There was more to the arrangement than money, of course. He had a genuine, close attachment to the girl herself. He never thought of her without a pleasurable tightening in his loins; she was without question one of the most strikingly beautiful women he had ever seen. He looked forward eagerly to the opportunity of initiating such a paragon into the mysteries of married life.
There should be no problem. The father was agreeable; the mother was emphatically on his side. And the daughter, he had already seen, was accustomed to authority. Nevertheless, it would be sensible to approach her with as much charm and evidence of goodwill as he could muster. There would be plenty of opportunity after the ceremony to establish his rightful authority.
He dressed himself with care in one of the suits he had brought from London, the russet breeches, emerald waistcoat trimmed with gold and canary coat lined with maroon silk that he had worn at the governor’s house on the night of his arrival in the colony. For a time he had worried about wearing clothes he’d had for almost a year, but there was no tailor worthy of the name in the colony and, in any case, the Carters would not have seen it since they had only recently arrived.
He took one further precaution: he confined himself to two glasses of rum, one to give himself courage and one more to put him in the mood for what he hoped would be a congenial celebration.
When he arrived on the Carters’ doorstep he was therefore not only dressed for the part of anxious suitor, he had also taken all the precautions he reasonably could to ensure that he would be acceptable not only to Mr and Mrs Carter but to their daughter as well.
For an hour the four of them exchanged pleasantries over drinks. Birkett took care not to address Virginia directly and noticed with approval that she made no attempt to join in the conversation but sat, demure and almost unnoticeable, in a corner of the room while he, with great vigour and self-confidence, expressed his views on a wide range of topics. It was a performance that might have done his chances no good at all had Mr Carter not been so firmly committed to the idea of the marriage. But he had set his heart on it, not only because of the title but also because he foresaw that a tame baronet in the family would be of considerable benefit to him commercially. Admittedly, Thomas’s father was still alive but Mr Carter had learned with some interest that Thomas was the child of his father’s old age, that Sir Ronald was in his seventies and in the nature of things could not be expected to linger for many more years. The fact that Thomas was a fool was if anything an advantage – he would be that much easier to control. Carter was not at all concerned by rumours of his wildness and dissolution. It was wonderful how a man’s habits could be controlled once the purse strings were in responsible hands.
So Carter listened with less than half an ear to Thomas’s chatter. He noted with disapproval that Virginia had chosen to wear one of her least attractive dresses and that she was taking no part in the conversation: not that anyone else was either, of course, with Thomas holding the floor. He did not allow such considerations to distract him, however. At what seemed a strategic moment, he contrived to withdraw with his wife and left Thomas and Virginia alone.
Thomas was a fool but not totally insensitive to the feelings of others – if he chose to disregard them, it was generally for reasons of indifference rather than ignorance – and he realised that Virginia was less enthusiastic about him than he might have expected. Another man might have felt affronted but he would not allow himself to take offence or to be distracted from his objective.
The way to deal with the problem, he decided, was to talk a little more about himself, allow her to see that he was in truth not such a bad fellow. He grudged having to do so and was unable altogether to conceal the fact, but five thousand guineas represented a powerful incentive not to let his feelings get out of control.
He talked to her at length about the aristocracy with whom he had mingled back in England, laughed heartily over his own anecdote of an obscene and totally fictitious episode involving the Prince of Wales – and was gratified to hear her do so, too, if somewhat hesitantly – and in general tried to be the entertaining and amusing fellow he knew himself to be.
Finally he came to the point. He moved a little closer, noting with approval the hint and outline of her exciting body beneath the overly demure dress, and took her hand.
‘Miss Carter, Virginia, if I may so call you, I have admired you considerably since first we met …’
He talked at length, regarding her closely with moist eyes and repeatedly drawing the tip of one pudgy finger down her palm as he did so. He was sweating, she noticed – a slight but unpleasant odour partially masked by a perfume of some kind – and the touch of his finger on her palm, the extraordinary familiarity and suggestiveness of the gesture, made her flesh creep.
He talked for a long time, as it seemed he always did, but in truth she heard hardly a word. She was filled with a panic that froze her hearing, her mind, her heart. She could not move or think or feel. She was conscious only of the never-ending drone of his voice and the furtive, insinuating, disgusting pressure of his finger on her skin.
Suddenly she could no longer breathe. With an abrupt gesture of her hand, she cut him off in the middle of a sentence.
‘No! Please …’
She turned, walked away from him and stood for a long time, her hand on the windowframe, looking out blindly into a night without light or stars or, it seemed, hope.
Thomas was taken aback. More, he was deeply offended but was prepared to make allowances, woman being, after all, the weaker vessel. For the first time he had an inkling that marriage to Virginia might be less easy than he had allowed himself to believe but the five thousand guineas still beckoned and, after the wedding, there would be remedies open to a husband that he could hardly use at this time. He took a deep breath, warned himself to be controlled and waited for a full minute before continuing.
It was not in his nature to be a supplicant, particularly where an impartial observer would surely agree that the benefits being brought to the marriage, with the admitted exceptions of five thousand guineas and a superficial physical attraction, were coming entirely from his side. Nevertheless, he did the best he could.
‘I understand that talk of marriage is bound to cause any woman an amount of emotional strain. But I repeat what I said at the beginning. I respect and admire you a good deal and I would be more than honoured if you would consent to become my wife.’ Really, he thought with some irritation, one could hardly say fairer than that.
Once, in India, Virginia had seen a display of fireworks. She remembered it now – the brilliant cascades and whirling circles of light, red and green and white, against the velvet darkness of the night sky. Her state of mind was somewhat similar to that – the same lights whirled and buzzed, making it impossible for her to concentrate on what was happening, what he was saying. This man … what was he to her? She did not know him, had addressed barely half a dozen sentences to him in her life. The idea of being married to someone whose very touch repelled her was repugnant. How could it be happening? Yet – she could delude herself no longer – happening it was. If she could think of no way to stop it, it would certainly happen. She would be married to a stranger, a man she disliked enormously.
She was underage. Her parents were set on the wedding and seemed indifferent to the fact that she cared less than nothing for him. She had hoped that Thomas might have had the grace to withdraw, if she showed him how she felt. He had not. Perhaps, she thought, I have not made my feelings clear enough? Yet I did say no to him. How can I say clearer than that? Yet he is still here, still talking. I am trapped.
As her mind whirled Thomas came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. She cringed involuntarily.
Thomas felt Virginia’s flesh quiver beneath the silk of the dress and thought it was an entirely natural reaction, an indication of her involuntary pleasure – excitement, even – at his touch. He bent close to her ear.
‘My dear, may I hope for a favourab
le answer?’
Virginia took a deep breath, trying to summon her courage. The weight of Thomas’s hand lingered loathsomely on her shoulder.
‘You must forgive me if I seem ungrateful,’ she began.
He snatched his hand away as though her body had suddenly become red hot. He took one step back. His expression was incredulous. ‘You are refusing me?’ His voice was thick with affront and gathering rage.
Frightened, she said, ‘No, I am not. Please believe me.’
She was relieved to see his face grow calmer, although he was obviously put out by her words. ‘I do not understand,’ he said stiffly.
She was distressed at having to explain herself, at having to find words to placate him when all she really wanted was to tell him to go. She remembered walking between the flares with Cash Tremain at her side, listening to the sound of his voice and thinking that he was a man who listened, who understood. But Cash Tremain could not help her now.
‘I am very sensible of the honour you have paid me by asking for my hand. Truly.’
He nodded grudgingly. She could see that to some extent he was already mollified by her words but she had not won him yet.
‘Are you saying there is someone else?’
‘No, indeed,’ she assured him hastily. ‘It is just that all this has come about so suddenly … I need time to … to get used to the idea that anyone could love me enough to ask me to marry them.’
She tried a half-smile, hoping she had diverted his anger. His face cleared and she gave a small sigh of relief. It seemed she had succeeded. His self-esteem had not been injured after all.
‘Of course I understand,’ he said. ‘This sudden opportunity is so much better than anything you had reason to expect. It has no doubt come as a great shock to you. I shall leave you now and come back for your answer tomorrow.’
*
Archibald Carter was furious and talked of locking Virginia in her room until she saw reason. Her mother felt this might kindle even greater resistance.
‘To deny me in this!’ Carter raged. ‘Does she no’ see what a wonderful opportunity she’s throwing away?’
‘She’s thrown away nothing, yet,’ said Mrs Carter firmly.
‘We don’t know that! The son of a baronet!’ Carter cried in anguish. He had started life pushing a fish trolley around the streets of Dumfries and would never forget it. ‘He said he would come back tomorrow, but he may no’. Her whole attitude’s been a gey slap in the face for him. Even a lummox like Birkett must see that! He may not come back at all!’
Carter was deeply concerned. He had all the money he needed and was confident of his ability to accumulate more. All he lacked was the social position that, for him, would be the crowning glory of all his work. Now his daughter, by her ridiculous and quite unexpected stubbornness, was placing this in jeopardy.
‘In which case it’s too late and nothing to be done about it,’ his wife told him practically. ‘But I am sure we needn’t worry about that. Where else will he find a girl as good looking as Virginia and a dowry of five thousand guineas to go with her?’
Mrs Carter was not in the least sentimental about the question of her daughter’s marriage. Few people of her generation were. She could see that Thomas Birkett, dissolute and not too bright, would make a far from ideal husband, but he was the best prospect in sight – the only prospect with a title pending – and she was not about to let him go to satisfy some foolish whim of her daughter’s. On the other hand, she thought her husband’s way of going about things might not produce the right results. He sometimes failed to recognise that his daughter had inherited something of his own obstinacy. They had brought her up to be obedient, to know her place, but beneath the demure facade she had a will of her own. It would be better not to arouse it. A more subtle approach was needed.
This was not to say she disagreed with Mr Carter’s objective. She understood her husband very well and knew how important it was to him. It was the main reason they had left Calcutta – his origins had become too widely known. No one in the colony knew of his beginnings but, with the steady growth of trade, the story was bound to follow them. It was why the match must be secured as quickly as possible. Thomas Birkett might marry the daughter of a wealthy trader; it was unthinkable that he would agree to become the son-in-law of a man who had started life as a fish porter.
‘Perhaps I should have a word with her?’ she suggested.
‘If ye think ye can handle it better than I can,’ he said, in a temper with his daughter and everyone else. ‘I wash my hands of it. Ye ken what’s the best thing to do, I leave it all to ye.’ But he could not resist a parting shot. ‘Make sure she does it, that’s all.’
Archibald stamped off to console his soul with commerce. Mrs Carter sought out Virginia.
‘Your father is very disappointed,’ she began. ‘He feels your rejection of Mr Birkett is a direct blow at him and all his plans for you.’
Virginia turned from her in distress, her cheeks stained with tears. ‘I have not rejected him …’
Mrs Carter seized her opportunity. ‘That is good news! I shall tell your father immediately!’
‘Nor have I accepted him.’
‘It is not seemly to keep a gentleman waiting,’ Mrs Carter said.
Virginia cried, ‘How can I accept him when I do not love him?’
Mrs Carter wondered what the present generation was coming to. ‘Love will come as you get to know him better. In the meantime it is monstrously unfeeling of you to treat Mr Birkett in such a way.’
‘What have I done to him?’
‘Only consider. He has come here, alone. You do not imagine he could do it without people being aware of it? A place as small as this? What will they say if it turns out there is to be no marriage? How will he feel?’
‘But surely I should have some say in my own marriage?’
Her voice cracked with distress but Mrs Carter, who prided herself on her consideration for others, did not permit herself to hear it.
‘No one disputes that. But what is your objection to this young man, other than the fact you say you do not love him?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘I have already said love will come.’
‘But I have no feeling for him at all!’ Weeping afresh, followed by a flash of defiance. ‘You only want me to marry him because he will have a title!’
It was true but it gave Mrs Carter the edge she had been looking for. ‘Are you saying you object to marrying Mr Birkett because he is the son of a baronet?’
‘Of course not …’ Everyone was against her, everyone.
‘Should we perhaps look for a husband for you among the convicts? If you feel a gentleman is … unsuitable?’
‘No!’
‘Do you really think we would do something that was not in your best interests?’
It was precisely what Virginia feared but could not voice. The idea that her own parents might be willing to betray her over something so fundamental to her own happiness … She could never say it out loud, for fear that it was true. Thomas Birkett would be far preferable to that.
‘Your father has set his heart on this,’ Mrs Carter said gently. ‘It is important to him to feel he has done everything he can for you. It would be a very fine marriage, better than we could really have hoped, and for you to turn it down … He will feel it as a rejection of himself. Anyone would.’
‘But that is not true!’
‘And since you have no objection to the young man himself …’ Virginia had not said that, but never mind. ‘… and since I have told you that love will come when you get to know him better, I am sure you will know the right thing to do, when he returns.’
‘Perhaps he will not return.’
She smiled. ‘How can he not return, when he loves you so much?’
THIRTY-ONE
Nightmare.
The figures of the savages capered about him. They were alive; they were, he supposed, human, yet they were utte
rly alien. He felt no more relationship to them than to the trees crouching at the edge of the beach, the columns of black rock along the sea coast.
One of the natives gesticulated, chattering, and two of them dragged Cash to his feet. He tried to resist but one of the men cuffed him with the haft of his spear. He staggered and nearly fell. Half-supporting, half-pushing him, they led him through the fringe of trees and along a track so indistinct it was almost invisible. He had time to think only that Hank and the rest would never be able to track them through this, then the forest closed about them and the sound of the breaking surf passed out of hearing.
They moved so swiftly that Cash afterwards never knew how he had managed to keep up. Soon they began to climb but the forest remained as thick as ever and the pace at which they covered the ground did not diminish. At length, after running for what seemed a very long time, they reached the foot of a cliff in which there appeared a broken crevice up which they now climbed. It was steep and the ground beneath their feet was littered with broken rock, but they did not pause. Cash was gasping, heart pounding in his chest, yet his captors did not seem the slightest out of breath.
The wind echoed and whirled about them, tossing the branches of the trees through which they had just passed and which now, far below, flowed away in a grey tide to the distant sea. They were high up on the spine of hills that he had seen from Nantucket but their route must have taken them around the side of the mountain because he could make out neither the vessel nor the headland in whose shelter it lay. Not that it made any difference. For all the use Nantucket was in his present situation, it might as well have been on the moon.
They reached the top. The men stood close about him, their rank odour heavy in the air. There was no chance of escape. He wondered why they hadn’t killed him on the beach. Did they plan to eat him? He had heard stories, after all. His lungs were on fire and his legs were aching but he welcomed every discomfort. It proved he was alive. For the moment, that was sufficient.
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