THE PLANTER
GREEN GROVE was the largest plantation on Antigua, and yet was by some degree smaller than Hilltop. It was far more beautiful; its compactness gave an impression of tremendous fertility - seen from the gentle hill which overlooked at once the canefields and the Great House and the slave village and the beach beyond, and the Leper Island, it was simple to understand how it had first obtained its name, even in the month after grinding.
It was also the most evocative of the Hilton possessions. Here Kit Hilton the buccaneer had come courting, and here he had wooed the beautiful Meg Warner, despite the opposition of her family and indeed of all Antigua society. Here they had lived their stormy lives, loving and hating each other with equal intensity, and here Meg had contracted the leprosy which, had left her even more notorious in death than she had been in life. Her bones still lay on the Leper Island, even if the island was now deserted, shunned by all as a place of evil spirits; the Government had itself taken over the segregated treatment of the disease and built its own lazaretto close to St. John's.
But it was Meg Hilton's spirit which dominated these fields, and this house. And Meg, with her single-minded determination to have what she wanted, regardless of legal or moral impediment, would surely be smiling on this latest example of Hilton perversity, Hilton disregard for convention. Matt felt it in his bones, knew it in the swelling of his heart, as the gig started its downward journey. He glanced at Sue, and found her watching him.
He closed his fingers over hers. 'Happy?'
'If you will be happy. Matt.'
He pursed his lips to blow her a kiss. 'I am happy whenever I am near enough to touch you.'
Now at last she smiled. 'There is a challenge no woman should resist. I shall always be near enough to touch, Matt. Until you grow tired of me.'
'There is an incomprehensible thought.' He watched the drive unfolding in front of the horses, the muscles flexing in Thomas Henry's shoulders as he tightened the reins; the slaves on Green Grove had always retained the double names invented by Marguerite. But there were so many incomprehensible thoughts, chasing about his head, demanding to be exposed. He had spoken no more than the truth; when Sue was within an arm's length he knew no doubts, no fears, would accept no self-condemnation. Yet was she also right. Their love depended on their physical joy in each other, and it was difficult to see that lasting a lifetime, through sickness and inevitable separation, even if neither of them doubted it would at least survive the current scandal.
But there was the sum of her problem. She had acted as a Hilton, thrown up husband and respectability for the company of a man she had chosen to love. Her business must be to keep him, if only to justify herself. But what of him? How simple to say, why, I am the same. I saw, I loved, and now my existence is controlled from embrace to embrace. Except that he had used those thoughts, enjoyed those emotions, once before, and in so doing brought catastrophe upon a girl who had done no more than respond. Perhaps, he thought, this is what truly frightens me, that having destroyed Gislane, merely by loving, I am now in the process of destroying Sue. But Sue could never be destroyed; no matter what happened to her, she would face life, and treat life, and conquer life, as a Hilton. Not a slave.
So, then, every moment he sat here, or rode the dams at Green Grove, or drank his punch and sangaree on the front verandah, he was compounding his crime. He had, to all intents and purposes, committed murder, and was taking his ease while his victim still died.
But always his conscience foundered upon the same rock.
Was not Gislane already dead? Or at least, the Gislane he had known? Could he not but make matters worse, by seeking and finding her? Must not her hatred of white people, and of the Hiltons, and of Matt Hilton most of all, be the dominating fact of her life? Whatever had become of her, however horrible her life, he could only accept the fact that to him she was dead, as to her he must be dead. It was a simple enough resolve.
The pressure of Suzanne's fingers tightened on his own, and he started. She smiled at him, but her eyes remained solemn. No doubt she was sufficiently used to his brown studies, and sufficiently aware of their cause.
But now too the time for thought was past, at least for a while. The gig was pounding up the driveway, and as it was late afternoon they were encountering files of slaves returning from the fields, driven by the whips of their overseers. They stared at the carriage in disinterested bemusement, two visitors for Mistress Lander's dinner table, perhaps. But one of the overseers recognized Sue, and then Matt, and raised his hat, and called out to another. Here was a fruitful cause for speculation in the white compound.
The gig rolled to a stop. Green Grove Great House was but a smaller version of that at Hilltop, from the carefully constructed mound of earth on which the house stood, through the deep verandahs and the reinforced doors, past the mahogany floors and the cedar walls, to the huge skylights in the roof; Hilltop was in fact no more than an enlarged copy of the original Hilton house. And on the verandah were Thomas Arthur the butler, and Jane Lander herself, a tall, angular Scotswoman, complexion bleached yellow by an adult lifetime in the tropics, grey-streaked black hair drawn back in a tight bun to emphasize the pointed forcefulness of her features. She was frowning at the sudden appearance of an unexpected carriage, and the frown was only deepening as she recognized the occupants, even as she hurried down the stairs behind her butler to assist Suzanne to the ground.
'Mistress Huys,' she cried, and bit her lip. 'How good to see you. Matthew, is that you?' She could remember him as a babe.
'The bad penny himself, Jane,' he cried. 'Ian home yet?'
'I expect him shortly. But come inside. Come inside. There are mosquitoes. Thomas Arthur, you'll prepare sangaree. Is this a visit...' she checked, to glance at Suzanne, and flush.
'I am afraid we are come to stay, Jane, Suzanne said, lifting her skirt to climb the stairs. 'We? I... I do not understand.'
'Robert has decided it is time I become a planter,' Matt explained. 'Of course Ian will continue to oversee the plantation. Make no mistake about that. No doubt in the next twenty years or so I will learn the business.'
She glanced at him, before her eyes seemed to roll back to Suzanne. Antigua was only a dozen miles from St. Eustatius; they had seen the Dutch island on the northern horizon as they had sailed past St. Kitts.
'And I have elected to be a planter's wife, if it is possible,' Suzanne said, with that coolness which however well Matt knew to be affected, was certainly her greatest asset. Now she drew off her gloves and sat down.
'Oh, my dear,' Jane cried, joining her on the settee, her mind apparently made up. 'There will be a divorce?'
Suzanne took a glass of sangaree from Thomas Arthur's tray, and waited while Matt did the same. 'Not in the immediate future. Dirk is a possessive man.'
'Oh. Oh, dear. I ... I must see to your rooms, of course.' Jane got up. 'You will remain in the front room, Matt, and...'
'Matt will move into the master bedroom, with me, Jane,' Suzanne said. 'We may as well understand each other, and our situation. I have no doubt at all, from the way Joanna Chester averted her eyes when she happened to see us disembarking this morning, that all Antigua is well aware of what has happened. So please do not pretend to be ignorant. I have left my husband, in order to become Matt's mistress. As I said just now, I hope in time to become his wife, but there is little possibility of that for some years. In that time I have no desire or intention to act the nun.'
Jane Lander stared at her. 'But...'
'Green Grove will become the centre of endless gossip, and all who live here will doubtless be ostracized. It has happened before, Jane, and certainly it will happen again.'
‘Oh, my God ...' Jane gazed past Matt at her husband.
Ian Lander was no taller than his wife, and had somewhat less strong a face. But now it was cold. 'I'm sorry I was not in St. John's to meet you, Matthew. I was not informed you were coming.'
'I have Robert's letter here.' Matt pull
ed it from his pocket, and waited, while Lander slit the envelope and perused its contents, his frown deepening the while.
‘I think I will go upstairs and change for supper,' Suzanne decided. ‘I have been wearing these clothes for two days; the captain would not let us leave the deck as we sneaked past St. Kitts for fear Dillon's people would rush out upon us. Do you think one of the girls could draw me a bath, Jane?'
‘I will see to it,' Jane Lander said, but she hesitated, as her husband was clearly reaching the end of his study.
'Mr. Hilton says you are to assume full control of the plantation,' he said, gazing at Matt.
Matt nodded. 'I understand that was his intention. I have promised him to devote myself utterly to the task, for a period of at least three years.'
Landers gaze drifted in the direction of Suzanne, who was again on her feet. 'And in that time —'
'I shall be living here also, Ian.' Sue's cheeks glowed, but with anger rather than embarrassment, Matt had no doubt.
The manager drew a long breath. ‘I doubt you will have much use for my services in the future, in these circumstances.' He did not specify to whom he was speaking.
'Oh, what rubbish, Ian,' Matt shouted. 'I have forgotten all I ever knew about planting, if indeed I ever knew anything at all. Without you the plantation would rapidly descend to ruin.'
'Aye,' said the Scot. 'But I doubt...'
'We shall be happy to help you in every possible way, Matthew,' Jane said, quietly. 'And you, of course, Mistress Huys. I will see to your bath.'
She left the room, and Sue hesitated only long enough to gaze at Matt, and speak to him with her eyes, demanding strength. He nodded. 'You attend your bath, Sue; I am sure Ian and I have a great deal to discuss. You'll sit down, Ian, and tell me of the plantation. And take a glass of sangaree.'
Lander sat down, rolled his glass in his hands as he listened to Suzanne's boots on the stairs. 'It is said, when the war ends, that Dirk Huys will go seeking the man who has dishonoured his name.'
'I shall not ask any man on this plantation to fight my battles, Ian.'
Lander sighed. 'You grew up on Antigua, Matt. You'll recall its size. Dirk is but the half of your problem.'
'What, will anyone refuse to ship Hilton sugar?' Matt took another glass. 'Barton would give him short shrift.'
'Oh, aye. No one will refuse our sugar, Matt. And Mistress Huys must be the most beautiful woman to walk these boards since Miss Meg, God rest her soul. But to stare at that sea, and the island, and those fields, endlessly, will become a purgatory with the best of company.'
Here was an immediate crisis; Ian clearly could not forget that he had been Ned Hilton's best friend. Matt drained his second glass, and set it down with great care. 'I'll bow to your knowledge, your experience, in the field and in the factory, Ian. Not once we mount those stairs. And by heaven I'll break the head of the first man who utters a word against Mistress Huys.' He stood up. 'And I'll hold the men responsible for the tongues of their wives. Remember that.'
Dawn was the best time of the day. It seldom changed its hour, invariably arrived between five and six of the morning. The Great House faced south, and the master bedroom was on the south-facing wall, so that the light was never piercing, but rather a tremendous pink and yellow glow, which ranged into the windows, slid up and down the walls, set up an aura around the white mosquito netting which shrouded the tent bed and left the occupants inside invisible.
The netting did more than repel insects; it also excluded anything short of a gale, and the tropical night which began hot, and cooled somewhat after midnight, was by dawn again close and warm. By then the sheets had been rolled back by their sleepily kicking feet, and they were uncovered.
Yet always intertwined, a leg across a leg, an arm across a chest, strands of her fine golden hair tickling his nose. If during the day she imposed upon all around her the imperious hauteur of that steady stare and determined arrogance, at night she dissolved into a delight whose only joy was passion, and who was knowing it, with him, for the first time in her existence.
But the first intimation of dawn was not yet time for movement. He loved to watch her awake, and was content to wait for it to happen naturally. He also loved to listen to the sounds of the awaking plantation, the stealthy whisper from downstairs as the servants began their mammoth task of sweeping and dusting and expelling ants and spiders, the neighing of the horses as they were taken from the stable for exercise, the incessant tolling of the bell from the slave compound, summoning the unfortunate blacks to another day of endless, unrewarded labour.
His own part in this was as yet small. In the two months they had lived here they had unashamedly honeymooned. Besides, it was the slackest time of the year. Grinding had been completed but ten weeks earlier, and the field hands were concerned solely with preserving the young shoots from the attacks of weeds. As the plants grew stronger, and able to defend themselves, the field work would diminish for a spell, and then the business of maintaining and improving the plantation would commence. Roads would be re-surfaced, houses would be re-roofed. Honeymooning or not, Sue was already making notes of where she wanted paint renewed, and what changes she would have made in the furnishings of the house. She pursued her course as chatelaine of Green Grove with the careless energy of a woman who had been born simply to perform this duty; nor had she been disturbed. Predictably, no one had come to call on the runaway Hilton sinners, and they had not as yet ventured into St. John's.
His daily task consisted of no more than a leisurely ride through the fields, before the sun grew too hot, and the obligatory daily inspection of the dispensary, to chat with the sick and receive William Arthur's report on which were likely to survive. It had been Lander's idea that he should immediately commence taking the chair at the morning punishment sessions, but this he had declined, for the time being; Green Grove appeared to run smoothly, and the blacks appeared to be happy, if blacks ever were happy. He wished to get to know them all again before he stepped in as their immediate master. For the time being he was content to be a remote figure with eventual power over them all, and for that reason, he reminded himself, the more formidable, from their point of view.
Which was specious enough. If he ever had the courage to admit the truth to himself, it would have to be that he feared them. Not physically, but for the memories they threatened to recreate for him, memories which always hovered on the brink of his consciousness, which he knew but waited on his own conscience, his own determination, whether to allow them to overwhelm him altogether, or whether the planter in him would in time submerge them. Memories which for the moment could only certainly be lost in Sue's arms.
She sighed, and eyes still shut, blew a strand of hair from its resting place on her mouth. But she was awake. Matt reached down, rested the curled fingers of his right hand behind her left knee, which lay across both his legs, and slowly stroked the nails up, along the back of the thigh, over the gentle curve of the buttock, into the pit of the back and up to the smooth shoulders. As he did so her entire body undulated, like a cat's. And she smiled, and discovered one eye to be open.
His fingers crossed her shoulders and commenced the descent, pausing at the soft swell of her breast, hovering to finger her nipple into erectness, sliding past her rib cage and navel to arrive at her groin and gently scratch the curly mat. This she enjoyed more than orgasm itself, and her tongue came out from between her teeth - strangely reminiscent of Georgiana, this - to touch his own, as she pushed her body closer to his to force his fingers deeper, and then, quite without warning, rolled away from him, sitting up in the same movement, thrusting the netting aside with her toes.
'Sue?' He caught her wrist, gently pulled her back.
She rested her head on his shoulder. 'You cannot enter me, Matt. I'm pregnant.'
He twisted to see into her face. 'You cannot know.'
'I am sure enough. I have been becoming sure, over the past week. I am now on my third month.' She smiled, that slow,
lazy smile he liked so much, and kissed him on the chin. 'It must have happened on our first night in Jamaica, after the Saintes. The first time for over a year. We were both uncommonly anxious.'
'We must get you to a surgeon.'
'What nonsense. I would but ask you to forgive me. You must make a choice from amongst the mulatto girls on the plantation, for the time. Unless a Negress will do.'
'Neither will do.'
Her smile had faded, and her gaze seemed to be searching for his heart. 'Aye,' she said at last. 'I sometimes wish you had bedded the girl, Matt. Then perhaps she'd be easier to forget.'
'And now you must forgive me. Perhaps I wish no woman but you.'
'That would be a strange man indeed. Then I must service you with my hands and my mouth. If that will satisfy you.'
He kissed her on the nose. 'Just to lie here with you satisfies me, sweetheart.' But he got out of the bed, pulled on his clothes. 'A son, do you think?'
'Does it matter so much?'
'No. Not the sex. The fact of it. Surely now...'
She shrugged. 'He is a man of strong passions.'
They had heard nothing from Dirk, or of Dirk, had assumed this was because the French had taken St. Eustatia back, and even if the Hollanders were officially their allies, were retaining it for the duration of the war. But hostilities had entirely ceased, except for privateering; peace was expected every day.
Her hand squeezed his. 'But I agree, if he is at all human, he must now understand that it can never again be him and me.'
Matt nodded, sat down to lace his boots. Suddenly he was afraid to look at her, the naked beauty of her, standing in front of him. Damask.
'Do you fear him, Matt?'
Never before had she risked such a question. But then, perhaps never before had the answer been so important.
'I don't think I am afraid of him,' he said, carefully. 'I know I will be defeated should I have to face him, weapon in hand. This is a certainty, like the knowledge that I could not jump from this window without at least breaking my leg. Yet, supposing the house were on fire, I would jump from this window and hope that I might not break my leg. I do not know what that makes me.'
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