Sugar Money

by Jane Harris

  Uncertain whether to flee or stay, I just stood there, my heartbeat fast as a hummingbird wing. She took a step forward and peered at me.

  ‘Jésis-Maïa! It’s the boy with the herbs. Where were you? Under the porch?’

  I gave a tentative nod.

  ‘No need to be afraid,’ she said. ‘Nobody knows you’re here except me.’

  ‘I’m not afraid.’

  ‘Well, you look like you saw La Diablesse. Are you one of those runaway from the hospital?’

  ‘… Not exactly.’

  ‘You told me you came from Martinique … is that the truth?’

  ‘I – I best not say.’

  ‘Hm-hmm,’ she said. ‘Well, I would bet you know something about what happened over there at the plantation. You better go right now. If he finds you here …’

  ‘Please,’ I said. ‘Let me stay a while. Just tonight. I’ll be quiet. And – you know Miss Thérèse, down at the Governor House?’

  Zabette frowned.

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘Well, she said you should help me. She said – you ought to.’

  ‘Did she now?’

  ‘Yes. In fact, she said she was sure you would help me because she wants you to.’

  The girl put her hands on her hips and stared at me as though she might blast my head off. But in the end, she cursed under her breath and then swept off into the house. Perhaps she was not so stupid after all, if she had watch me sneak along the path the previous night and been smart enough to keep quiet about it so far. Or could this be a ruse? Had she run off to fetch some Béké neighbour?

  I was on the point of fleeing when she returned, carrying two bowl. She came down the steps and headed behind the hollyhock.

  ‘Come in here,’ she said. ‘No one can see past these.’

  For true, the bushes were thick enough in places to conceal us. I followed her and sat against the wall of the house. She squatted down and set the two bowl in front of me. One was full to the brim with a murky-looking mabi. The other contain some scraps of akras and beans, perhaps the remnant of their meal. I slonk back the drink cul sek then set about the food. Zabette studied me crossly as I ate. Eventually, she said:

  ‘You cannot stay here, little man. You must go when it gets dark. What’s wrong with your foot?’

  ‘Nothing. I got bit. It’s almost better.’

  The girl raised her eyebrows then sniff the air.

  ‘And what’s that smell? You stink.’

  ‘Dung,’ I lied. ‘I was in a dung-cart.’

  She waved her hand in front of her face.

  ‘Whoo boy! You reek so much they might smell you from the road. You know they’re on the lookout for runaways?’

  ‘Yes. What else have you heard?’

  ‘Not much. They are keeping them all on the plantation for now, even the hospital slave. They flogged the driver. Demoted him. Now they are talking about branding them all on the face. Bryant wants to stop them straying, build a fence around the village. Pierre – Monsieur Maillard – he has gone up to the hospital to find out if there’s any more news. It was him that discovered the slave were gone in the first place.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Wi. He got summon to the hospital to tend a sick soldier. Went looking for a nurse at the quarters. Well, that’s when he saw the place all deserted and told the men in the sick room. Somebody went to the plantation, found all the field hand gone – et vwala.’

  ‘Then what?’

  She tossed her head.

  ‘Well, there were soldiers at the hospital, visiting their sick compeer. Some rode to the fort to raise the alarm and the rest went to the Anglade place to fetch Dr Bryant and that overseer. Pierre says the troops got to Petit Havre just as the slave were about to board the boats. They rounded up all but five.’

  ‘Who got away? Did he mention someone called Emile?’

  ‘Is that you?’

  ‘No. Céleste or Emile? Did he mention those name?’

  ‘Nn-nn.’

  ‘Well – how many of the four are men? How many women?’

  ‘Two women, I think; one man; two children.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll bring water so you can get clean. And I’ll wash your clothes. But you must leave as soon as it’s dark. You hear me? You can’t stay here.’

  While she was gone, I tried to figure out how to persuade her to send a message to Martinique. I had doubts about how much more to expect from her. But – somehow – I had to get word to Cléophas.

  By the time Zabette returned, I had finished eating. She brought with her a bucket of water, some rag and a large white cloth.

  ‘Take off those stink things and get yourself clean,’ she said, crossly.

  Thankfully, she turn to keep watch on the road whiles I scrambled out of my clothes and began to scrub at my skin with wet rags. Just in case, I kept my back to the wall, to hide my scars.

  ‘How long before Maillard gets back?’ I asked her.

  ‘Hard to say. He could turn up any time so …’

  ‘Miss Zabette – can I ask you another favour?’

  She scowled at me over her shoulder.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I have to get word to one of the Fathers. I need him to speak to the Governor here. Could you send a message?’

  ‘Where is this Father?’

  ‘In Martinique, St Pierre.’

  ‘What?’ she cried, then lowered her voice again. ‘That’s another island! How am I suppose to get a message over there?’

  ‘Miss Thérèse said you might know some free man or a boatman. A fisherman or someone. Plenty boats go back and forth every day between here and there.’

  ‘Nn-nn. I know no boatman. I hardly leave this house. Who does she think I am?’

  ‘But – do you have a cousin or a friend who knows someone?’

  ‘A friend, he says … a cousin! As if I know anybody.’

  On she went, complaining. I drop the rags into the bucket, feeling the hope drain out of me. Zabette threw me the white cloth.

  ‘Put that on while I wash your things. Be quick.’

  The cloth turned out to be a garment: a shift; plain white with no frills or flounces, but a girlish shift nonetheless.

  ‘Non mèsi. I can’t wear that.’

  ‘Well, that’s all there is,’ said she. ‘If I give you his clothes he might notice they’re gone. Put it on. Hurry up. You want to lie around naked under there with your little lolo flopping around for some rat to chew?’

  The thought made me wince. She turned on her heel again, saying:

  ‘I’ll get you something to drink.’

  With no little reluctation of spirit, I pull the shift over my head. It just about fit me though it was tight in the shoulders. At least it covered my back. At the thought of my scars, a picture of Saturnin pass through my mind. Saturnin, who had help me to escape when he could have fled, now demoted and flogged. The fact that I had disliked him at first and given him cheek made me want to bash my head with my two fist.

  When the girl returned, she handed me some banana and a calabash of water and I stowed them under the porch. Then she clasped her hands on her jutting belly.

  ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I might not be able to send a message but I can find out more about what happened. When Pierre comes back I’ll get him talking, see what else he knows about the runaways, if he knows their names and so forth.’

  ‘And then you can tell me.’

  ‘Well, if he sits out on the porch you can hear for yourself.’ She picked up my clothes. ‘I’ll put these to dry at the end of the garden where he won’t see. Now, be sure to wait until dark before you leave. Take care he does not catch you. Get in there quick.’

  She watch me worm my way under the veranda. The shift constrain my movements, kept snagging in the broken boards. Zabette waited until I was out of sight and then she went back into the house. I had no energy to crawl very far inside the space. In the end, I just curled up near the end-piece. Outside, in the gar
den, I could hear the birds and insect all chattering to each other nineteen to the dozen. I was nothing to them. They were not even aware of my existence.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  I must have slept for a while. When I woke again, the stink of segar smoke was strong enough to churn my stomach. I heard a faint tapping sound above me on the veranda and then Maillard gave a chuckle.

  ‘My move,’ he said.

  More tap-tap sounds then he laughed again. He was playing chess, I realised. I had seen many a friar, head bent over a battered old checker board. At first, I assume that a French visitor had come to call but then Zabette spoke.

  ‘How can you …?’

  ‘Here, with this one …’ Tap-tap. ‘And now … I do this and – checkmate. I win.’

  The girl let fly a curse and I heard a clatter as though she had overturn some of the chessmen, then a soft clack-clack as someone began to replace the pieces.

  ‘So,’ Zabette said. ‘Where did they find them?’

  ‘Hmm? Oh – in a cave.’

  ‘At Petit Havre?’

  ‘No, along the coast at Black Bay.’

  She had been as good as her word, got him outside and induced him to talk. I wondered how much of the conversation I had missed while asleep. I could have kick myself.

  ‘No, that one goes there,’ said Maillard, his attention on the chessboard. ‘And that one there. That’s it.’

  She prompted him again.

  ‘All five of them were in this cave?’

  ‘Yes. The entrance is apparently well concealed and they might have remained hidden except the little boy began to cry just as some redcoats were returning, having searched up the coast. Rather foolishly, of course, they decided to send just one soldier to escort the child and the two women back to the plantation.’

  His self-important voice jarred on me like a file on teeth.

  Zabette asked: ‘So – what happened, exactly?’

  ‘I’m told she started to cry out and groan as they came within sight of the river and then she hunched over on the ground, screaming that her baby was coming. Well, the other woman knelt down to tend to her and apparently Céleste persuaded the guard to run and fetch water in his flask. But by the time he returned, she had vanished. It would seem she had only pretended to go into labour. She has a few months of her term left, of course, the soldier could not know that …’

  ‘What about the other woman? Did she not try to escape?’

  ‘No, when the redcoat got back he found Rosalie with her son Casimir, sitting at the side of the road. She must have thought the risk of running again too much. Probably knew the boy and the baby on her back would slow her down. Of course, the soldier had to take them to the quarters before he could raise the alarm, meaning that Céleste was long gone by the time they started to search for her.’

  ‘So – how many are still to be caught?’

  ‘Just Céleste. She’s the only one still on the loose. Oh – and the brother, of course, Lucien. He’ll turn up soon enough, no doubt, poor little chap. Bryant is very keen to get him. And you can be sure Emile will be watched day and night. They would be disappointed to lose him.’

  At once, I was alert in every fibre of my being. Maillard remained silent for a moment then continued:

  ‘In any case, apparently, it’s worthless.’

  ‘… What is?’

  ‘The Power of Attorney. Emile told the slaves he had permission to take them to Martinique. That’s why they all went with him. At least, that’s what they are saying. They thought the document gave him authority from Governor Melville to take them. They claim that Emile misled them, that it’s not their fault. They were duped by him. At least, that’s the story. Apparently, they all say the same under questioning.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Zabette. ‘If that be the case then why do they need go sneaking off in the dark without a word to anyone? Sounding suspicious to me.’

  ‘Exactement,’ the doctor replied. ‘Only a fool would swallow that nonsense. No, they’re simply trying to save their own skin by blaming Emile.’

  ‘And will it? Save their skin?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  They fell silent and after a while I heard the tap-tap sounds of their game recommence. I lay beneath them, astonished. It felt like a punch to the guts. My brother, betrayed by our compeers, even those from the hospital. They were nothing but talebearers, and false tales, in plus. To protect themselve, they would lie about what Emile had told them. I scarce had time to choke down those bitter pills before the conversation continued.

  ‘So, this Emile,’ Zabette said. ‘Why did they not put him on the plantation with the rest? Why is he in the common jail?’

  ‘Because he is the ringleader, they must treat him as a criminal. They need him under lock and key. He’s an intelligent creature, always has been. I’m not surprised he was among the last to be caught. And – there we are, too bad for you – échec et mat. Voilà.’

  ‘What? You won – already?’

  ‘You weren’t paying attention. Now, enough of this. Make some food. I want to go back up there later, find out what’s happened.’

  I heard the girl stand up and the whisper of her feet as she went inside. Maillard lingered, moving pieces around on the chessboard. I willed him to follow her, for my entire body ached with all that I had heard. Betrayal and misery, misery and betrayal. Tears pricked my eyes and every sign told me that I would be sick: my mouth had filled with water; I broke into a sweat. Quiet as I could, I rolled onto my side and lay there, trembling, fighting back wave after wave of nausea until, at last, the doctor stood up and went into the house.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  By some miracle, I kept the vomit down. I could hear the murmur of voices as Maillard and Zabette ate their meal. Meanwhile, my thoughts were in turmoil now that I knew Emile had been captured. Even if I got as far as the courtyard of the jail, it was the toss of a penny whether I would be able to find a way inside unchallenged. Provided his cell had a window, I might be able to call to him from outside. But I had no idea where they were keeping him. No doubt, they would arrest me on the spot if I strode up to the prison entrance and ask to speak to him. Perhaps I might sneak inside by pretending to make some kind of delivery. But the guards would likely know the regular tradesmen. Even walking past the prison, down Young Street, might be dangerous, not least because the building stood near the guardhouse and the fort. For true, there were plenty boys like me in Grenada. I would hardly stand out in a crowd. Nevertheless, I’d have to be careful, otherwise both of us would be in jail.

  I fretted and thought, thought and fretted until, eventually, a plan began to form in my mind. Perhaps, under different circumstance, I would never have conceive such a thing. But as I lay there sweating into the shift that Zabette had provided, an idea struck me and once the notion entered my brain I could not rid myself of it. The more I mulled it over, the more I became convince it might work. As the afternoon waned, I grew increasing high-strung and began to wish that the doctor would hurry up and leave for the hospital. Yet I was oblige to wait, not daring to make a sound, just in case.

  At long last, I heard Maillard stride about the place, making preparation to leave, then the foredoor slammed. Presently, Zabette came outside and – through the gaps in the boards – I saw her wander down the garden, out of sight. After a short while, she return with my breeks and shirt, her gaze trained on the road, no doubt keeping watch on her master as he went up to the hospital. She vanish behind the hollyhock then appeared at the hole in the end-piece and handed in my clothes.

  ‘Here,’ she said, in an undertone. ‘They’re dry.’

  ‘That’s most kind, Miss Zabette. Thank you. But I have a favour to ask, if I may.’

  And then I explain to her the idea that my brain had been cooking. She listen to what I said then told me I was crazy: it would never work. However, in the end – after some desperate persuasion on my part and many objection on hers – she agreed to help.
/>   Chapter Fifty-Five

  Somewhile later, I found myself dressed entirely in garments that belong to Zabette: her shift, a petticoat and a dark but faded cotton gown. My plan was to head into town after nightfall and survey the prison to see if there might be some way to speak to Emile or help him escape. Zabette gave me a floppy old straw bonnet that conceal my face and though I still had a limp I could mostly hide it with short girlish steps. I practised walking up and down behind the hollyhock, while Zabette kept an eye on the road.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked.

  She threw me a withering look.

  ‘You might pass for a porteuse from the mountain.’

  This gave me an idea and I ask Zabette to provide a trait of produce from the kitchen garden. She dared not pick much in case her master notice that someone had pilfer his legumes but she stuffed a basket with my clothes and cover them with a thin layer of beans. It was difficile to balance anything on the bonnet and so she showed me how to carry the basket on one hip. The porteuses went barefoot which was just as well since the only shoes Zabette possess were too small for me. As a final touch she put a flower in my hat and so my disguise was complete.

  ‘Just as well you got no beard yet,’ said Zabette. ‘But if I were you, I would stay away from lamplight. What exactly will you do down there at the jail?’

  ‘Find Emile. Speak to him if I can. Perhaps sneak inside. Get him out.’

  ‘You won’t get inside. All this bordel about the escape, you can bet they have extra guards on duty. Probably they got your brother chained up in a cell with no window.’

  ‘I’ll talk my way past the guard and find him.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Whatever you do, never speak. You might pass for a girl in the dark but talk out loud you’ll be in the suds. And pull that bonnet down, hide your hair.’

  Before I went, I made sure to eat some fruits and take a long drink from the water-barrel. By the time I was ready, thick cloud had crept across to cover the stars and the sky was black as the bottom of a well.