'Get up, man,' Matt said. 'Get up, and either oppose me again, or return to your field gang.' Slowly Robert William reached his feet, still seeking breath. He stared at Matt for a moment, dropped his gaze to the fists which had destroyed him, then turned and shambled along the track to the canefields.
'Now it is your tum, Robert Arthur,' Matt said, quietly. 'Man, massa, I gone to work,' Robert Arthur said, and followed his friend.
'By Christ,' Munroe whispered. 'Mad,' Lander said. 'Mad.'
'That is how the blacks shall be treated from now on, Ian,' Matt said. 'Straight up, as human beings. And the overseer who cannot face a Negro with his fists and the power of his mind is not worth his pay. You'd best pass the word on that to your mates, Munroe.'
'Oh, aye, Mr. Hilton, I'll do that,' Munroe agreed, and turned for his mule.
'I'll not stand for it,' Lander declared. 'You'll run no plantation by such tom-fool methods, Matt Hilton.'
'I seem to remember that this plantation was run in a manner very like it, by Kit Hilton, after Marguerite Hilton died. And successfully.'
'Aye,' Lander said. 'So they say. I was not alive then. And the idea didn't survive the captain's death, now did it? And he was an altogether exceptional man. You've a way to travel before you reach his stature, Matt.'
'No doubt you're right, Ian. I'll not do it by refusing to start, now, will I?'
'You'll persist in this madness?'
'I'll persist in my endeavour to remind the Negro that he is a man like myself, and maybe become more of one, myself, in the process, if that is what you mean.'
'You'll do so without my aid,' Lander declared, and stared at the young man, brows drawn together.
Matt hesitated, then shrugged; no doubt he had always known it must come to this. 'Then I am sorry, Ian. You'll have no trouble finding employment elsewhere. I'll write you a reference.'
'You ... you're dismissing me?'
'I'd say you've just dismissed yourself. A plantation can have only one master.'
'By Christ,' Lander said. 'By Christ. We'll see about that.' He turned and made for the house. Matt followed more slowly. Suzanne sat in her rocking-chair on the verandah, sipping chocolate.
'You'll have heard,' Matt said.
'I saw as well,' she said. 'Are you hurt?'
He shook his head. 'I took no risks. I was well taught.' He sat beside her. 'You blame me?'
She smiled. 'I'm surprised you waited this long, Matt. You've a deep wayward streak. But then, so have I. Just as long as you want me at your shoulder, I'll be content to stand there.'
Dr. Thomas Coke stood on the front verandah of Green Grove Great House, his hat held in both hands. He was aware of heat, of trickling perspiration. But then, he was always aware of heat; in three years he had never managed to become acclimatized to the perpetual West Indian summer. He found it incredible that he should be standing here, in the month of November, wearing a light jacket over a shirt, no vest, and not a glove or a topcoat in sight, while the sun scorched the drive up which he had just ridden.
But today's heat was increased by his surroundings. He did not know what he would find here, what he wanted to find here. He had heard enough. All the West Indies had heard enough, of Matt Hilton and his mad experiments, of the beautiful girl who had abandoned husband and friends and even family to live at his side. But then, where was the angry impetuous boy with whom he had shared the passage from England? And where was the dream for which he had actively been searching?
But at least some of the rumours were obviously true. Green Grove was grinding. The canefields resembled a battlefield, littered with scorched and dismembered plants; those nearest the house were still being cleared, the cut stalks being piled on to the carts which would take them to the factory - and the slaves sang as they worked. The factory itself belched black smoke, drifting southward and westward across the Caribbean Sea, and hummed with the chatter of a hundred men and the grinding of the machinery; he had paused to watch the huge treadwheel being mounted endlessly by muscular black men, naked, save for their loincloths, and sweating as they placed one foot in front of the other, and had marvelled - he had been on other estates at grinding, and never had the great wheel moved without the impetus of the white man with the whip. Here there was no white man at all.
He had ridden past the slave compound, and been smiled at by the children and the old women. He had seen no triangles. There were stocks, and in one of the stocks there was a black man, head bowed, but back unmarked; when he had heard the hooves he had jerked into wakefulness, and looked at the visitor, and he too had smiled, uncovering a vast array of brilliant teeth.
And the butler who had taken his card into the house had been no less happy, as was the girl who had hastened on to the verandah with a glass of punch to set his head swinging. So then, he wondered, what could have wrought such a miracle? Or would who be a better word?
Suzanne moved slowly, descending the great staircase with much care and advancing across the parquet floor of the hall towards the open front door; her babe was cradled in her left arm, and chewed at the bodice of her gown. And she smiled, with all the unearthly beauty of the nursing mother. 'Dr. Coke. Matt has told me so much about you. I have sent to the factory to call him.'
Her flesh was amazingly dry. 'I must apologize for disturbing you in this manner.'
She sat down in the rocking-chair placed for her by the butler. 'His name is Anthony, Dr. Coke, and I am sure he is as pleased to see a visitor as I. I assume you are familiar with our circumstances?'
'People talk, if that is what you mean.' He sat beside her. 'I would have come sooner. But travel is that difficult. Or I should say has been that difficult. But now peace has been signed ...'
'Has it, Dr. Coke?'
'Oh, indeed, Mistress ...' he bit his lip.
Her smile widened into a laugh. 'It is difficult, isn't it? I think it would be best were you to call me Suzanne, and then I could call you Tom, and we could forget formality.'
'It will be my pleasure, Suzanne,' he said. 'St. John's is in great celebration. All the West Indies, I imagine will be in great celebration. I find it incredible that you cannot know.'
'My great-grandmother died on this plantation, of leprosy,' Suzanne said, thoughtfully. ‘I cannot believe that even during the last stages of her illness Green Grove was as shunned as it has been this last year.' Her gaze turned away from him. 'Matt will explain.'
The horse waited at the foot of the steps, and Matt was already on his way up. He wore no shirt, and his chest and shoulders were burned mahogany. Now he took off his hat, and extended a powerful arm. 'Tom Coke. I'd have thought you back in England by now.'
'Matt.' Coke grasped his hand. 'No, no. My task is here. And to this day it has been an uncommonly unsatisfactory one. I have not the time to recount the number of plantations from which I have been forcibly expelled, from Barbados to Jamaica. But here...'
'Here you'll stay, Tom,' Matt said, and drained a mug of punch. Coke observed that Suzanne watched him constantly, scarce seeming to blink. She loved him, there could be no question of that; but there was something more than love in her gaze.
Matt kissed his son on the head, and sat down. 'Because here you'll find what you were looking for, I'll warrant.'
‘I have found the rumours difficult to credit,' Coke admitted. 'Have you truly abolished the whip?'
'We have,' Matt said. 'And I will wager you any sum you care to mention that my crop this year is as good or better than last. There will be a bitter draught for my critics in the House. They expect Green Grove to declare bankruptcy at the least.'
'Then will they hate you the more,' Coke observed, soberly. 'And what has been the reaction of your cousin in Jamaica?'
Matt exchanged a glance with Suzanne. 'Why, there has been no reaction at all, to our knowledge.'
'We know Ian Lander returned to Jamaica when Matt dismissed him,' Suzanne said. 'But there has been a remarkable absence of letters.'
'I su
ppose the war is playing its usual havoc with shipping,' Matt said.
'But the war is now ending,' Suzanne said. 'So Tom says.'
'Peace was signed at Versailles last month,' Coke said. 'America is free, but that apart, all the colonial conquests are to be restored, save that Great Britain will retain Tobago. You can thank Admiral Rodney's victory at the Saintes for that achievement at the least. But you were there. I had forgotten.'
'We were both there,' Matt said.
'Indeed. There is another of the many rumours which hang about your heads like clouds about Olympus,' Coke said. 'But you are wrong to suppose you are entirely neglected. There is a letter for you.' He felt in his pocket, produced the somewhat crumpled envelope. 'I think there was difficulty in having it delivered, so I volunteered.'
Matt frowned. 'Robert?'
'Or Dirk,' Suzanne suggested.
'Not so distant,' Coke said. 'English Harbour.'
Matt turned the envelope over, then slit it with his thumb. 'I know of no one in English Harbour.' He read, and his frown faded into a smile, which rapidly became a laugh. 'You'll not believe it.'
'Then tell me of it,' Suzanne suggested, 'and at least give me the chance.'
' "His Royal Highness the Prince William, and the captain and the officers of His Majesty's ship Boreas, request the pleasure of Mr. Matthew Hilton and Mistress Suzanne Huys at a dinner to celebrate the signing of peace with France and Holland, to be held on board H.M.S. Boreas on the evening of Friday, 17th November, 1783." Why, that is the day after tomorrow.'
'So it is,' Coke agreed.
Matt gazed at Suzanne. 'After more than a year.'
'But this is the navy, Matt. Not the planters. They'll have learned you were present at the Saintes.'
'Thus they hope to entertain you as well, sweetheart.'
'Which is obviously impossible. And the Prince ... there is a pity. You will have to make my apologies. And to the captain. Do you know him?'
Matt looked at Coke. 'Do you?'
Coke shook his head. 'You'll attend?'
'Why, I ...' again the quick look at Suzanne. 'What do you think, sweetheart?'
'That you should go. You were at the battle, and covered yourself with glory, indeed. You are worth a place. And this will be a naval and military gathering. You'll have no planting controversy.'
Coke shook his head. 'Now that I'd think is at least likely. If the navy is entertaining, then will it be everyone of consequence on Antigua.'
Suzanne shrugged. 'Matt has but to keep his temper. You'll do that, Matt?'
'Eh? Oh, yes, sweetheart. I shall keep my temper. I promise you that. But we'll talk no more of it. You'll stay with us, Tom? If I am presently criticized by my fellows, surely my success here on Green Grove will initiate support and indeed, copy? From here we can really construct that happy society of which your Mr. Wesley dreams.'
'And then?' Coke asked quietly.
'Ah. Now there is a point on which we will have to debate.
I'd use the whip on no man, but I cannot see how we can
keep these islands prosperous without forced labour. And my
ancestors died for this prosperity, Tom. I can do no less...' he smiled at Suzanne. 'For my son.'
Coke nodded. ‘I honour your point of view, Matt. 'Tis something we will discuss. And I will happily stay with you the while, if Suzanne will permit it.'
'It will be my pleasure, Tom. Matt is so busy I sadly lack a companion, often enough.'
'I shall be here, I promise you,' He accepted a fresh glass of punch, leaned back in his chair, and inhaled. 'To Green Grove, and her enlightened owners. I feel, you know, as if at last I have caused a crack in the facade of unfeelingness, of brutality, of inhumanity, if you like, which shrouds these marvellous islands. For be sure I place much of the credit on our conversations as we came across the Atlantic, Matt. And the rest on your own courage and determination. And no doubt on the support of Suzanne here. I drink to you all.'
'And you ask no questions,' Matt said, quietly.
'I cannot believe it is my place to do so.'
'Aye.' Matt gazed at Suzanne. 'We none of us ask questions. Probably because we all of us know I have no answers.' His shoulders rose and fell. 'You do me no justice, Tom. I, a man of courage and determination? I am a hateful fellow, a shallow coward.'
Coke looked at Suzanne, but she said nothing; she gazed at Matt.
'Robert was right, of course, from the beginning; Georgiana was right. Suzanne, thank God, has never tried to be either right or wrong, as regards me. It was an infatuation. But because of it to what was that poor child condemned? Had I not come along might she not have married some English squire and lived out her life in contentment and even happiness? Now I do not know if she is dead, or enduring some living death. And thanks to me, poor Sue has had her life utterly ruined ... by heaven, I am all of a criminal, when you come down to it.'
'Oh, what nonsense,' Suzanne said. 'Because of you, I perhaps realized that my life was being ruined, and took steps to correct that sadness. Believe me, Matt, if your Gislane has gained as much from life as I have, because of her knowledge of you, then is she blessed.'
Matt looked at Coke. 'What do you think, old friend?'
The missionary sighed. 'God knows. Certainly He moves in a mysterious way. I see you expiating your sins in attempting to treat your slaves as human beings. Be sure that Augustine, Francis of Assisi, perhaps even Mr. Wesley himself, were but expiating sins when they undertook their great steps into the unknown of human thought and endeavour. Again I say, I drink to you both, to the man who would dare, and the woman who would support him; both are equally deserving of honour. And I say again, Matt, take care, and guard your temper, for all of our sakes, when you venture into public'
What memories were brought back as he was rowed across the still, landlocked waters of English Harbour. The Boreas was the only frigate presently moored here, but the entire magnificent natural harbour had been transformed into an unassailable naval base, with barracks dotting the shoreline and the small islands in the bay, and gun emplacements dominating the narrow entrance to the sea beyond. It was totally unlike the somewhat exposed anchorage at Gros Islets, and yet totally similar. He half expected to see Arbuckle and McLeod leaning over the side to welcome him aboard.
Yet there was a difference. There seemed less noise and bustle as he mounted the ladder, and there was less strain on the faces of those who waited to welcome him, either officers or men. While the captain was as far removed from Rodney as it was possible to imagine, no more than average height and very slightly built. His voice, too, was as quiet as Rodney's had been overloud. 'Mr. Hilton.' He offered his hand. 'Welcome aboard, sir. Horatio Nelson, at your service. Your Royal Highness, may I present Mr. Matthew Hilton, of Plantation Green Grove.'
'Hilton.' Prince William of Clarence was the King's third son, and possessed all his brother's florid good looks, with a mop of fair hair to crown a rather moon-like expression. 'Gad, sir, it seems impossible to move in these West Indies without hearing that name. My pleasure, sir.'
'And my honour,' Matt agreed. 'I can but apologize for Mistress Huys' absence, but she is a nursing mother.' He gazed at the Prince.
'Then is the child's fortune our misfortune,' Prince William agreed, without embarrassment.
'You'll come below, Mr. Hilton,' Nelson suggested. And hesitated. 'We have been joined by some other planters, you understand.'
Matt smiled at him. 'And you understand that I am not popular with my peers.'
'One is surrounded by rumour, Mr. Hilton. But this night I would prefer to ignore all such controversial matters. You are my guest, sir. You have but to remember that.'
Matt entered the great cabin. Here were several other officers, and eight planters; he only recognized two of them, and these mainly from his boyhood - one was Murray Chester, descendant of those Chesters who had been so resolutely opposed to both Kit Hilton and his friend Daniel Parke in the early colonial days, and a
s Matt remembered, an inveterate opponent of his own father in every possible way, and the other was Harry Dewing, a friend of Chester's. But all were smiling pleasantly enough for the time being and the cabin itself was a picture, the great table laden with silver, the serving to be done by marine privates, in brilliant red jackets faced with white and gold; the officers in full dress, with gold-hilted swords and gleaming white vests -indeed the planters, although every one sported a spotless white cravat, and there was a smattering of plum and deep green amongst their vests, were made to look remarkably shabby. Nor could anyone doubt that Matt was guest of honour, as he was seated on the captain's right, with the Prince on his own right. And as dinner commenced, the marine band struck up on the quarterdeck.
‘I will confess to be quite overwhelmed by your hospitality, Captain,' he remarked as they ate.
Nelson's smile was a trifle melancholy. 'Pure jealousy, Mr. Hilton, I do assure you,' he said. 'You have been where I should have been. Where I shall always regret not having been; in the line at the Saintes. Why, man, there is an entire career gone to waste.'
HF - 03 - Mistress of Darkness Page 31