by Jan Needle
“Jesus Christ,” said Holt, and it was not a blasphemy. “Sweet Jesus Christ Almighty.”
“We’ve come as friends,” said Hugg, strangely. “We have not come to offer harm, at all.”
This time the great chains clinked and rattled to a purpose, and the pathetic bundle was transformed. Legs unfolded, an arm shot out and pushed against the floor to raise a torso, and the head moved round, a blob became a face. It was a fearsome sight, jet black indeed as Deb had said, but encrusted with dried blood and other things. One eye was closed and swollen, there were weeping cuts, and the nose was newly squashed and broken. The white men, it seemed, had done their civilising work upon the savage.
“I have news from Mildred,” said Will. “And the white maid, Deb. They are safe on board my ship, and… asked after you.”
“Do you want to stand?” asked Hugg, holding out a massive paw. “I am very strong.”
It seemed naive to Will and Sam, to talk to this man thus. But he turned his one good eye on Hugg, and smiled, albeit painfully. He held an arm out, clanking, and the chains that hung from it must have been a hundredweight. Hugg took it near the wrist, and raised him to his feet. The face was racked with pain, but Marlowe did not let out the smallest cry. Upright, he rocked for some moments, to achieve his balance. Then he said: “I thank you. But however strong you are, you cannot break my chains. I die King George’s slave man after all. No help for it, from God or man. I will set down again. I thank you.”
“This is not right,” said Hugg. He eased the black man to the ground, and looked at William. “Sir; Mr Bentley. I swear this is not right.”
Holt said: “We are getting lawyers for you, Mister. Jack Ashdown here has known Jamaica’s best.”
Although down, Marlowe was not yet out. He split his face into a grimace that was meant, perhaps, to be a look of reassurance.
“I am suffering,” he said. “Forgive me if I crave for liberty. I am glad that Mildred is alive, and your good woman, Lieutenant Will. They know I aid them, I innocent. Tell Mildred go fight on, and if she reach gallows too, like me, go there with heart of blood and fire. Freedom the right of every man, and woman, tell her, from the time of birth. It is the law of God.”
Outside the jail once more, the four of them were speechless. They knew a vast injustice was happening and would soon get worse. They feared they could do nothing.
*
Alf Sutton, and to a less extent his one surviving son, were not the men to be put down by Navy officers, however fierce and grand. Their clattering arrival in a yard behind the house had ended the argument between Swift and Kaye, and they had come through the house to confront them without delay. Alf Sutton held a bottle by its neck, and pushed it at Dick Kaye, who took it gratefully. He pulled the cork, and took a draught, and coughed, while Swift looked on.
Sutton laughed.
“Eh oop,” he said. “’Ast et a sour plum, owd lad? Young Dickon needs a drink now, doan’t’e? Tek one yersen, and welcome.”
“Sir,” Swift said icily. “I am Captain Daniel Swift, and I serve his Majesty the King. I am not here for prattling, nor for drinking rum. Captain Kaye, sir! Your duty! I beg you to constrain yourself.”
Kaye shook his head, as if to clear it, and coughed some more. He addressed Alf Sutton, not Captain Swift.
“Did you find them?” he said, anxiously. “Did you see the boy? Is he all right? Did you tell my proposition?”
Seth was grinning like a monkey. He glanced at Swift’s face, high on his horse, clenched with fury, and he almost sneered.
“Proposition?” said Swift. “What proposition, Captain?”
“Aye,” said Alf. “We fahnd ’em,’tweren’t that ’ard, and they snapped up t’brass aw reet.”
“Is this the Scotchmen?” Swift demanded, angrily. “Do you dare to tell me, sir, you have seen the Scotchmen? And given money? Bribes? Where are they, sir? I insist to know! Good God, sir, I am the British Navy! How did you find them?”
“Ee, just a bit o’ common sense, lad, bit o’ money changin’ ’ands, nowt special. We ain’t the British Navy, that’s an ’elp. An’ talkin’ o’ money, Dickon – ’ast bought the Siddlehams out yet? ’Ave they took yer brass? They’re canny folk them brothers. We tek us ’ats off, doan’t us, Seth?”
“But where’s the boy?” Kaye said with desperation.
“Where are the Scotchmen?” said Swift, harshly. “You will tell me, sir. It is your obligation as an Englishman.”
The brown, lined, sly face creased in quiet pleasure.
“We doan’t think England anymore,” said Alf. “This is called New World b’some folk. ’Asta not ’eerd o’ it? You’re in Jamaica now, lad.”
“Anyroad,” said Seth. “’Appen they’ll be gone b’now. Them Scotchies. When we saw ’em they was packin’ up their sticks, ent that so, Dad? They’ve got the nigger-boats an’all if they should fancy; owd Marlowe’s. Off to Cuba’d be my wager. Hispaniola, Cayman mebbe. There ain’t a shortage o’ good islands, is theer now? Nobbut a cockstride away.”
“But what about Black Bob,” said Kaye. “If they were going, where was my… Where is the little boy?”
Alf fumbled inside his tunic. It was stained leather, and capacious. He withdrew a bundle, a kind of pouch, tied up in marling twine. He handed it to Kaye.
“Oh aye. They give me this fer thee. Summat to be going on wi’, yon tall ’un said. Wrapped up proper by a sailorman, so I couldn’t get a peep, I reckon. The fat ’un done it. Englishman, not Scotch.”
While Kaye clawed at it, Swift tried some more to pump for information. He tried intimidation, he tried man-to-man. The planters, son and father, viewed each gambit with contempt.
“Tha can answer me a question,” said Alf, at last. “’Ave them brothers took yer money yet? Is all signed and sealed?”
“What’s that to you?” Swift said, furiously. “It is a private business matter.”
“Oh, nowt,” said Sutton. “Just fer nosy, like. And did they say their fayther wor a lord? A duke or baronet, or summat? Nay, they’ll not’ve told a man like thee such awful lies, what say thee, Seth? ’E never ’ad a pot to piss in, to tell the truth on it, till ’e met that rich lass. She wor a lady; would’ve liked to be. ’Er owd man were all fer killing Nat. Beg pardon, that’s Sir Nat. ’Appen that’s why they skipped out of England over ’ere. Cost ’em dearly though, din’t it? She ’ad ’er airs and graces, but she ended up with precious little else. Am ah reet, Seth? Am ah reet?”
“Aye,” said Seth, judiciously. “Int’region o’ – according to the lawyers, what knows best – well, int’region o’ fook all, weren’t it, Dad? Fook all.”
Alf stared at Swift’s rigid face for a long moment, as if in sympathy. Then he said: “That’s t’danger fer folks what doan’t know our island ways, int it? Someone could’ve warned thee, couldn’t they? They should’ve done. But no one would. D’ye see?”
There was a strange noise from the mouth and throat of Richard Kaye. He had the bundle in his hands, the open pouch, and there was something in it, gleaming white. He held it up. It was a necklace. His face was slowly draining of all blood.
“Oh aye,” said Alf. “The Scotchmen done it. They boiled up and bored his teeth fer thee. And finger-bones. Sort o’ memento, you can wear it round the neck. Pretty, int it?”
“Aye,” Seth added. “You can show it to yer friends. ‘Here’s lickle Bob, I likes to keep ’im close, don’t laugh.’ Unusual, int it? Talking point.”
Kaye’s shoe lashed out, and caught the bottle of rum. It smashed against the wall, and raw spirit spread across the flags. The smell was penetrating.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dan Swift, for all his bravery and power, was not an aristocrat, although he aspired to what he saw as their values. Slack Dickie was one, born and bred, and it was a nothing to him. He refused to use his title, he found his fellow “well-borns” fastidious and effete, and he wished, it was the secret of his heart, that he could be li
ked by normal men. He was, however, blind to all the reasons that could not be. He did not even realise he was a law unto himself.
Slack Dickie had not kicked the rum away by accident in fact, but Swift was certain that he had. It was the measure of the man, a wreck, a blasted drunk, a broken reed, and Swift, in anger, took himself away out of his sight. He left the shattered captain, he left the two sardonic Suttons, he left the dull, failed plantation (as he saw it) and rode off on his borrowed mare. He had been rogered, he had been gulled, he had been taken for the worst kind of a fool. Worse, as he saw it, there was no way at all that he could break the bargain he had sealed. Whether he believed or not the Suttons’ claim that Jeremy was not a baronet, he was certain that Sir Nathaniel had been a knight, and his own constraints were etched in iron, as a gentleman. He had shaken hands, he had given his word, and hand and word were bonds. If the Siddlehams held to the point, then it must stand. So Captain Swift, with dignity and courage, went to see them.
They were expecting him, it would appear, and comported themselves with icy hauteur. They knew which way the wind was blowing before he said a word, and had (as soon as warned of his approach) set themselves on horseback for the confrontation. His horse was big, and theirs were bigger, and both of them were tall, and straight, and – aristocratic. Swift, who could have faced an army single-handed, had little chance.
“Sirs,” he said, after first normal greetings, “Sirs, I hear disturbing things. I hear that I must consult with lawyers.”
They stared at him as if in blank amazement.
“Sir?” said Jeremy. “Good God alive, what can the trouble be?”
“Lawyers,” said Jonathan, “on this island, sir, are considered worse than dogs. Men who consort with lawyers, sir… Well, people like we… We three… do not, sir. Never.”
As Swift searched for another gambit, his mare pissed noisily onto the ground. It seemed to last for ever, and the smell was hot and sharp. It was a punctuation, normal yet unreal, and all three waited until the mare was finished. Then Jeremy spoke.
“If you have heard rumours, Captain Swift, then that is also island talk. I will not demean you by asking you to detail them, suffice to say there is no truth. You have our word. sir. Our word as gentlemen. We hope you –”
“Sir,” said Swift. “I must ask directly. Is this plantation in escrow? I have not seen papers. Are there constraints; distraints? I do not have the language but –”
Jonathan had pulled himself up in his saddle. If it was simulation, he simulated anger well.
“How dare you, sir! By God, a man could call one out for that! A man –”
“Jonathan!” The older Siddleham was sharp. “Desist, sir! There is no need for language such as this! Good God, sir, Captain Swift here is our honoured friend! I am certain – I would lay it on our mother’s grave – I… Sir? Your intentions, I am right amn’t I, I confide in it. Honour sir, is a very precious thing.”
“And breach of honour, sir –” Jonathan began.
“Brother! Desist! I will not have this! Captain Swift, sir…”
But round a clump of trees then Richard Kaye appeared, and seemed to all of them to be as drunk as ever. Even his mule seemed to stagger as it crossed the rugged ground at speed, and his face was flushed and gleaming. He pulled up ten feet before them and, astonishingly, drew a long pistol from beside his saddle. He levelled it first at the older Siddleham, then at the younger. Both men paled but held their ground, although Jeremy’s horse began a sideways stepping movement that he struggled to control.
“Ho!” said Kaye, his voice hard and incisive. “Hear me well, you villains, before I pull this trigger. Hear me well!”
Swift was amazed, and let it show. He raised a half-apologetic hand at the Siddlehams, and shifted his own horse sideways as if to come alongside Kaye’s mount. But Kaye also shifted sideways and made an angry gesture with his barrel.
“Sir,” he said. “The field is mine, I beg of you. Siddlehams. You know my lineage, and by thunder, sirs, I now know yours. I say this loud and clear: that you are scoundrels, you are liars, you are rogues. My father is of ancient family and does not part easy with his cash. You have chosen the wrong men, sirs, to tangle with, and you will now withdraw. If Captain Swift here, in probity and honour, thought he had an honest bargain with you, you must tell him that he stands mistook. He wished that we should buy something from you, which it now seems that you do not have. Both I and Captain Swift are here as agents of my father, and we have full authority from him to act as we see fit. Hereby we release you, do we not, Captain? You are not beholden to us, gentlemen. You are absolved.”
Jonathan, who was the quicker-witted of the brothers, was consumed with fury. Tricks and insults, from Kaye’s lips, were unexpected, and touched him on the raw.
“Absolved?” he shouted. “And you are drunk! A handshake is a handshake in our society, and it shall be observed. By God, sir, we are the gentlemen of this new place, and now you never will be, for a certainty! We will ruin you! Our word will make you veritable pariah dogs! Captain Swift! What say you to this! You are the higher officer! Make him step back from it!”
Swift had an instinct for when men were on the run. His nose lifted. His grey eyes sparkled.
“The captain is an earl or some such noble thing,” he said, mildly. “I am but a common captain, for my sins. His word outweighs mine by far, sirs, you aristocrats must surely know the truth of that. Regrettable, but…”
The brothers could perhaps have called Kaye out, but he looked as if he would shoot them down without the benefit of seconds. In any way, which of them would have dared to face those bulging hazel eyes, strangely demented? Their ally Swift – as they supposed him – had decamped to stand foursquare against them. It was they who must step down. They did so.
“This is egregious,” said Jeremy. “Put your gun up, sir, it is offensive. It is French behaviour.”
Jonathan wheeled his horse and gabbled: “We should call ’em out, Jem, the pair of ’em. We could end up bankrupt out of this.”
“Just as we thought,” cried Dick Kaye, gaily. “Good to hear it from the horse’s arse!”
And as they rode back to Kingston, after some long way in thoughtful silence, Swift said to him: “You surprised me, Captain. Forgive me for presumption, but I thought that you were drunk.”
Although he did not see it, Dick’s eyes had brimmed with tears. He could not reply. His heart was full of loss.
For his Black Bob.
*
On the Jacqueline, when their errant captain returned, the mood was raw and raucous. The story of the rebel Marlowe, chained and shackled in the filthy cell, had affected all severely, and Deb and Mildred’s presence spread it like fire in a hay barn. The sailors, sentimental and hungry for a woman’s presence, would have fought to the death for anything they cared for, and both were beautiful, and not to be obtained.
When Kaye turned up – alone, as Swift had gone about his Navy business – there were many people in his cabin who should by no means have been there. Will had been warned in good time of his approach, and decided that the time was ripe to convince Kaye, once for all, that Deb and Marlowe were innocent, and that the rebel was the victim of a vast injustice. Will, Sam and Gunning all knew that if Kaye chose to react as Kaye well might, they could end up in trouble of the very worst. They chose to take the risk.
He was a strange sight when he walked into his cabin, ushered in, in fact, by Hugg, who was looming as a sort of friendly threat. His dress was that of a drinker who has lost his normal bed, his face was puffed and bloated about the eyes, and those eyes were bloodshot. On top of all a smell of rum, both stale and newish, and an air of raffish jollity and confidence. All hearts sank on sight of him, and all were delighted when he began to speak. He was lucid, intelligent, and quite clearly sober, and the jolliness was turned to bitter calm. He bowed to Deb and Mildred (who were dressed now in better garments, thanks to make-do-and-mend, the sailors’ special art),
demanded coffee and fruit juices all round, and listened as the story was outlined. He took Deb’s innocence as a given, and Mildred’s too when he had heard them speak. His opinion of the Siddlehams was now so low he would have believed anything to their detriment that anyone had said.
But he had passion, too, when the part played by the Lamont brothers was brought up. His hand went into the pocket of his coat and stayed there, moving, and his nostrils flared with indrawn breath. Jack Ashdown, his normal soft mien gone, said he thought they were the greatest danger, and that they should be the ones to hang, not the poor black renegade. “But what,” he asked, “but how, sir, can we bring about such justice?”
Kaye got to his feet, and moved about the deck, distractedly.
“I want to see them hanged,” he said. “I want to hang them with my own two hands if possible. If we got Marlowe out, perhaps he could… We do not know where the Scotch may be, they may be, indeed, no longer on this island. But could… mayhap your Marlowe…?”
This to Mildred, who nodded decisively.
“He would, he could. He find anyone out there. He find me and Debbeerah.”
“Hold hard!” said Will. “Hold hard, sir! We can’t get Marlowe out, he is in Kingston prison. It is a proper jail, a fortress.”
“Ladies’ drawers,” said Kaye. “That is all I say to you, Bentley. Ladies’ drawers. Hugg! What would the men say to that, do you think? These bastards raised them on our main yardarm. These same bastards who’ve put Marlowe in their jail. Could you find the men to break the door down, do you think? We’ll give ’em bloody ladies’ furbelows!”
Hugg was a calm man, for his size, but he liked a challenge, and that of armed men and a prison gate was mightily appealing. Jem Taylor was more cautious, but both agreed the men would love it, would see it as a well-earned right. It was Will and Sam who saw the flaws and problems. They saw themselves against the might of the Assembly, the militia, the law, and in the end, of England. Navy officers, they pointed out, were not paid to spring traitors out of English jails, even on an island far away.
