Breakfast completed, usually by half past twelve, Louis retired to bed, in his own apartment, to which she had never been admitted. He rose again at three, and took his bath. By this time the midday heat was leaving the sun, and he once again visited the fields, and on this occasion she was usually invited to accompany him, riding side-saddle on the magnificent mare he had given to her on her first day here. This inspection was completed by five of the clock, because as the sun drooped towards the mountains which hid the western horizon, then the insects came buzzing from the ditches and water-courses to make themselves as intolerable as possible to the insolent humans who would share their world. Then it was time to retire behind the gauze netting which shrouded the parlour, itself a room as large as the entire Great House on Hodges, where there was a piano rather than a harpsichord, and where she either sang to him, or read to him, or played at cards with him, according to his mood. Supper was served at seven, and they were invariably abed by nine, nor was he inclined to remain awake after eleven. And as he was always gone when she awoke in the morning, it really meant that she was totally free from eleven of every night until ten of the following morning. For if she was euphemistically described as Monsieur Corbeau's housekeeper, there was never the slightest suggestion that she take any part in the management of the vast business which was Rio Blanco Great House. Truth to tell Francois-Pierre the majordomo would have been scandalized at the idea, even had she possessed the slightest idea of how to go about it.
So then, she thought, as she stretched and massaged her body up and down the sheets, and inhaled the musk of her perfume, only a total fool would have the slightest doubt about enjoying the life to which she had been so strangely translated. A fool, or one totally cursed. But then, she was totally cursed. Or was she not blessed, by having known the wonders of the Serpent?
To submit to Louis, to force herself to respond to him with the passion he desired, to moan with ecstasy and even on occasion to feel a suggestion of that ecstasy, for he was an accomplished lover, there was no hardship. She could even indulge her hatred by hurting him, and pretending it was sheer passion. She could draw her nails up his back and bring blood; she could lose control of herself and forget she had teeth, and know that the sharp pain would but make him desire her the more. But she could not shrug off the emptiness with which he left her, every time he got out of her bed, the feeling of unfulfilment, the knowledge that she lived no more than a sham, that indeed, her life had been more real when she had lived in fear of the whip and the cane, and when every time she had been forced it had been rape.
That was her physical problem. There were others, even more difficult to bear. She watched Therese, her personal maid, enter the room, softly, afraid to wake her mistress, watched her tiptoe around the room, drawing the drapes, carefully, afraid to damage or even to crush the rich material, watched her collecting the glasses used for their nightcap of iced rum punch and place them on the silver tray, carefully, afraid of breaking or even scratching a single surface. Afraid. Always afraid. Therese was representative of every black person on Rio Blanco. They feared. Well, did not slaves everywhere live in fear? Oh indeed, but not quite in such an intense atmosphere of fear, she thought. She had experienced slavery on board a slave ship, slavery on Hodges, which had been bad, and slavery up the Essequibo, which had been worse. She had seen men and women having their backs torn to shreds, their genitals deliberately smashed with wooden clubs; she herself knew the agonies of red pepper applied to her private parts, and she had watched other unfortunates staked out on red ant nests, as had been Mulder's favourite method of punishing recalcitrant females; in Essequibo she had even watched a black man being burned alive, slowly, for murdering his master. And yet she had not known such concentrated fear, as on Rio Blanco.
Without being able to decide why? Oh, there were floggings enough, but hardly more than on Hodges. And the petty treason of murdering a white man was apparently rewarded in St. Domingue by breaking on the wheel rather than by burning; it was difficult to see that one could be worse than the other. Yet Louise Corbeau moved in an atmosphere of fear, of which, remarkably, he seemed to be unaware. So then, there was a side to his character which he had so far concealed from her, and indeed, which he had apparently concealed from everyone during the months she had lived here. Yet everyone else on the plantation knew of its existence, and feared its reappearance. Saving her. So then, was she living in a fool's paradise?
But she was the master's woman, and thus classed with him. There was a disconcerting fact. They feared her as much as they feared Louis, because they did not know what she whispered in his ear at night. Because they could not see past her skin, and her skin was white. Because they did not understand her hatred was as great as their own, because she could not convey to them how much her desires followed
theirs, how she longed once again to find Damballah, in whatever guise he might assume.
The burden was hers. And the time was now, or it would be never. For a fortnight ago Louis had left, his sloop flying every pennant it possessed, to fetch his bride. Remarkably, he had never mentioned her name; Gislane knew no more than that she was from Jamaica. But she would be queen here; no more breakfasts for the housekeeper.
Something she welcomed. She would be left alone, to pursue her own path. She had in fact already made tentative advances to Therese, and been met by a stony stare. Yet she had no doubt. She had known Therese in a state of delayed ecstasy, which could have had only one cause. And by then she had had a sacrifice at hand. Corbeau had made her pregnant, as Mulder had so often made her pregnant. This time she had waited longer before having the miscarriage she had learned to induce so easily. She felt no pity; the unborn child would have been white, and thus guilty. Then she had wrapped the bloody mess in a cambric sheet, and had given it to Therese. 'For Damballah,' she had said. He would understand a message composed of blood.
Two days ago. She sat up, and Therese started, and hastily crossed the room to draw back the mosquito netting. ‘I didn't wake you, mistress,' she begged.
'I have been awake for hours.' Gislane thrust her feet to the floor and stood up. She slept naked, because Louis liked her that way, and because she enjoyed it. She was clean, all the time. After four years of being filthy, all the time. She could actually once again bear to smell herself. And she devoted an hour of every day to her bath. Now she walked to the huge glass doors leading to the verandah, and looked out at the plantation, and the rain-drenched mountains beyond; her apartment faced inland instead of towards the never-changing sea.
'I got your coffee hot so, mistress,' Therese said.
Gislane turned, and took the china cup in both hands. And stared at the Negress. But she could wait no longer. ‘I heard the drum last night,' she said.
Therese gazed at her.
'Do you not think I know of the drum?' Gislane asked.
'Do you think I have the heart of a white woman because my skin is the colour of a white woman's? I am one of you, Therese. I know the power of the drum. I know the power of the Serpent. And I am lonely for that power, Therese.' Therese licked her lips, slowly.
'You will take me, Therese,' Gislane said. 'You and me. There is a mamaloi in the slave village. There is a mamaloi and a hougan. I know these things. And I, too, am a mamaloi:
Therese shook her head. 'I ain't knowing what you saying, mistress.'
'Don't lie to me, Therese. Don't you understand? I am a mamaloi. I have the power to see into your mind, into your heart. I have known Damballah Oueddo, and held him to my breast. Don't lie to me.'
'Mistress, I ain't know nothing about that.'
'I can have you flogged, Therese. I can tell the master that you have been rude to me.'
Once again the tongue circled the lips. But the head continued to shake, which was all the confirmation Gislane needed. There could only be one power in all the universe of which Therese would be more afraid than Louis Corbeau.
She smiled. 'But I will not do those things, Ther
ese. Listen to me. This afternoon, when it is hot, I will go for a ride.'
Therese gaped at her. 'You can't go out midday so, mistress. White woman done get knocked down by the sun.'
'No doubt you are right, Therese. But I am not a white woman, and so I will not get sun stroke. I will prove to you, this afternoon. I will go riding, as soon as I have finished breakfast. This afternoon, Therese. Make what preparations you wish. I will let you go now. But come to me at one of the clock.'
Therese continued to stare at her.
'But first you will tell me his name,' Gislane said. 'Tell me how he is known to you.' Therese sweated.
'His name, Therese. Or I will be angry.'
Once again the tongue circled her lips. 'He does be called
Boukman, mistress.'
'Boukman. Boukman. Thank you, Therese. Now go!’ Gislane commanded. 'Be off with you. Tell Boukman I am coming. But tell no one else, Therese. Remember, I am a mamaloi. Remember the blood I gave you. I will reach you, wherever you are, should you seek to betray me. I will destroy you, Therese. I know all things, understand all things. And I will see this hougan. Today.'
When she spoke like that she almost believed herself. She was able to put so much power and intensity into her tone; she could not help but wonder what might happen should she speak to Louis like that. But for the mamaloi to have power, the devotee must believe, and Louis would merely laugh. And after he had laughed, why, she did not know what he would do, but she knew it would be something terrible. It was not a risk worth taking. But Therese believed, and would obey. She left the room silently, and Gislane returned to bed, and stayed there until it was time for her bath. And in her bath she was attended by Clotilde, the chambermaid, who did not utter a word. Therese was gone, about her mistress's business, about the business of the Lord Damballah.
Then it was necessary to wait, to look out over the plantation, to watch the overseers walking their horses up the drive to join the attorney, Jean Romain, who ruled the plantation in Corbeau's absence. But with Louis away, there was no need for her to attend the meal. She remained in her apartment, did no more than nibble a few biscuits, and pour herself a glass of wine. Normally she ate a hearty breakfast, and aped Louis's habit of reclining during the heat of the afternoon, even if she preferred to read than sleep. For how long had she wanted to read, lying in a soft bed, with no knowledge other than that she would be visited by her lover when the afternoon drew on. But this was the side of her character, the luxury of being almost white, which constantly threatened to obliterate her true self. For that was not Gislane. The Gislane who had been stolen away to England, who had been carefully educated as a young lady by Mama and Papa Nicholson, who had allowed herself to dream of marrying a Hilton, that Gislane had never existed. It had been no more than a cloak which she had been forced to wear, to cover her true self, to cover her nakedness. She had only discovered Gislane, discovered herself, that morning on board the Antelope when she had looked along the deck and seen Dinshad, and seen, too, his eyes searching for her. Then Gislane had been born, and to let her ever again be submerged beneath the cloying make-believe of a white man's civilization would be a crime for which Damballah would surely never forgive her.
But at last it was noon, and the great house, never noisy, slowly became even more silent. Gislane dressed herself in her blue silk riding habit, tied a wide-brimmed straw hat beneath her chin by a blue ribbon, opened the door of her apartment and listened. A houseboy walked down the corridor; his feet were bare although he wore the pink and white liveried jacket of the Corbeaux. He gazed at her, and she returned his stare. Undoubtedly there would be gossip, but it could not harm her. If she failed, well then, she had but to explain to Louis, when finally it reached his ears, that she had felt restless. If she succeeded, then the gossip would never reach his ears.
She knew this maze-like tropical palace well, now. She found her way down corridors and across withdrawing-rooms, down small staircases and short hallways, and reached the north doorway. And there, as she had commanded, her mare waited, saddled, with one of the yardboys holding the bridle. And there too was Therese.
'Are you coming with me?' Gislane asked.
'Me, mistress? I got for stay here. You say you going ride by yourself. Or I can call one of them girls.'
She was almost hoping, no doubt. No hougan would then show himself.
'I shall ride alone,' Gislane said. 'But I am undecided where I should ride.'
The girl licked her lips. 'It cool by the river, mistress. This is where it is best to ride at midday.'
Gislane nodded, and the yardboy made a back for her. She settled herself in the saddle, right knee high, whip in her left hand, and nodded again. The boy stepped away and a flick with the whip had Annabelle moving slowly forward, away from the house, along the paved path through the gardens, her hooves clicking gently on the stones.
How hot it was, and still. Sweat trickled out from her hair and down her neck. And she could hear not a sound. The gangs were still in the fields, but around the plantation villages all work had ceased in the heated silence of the siesta. One o'clock in the afternoon was probably a more secluded time on Rio Blanco than one o'clock in the morning.
The noise of even the hooves ceased, as she left the immediate vicinity of the house and walked Annabelle along the beaten earth of the plantation roadways. Now the river was immediately in front of her, an avenue of swiftly flowing water concealed by the row of tall trees on either side, a place of relative coolness and shade, coursing through the very heart of the plantation, supplying power for the sugar mill, and providing too all the fresh water they could use, to leave Rio Blanco independent of drought even in the driest season. And beneath the trees there waited a man. This she could see immediately, for he revealed himself for just an instant, to guide her, before once again withdrawing into the shade. Heartbeat quickening she turned Annabelle again, and entered the shade. Boukman. Her latest manifestation of Damballah. Her sole reason for existence. And even that hasty glance had convinced her that this was no shrivelled halfstarved old man. Here was height, and vigour, and strength, and perhaps even dominance. Here was a man.
Annabelle stopped, and the black man stood beside her. He wore only the drawers of a field slave, and a straw hat, and his huge muscles gleamed with sweat. 'Boukman,' she said, and frowned at him as he took off the hat, and then stared, in a mixture of horror and utter delight. 'Dinshad?'
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE ABOLITIONIST
'I AM afraid it will be expensive. Mr. Reynolds placed his fingertips together as he rested his elbows on his desk, and peered over the top of his pince-nez.
'How expensive?’ Matt sat between Coke and Suzanne, facing the advocate; they had been given straight wooden chairs, sufficiently uncomfortable even for a man, and Suzanne was again pregnant, although there was no telling it in that cool demeanour. But he wished the matter done, quickly.
'Ah .. .’ Reynolds appeared to consult a note in his pad, although obviously he had no need to. 'Forty pounds.'
'Forty pounds?’ Coke demanded. 'For an acre of worthless land?’
'Within the city limits of Kingston, Dr. Coke. The city grows, you understand, and land has once again gained in value since the end of the war. Why, sir, even at that price, when you come to sell you will make a profit.’
'Except that should we buy, we will not mean it as an investment,’ Matt pointed out. 'Yet must you be right about its growing value, Mr. Reynolds; when I was last in Jamaica, scarce two years ago, an acre of land behind Kingston was not commanding a pound.'
'Ah, well ...' Reynolds allowed himself a gentle smile. 'Two years ago we were still at war...'
'And two years ago,' Suzanne said, very quietly, 'you had not made it known that the land was sought by Dr. Coke.'
Reynolds flushed, and removed his pince-nez to polish the glass. 'It was difficult enough, I do assure you, Mistress Huys, to find anyone willing to sell land to a ... a...'
'An abolitionist,' Matt suggested. ‘A Wesleyan?' Coke offered.
'I suspect one is as bad as the other,' Suzanne agreed, and gave a delicious little ripple of laughter at the lawyer's discomfort.
'Well, madam, if you will have it so,' he said angrily. 'Neither word is much regarded in Jamaica, as no doubt you are well aware. Forty pounds, and there it is. I can see no prospect of bargaining. And as that is too heavy a sum, well then, the matter is closed.'
'The matter is just beginning, Mr. Reynolds,' Sue remarked. 'We are being robbed, but then, presumably that could also happen to us on a dark night at the point of a pistol. We shall take your so valuable acre of scrub.'
Reynolds looked from her to the two men. 'I am afraid the vendor will require cash.'
'Then give him cash.' Sue opened her reticule and took out a piece of paper. 'There is an order for a thousand pounds. I place it in your care.'
Reynolds's pince-nez dropped to the end of its cord as he studied the draft. 'This is against Hilltop.'
'And signed by my brother, you'll observe.'
'But...' his head came up.
'You had heard how he threw us off Green Grove. The tale has been embroidered, Mr. Reynolds. Robert and Matt do not see eye to eye on a great number of things, principally on how a plantation should be managed. Yet would he not let his sister beg. You will further observe that the order is made payable at my demand, to be used as I see fit. We shall require further drawings, from time to time. For the moment you may apply forty pounds of it on this land of yours.'
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