A Breath of Snow and Ashes - Diana Gabaldon [462]
“I ken it seems . . . strange,” she said, shrugging a little. “And I suppose I ought to have said something, or done something—but I couldna think what. And really”—she raised her eyes to me, helpless—“it didna seem wrong at all. They’re different, aye, but at the same time, they’re sae close to each other . . . well, it’s just as if I was touching the one lad, and talking to him—only he’s got the twa bodies.”
“Twa bodies,” I said, a little bleakly. “Well, yes. There’s just the difficulty, you see, the two bodies part.” I eyed her closely. Despite the history of malaria and her fine-boned build, she had definitely filled out; she had a plump little bosom swelling over the edge of her bodice, and, while she was sitting on it so I couldn’t tell for sure, very likely a bottom to match. The only real wonder was that it had taken her three months to fall pregnant.
As though reading my mind, she said, “I took the seeds, aye? The ones you and Miss Bree take. I had a store put by, from when I was betrothed to Manfred; Miss Bree gave me them. I meant to gather more, but I didna always remember, and—” She shrugged again, putting her hands across her belly.
“Whereupon you proceeded to say nothing,” I observed. “Did your father find out by accident?”
“No, I told him,” she said. “I thought I best had, before I began to show. Jo and Kezzie came with me.”
This explained Mr. Wemyss’s resort to strong drink, all right. Perhaps we should have brought the jug back with us.
“Your poor father,” I said again, but abstractedly. “Had the three of you worked out any sort of plan?”
“Well, no,” she admitted. “I hadna told the lads I was in a family way ’til this morning, either. They seemed taken back a bit,” she added, biting her lip again.
“I daresay.” I glanced outside; it was still raining, but the downpour had slackened momentarily, dimpling the puddles on the path. I rubbed a hand over my face, feeling suddenly rather tired.
“Which one will you choose?” I asked.
She gave me a sudden, startled look, the blood draining from her cheeks.
“You can’t have them both, you know,” I said gently. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“Why?” she said, trying for boldness—but her voice trembled. “It’s no harming anyone. And it’s no one’s business but ours.”
I began to feel the need of a stiff drink myself.
“Hoho,” I said. “Try telling your father that. Or Mr. Fraser. In a big city, perhaps you could get away with it. But here? Everything that happens is everybody’s business, and you know it. Hiram Crombie would stone you for fornication as soon as look at you, if he found out about it.” Without waiting for a reply, I got to my feet.
“Now, then. We’ll go back to the house and see whether they’re both still alive. Mr. Fraser may have taken matters into his own hands, and solved the problem for you.”
THE TWINS WERE STILL ALIVE, but didn’t look as though they were particularly glad of the fact. They sat shoulder to shoulder in the center of Jamie’s study, pressed together as though trying to reunite into a single being.
Their heads jerked toward the door in unison, looks of alarm and concern mingling with joy at seeing Lizzie. I had her by the arm, but when she saw the twins, she pulled loose and hurried to them with a small exclamation, putting an arm about each boy’s neck to draw him to her bosom.
I saw that one of the boys had a fresh black eye, just beginning to puff and swell; I supposed it must be Kezzie, though I didn’t know whether this was Jamie’s notion of fairness, or merely a convenient means of ensuring that he could tell which twin was which while talking to them.
Mr. Wemyss was also alive, though he didn’t look any more pleased about it than the Beardsleys. He was red-eyed, pale, and still slightly green about the gills, but was at least upright and reasonably sober, seated beside Jamie’s table. There was a cup of chicory coffee in front of him—I could smell it—but it seemed