.” A quick shudder at the thought of Alex’s reaction flew through Matthew.
He was still
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