‘Where is she?’ asked Robert.
‘That I don’t know; I don’t think Psyche knows, or she would have mentioned it to me. She has been commanded by Takoo to some sort of ceremony they are having for Millicent; Psyche says they are going to try to take off the haunting, to lay the ghost that is killing the girl. Psyche was ordered not to say where this is to take place, but I got it out of her. These people have secret meetings on the estates, where they carry on all sorts of strange practices, some of which are horrible. There is to be one of them tomorrow night.’
‘Where?’ asked Rider.
Burbridge named the spot. ‘Psyche is a relative of Millicent’s, and of course will go. Tomorrow is a holiday, anyway, and the gathering is to be on Palmyra. I am not supposed to know; if I knew officially I might have to report it. But during these Christmas holidays the slaves have freedom and even licence; it has been so for generations. It would be madness to try and interfere with them now.’
‘You know,’ observed Robert, ‘it appears to me that you are as much afraid of these people as they are of you?’
‘Of course we are,’ said Rider; ‘it has been a case of fear on both sides. Fear is in the very texture of the mind of all the white people here; fear and boredom, and sometimes disgust. That is why so many of us drink, friend Rutherford.’
‘I should like to see this exorcism, or whatever you may call it,’ said Robert suddenly; ‘it is strange that Takoo has not communicated with me.’
‘You forget,’ Rider reminded him, ‘that he probably knows that you spent Thursday night at the Great House, after you had left his place near Montego Bay. He may have misunderstood that. Even if he did not, he may think it wisest to keep Millicent’s whereabouts as secret as possible for the present, though this myal or exorcism ceremony of his tomorrow night is too big an affair to be kept entirely secret.’
‘But Annie promised me she would send for Takoo and do what she could for the girl,’ mused Robert. ‘I wonder if she has done it. If she has, why should it be necessary to have this African exorcism?’
‘Has Mrs. Palmer kept her word, I wonder?’ muttered Rider.
‘You think she hasn’t?’ asked Robert; ‘but I believed she would do that at least. She left me no reason whatever to doubt that she would.’
‘And if you asked her she might say that she tried, but that Takoo would not come to her,’ Rider explained. ‘How can we ever be certain as to what she will or won’t do? We can only hope she will keep her word. Besides,’ he added judicially, ‘she may actually have sent for Takoo and he may have refused to obey her summons. He would be naturally suspicious, you know. He knows her, too, in some respects, far better than any of us do. Probably he has refused.’
They were silent for a little while, Robert recalling to his mind how carefully Annie had avoided even looking at him that afternoon. He recalled also that long and searching look she had given him yesterday when he bluntly refused, with finality in voice and manner, to take up his abode at the Great House. His heart sank. Could she have abandoned Millicent to her fate, after all? Then indeed the girl’s chances of life might be slight, in spite of all that others might do to aid her.
Mr. Rider seemed to guess something of what was passing in his mind. He placed a hand on Robert’s knee. ‘You have done all you could,’ he said, ‘and now we must leave the rest to Providence. Excuse my sanctimonious language; one can never wholly escape the influence of one’s profession. You want to go to this exorcism, Rutherford?’
‘I would like to, yes, if I could do so without being seen. I suppose the people would object to my presence?’
‘They would, unless you consented to take part in the ceremony.’
‘And that is———?’
‘It is a thing no white man in Jamaica could do and retain his self-respect and the respect of any other white man,’ said Rider decisively. ‘You would become one of them, don’t you understand, a devil worshipper or something very much like that. Not that many white men don’t worship the Devil; I think he is the prevailing deity out here. But they don’t do it along with negro slaves, dancing and moaning, contorting themselves and grovelling in all sorts of open abominations. There are different orders of devil worship. Mine is drink. But the obeah order—phew!’
‘Is Annie Palmer any better than an obeahwoman?’ demanded Robert with savage contempt: he had begun to suspect that she had tricked him.
‘No; but she works in her own way, and that is the difference.’
‘Yet you think I can see this ceremony?’
‘If you are cautious. I will go with you; we may be able to hide ourselves and watch; at any rate we can try. Will you go with us, Burbridge?’
‘No, my friend,’ replied Burbridge. ‘I am not even supposed to know about what is going to take place, and to witness it without trying to stop it would condemn me in the eyes of every proprietor in Jamaica. Your position is different from mine.’
‘True,’ laughed Mr. Rider a little bitterly. ‘I am at best but a temporary hand, and no one regards me as a responsible being. In another week I shall probably be at the drink again. And Rutherford can leave soon—as I am sure he has decided to do—and he’ll be all the better for it. Well, as I don’t count I can take risks, and in any case I know that my time on Rosehall is rapidly drawing to an end. Our lives may be rapidly drawing to an end also,’ he added.
‘We’ll go tomorrow, then,’ said Robert. ‘That is decided.’
There came a rap at the door. A boy handed a note to Robert. It was from Annie. ‘I have not been able to find Takoo,’ it ran; ‘he seems to be keeping out of sight.’
Chapter Seventeen—THE ARRANGEMENT
CHRISTMAS day dawned cool and bright, the wind coming in briskly from the sea which, stirred and fretted by it, flashed and sparkled in a glory of green and purple and broke in noisy billows upon the shore. The burnished surfaces of long green leaves, narrow spears of the cane plants, and of swaying fronds of palms, reflected back the sunlight, so that the whole earth seemed bathed in splendour and steeped in flaming light.
There was brightness everywhere; every object was suffused with it. In the hollows of the hills which formed the background to the land-and sea-scape in the midst of which was Rosehall, masses of mist had rolled and ascended and floated about an hour before, shrouding the view and spreading like a soft wide cloud; but soon this mist had melted away before the triumphant progress of the sun which had swiftly transformed the opal and faint pink of the morning sky into a dazzling blue. The tang of the salt sea was in the air, poinsettia trees and other flowering plants flamed red in the sunshine in which they rejoiced. And though noises broke the stillness, noises shrill and piercing, dominant, insistent, they were riot those of labour but had a special implication of their own.
For this morning no horn or conchshell sounded its far-carrying melancholy note to summon the slaves to their daily task. No crack of driver’s whip or harsh command was heard. In the pastures the cattle stood idle, from the chimneys of the boiling-house arose no smoke. Banked were the fires today, and banked would they remain for some three days. In the negro village on the estate men and women wandered about at will. Their time was theirs to do with entirely what they wished.
The Christmas holidays had come, the three days of grace which were given to the people by law, to pass in frolic and in merry-making, or in complete rest.
Even as Rutherford gazed from his room upon the scene outside, striving hard to realise that this was Christmas, he caught sight of a crowd of people who came towards the bookkeepers’ quarters, singing and dancing. Burbridge joined him, and together they waited to see what would happen.
At sight of the white men the crowd raised a cheer and came hurrying onwards. Arrived, they stood displayed as a variety of figures, some utterly ludicrous, others rather tastefully attired in garments of variegated colours, and every one of them as cheerfully vociferous as if none had a care in the world. Two of them had got themselves
up as animals. One was garbed in a dried cow’s skin, with the horns towering upon his head and the tail sticking out behind; he leaped and bellowed as though he were a bull in pain, though probably he intended to impersonate a bull in ecstasy. Another one had rigged himself up as a horse, with mane and head complete, and he capered about upon his two legs neighing merrily, whirling round and round, and kicking out with feet that were quite human and bare. Some of the performers wore masks, hideous things, devil faces, with grinning teeth, elongated noses, and other fantastic appurtenances. But there were also a number of young girls, clothed all in red, with their robes trimmed with lace, and with flaunting feathers in their beaver hats, and these were headed by a leader, or Queen, who took herself very seriously indeed and gave commands to her subjects of a day with quick, imperious voice. Robert knew that in these red girls he saw a Jamaica ‘Set’, and that other ‘Sets’, Reds and Blues respectively, would be dancing about the towns of Jamaica during the next couple of days. These girls before him, Burbridge said, would be going down to Montego Bay tomorrow to take part in the promenading there and to uphold the honour of the Reds against the Blues, with as much zeal (Robert imagined) as did the rival factions in the ancient Roman circus. The Red Set represented the soldiers of the King, the Blues stood for the sailors, and between the two there was a mighty rivalry. The Rosehall people were Reds: just why, they themselves did not know. It had been so for years, and so, therefore, it must continue to be.
The red-clothed girls were now dancing quite gracefully for the amusement of the white men, and when Mr. Rider came up, as he did presently, they hailed him as ‘parson’, hesitated as if in doubt as to how he would take their gyrations on a Sunday, and then went on with redoubled vigour when they noticed that he neither looked nor spoke disapproval. From the estate village opposite came the throbbing of drums, and there too the festivities were in full progress. True, it was Sunday, and the missionaries in this parish had sought to impress upon the people that Christmas Day, falling as it did upon the first day of the week, should be spent decorously, in prayer and in thanksgiving for the great deliverance which the Lord was about to work for his faithful followers. But the spirit of Christmas had seized upon these people, and, anyhow, missionaries had never been encouraged to visit Rosehall. Consequently the musicians pounded their drums with energy, shrill pipes emitted weird sounds, human bulls and horses, and Red Sets girls, and shuffling couples, moved and whirled to the tunes given forth, and shouted, screamed, jested and laughed, and enjoyed themselves immensely.
In the village the cooking fires were already alight. There was to be a feast that day. And yet everyone knew that Christmas was not celebrated on Rosehall as it ought to be and as it was on other estates. The custom was that, in the Christmas holidays, the owners or their attorneys should give a great dinner to all the slaves, a dinner consisting of roast meat, and cakes and rum and other delicacies. He should throw open the Great House to his people, and in the big drawing-room they should be allowed to dance the whole Christmas night away. More, he too was expected to dance with them, he and the other white men on the estate. There was always a wild fraternisation on this particular occasion: all differences were ignored, all caste distinctions set aside. It was the rule, and though this year there were not many estates in St. James where this rule was being observed, it had always been done, and in other parts of the island the custom was still held in respect. But Rosehall was different. It had long been so. Mrs. Palmer had not had her people up to the Great House since the death of her first husband; since then there had been no special Christmas feast for them; she had not put herself out in any way to make this her day of rejoicing with them.
This ignoring of an established West Indian custom had affected her white employees also; she held them, even at Christmas time, at arm’s length. Mr. Ashman might have prevented this to a certain extent; had he chosen to carry out the rule of Christmas kindliness and consideration, Annie Palmer would not have prevented him. So long as she herself was not directly inconvenienced it would not have mattered to her what was done; it was not the extra expenditure that influenced her to indifference and neglect. But Ashman himself was indifferent; he knew he was not liked by white or black on the property and did not see why he should put himself to any trouble to facilitate them when he was not directly instructed by the mistress to do so. Two days before Christmas he had distributed to each of the slaves the few yards of cloth for dress which the law demanded should be given once a year. And the few pounds of salted fish, and the straw hat, to each, and the needles and the thread: all these had been handed out. But the law said nothing about a Christmas dance and a Christmas feast, though public opinion, white public opinion, held that they formed part of the rights, or at least the privileges, of all the bond people.
So, this Christmas, the chief mechanic and the chief carpenter of Rosehall (who superintended the work done in their respective lines on Palmyra estate also) had gone off to Montego Bay for the day and Mr. Ashman would dine alone, for he had not been bidden as in times past to the Great House for Christmas cheer. The dancing crowd had come from Ashman’s house, where they had gone to wish him a merry Christmas, to which he had made some sort of response. He had risen to the occasion otherwise and donated to them sundry bottles of liquor and a ham, and he had given them a few pieces of money. He might despise or dislike them, but he did not relish the idea that they should regard him as ‘a stingy backra’, a parsimonious white man. Here was the joint in his armour. They could pierce his pride and his vanity here. And they knew it.
Now they were come to do the honours to the bookkeepers and to reap their reward. Of course, they should first have gone up to the Great House with their greeting and their dance, but Mrs. Palmer did not care to be disturbed early on any morning, unless she had given the word to be called betimes. And the dancers and musicians felt that she cared little about this annual function of theirs. It would take place outside the Great House later on, however, and she would come out on the porch and watch their antics, and she would make the presents that were expected of her. For even Annie Palmer, indifferent to so much else, could not have brought herself to refuse these people the gratuity which the Christmas dancing drew from every other white planter in the country. She might neglect the annual ball, punish them severely for ordinary misdemeanours, terrify them, do things in their sight which others might wish to hide from them. But she would not let them go from her presence on Christmas Day without a gift. There are certain acts that no one can dare to be guilty of and escape self-contempt. No one can completely rise above the influence of one’s time and its implicit obligations.
Rider had little to give to these merry-makers, but what he had he knew must be offered freely. Burbridge was in not much better case. But the financial difficulties of the situation were solved by Robert who, when he thought they had seen enough of the dancing and heard quite a sufficiency of cacophony, threw a handful of silver among the crowd. This caused on the instant a wild scramble, in which the horse and the bull joined, these incontinently flinging off their disguises so as the better to snatch at the rolling coin. It was a fairly large sum that Robert flung to them, more than they would get from any other single source. When, after much jostling, pushing, swearing and screaming every coin had been picked up, and the crowd, with a loud ‘Merry Christmas, Massa,’ and ‘God bless you, Massa,’ had pirouetted away, the three men went inside to drink the egg-punch, the flip of beaten egg and rum, with nutmeg, which was the regular Christmas morning draught and which Psyche had prepared steaming hot, prior to the preparation of coffee.
But Rider would not have any rum in his flip. And the other two did not press him to make an exception of this Christmas wassail.
Burbridge had invited Robert and Rider to share pot luck with him today. Dinner would be eaten at one o’clock. Psyche had claimed, not without reason, to be able to prepare a plum pudding.
When the dinner hour drew nigh they met on the veranda as u
sual, and began talking about the Rosehall Christmas and the festival’s celebration elsewhere in the island. To Robert it seemed a miracle that a people known to be discontented, and said to be on the eve of a demonstration, should yet seem happy as had the slaves of the estate that morning; their conduct, in view of what was imagined about their intentions, did not appear to him to be reasonable.
It was Rider who pointed out to him that these slaves believed implicitly that sufficient to the day would be the evil thereof; meantime they took what came to them. ‘They may be frenzied rebels tomorrow,’ he said, ‘but today is today, so they dance and enjoy themselves. I don’t know but that they are right.’
Just then Psyche announced in a triumphant tone of voice that dinner was ready, the Christmas feast that was to be eaten hours earlier than the dinner of any ordinary day.
They sat down to it, though Robert felt no inclination for festive repasts. He had to be of the company, however, if for no other reason than that he had insisted upon furnishing for it some madeira for which he had sent to Montego Bay on the Christmas Eve.
Psyche’s mother had been a cook, and Psyche had inherited a genius for cooking. More important perhaps than this inheritance, she had been taught by her mother to cook, and her abilities in this respect was one reason why Burbridge always felt that in her he possessed a treasure. Ordinarily she had no opportunity of displaying her skill, but on rare occasions like this Psyche was able to do herself justice, and today she had done herself more than justice. She gave them little oysters picked up with peppered vinegar. She served fish seasoned with sliced onions and rich butter sauce; her roast beef was tender and juicy and of noble flavour; her roasted guinea hen was done to perfection. And her plum pudding, with hot rum-and-butter sauce, was the real Jamaican plum pudding, black with fruit and flavoured with good old rum. On the table were rum and madeira, the rum tempered with cool coconut water, which at this time of day was better than lime-juice and sugar.
The White Witch of Rosehall Page 17