'Yet may you need support,' Harris said. 'I will accompany you.' He glanced at his wife. 'There will be no danger, as Mrs Hilton says. But even less if we are sufficiently strong.'
'He's right, Mr Hilton,' Barker agreed. 'I'll come too, if you'll have me.'
'Why, you are more than welcome,' Dick said. 'But I do not see why you should be involved . . .'
Harris grinned at him. 'Man, Mr Hilton, Hilltop is my principal client.'
'Settled, then,' Suzanne said. 'If you'll provide a carriage, my lord, my daughter-in-law and I will change our clothes.'
'And we'll get some weapons,' Harris said.
'Aye.' Barraclough was already at the door. 'I'll turn out my men and ride for Golden Acre.'
'Bless my soul,' said the earl, still sitting at the head of the table. 'Bless my soul. Who'd have thought it, in Jamaica.'
Dick caught up with Cartarette at the door. 'Are you sure you know what you do? I had supposed we had done with fighting.'
She smiled at him, kissed him on the chin. 'You, finish with fighting? Besides, we are not going to fight, Dick. We are going to stop a fight. And we are going to claim our home. I'll not have it burned before I even see it.'
'You'll take no chances.' Barraclough sat on his horse beside the carriage, his troopers waiting at his back. The air was chill, and the first cock had already begun to crow; it had taken an interminable time to prepare the carriage. 'There are half a dozen muskets and an ample supply of powder. And you have your pistols.'
'We'll take care,' Dick agreed.
'Aye, well, supposing the trouble at Golden Acre is less serious than we suppose, or that we manage to put a stop to it soon enough, we'll come over to Hilltop to see how things are progressing.' He leaned from the saddle to look into the interior of the coach. 'God speed you, ladies.'
'He will, Colonel, as our cause is just,' Suzanne said. She was in a state of high excitement, Dick realized. Partly no doubt from being back in Jamaica at all. But equally because she was adventuring, recapturing some of her youth. Cartarette on the other hand was perfectly composed. She had wrapped herself in a pelisse, and wore a bonnet tied tightly under her chin. She had not awakened the children, but merely kissed each one before leaving them in the care of John Mortlake, and the servants at the hotel. As she had said, she would be back tomorrow.
So why did his stomach seem so filled with lead? Because he was not galloping at the head of his dragoons? Because it was so many years since there had been a slave revolt on Jamaica, and he could not help but feel that his court case had precipitated it?
Or because his entire being was out at Hilltop, and not only with Josh. Ellen was out there as well, and Judith Gale. He had no cause to love either of them now, but they were white women, in danger. Perhaps.
Then was he not a fool, and a criminal, to place two more white women in danger? But they would not abandon him now. He would have to use force. Well, he could do that, no doubt. But the truth of the matter was he wanted them to come. He wanted them at his side when he saw Hilltop again, for the first time in sixteen years. And he wanted Suzanne there when he confronted Tony. Because he did not wish to fight his brother? Or because, when it came down to it, he was still afraid of him?
He had not known doubts such as these for sixteen years.
'Ready, Mr Hilton.' Harris was already up on the top of the coach, with Barker.
'Aye, ready.' Dick closed the door. 'I anticipate no trouble, Mama, Cartarette. But should there be, you'll remain close.'
Suzanne stroked her pistol. 'Oh, aye, Dick. My God, I feel a girl again. Indeed I do.'
It occurred to him that she would welcome trouble. He sighed, and climbed on to the box beside Melchior, the Governor's coachman. 'Let's go.'
The whip cracked, and the equipage rolled out of the courtyard. Colonel Barraclough raised his arm, and the troop of cavalry followed. The town remained quiet, and asleep; there were no lights in any of the houses. Although at least one began to glimmer as the cavalcade rumbled up Harbour Street. Whatever Belmore elected to do, Dick realized the news would be widespread by breakfast. But perhaps by then the business would have been settled, one way or the other.
The houses thinned, the road divided. The carriage turned right, along that so well remembered route. The cavalry rode left, for the sea coast and the plantations to the west. Now the darkness was turning to grey. They should be at Hilltop by noon. How memory clouded back. The first time he had ridden this way had been with Josh. Twenty years ago. How excited he had been. How uncertain he had been. And how confused he had been.
Now? He found it difficult to decide on his emotions. His heart pounded pleasantly at the thought of seeing Hilltop again. Remarkably, he felt no elation at having won his court case. He had never supposed he would lose it, even when it had seemed that he would not be able to secure a witness, of any description. Even more remarkably, he once again felt no animosity towards Tony, who had only tried to be a Hilton. Save for Josh. Were Josh harmed . . ., but Tony would not dare harm him.
The sun rose, with West Indian suddenness. Wisps of mist still clung to the hillside, and the grass remained damp. But not for long. The heat became instant, and Cartarette was banging on the roof. 'Will you take breakfast?'
Melchior pulled the horses to a halt, and they got down to stretch their legs. The road had already risen by over a hundred feet; the hills climbed to their right, the land sloped away in thick woods to their left. Kingston had disappeared, although they would see it from time to time as they climbed the hills, he remembered. The morning was quiet, now the drumming of the hooves had ceased.
'My God, how long it seems.' Suzanne also stepped down. 'How long it is.'
Cartarette spread her cloth on the folding table Melchior had erected. Harris was opening the wine. A picnic, on a Jamaican morning.
'We have a pie here,' Cartarette said. 'And some good bread. At least, they say it is good bread.' She sniffed a slice. 'Why cannot the English make bread, Mother?'
'The French make good bread,' Suzanne explained, 'because they lack the potato.'
Dick sipped a glass of wine. Incredible, that perhaps only thirty miles away a plantation was in flames. He saw Cartarette's frown, and hastily smiled.
'You anticipate,' she said. 'Pie, Mr Harris? If it comes to blows you'll do better on a full stomach.'
'Blows, Mistress Hilton?' Harris held out his plate. 'Why, I do not think that will happen.' But then he frowned, and gazed at Dick.
Who slowly lowered his glass. The sound of the conches was unmistakable, eerily wailing through the valleys.
Suzanne was filling her plate, calmly. 'How far away is that noise?'
'I have no idea,' Dick confessed.
‘Not far, sir,' Melchior said. 'Maybe five miles. Is the hills make it echo.'
'Five miles. You'll take some wine, Melchior.'
'That is kind of you, sir.' He held up his glass. 'But what is that?'
They faced the path, listening to the drumming hooves.
'Can't be slaves,' Barker said. 'They'd never ride.'
Dust clouded into the morning air, rising almost like smoke, and the riders pulled their horses back. Three white men, armed and anxious.
'A picnic, by God,' cried their leader.
'James Hardy.' Dick stepped forward right, hand resting on the butt of the pistol in his belt. 'Why have you left the plantation?'
Hardy peered at him, and some of the colour faded from his cheeks. He had filled out with age, but still wore his moustaches, and still neglected to shave with any regularity. 'The monster.'
Dick merely smiled at him. 'I asked you a question.'
'They say the country is in arms,' said one of the men behind.
'There is your reason to stay with the estate, not desert it,' Suzanne said. 'Where is my son?'
'Your son?' Hardy frowned at her. 'Well, well, he spoke of you, to be sure. Your son has gone to Orange Lodge.'
'Orange Lodge?'
'Tony has abandoned Hilltop?' Dick demanded. 'What, stay and fight for a plantation which is no longer his?' Hardy inquired. 'There is no sense.' 'But what of my slaves?'
'I know nothing of them,' Hardy said. 'They have not yet joined the revolt, if that is what you mean. But we held no field conference this morning. They are still in their village so far as I know.'
'My God,' Suzanne said. 'Just to ride away, and leave them ... is that not an invitation to violence?'
Hardy shrugged. 'You must ask your son that, Mrs Hilton.'
'What of the firearm store?' Dick asked.
'We took sufficient for our own defence.'
'And left the rest? Muskets, with powder and ball?'
'We were in haste. It was Mr Hilton's decision. He took our people across to Orange Lodge, where Mr Tresling will defend himself, and sent us into town for the military.'
'The military are already out,' Dick said. 'And we are now on our way to Hilltop. You'll accompany us.'
'Us?' Hardy cried.
'It is your plantation.'
'Are you offering us employment, Mr Hilton?' asked a voice behind.
‘I am giving you a chance to prove that you are worthy of employment,' Dick said.
'Supposing you still have a plantation,' the third man muttered.
'I will have a plantation,' Dick said. 'Whether I have to regain it by force or not.'
'Aye, well, you're welcome to it,' Hardy said. 'I'm for town to raise the populace. You hear those conch shells? Any white man . . .' he peered into the carriage, 'or white woman, who goes abroad with those black devils on the rampage is looking for trouble. As for riding with them . . .' his gaze settled on Harris and Barker.
'You'd best be off then,' Dick recommended. 'Melchior, pack up these things; we'll be moving along. But before you go, Hardy, tell me this. Where is the Reverend Strong confined?'
'The Reverend Strong?' Hardy demanded. 'You mean the runaway, Josh Merriman.'
'His name is immaterial,' Dick said. 'He is known as the Reverend Strong to these people. If they are revolting, it is because they suppose their minister imprisoned and abused.'
'Oh, aye,' Hardy said. 'They are revolting on his behalf all right. No doubt about that. Thus we have treated him as the first of their ringleaders to fall into our hands.'
There was a moment's silence. In the distance the conch shells continued to wail.
'You have done what?' Dick asked at last.
'The punishment for revolt is death, as you well know, Mr Hilton,' Hardy declared, and grinned at him. 'So before we left the plantation we strung the devil up.'
Dick's brain seemed to explode. He stepped forward, seized the little man by the thigh and shoulder, and swung him from the saddle.
'Aaaagh,' Hardy screamed. 'Help me!'
The two bookkeepers made a concerted move to dismount, and were brought up by the levelled muskets of Barker and Harris.
'You hanged him?' Dick shook Hardy as a dog might shake a rat.
'Let me go,' bawled the manager. 'Let me go.'
'Dick,' Suzanne said. 'Do not harm him.'
'Harm him? I'll break his neck.'
'Aaagh,' Hardy screamed. 'Help me.'
'Dick.' Cartarette's voice was imperative. 'That will not help. You stupid man,' she said. 'Do you not realize the blacks are in arms simply because their minister was arrested?'
Dick slowly undamped his fingers; Hardy slipped down his legs to kneel on the ground, fingering his throat and gasping for breath.
'As for what will happen now,' Suzanne said.
Hardy regained his feet, backing away from Dick. 'Now?' he snarled. 'We'll hang the lot of them. Everyone with a black skin and weapons in his hands. Aye . . .' He flung out his hand, the finger pointing. 'You two as well.' He vaulted into his saddle. 'And those who would give them arms.' He kicked his horse, sent it careering along the road. His companions hesitated but a moment, then chased behind him.
'There is no sanity,' Harris said. 'When it comes to blows.'
Dick looked down on his hands. Then slapped them together. 'We'd best hurry.'
'Where?' Suzanne asked.
'I came out to repossess my plantation, as well as regain Josh's freedom. I have failed in the one. I'll not fail in the other.'
'Three men?' she looked at Melchior.
'And two women,' Cartarette said, softly.
'You'll go back,' Dick decided. 'The moment we reach the plantation. Melchior will drive you back.'
'I thank you very much, sir,' she said. 'I also came to see my new home. I suspect I will be safer there than on the road. Mother?'
Suzanne hesitated. Dick wondered how far the years were rolling away to allow memory to come creeping in. All the way to St Domingue, in August 1791?
'I think your wife is right, Dick,' she said. 'We are best together.' She smiled at him. 'And I also came to look at Hilltop once again.'
'Then let's get there.' He bundled the breakfast things together, while Melchior folded the table, and Barker helped the ladies back into the coach. 'Keep your weapons primed, I beg of you,' he said, and climbed on to the box. The whip cracked, the coach rumbled forwards into the valleys, creeping ever upwards into the mountains, accompanied now by the sun, bringing sweat to their cheeks, scorching the last drop of moisture from the trees and bushes. There was no cloud in the sky, as yet; there would be later, for the daily shower of rain, And there was no sound either, above the rumbling of the wheels. The conch shells had ceased, for the moment.
He checked his pistols, from sheer restlessness. What did he intend? What could he intend? Hilltop was built to withstand a siege. No doubt about that. But only if adequately defended. And in any event, what would he find, on a plantation abandoned by its white population for several hours?
The horses wheezed their way upwards, slowly, topped the last rise. The sun played full down on the valley, gleaming on the rich green cane stalks, on the village and the factory, on the house. There had been no destruction as yet.
Suzanne and Cartarette were leaning out of the windows. 'But it is beautiful,' Cartarette said. 'So big.'
'Do you see anyone, Dick?' Suzanne asked.
He levelled his telescope. 'Aye.' There were people milling about the slave village. Not yet decided what to do? What to destroy? And there were hideous, bald-headed carrion crows circling before the Great House. 'Make haste, Melchior. Make haste. Ride for the house.'
The whip cracked again, the coach careered down the slope. Within seconds they were in the fields, hidden from view, as a coach, but no doubt signifying their presence far and wide by the dust rising from their wheels. Dick looked round at Barker and Harris, and the lawyers crammed their tall hats the more firmly on their heads and grinned at him. They were mulattoes. But their white blood had earned them nothing but enmity from the planters. So then, why did they risk their lives?
Or was it for Jamaica?
The town came in sight, and beyond it the slave village. And the people there had seen them, had coagulated into a mass in front of the gate, staring, chattering, waving their arms.
'You want me to stop, Mr Hilton?' Melchior asked.
Dick shook his head. 'Make the house.'
They charged up the slope, pulled to a rest before the front steps. The crows gave resentful squawks and fluttered to a safe distance. The doors swung open, the house looked undamaged. But from the central beam over the steps there hung the body of Josh Merriman.
'Oh, God,' Cartarette said. 'Oh, God.'
Dick climbed down. 'Help me,' he said.
Barker and Harris joined him on the verandah. Dick climbed on the rail to cut the rope, and the two mulattoes caught the black man as he fell. He had been dead for about twelve hours, and the sun was noon high. Every wave of the hand scattered a swarm of flies.
'There'll be spades in the stables, Mr Barker,' Dick said. 'Mama, you and Cartarette go inside.'
'We can fight, Dick.'
'And you may have to. But inside. Those peopl
e will not have firearms. Melchior, Mr Harris, you'll help me barricade . . .' He paused in surprise as Boscawen came out of the house, fully dressed, even to his wig. 'Mr Boscawen? What has happened here?'
But Boscawen was staring at him in turn.
Dick shook him by the shoulder. 'I am Richard Hilton, old man. Remember me?'
'Mr Dick?' Boscawen peered up at him. 'Ow, me Gawd. Mr Dick? They did say you is all mark up.'
'Aye, but it is me. And this is your new mistress.'
Boscawen fell to his knees. 'You got for forgive me, master. You got for forgive me.'
'For working for my brother? Oh, aye, get up, man, and tell me what has happened here.'
Barker was back with a spade. 'You'll help me, Johnny,' he said.
He and Harris lifted Josh's body down the steps.
'Man, Mr Dick,' Boscawen said, rolling his eyes. 'It is bad.'
'Tell me.'
'Well, sir, Mr Tony, he came riding out here with he friends, and they quarrelling, quarrelling, and they seizing Mr Strong there and hanging he, while the mistress did be looking on, and you knowing what, Mr Dick, sir, she spit on he while he hoisting up.'
'And what were our people doing this time?'
'They standing and staring, because them bookkeeper all armed with musket and pistol and thing, and then the master ... oh, begging your pardon, Mr Dick, is Mr Tony I speaking about, he tell them get the hell out of there and they gone back down to the village, and the master and he people they saddle all the horse and ride out.'
'For Orange Lodge?'
'Well, I hear them saying that. I hear them saying they ain't staying to defend no place what ain't theirs.' 'How long ago?'
Boscawen rolled his eyes. 'Before daylight.'
'And what have our people done since?'
'Well, sir, Mr Dick, they ain't knowing what for do. They come up here one time, and I tell them go, go, and they gone. One or two gone break in the rum store, and they singing, like, and one or two gone up north, I thinking. But most just talking. And look there.'
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