Descent - 11/16
Galway, 1752
Elizabeth heard the knock just as she was about to start plucking. Tucking the limp bird back in her pantry, she wiped her fingers on her apron and hurried to see who was calling.
It wasn't anyone she'd expected.
"They'll see you."
"You'd better let me in then."
She looked up and down the leafy lane. There seemed to be no-one there, but you could never tell who was watching. Where she was concerned, the gossips were anything but idle.
"Not a chance."
"You want me to state my business right here, on the doorstep? Lizzie, I've come a long way. Just let me in for a minute, that's all I ask."
Before she could compose an answer, a telltale creaking, grinding sound filled the air.
He smiled triumphantly. "Sounds like a cart coming to me."
Taking the lesser of two evils, she stood back to let him into the hallway and pushed the door closed. A carriage, one she didn't recognise, swooped past the little cottage, setting off an ecstasy of squawking among the fowl.
"Seems like a noisy place to live, here amongst the chickens."
"There's nothing wrong with it." She jumped down his throat, and then stopped, realising that Liam would interpret her eagerness as evidence of unhappiness. And she was happy, very happy. Quite determined to be happy. She made to go past him, but he stood in her way and the passage was too narrow to allow her to go round without squeezing past him, which was, no doubt, his intention.
"Nothing wrong with it? No, I suppose not. If you like being buried alive. I always thought you had a bit more spirit than this, Liz."
Anger flashed up in her breast. "Is that why you've come? To tell me I'm lacking in spirit these days? Well, consider it done, and now I'd be glad if you'd move your useless carcass out of my house and let me get on. I'm busy."
She strode the few steps to where he stood and he smiled and turned sideways to let her pass. Just as she levelled with him he caught her arms and pushed her against the wall. The force knocked a gasp out of her, but she wasn't too winded that she couldn't slap his stupid face for him. While she had a breath in her body, she'd always have enough spirit for that.
Of course, it always hurt her hand more than it hurt his face, but it was a price worth paying.
His cheek flashed white with the force of it, but he scarcely seemed to care, and as the mark left by her fingers blushed steadily redder, he caught her by the waist and the back of her neck and forced his mouth on her, ignoring her struggles and curses, and refusing to let up until she stopped pushing him away, drove her fingers through his hair and met his tongue with her own. It was wrong, but she was only flesh and blood, and since she told her new husband the good news he hadn't touched her, not like this (he never touched her like this) and not in any other way. The poor man didn't think it was right "when she was poorly", and nothing she said would change his mind. She was close to being a bloody nun, and Liam was still Liam when it came to this kind of thing, even if he was useless in every other respect.
He broke away and put his hand on her black hair, finding the end of the ribbon and pulling it out, as he whispered. "That's my girl. I know what you need. Now, where's the bed in this hovel?"
"Upstairs."
He didn't pick her up and carry her as other men might have, but waited until she took his hand and led him there of her own accord. With Liam, you were always the mistress of your own sin.
Afterwards, she rose and dressed immediately. He tried to keep her down but she shook his hands off. It was hard enough, without engaging in the usual lovey-dovey foolishness. She turned her back towards him, and kept her clothing loose.
"Lizzie, look at me."
"Why? Has there been a great improvement in the last two minutes?"
"You know why."
"No, I don't. And my husband will be home for his supper within the hour, so I'd make your explanation quick if you don't want to meet the rough end of his temper."
She heard him rising and assumed he would dress and go, but instead he came behind her and put his warm hands on the swell of her stomach.
"I can feel it you know. The child. When we make love I can tell. There's an extra heartbeat."
She grit her teeth. "No there isn't. Don't talk nonsense."
He spoke lowly but clearly into the back of her neck, "Lizzie, come away. You can't do this, not to him, not to me, and surely to God, not to yourself. You don't love him. Didn't... didn't we just prove that?"
Despite herself, she felt tears stinging the back of her eyes.
"Come away. We'll go some place together. You, me and the little one. I'll find work... or something. I've a premonition about the child, Liz, a feeling that having family is going to be my salvation one day."
Sweet Jesus. How did he always manage to do this? She was actually thinking of saying "Yes", despite everything she knew, and had long known, about him, his way of life, his weaknesses.
But in her heart of hearts, she knew it was no use. He used to be the sun and the moon to her, but now he was not good enough. Not for her and certainly not for her child. Out of the bitterness of that knowledge, the certainty that life with him would be wonderful and squalid, sweet and short, euphoric and damning, was born the biggest lie of her life.
"It's not our child."
"What?"
"I lost it just after the wedding. This is a new baby. His and mine."
She forced herself not to turn round, knowing her face would give her away. When the door slammed, she straightened the bedclothes and returned to the kitchen, leaving the tears to dry on her face where they lay. All evening, the warm imprint of his hands on her skin remained, and the baby was restless inside her.
Los Angeles, 2001
Cordelia watched Kate and Angel scramble to their feet and tuck in their clothing. After the initial flurry of activity, an awkward silence grew between them.
Angel rubbed his face and looked troubled. Cordelia had a face like thunder. Kate frowned and glanced from Angel to Cordy and back again, waiting for one of them to speak.
Eventually, she gave up. "Is there something wrong?"
"You left the door open."
"No, I mean, we were going to meet downtown."
Cordy gave Angel one more hard stare and turned to answer Kate. "We don't need to go back. I've found him." She tossed a single a4 sheet onto the dining table with the other papers. It was a typewritten, containing a name and several addresses, and had a small, passport-sized photograph attached.
Angel seized on it.
"His name's Paul Kinsey. He's American."
Kate smiled at Cordy. "Good work, detective."
Cordy was slow to smile back. "Wesley and Gunn are on their way. We thought we could start by visiting those addresses."
"God, most of them are in LA..."
"Angel, perhaps you shouldn't get your hopes up." Kate cautioned. "We don't know that much yet, and..."
Cordy interrupted, "There was a lot of correspondence on the files, but it was all one way. Lots of letters from Familiarity. Nothing from him. I don't think they've found him yet."
Angel's hands shook as he studied the photograph. "He's alive. I know he is."
Kate conceded, "Maybe..."
Suddenly, a loud banging at the door startled them all. Kate waved Angel and Cordelia onto the kitchen and went to look through the peephole. Gunn and Wesley stood in the hall, smiles wide enough to take a hot-dog sideways plastered all over their faces.
"I take it you heard the news then?"
Wesley rushed in, brandishing an envelope.
"About Paul? Yes, but it's so much better than that."
Their happiness was infectious. Kate laughed as Gunn hugged her. "What's happened?"
"After Cordy called we got some post. A letter. Postmarked yesterday. It's from him."
