Mistress of Darkness

by Christopher Nicole

  Nelson nodded, thoughtfully.

  'A moral coward, sir?' Chester cried. 'Why, that is too good for you. I suspect you are a physical one as well. And you are more than that, Matt Hilton. You are a traitor to your class and your kind, a veritable blackguard, sir.'

  The sound of catching breath was audible throughout the wardroom.

  Matt sighed. 'You are entitled to your point of view, Chester. I cannot expect you to understand mine.'

  'By Christ,' Chester said at large, and leaned back in his seat.

  'Then, sir, I will declare that even the word blackguard is too good for you,' Dewing shouted. 'It is my opinion that you are a dishonourable scoundrel, who can think of nothing better to do than debauch his own cousin.'

  Matt's head came up, and he stared across the table. Dewing's complexion paled, very slightly, but he would not lower his eyes.

  'Be sure that I shall give you satisfaction. You have but to name your weapons.'

  Matt nodded, as thoughtfully as Nelson. 'Indeed I shall, Mr. Dewing. Our fists, and immediately.'

  ‘Your fists?' Chester cried. 'We are gentlemen, sir, not street urchins.'

  'It would give me no pleasure at all to shoot Mr. Dewing down from thirty paces, or to spear him on the end of three feet of steel, Mr. Chester,' Matt said, speaking very carefully. 'Even supposing I was capable of such a feat. But I propose to make him regret saying those words. He has challenged me, gentlemen, and I have named my pleasure. You will either apologize, most humbly, both to me and Mistress Huys, or you will meet me now, man to man.'

  Dewing looked around the table, but he could find no support in the stony stares of the naval officers. He had abused his position as their guest, and spoiled their evening. And whatever their personal views on slavery, Matt was a veteran of the Saintes, and almost one of themselves.

  'Apologize?' he demanded at last. 'To you? Why, sir, I will meet you when and wherever you choose, barehanded or armed, as you choose.'

  'I said now,' Matt reminded him. 'Captain Nelson, I can only thank you for your hospitality, and myself apologize most humbly that it should be my presence which has caused such an unfortunate end to the evening. If your people will set Mr. Dewing and myself ashore ..

  'Fiddlesticks,' declared Prince William.

  'I am inclined to agree,' Nelson said. 'If you gentlemen will fight, why not do it here? We can at least guarantee you fair play.' This last with a meaning glance at Chester.

  'That's the ticket,' Prince William shouted. 'The quarterdeck. The quarterdeck. There's the place for fisticuffs. Gad, sir, I have not seen a proper set-to since leaving England.'

  Instantly all was orderly bustle as the navy took control. Matt and Dewing were hurried up the companionway, and the sentries were hastily cleared off the quarterdeck. Although the rumour of what was about to happen spread over the ship with remarkable rapidity and before the two protagonists were even stripped to their waists the rigging was filled with seamen, peering down at the guttering lanterns which illuminated the scene.

  'Now, gentlemen,' Nelson said. 'I assume you are both familiar with the rules of prize fighting. We'll have no fouling, that you may be sure of. Mr. Blackman, you'll keep time.'

  The lieutenant nodded, and clanged the ship's bell. Matt assumed the posture of defence he had been taught by

  Broughton, left leg and left arm thrust forward, right arm held in front of his chin and belly. Dewing preferred to half crouch, and circle, no doubt hoping for the opportunity to seize his opponent round the waist and throw him - he was at least as tall as Matt, and somewhat more heavily built. But the whole thing was rather absurd, Matt decided; his opponent did not even know the first elements of defence. They watched each other for a few seconds, Matt slowly circling to his left, then he stepped in and led a long left hand. Dewing brought up both his fists and at the same time straightened. Matt withdrew the lead and pumped it out again, and Dewing's hands came still higher. Matt stepped inside, swinging his right leg and his right fist at the same time, landing one of his wind-stopping belly blows just under the rib cage. Dewing gasped, and his hands fell as Matt pumped out yet a third left hand. This connected on the cheek beside the mouth, and left a splash of blood, at once from the split flesh of the face and the bruised knuckles.

  Dewing moaned, and half turned away, and Matt struck him twice more. This time he again aimed for the head, however painful such a course might be for his own fingers. But it was essential that Dewing bear the marks as well as the memory of his beating. The left-handed blow shattered the planter's lips and sent two teeth flying across the deck, the right hand, connecting as the head was hurled towards it, landed on the temple and felled him as if he had been shot.

  'The bell, Blackman, the bell,' Nelson shouted.

  It clanged, and Matt's hands fell.

  'You have one minute, Mr. Chester,' Nelson said, taking out his watch.

  'One minute?' Chester knelt beside his friend, raised his head, and gasped. 'I doubt he's alive.'

  'He is alive, man, he is alive,' Prince William shouted, beside himself with excitement. 'Get him up. Get him up.'

  And indeed, Dewing's eyes were opened, and he gazed at Chester as his friend whispered in his ear. Then his head shook, for just a second, but clearly seen by every man present.

  'Fifteen seconds, Mr. Chester,' Nelson said, still looking at his watch. 'Or does your man concede?'

  Chester released Dewing's head, allowed it to bump on the deck, and slowly stood up.

  'Aye,' Nelson said. ‘I declare Mr. Hilton the winner, and I declare his honour entirely vindicated.' He held out his hand. 'By heaven, sir, that was as quick and neat an execution as I have seen in twelve years at sea. My compliments. And now, Mr. Hilton, my boat will take you ashore. Not you, gentlemen,' he added, as Chester would have spoken. ‘I think Mr. Hilton deserves a chance to regain his plantation in peace.'

  Matt walked his horse up the Green Grove drive. So then, was he satisfied? For too long had he wanted to oppose himself to someone, anyone, worthy of his mettle. No doubt he owed Captain Nelson a vote of thanks for the way the affair had been managed. But what had he accomplished, if anything? By the standards of a gentleman he had not acted the gentleman. The whole affair might have delighted the navy, but it would not readily be forgotten, or forgiven, by the plantocracy.

  And what would Sue say, or Tom, after the promise they had extracted from him?

  The dogs barked, and Thomas Arthur appeared on the verandah to take his horse. But there were people coming out of the house to join Thomas Arthur. Sue, of course. And Tom. And ... Robert?

  Matt dismounted. 'Did you not suppose I was capable of grinding a cane crop?'

  'By God,' Robert said. 'By God.'

  Sue came down the steps to kiss him on the cheek. 'Matt? What has happened?'

  'Oh,' he said wearily. 'As you no doubt foresaw, Chester was there, and Dewing, and there was a challenge ...'

  'You've been fighting?' Robert demanded.

  'With my fists,' Matt said, and smiled. 'As I had the choice of weapons.'

  'Oh, I say,' Coke cried. 'Capital, Matt. Capital. You dismissed the fellow?'

  Matt nodded, and climbed the steps, Sue still holding his arm. 'And now may I ask what brings you here?'

  'You may well ask,' Robert said. 'Fisticuffs, by God. Between gentlemen.'

  'Robert has been hearing tales about us, Matt,' Sue said. 'Lander's doing.'

  'I have no doubt they were all true,' Matt reached the verandah, faced his cousin.

  'What? What? You'll not deny it?'

  'At the moment I've not heard what I should deny.'

  'The dismissal of Lander, for one thing. The abandonment of the whip. The refuge you give this ... this ...' he glanced at Coke. 'This incendiary.'

  ‘I have already said that I consider that remark unjustified, sir,' Coke protested.

  'So you have, by God. So you have. No doubt you have little knowledge of what you do. Well let me tell you, sir, in
this society any man who marches around the place pronouncing that all men are equal, that all men are born free, is a revolutionary. I'd expect no less of Rousseau.'

  'Nor would I, sir,' Coke said. 'He but states a truth.'

  'By God,' Robert said. 'By God.'

  'And these absurdities have brought you hurrying across the sea?' Matt inquired. 'Well, tomorrow I will take you on an inspection of the plantation. You'll find the ratoons already sprouting, and you'll find us with the best crop Green Grove has ever produced.'

  'And I'll find a parcel of mutinying blacks on my hands, no doubt, as well.'

  'No, sir, you will not,' Matt insisted. 'You'll find better discipline on Green Grove than on any plantation in Antigua.'

  'Aye? I'll believe that when I see it. In any event, there's to be a change.' Robert turned and went inside.

  Matt followed him, Sue at his side. 'Be careful, I do beg of you, sweetheart,' she whispered.

  'Change?' Matt demanded. 'What change?'

  'Lander has told me how you have dismissed all the worthwhile overseers,' Robert said. 'I have recruited some fellows for you. Charlie Benton ...'

  'By heaven,' Matt said. 'I'll not have Benton on my plantation.'

  Robert seized the decanter of port presented by the maidservant, drank from the neck. 'God give me patience. Your plantation, did you say?'

  Matt frowned at him. 'Is it not?'

  'No, sir, it is not. Green Grove is my plantation, as it has always belonged to my branch of the family. You may consult any lawyer you choose, the matter is there in black and white. That Grandmother Lilian's branch has been allowed to enjoy the living here has been because we have always counted them our surest support. Withdraw that support, and we have no more use for you.'

  Matt stared at him.

  'Is not the prosperity of a plantation a guarantee of that support, Mr. Hilton?' Coke inquired.

  'Hold your miserable tongue, sir,' Robert shouted. 'You'd best count yourself fortunate I do not take a horsewhip to you. I reckon you at least as responsible as Matt himself for this debacle.'

  'Tom came here at my invitation,' Matt said. 'And as for a debacle, be sure you bring it on yourself. I recommend for you a study of King Canute, and his problems, cousin. For be sure the tide will rise, whether you will it or no.'

  'Bah,' Robert said. ‘I’ll have none of it. These islands have prospered for a hundred years. They'll prosper for a hundred more.'

  'Properly conducted, I am sure they shall,' Matt said.

  'Then let us hear no more about it,' Robert said, and held out the decanter. 'You'll drink to Green Grove.'

  'That I will,' Matt agreed. 'Under my management, and with my methods.'

  Robert hesitated, and withdrew the decanter as Matt reached for it. 'You'll explain that.'

  'I thought I had made my position clear. I'll employ no overseers but of my own choosing.'

  'What? What? You seek to defy me?'

  'I seek to come to an understanding with you.'

  'Then understand me, God damn it.'

  'On the contrary, Robert. You must attempt to understand me.'

  'By God,' Robert shouted. 'By God.' He gazed at Suzanne, and found no comfort there. 'By God. You think I need you, by God? You'll be mistaken. Green Grove has returned a handsome profit every year, while you played at cricket in England. It will continue to do so, I have no doubt at all.'

  'You'll find this year to be a record.'

  'Maybe. Maybe. But it is an accident. The blacks have not yet understood the milksop who rules them. I put it to you plain, Matt. You'll act the planter, as I will have it, or Lander will be returned.'

  'I'll not have him on the plantation.'

  'Then you must go. Be sure of that. And mark my words...' Robert wagged his finger. 'I have been patient with you, long beyond what my commonsense dictated. Leave Green Grove now, and you leave forever. Make no mistake about that. And not only Green Grove. To my mind you cease to be a Hilton. Think on that.'

  'I have thought on that, before, Robert, and determined that it was a bribe beyond my capacity to accept. Then I was defeated by force. Now I am more ready for you. I know, sir, that you, that every planter, aspires to a station above his humanity. I'll have no part of that. But give me the opportunity, and I'll prove to you that slave-owning is yet a task for Christians. Refuse me the opportunity, and I'll have no part of it. But by heaven I'll take my part in opposition to it.'

  'You'd threaten me?' Robert shouted. 'By God, I've a mind to take my whip to you,'

  'Do that,' Matt said. 'And face the consequences.'

  'By God,' Robert said. 'Then begone. Take your belongings and leave my plantation. And take that ... that false prophet with you.'

  'Aye,' Matt agreed. He went to the stairs, and there waited. 'And Sue?'

  'Sue stays here,' Robert declared.

  Matt looked at the woman.

  'Like Robert, I should say, by God, but the pair of you turn my belly with your constant quarrelling,' Sue said, speaking as quietly as ever. 'Oh, believe me, Robert, you are right. I hold no brief for a black skin, and I have no doubt that Matt's actions and Tom's beliefs can involve us in nothing but disaster.'

  'By God,' Robert said. 'At last, a relative of mine with some sense. Sue, I forgive you everything.'

  Matt gazed at her, and she smiled at him.

  'But yet I will go with Matt,' she said. 'He is the father of my child, the landlord of my heart. So spread your hatred wide, sweet brother. It shall no doubt be returned.'

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE MISTRESS

  THE steady swish of the paddles was hypnotic, hardly less so than the regular movement of the Negroes' arms and backs, up and down, up and down, up and down. And the heat was unlike anything Corbeau could remember. Born and bred in St. Domingue, he thought he knew everything the West Indies had to offer in the way of scorching sun. But then, he had to remind himself Guyana was not the West Indies. Guyana was a place apart.

  He dared not take off his hat, even for a moment, so he tugged his shirt still more open, and mopped at his neck and chest with a silk bandanna. He looked from side to side, over the smooth brown water at the endless green of the banks, at the huge trees looming beyond. It was but nine in the morning, and the great leafy crowns, searching for light, seventy, eighty feet above the roots which gave them life, still hid the sun. But it was rising, and warming all the time. What it would be like in two hours' time did not bear consideration.

  But then, looking at the forest wall which enclosed the water of the river, he did not suppose that even the sun was the most dangerous enemy this country had to offer. That vine-twined tree-stockaded wilderness held creatures long exterminated in the islands, venomous snakes and snakes which could crush a man to a pulp, scorpions and spiders which could induce the worst of fevers, ants which would take the flesh from living bones. Nor was the water through which the bateau ploughed so quietly any safer for being brown instead of blue; already this morning he had seen a caiman basking by the shore, and the Negroes spoke of fish hardly less voracious than ants.

  Truly, Henri Ledon, the captain of his sloop, had had cause to cross himself as they had come to anchor before the old Dutch fortress of Kyk-Over-Al, lower down the river. 'A dead place, Guyana,' he had muttered. 'Inhabited only by death.'

  But the Dutch burghers had looked prosperous enough, and certainly there was enough water here, both on the ground and in the rivers and gathering in the heavy black clouds which surged across the sky, to suggest that drought was unknown. And that cane would grow in abundance here too was obvious; he had left the fort at dawn in his hired boat, and had already passed three plantations, each stretching from perhaps a mile into the bush down to the water's edge, ending in a low dock, or stelling as the Dutch called it, alongside which the punts could tie to be loaded with sugar. There was little evidence of luxury. The Dutch scarcely believed in fine clothes or magnificent houses. But the crop looked to have value.

  He wh
ipped off his hat, gave his face a hasty fan, wiped his scalp, and crammed the straw on his head again. The Negro in the stern grinned. 'Soon, massa, soon,' he promised. 'Round the next bend.'

  And then, what, Corbeau wondered? He felt a quite unusual excitement at the thought of finally seeing the girl. And it was an excitement which had been growing, in the strangest way, over the months. He had begun with a plan. He envisaged a West Indian empire, Rio Blanco, Ocean View in Martinique, Green Grove in Antigua, and Hilltop in Jamaica, all owned by the Corbeaux, each managed by one of his sons. Georgiana was his. In the months he had spent on Hilltop waiting for the war to end he had renewed her devotion time and time again. She was a woman who knew only how to feel. To her, all mankind, all emotion, all ambition was wrapped up in the touch of a man's hand, and his was the hand she liked best. No doubt time would change that innocence, but before that could happen she would be his wife, to be enjoyed, to be enhanced, to be destroyed as a person, as he saw fit. She was no more than a part of the grand design.

  And the mustee was no more than another part. With her he could destroy the entire Hilton family, and leave himself unchallenged master of the West Indian plantocracy. She was a weapon to be used. Nothing more than that, surely. And yet the thought of her fascinated him, and increasingly haunted his mind as he approached her. Because she would have to be won, first, as she would live on French soil? He had won, by fair means or foul, a great number of women. The thought of it had never excited him in this fashion before.

  The trees were once again dwindling, to be replaced by more fields of cane. And as they came round a bend in the river he could see the stelling. 'Mulders, massa,' said the Negro coxswain.