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“Sir,” Gabriel says, as gently as he knows how. “Give me the rifle, sir. Please.”
Boldwood’s hands are trembling, but his aim is true, and the sergeant is in his line of sight. Troy has let go of Miss Everdene at least, and is hunched on the ground, breathing hard.
If he moves - if he says a word - Mr Boldwood will kill him. Of that, Gabriel is sure. He doesn’t care about the soldier. No mourned him the first time, not even his wife. But Mr Boldwood’s life is worth more than Troy’s, and Gabriel will not see it wasted for the bastard’s sake.
Mr Boldwood is too good to have this blood on his hands.
“Please, sir.” Gabriel takes a step closer, close enough to reach out, close enough to touch. He touched Mr Boldwood just earlier today, was allowed to lay his hands on him, helping him to tie his cravat. He doesn’t think his touch will be unwelcome now.
Then there is another movement near his feet, and he sees Miss Everdene shifting to her knees. Her dress is dirtied from where Troy had dragged her down, and Gabriel feels a pang of - rage? Rage. He’d kill him himself, if it would give Miss Everdene and Mr Boldwood peace.
But she at least seems to know what Gabriel is trying to do. Her eye meets his as she rises, and after it all, she is the first to touch Mr Boldwood after all.
“Mr Boldwood - William,” she says softly, her hand on his arm. “Give Gabriel the rifle. I am quite safe.”
Boldwood’s face twitches, just a slight furrow of his brow, his dark eyes that seemed so foreign just a moment before looking more familiar now. As they dart down to look at her hand, she nods, and Gabriel takes his cue. He reaches out and simply takes the gun, and Mr Boldwood seems to go limp as all of the tension leaves his body, and he appears for a moment that he might simply sink to his knees.
A farmer’s son he may be, but Gabriel could not imagine him ever killing a thing in anger, let alone a man.
Even one like Troy.
As Miss Everdene half props Mr Boldwood up, Gabriel empties the cartridges and nudges Troy with his foot.
“Get out,” he says, as the soldier stumbles to his feet. “Do not return here.”
Troy is drunk, so drunk that perhaps he should not be entrusted with his own safety, but Gabriel has no wish to show him any kindness beyond saving his life.
He watches him off the grounds, then turns to him companions. Someone - probably Mr Boldwood’s faithful manservant - has seen the rest of the guests back inside, so the three of them are alone.
Mr Boldwood stands alone now, shoulders hunched, gazing at the ground with unnatural determination. He’s ashamed, and Gabriel does not blame him. It was such a show of emotion for the man who usually kept himself tightly underwraps.
“Will you see him to bed, Gabriel?” Miss Everdene asks softly, coming to his side. She has a delicate smudge of dirt upon her face, fingerprints smeared upon the light sleeve of her blouse. Gabriel swallows down his anger at the sight, tries not to imagine the bruises that even now might be blooming upon her pale skin.
“I will see him inside,” Gabriel says. “Then I will be taking you home.”
She nods, absently reaches up to straighten her hat. “At least make sure you put him to Turner’s hands. Please.”
They turn as one to see what Mr Boldwood has to say, but he is silent. Gabriel can see he is shaking now, recognises the shock as it sets in. Miss Everdene looks at Boldwood with a maternal eye, takes a step as though she would rather be the one to go to him. It is the first time Gabriel has ever seen her look at Mr Boldwood with anything but a slight apprehension.
“Mr Boldwood,” she says, as one would speak to a frightened horse. “I thank you for protecting me. It was very honourably done on your part.”
He nods, absent, but at least he looks up for a brief moment to meet her eye. His throat works as though he will speak, and then he gives up on the endeavour.
“I will visit you,” Miss Everdene says, as Gabriel gently takes him by the shoulder and turns him towards the house. He walks to the servant entrance, sure there will be less scrutiny there. Mr Boldwood does not argue, just allows himself to be led. He’s still shaking beneath Gabriel’s hand, and as Turner opens the door, Boldwood presses a hand to his eyes as though the spilling light hurts him.
“Thank you, Oak,” Turner says, a faithful man to the core. “Come, sir. I’ve put on the water for a bath.”
Gabriel relinquishes his hand, as Boldwood steps inside, but their eyes meet and there’s a flicker in Boldwood’s dark gaze that he’s only ever seen across a long kitchen table.
His hand burns where it clasped Mr Boldwood’s shoulder.
Then he sees Miss Everdene home, tries to ignore the weight of her hand on his arm, and delivers her safely to Liddy’s care.
Then he spends the night roaming, searching, until he finds Troy stumbling about the forest, cursing any person he can think of to blame for his bad luck. And although Gabriel wishes he could kill the bastard, he only watches.
But he also doesn’t stop him when the man decides once again to swim in the tumultuous sea, and he doesn’t dive in to save him when he is swept again the rocks by a mighty wave.
But he does watch, and as the dawn seeps slowly into the bay, he wades out and pulls the body up on the beach, dumps him clear of the waves.
This time there can be no doubt. He does not think Miss Everdene or Mr Boldwood could survive any doubt.
**
Someone else finds the sergeant’s body on the beach, and the news has reached the farm by the morning.
Of course there are questions. A great many people saw Mr Boldwood with the gun after all. But the sergeant did not die by a gunshot, and Turner swears that Mr Boldwood didn’t leave his rooms after Gabriel had delivered him to the door.
It is days before Christmas, and the magistrate does not want the work. He declares the death an accident and that is the end of it. Gabriel does his part to put an end to the gossip, and by Boxing Day, Troy has been forgotten.
**
It was New Year before anyone saw Mr Boldwood again. Not through lack of effort on Gabriel’s part - he had been to the kitchen door several times to enquire after the man’s health, both on Miss Everdene’s part and on his own. He’d been turned gently away by the housekeeper, on Turner’s word, that Mr Boldwood would come to find Gabriel and Miss Everdene when he was ready, and not a moment before.
Gabriel had left the house shaken. Miss Everdene was desperate for news of his health, and Gabriel himself was longing to see Mr Boldwood, although he dare not investigate why. He only knew some feeling had been aroused deep inside his gut at the thought that Mr Boldwood could have been taken from that night, if he had done the deed he intended, and they might never see him again, or see him hanged for murder. The good and gentle man, who had not so long ago almost wept before Gabriel at the news of Miss Everdene’s marriage. The good and gentle man who had allowed Gabriel to lay his farmer’s hands on him, the night of the party.
Gabriel did not want to think about how the idea of losing Mr Boldwood had hurt almost as badly as losing Miss Everdene had.
But Miss Everdene needed him now, more than ever. The farm was in a sorry state, and he’d do all he could to help her save it from Sergeant Troy’s damage. He could put aside thoughts of Mr Boldwood and his dark eyes when Miss Everdene was looking at him, clasping his arm, asking for his help.
When she brushed a kiss against his cheek on New Year’s Eve, as the clock turned, and he thought that he saw something in her eyes that might be for him.
If he lay awake at night thinking on them both - well that was for him alone to know.
On the day that everything changed, Gabriel was with Miss Everdene. They were in her kitchen, heads together over some sums when there came a gentle knocking upon the door.
Liddy, who bustled around the kitchen as they worked, went to open it and exclaimed, “Oh Mr Boldwood, sir! Do come in.”
At the name, Miss Everdene’s head shot up. She looked at Gabriel, looked down at where their hands were lying carefully side by side on the table, and moved hers away. Gabriel was not offended. The last thing he wished to do was cause Mr Boldwood any distress.
The man came through the door at Liddy’s heels, eyes downcast as was his wont when he walked. It was such a relief to see him that Gabriel got to his feet and was halfway towards him before he realised that his advance may well be unwelcome. He did not imagine Mr Boldwood was proud of what happened the last time the three of them had been together, and he might wish to put some distance between it all.
“Sir,” he said softly. “It is very good to see you.”
“Thank you, Gabriel. I owe you thanks, which I’ll give you now. You prevented me from behaving very foolishly. Although I do fear I made a fool of myself nonetheless.”
As he spoke, Boldwood’s eyes flickered to Miss Everdene who had stayed at the table, before they settled on Gabriel’s face. Gabriel was relieved to see none of the sadness there that he’d seen before, only a kind of resignation that was also unwelcome. When Mr Boldwood’s eyes went back to Miss Everdene, Gabriel understood it.
Mr Boldwood believed he had lost out again, to another rival.
“It was nothing, sir. You have been very good to me, and anything I did - I did in friendship. I hope you know that.”
Boldwood’s face twitched and he held out his hand. Gabriel took it, and they shook solemnly. As they parted, Boldwood curled his fingers tightly towards his palm, a gesture Gabriel only noticed because he had done it himself.
“Mr Boldwood,” Miss Everdene said, getting finally to her feet once their business seemed to be over. “I must thank you once again for your heroism on that night. I wouldn’t call it foolish at all.”
She did not seem so concerned about filling his space as Gabriel did, and stepped close enough that Gabriel saw Mr Boldwood take a steadying breath.
“You are very kind,” Mr Boldwood said tightly, his hands clasped behind his back as though he didn’t trust them. “Too kind. I do not know what came over me to behave in such a way.”
Remembering the tears in his eyes on the news of the marriage, Gabriel knew precisely what had come over him. So did Miss Everdene, who put a hand on Mr Boldwood’s shoulder as she had done that night, and did not let go even as he flinched.
“Join us for dinner, Mr Boldwood,” she said, waving her spare hand at Gabriel. “We will be discussing the farm, and you would be very welcome. I am imagining - a much closer relationship for the three of us.”
At her words, Gabriel felt as though a low fire, that had long been banked, was burning anew in his gut.
**
Liddy prepared the dinner and then went to the tavern for the evening, so Miss Everdene served it herself.
Gabriel had considered wearing his best clothes for the occasion, but in the end just settled for a clean shirt after a warm bath. He was only the manager of both their farms, and they did not expect him to put on a show. They might not - he suspected - even want him to.
Mr Boldwood, who’d fled the kitchen after Miss Everdene’s insistent invitation, seemed a little calmer now, as though he’d needed his nerves to settle. His beard and hair had been trimmed since the morning, and he wore a fine red blue cravat that Gabriel had never seen before. He looked very well in it.
And Miss Everdene, who looked well in anything she chose, wore a pretty floral dress with heather woven into a band she wore upon her head. She was beautiful.
The dinner was simple but delicious - cuts of beef and potatoes, vegetables, and a fruit pie. Gabriel had been afraid that the talk would not come easily to the three of them, such private and reserved people as they were, but Miss Everdene had provided some wine and even Mr Boldwood was soon talking more freely.
It was very pleasant, to sit at table with the two people he loved best in the world, and give his treacherous heart its fill.
The wine was very pleasant, stronger than Gabriel was used to, and he felt the warmth of it settle in his chest as the evening lingered on. Miss Everdene laughed freely, and although Mr Boldwood looked between her and Gabriel as though he were trying to find the answer to a question, he still smiled more than he had in months, and agreed to join them in the sitting room.
The room was small, and Gabriel waited to see where Miss Everdene would sit before he chose a spot. She opted for the armchair by the fire, so he sat down on the sofa beside Mr Boldwood. Whether it was the wine that made them both loose-limbed or something else, he couldn’t be sure, but when Mr Boldwood’s knee pressed against his, Gabriel did not move his own leg away.
“Now, gentlemen, there is one last order of business I must discuss. It is more important than any other, but I intend you both to leave once I have announced it, so you can have some time to think on it alone.”
Her voice was light, but she was not in jest. Her knuckles were white around the wineglass that she held, and as she paused there settled an anticipation over the room that had not been there before.
“There is no simple way to say this. Mr Boldwood - William - I have treated you most ill, and you have been nothing but patient and kind, even when I did not deserve it. So I wish for you to know that I will marry you. I accept your proposal.”
Mr Boldwood quaked. Gabriel felt it through the places where their bodies touched, knees and elbows, and Boldwood shook his head, lost for words.
Gabriel felt a bile rising up his throat. So this was it. This was how he was to lose them both. At least he might still be their manager, if they desired it.
“But William,” she said softly. “You must understand something before you accept me.”
“Anything,” Boldwood said, his whisper strangled. “Anything you ask.”
“I do not yet love you. I believe I will, in time. I’m sure of it. But there is a man in this room whom I do love, and I have treated him just as ill.”
Gabriel jerked his head up, the air in the room too thin to breathe.
“If I am to marry you, you must understand that the freedom you promised me includes Gabriel. I do not ask you to play the cuckold. I ask you to go into this agreement with your eyes open. I will have love enough for you both in my heart.”
One year later.
The winter mornings had always sat very badly with Bathsheba, who loved nothing more than the bright dawns and the hot days of summer.
Waking, however, on a cold December morning resting in the warm arms of her husband was quite another experience, and one that she did not mind half so much. Turning carefully in his grasp, she reached up and brushed the hair back from William’s forehead. He was still asleep, or at least pretending to be. His breath was warm on her face and she brushed a featherlight kiss against his bearded cheek. His mouth quirked helplessly in a smile. He was awake then, but if he wished to maintain the illusion she would disturb him no more.
At the sound of her movement, the bed shifted and Gabriel’s tousled head appeared over William’s shoulder. He was much more of an early riser than William, even now that he did not particularly have to be. His large hand squeezed William’s shoulder as he bent his neck and met Bathsheba’s lips in a kiss.
“I’ll be leaving,” he murmured. “I’m to meet Andrew at the cowshed. We have to make decisions on the repairs.”
“Of course,” Bathsheba said. “I remember.”
He slid from the bed and donned his shirt and trousers, so quickly abandoned the night before in the mad dash between cold hallway and warm bed. Bathsheba watched him covetously. In the half light, his broad shoulders and strong forearms stood out in stark relief, and he smiled to see her eyeing him so.
Before he left, he rounded the bed and kissed her forehead, his hand trailing through her hair. Before he could right himself, William’s hand shot up and grasped at his shirt front. Gabriel chuckled and leaned over further, pressing a matching kiss to William’s forehead.
Then he was gone into the grey morning, before he could be found in the marriage bed of Mr and Mrs William Boldwood.
“Good morning, dear William,” Bathsheba said, meeting the warm eye of her husband.
“Good morning, my darling. I believe Oak and Andrews are discussing the repairs on the cowsheds this morning. I think I will walk out to see what they have to say.
“What an excellent idea,” she grinned. “I’m sure Gabriel will be glad of your opinion.”
William slipped from the bed and went to ring for Turner, reaching for the robe he kept on the back of the door. Bathsheba rolled into the warm space that he had left behind, peeping over the top of the blankets that she pulled up high around her bare shoulders. They were made of such different things, her William and her Gabriel. Gabriel was sinewy and muscular, tall and dusted with blond hair all over. When he was happy, he smiled often, and knew how to laugh. He could lift her tumultuous spirits with a well-placed word, could calm William’s nervous moods with a gentle hand. Their strength he was, dear Gabriel.
William was smaller, broader, but strong, covered with dark hair. It was difficult to get him to smile and even harder to make him laugh, but he’d been improving at both the year past. He thought faster than she and Gabriel both but spoke slower, tempered them, and he approached their arrangement with nothing less than his whole, devoted self.
Bathsheba loved them both.
And they - remarkably - loved one another.
How lucky she was.
**
Christmas Day was a wholly different affair in the year after his marriage.
William did not remember what had happened the night that the soldier appeared, at least not in its entirety. He did remember taking up the old shotgun, storming out into the snow. Then there was nothing, nothing until Gabriel took him by the arm and led him to the house. That had been heat, red hot heat, that he had not wished to end, and then he was waking the next morning to Turner telling him the story.
God, he had been so humiliated. He’d hidden away through Christmas, through the New Year and wondered if he might be better off hiding away forever.
And then - far from being the end, it had in fact been a beginning.
They walked to church on Christmas Eve together, Bathsheba holding tightly to his arm as they slipped and slid their way over the frozen snow. Gabriel loped beside them, his long legs making light work of the walk. Before they rounded the corner, and came upon the rest of the congregation, Bathsheba reached out and squeezed Gabriel’s hand. And in the church, Bathsheba held onto William’s hand through the prayers and hymns, whilst Gabriel sat on his other side, their knees touching, as they had done the fateful night Bathsheba gave them her judgement.
Once they were away from the church, in the crisp cold early hours of Christmas morning, the walk to the farm was a quiet one. Bathsheba was in high spirits, and walked arm in arm between them, lifting her feet from the ground.
“It would be very much easier for me if I didn’t have to walk,” she reasoned, her voice full of laughter. “We would all make it home so much more quickly.”
“I feel as though we are being used,” William said.
“I am sure of if,” Gabriel agreed, then came to a sudden halt. Bathsheba stumbled, almost taking William down with her, then Gabriel swept her into his arms. “Perhaps this is more to your liking, madame?”
Bathsheba shrieked with laughter, and William smiled. Where once he had felt so old - so very old, so very alone - they made him feel young again.
He was so very lucky.
Back in the safety of Bathsheba’s bed chamber, with the door locked behind them, William found he was the target of their affections. Between them, they stripped him of his clothes, working together to remove jacket, waistcoat, cravat. Gabriel unbuttoned his shirt for him, leaning down to press kisses to his sternum, his neck, under his ear. Bathsheba held him from behind, stroked her hands over his ribs, dipped down to unfasten his trousers.
Their touches were like fire and he burned for them, their kisses like cool water that quenched the thirst he’d never been able to quench.
“I love you,” he gasped, as they laid him down on the bed, their hands on his body. “The both of you.”
He blushed at his uncouth words, but Bathsheba kissed him, her fingers in his hair and his beard, and Gabriel wrapped himself around him, and William marvelled, before he was overwhelmed entirely, at the difference a year could make.