They glanced at each other, and shook their heads.
'You.' Kit pointed at one of the men. 'Tell me where he is.'
'In town, Captain Hilton.' 'There are two others. Lowan and Marks.' 'In town, Captain. They have not returned.' 'But you were there too,' Kit said. 'Or how do you know to flee?'
The man licked his lips, looked from side to side. 'They sent me, Captain. These people, they are innocent of any harm.'
'Innocent,' Kit spat at them.
Dag touched him on the arm. 'Some of them, at the least, Kit.'
'Did you come here to restrain me, or to aid me, Dag?' 'I'd do both, Kit.'
Kit heard the breath whistling through his own nostrils. 'Then begone,' he told them. 'Let me see your faces again, and by God I'll have his blood.' His gaze scorched at them. 'Or hers.'
He pulled his horse round, cantered down to the slave compound. The blacks were also gathered before their houses. watching. Just watching. What strange people they were, to be sure. How patient, how resigned to their fate. He recalled Tom Warner's words as they had walked through the forests of Dominica, and wondered if the cacique had been right, after all, and there were no more warlike people than the white man.
Someone shouted, 'Is the Captin.'
The cry was taken up, and now at last they moved, surging to the gate of the compound, but not venturing beyond. 'The Captin,' they shouted.
Maurice Peter came through the gateway as Kit and Dag reined their horses. 'Captin, suh,' he said. 'But we is glad to see you.'
'Why is there no one at work?' Kit demanded.
'Well, Captin, Mr Hodge he say to stay in the compound until he come for we. He say so two days now, Captin. And he ain't come.'
'And you have remained here?' Kit asked.
'They arc good people,' Dag said. 'They would be better, had they but the opportunity.'
'And where is the mistress?' Kit asked.
'Why, Captin, she must be in the house. Is a fact we ain't see she too much. We ain't see she, why, it must be one month. Is Mr Hodge does manage the estate.'
'Aye,' Kit said. 'Fetch four men, Maurice Peter, and launch the boat. Make haste now.'
Maurice Peter stared at him. 'The boat? But there ain't nobody sick, Captin.'
'Just do as I say.' Kit dismounted, led Dag down the twisting path beyond the slave compound to the beach. After a moment's argument amongst themselves, Maurice Peter followed with four men. Below them the water sparkled blue in the midday sun, and moved with a slow swell between the island and the shore. And on the island itself the green trees, densely packed and hugged yet closer by the snarled undergrowth, looked empty of life, save for the always tell-tale wisp of smoke arising from the seaward side.
The pirogue rested on the sand; the paddles lay in the bottom. Maurice Peter waited at the water's edge. 'But who we carrying across, Captin?'
'Launch the boat.' Kit helped them push the heavy bark down the beach and into the gentle waves, led them over the stern, Dag behind him. Maurice Peter took the steering oar, and the other Negroes handled the paddles. Kit waited in the bow.
Of what did he think, as the island loomed larger? He could not think at all. He dared not think at all. There were too many emotions screaming at his consciousness, demanding to be loosed, demanding to be expiated in a long burst of fury.
The water turned green, and they could see the white sand only a few feet beneath them. The slaves stopped paddling, and the boat slid to a stop.
'Give way,' Kit said. 'We will have to land.'
'Land there, Captin?' Maurice Peter's voice was high with fear.
'Land me, at least, old man,' Kit said. 'But Captin ...'
'Wait,' Dag said. 'There are people.'
They waited amidst the trees, watching the boat. Kit's hands were so wet with sweat that they slipped on the gunwale as he stood up.
'Speak with them, Kit,' Dag begged. 'Speak, before doing anything rash.'
But there was more activity on the shore. He had not realized before how many people lived here, waiting to die. On his previous visits no more than half a dozen had ever appeared to greet the new arrival. But now he saw a good score coming down the sand to his right, carrying something between them. They moved slowly and awkwardly, many lacking toes to maintain their balances. They kept their heads bowed, but even at this distance he could make out some of the ghastly mutilations which the disease had inflicted on their faces.
'Land me,' he commanded in a low voice. 'Land me. by God.'
'Stop there, Kit.'
His head jerked at the command, and so did the slaves, rising from their seats to stare at the beach in terror. Maurice Peter reversed the process, and dropped to his knees.
The lepers were opposite the boat, and now they set their burden on the sand. It was a litter on which lay a shrouded figure.
'By God,' Kit said, and thrust one leg over the side.
'Stop, Kit.' The voice was lacking in strength, but in none of the quality he had loved and respected, and perhaps feared, for so long. He rested on the gunwale, staring at the shore, trying to tear aside the shroud with his eyes.
'Have they not harmed you, then?' His voice was hoarse.
'Why should they do that, Kit?' Marguerite asked. 'They are good people. Like me, they wait only to die.'
'But ...' Good people. Whom she had condemned. 'How are you cared for?'
'By them all, Kit. Here is Henry John. You remember Henry John?'
He remembered Henry John, hanging between the uprights, his back a scarred mass of blood.
'And Martha Louise? Martha Louise cares for me, Kit.'
Martha Louise, whose screams as she had been thrust over the side had been heard even on the mainland.
'They, have cared for you?'
'Should they not, Kit? As I have cared for them, while I could walk. As I have cared for them, indeed, since fate first conspired to make me their mistress.'
'But ...'
'Here I am no longer their mistress,' she said. 'Here there is no mistress and no slave, Kit. Here there is no hate and no fear. Here there are only men and women waiting to die. So here there are only friends.'
'You will not die, Meg,' he shouted. 'We will take you home, and fetch Haines, and ...'
'Do not be a fool, Kit. I am dying. Faster than any of them here. I have not their strength. There is no cure. I know that better than anyone.'
Tears welled into his eyes. 'But ... how?'
The veiled figure moved. No doubt she had shrugged those magnificent shoulders. 'I do not know, Kit. I must have contracted the disease from one of the blacks, or perhaps it sprouted forth from the sheer energy which has always seemed to consume me. I do not know. But I thank God you left me in time.'
'Left you? Meg ...' Christ, to find something to say.
'And now you must leave me again,' she said. 'Listen to me, Kit. I long ago lodged the necessary papers with Walker. Green Grove is yours. You were ever more talented at growing sugar, at managing people, than I. It is yours, and the children are yours, and you must bring them to success. But mark this well, Kit. Burn the Great House, and build afresh. It will be contaminated, Kit. Make no mistake about that. Burn it to the very ground, and gut the cellars. Else will you curse yourself forever.'
'Meg,' he cried. 'At least ...'
'Let you look at me, Kit? Why do you wish to do that? Am I not the most beautiful woman you have ever seen? Can you not let me go to my grave, as a memory? What would you see, Kit? My teeth are loose, and falling out daily. My hair is white, and all but wasted. My nose is a running sore. I have lost the use of my legs and of my left hand. And I feel the rot eating at my belly. Would you see all of that, Kit, to haunt you for the rest of your life?'
'Oh, Christ,' he begged. 'To know, what to do.'
'To do, Kit? Why, your duty is to be the master of Green Grove, to be a father to your children, to be a husband to your Lilian. And to be happy, Kit. I charge you with that.'
'And to avenge, by
God,' he said. 'I will have Hodge on this beach, on his knees, begging your forgiveness.'
'Hodge did not contaminate me, Kit. God did that, in His wisdom. Hodge did no more to me than I have done to so many others. And Hodge did not even kill your friend Agrippa, or abuse Lilian. I did all of those things, Kit; others but carried out my commands. I would beg your forgiveness, Kit.'
'You have it, Meg. God knows ... but you have it.'
'Then let Hodge go, Kit. Let him go. And know this. I die happier here, with your forgiveness, than I could in my own bed, with your hate. Remember that, Kit. Remember.'
She said something in a low voice to the men around her,
and they raised the litter and carried her back along the beach.
· ·
She did not speak again.
Night succeeded dawn, and dawn succeeded night, and the boat rocked gently in the swell, drifting up the passage between the island and the mainland, and being brought back to position by the slaves. At dawn they pulled to the beach where the rest of the slaves had gathered, a vast dark concourse, watching and waiting. Here they were given food, and water, and here Dag left them. He went without a word. There was nothing to say.
Kit remained in the bow. Maurice Peter made him eat, and drink, but for the rest he crouched in the bow, and gazed at the island. On the third day it rained, but the watchers never moved. And now there were others, on the cliffs above. But Kit neither knew nor cared who they were. He had no certainty of time, was aware only that sometimes it was light and at other times dark. He was not even aware that the crew of the pirogue had been changed, although Maurice Peter did not go ashore. The slaves did not trouble him with this matter. They arranged it amongst themselves.
On the sixth day the figures reappeared on the beach of the island.
'Where is her body?' Kit asked.
'It is buried, Captin,' one of the men said.
'Buried? By God, but she must be buried on Green Grove.'
'This island is a part of Green Grove, Captin,' the man said. 'And it was the mistress's wish that she be buried here, and that we do it. She said no white person was to look on her face, Captin.'
'We can go home now, Captin,' Maurice Peter said. He was not asking a question.
Kit sat down, and the boat was turned, and pulled for the shore. The slaves waited there, and some of them were weeping. He climbed the path, and found Dag, and Astrid, and Abigail, and Agrippa, and Barnee, waiting for him. And a little way away, Celestine Warner and Tony and Rebecca. And then Lilian, by herself.
'The overseers have left, Captain Hilton,' Barnee said. 'With their people. They have even left Antigua. They fear your vengeance.'
'But you will let them go, Kit,' Dag said. 'It was Marguerite's wish.'
'Aye. I will let them go.' And Marguerite had had other instructions for him. 'You'll work with me, Barnee?' 'It would be a pleasure, Captain.'
'Then burn the house. Burn it to the ground, and gut the cellars. Then summon Mr Wolff and have him design a new one.'
He went to Celestine, knelt, put his arms round the children.
'Is Mama dead, Papa?' Tony asked.
He raised his head to look at the woman.
'It was Marguerite's instructions, in her letter to me. Kit, that the children were to be brought to you, wherever you were, when she began to die. If only I had understood then what she meant.'
'Aye,' Kit said. 'She is dead, Tony.'
'And will Miss Christianssen be our new Mama, Papa?' Rebecca asked.
Lilian's head jerked.
'That is what Mama said, before we left her, Papa,' Tony said. 'She came out to see us go, wearing her veil, and she said, you are going to have a new mother, children. Miss Christianssen.'
Kit released them, and stood up. Lilian waited, her skirt fluttering in the breeze. 'I loved her,' he said. 'I could not stop loving her, even when I fell in love with you. Can you understand that, Lilian? I cannot. But there is so little I can understand. Yet is it true.'
'I understand that, Kit,' she said. 'I always did.'
He sighed, and took her hands. 'But she'll not stand between us in the future. You'll be my wife. Although I could not blame you for refusing even that, after so much.'
'Is it not what I have always dreamed, Kit? To act out of pride or pique, now, would be childish. And I hope Marguerite will ever stand beside me, Kit. To be the wife of Kit Hilton, with so much to do, can be no simple task.'
Kit turned, to watch the slaves filing up the hill, and into the compound. 'I would say, looking at their grief, that they loved her too. And that also I cannot understand.'
'Perhaps it is because they have known no better life,' Dag said. 'From what Agrippa told me, I doubt their existence in Africa was any less brutal, any less cruel. There they belonged to their kings, here they belonged to Marguerite. But Kit, do they not deserve something better?'
Kit hesitated; Lilian's fingers were tight on his own. 'Aye,' he said. 'You'll build a chapel, Dag. In the slave compound itself.'
'I cannot teach them Christianity, with all it implies, unless I also teach them to read and write, and think,' Dag said.
'That has never been permitted,' Astrid said. 'The planters will hate you for it, Kit.'
'They have ever hated me, for something, Astrid. They hated me for being a buccaneer, as they hated me for being Meg Warner's husband, as they hated me for revealing them as they really are, an oligarchy of treacherous scoundrels. But now they will have to love me. Now, now I am master of Green Grove.'
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