'Hold there.'
He dragged on his rein, and the horse gasped to a halt before the steps of the Great House. 'You got business here, mister?'
Two black men, carrying sticks and knives, and whips.
'And who may you be?' Suddenly he was utterly grateful for the presence of Joshua.
'We is watchman, mister. And we ain't told to expect nobody this night.'
'Man, you stupid?' Joshua dismounted, held Dick's bridle. 'This is Mr Richard Hilton. This your new massa, and you had best watch out.'
'Eh? Eh?' The black men moved closer together.
'A natural mistake,' Dick assured them. 'I only landed this evening. Is the house open?'
'Oh, yes, massa. Oh, yes,' said the spokesman for the two watchmen. 'Jeremiah, you had best hustle down to town and wake up Mr Laidlaw.'
'Oh, I am sure that can wait.' Dick was already mounting the steps, hearing his boots clumping on the wood. His wood. He looked up at the bulk of the house, towering above him. His house.
'Man, massa, Mr Laidlaw would take the skin from we back if we didn't tell him you here,' said the spokesman. 'I is Absolom, massa.'
'Oh, indeed? How are you, Absolom?' He found that he had stuck out his hand without meaning to, and Absolom was regarding it with a perplexed expression. But clearly he couldn't continue apologizing every time he made a faux pas. 'Well,' he said. 'Shake it, Absolom. It won't contaminate you.'
Absolom glanced at Joshua, then took the fingers, very carefully.
'Thank you,' Dick said, and continued up the steps. From the verandah he looked through opened jalousies, which in turn rested against huge, thick mahogany doors, ready to be closed in the event that trouble, which Joshua said could not occur, did ever occur; and into an enormous hallway, with parquet floor and high ceiling, dominated by a great wide right-angled staircase which led to the gallery surrounding the upper floor, and by a series of portraits, both up the stairs and along the opposite wall. The whole was illuminated by a gigantic chandelier in which the candles still burned brightly.
He decided this must have been the glow he had seen from the hillside, for the light in the room to his right where the door also stood wide, had burned to nothing more than a glimmer. He stepped inside, gazed in amazement at the apparently endless sweep of parquet flooring reaching into the darkness at the back, at the upholstered chairs, at the occasional tables, laden with beaten brass trays filled with ornaments representing a variety of animals and birds, fabulous as well as actual, at the grand piano and the billiards table, and then in horror at the woman who lay, on her face, in the very centre of the floor, not six feet from where he stood.
'My God.' He ran forward, Joshua at his heels, turned her over, gazed at pale features, somewhat too big for beauty, but undeniably handsome in their regularity, and perfectly fitted to the mass of straight dark brown hair, which flowed over from his fingers to brush the floor. 'My God,' he said again. 'Is . . . is she dead?'
Joshua was kneeling beside him, peering at the woman. 'No, sir, Mr Hilton,' he said at last. 'She ain't dead. But she is dead drunk.'
Dick realized that there was, indeed, a strong smell of alcohol, and that in fact the woman was breathing, and most disturbingly; she wore an undressing robe, and nothing else that he could discover; the robe itself was flopping open, and it was easy to decide that her figure was a match to her face, at once large and well-shaped.
'That is Mistress Gale,' Absolom remarked.
'And who is she?' Dick asked.
'She does be Mr Hilton housekeeper. She is always this way.' 'Eh?'
'Drunk, Mr Hilton,' Joshua explained. 'It is well known in Kingston.'
'Good Lord. But we cannot just leave her here.' 'I going to fetch Boscawen. Oh, there he is,' Absolom announced.
Dick raised his head, gaped at the black man, who wore a brilliant red jacket over black and white striped calico drawers, no stockings or shoes, but was hastily fitting a white peruke over his black curls. 'What is this?' he demanded.
'Man, hush up your mouth,' Absolom recommended. 'This is Mr Richard Hilton.'
'Eh-eh?' The butler hastened forward, ignoring the unconscious woman so far as to step over her. 'Man, Mr Hilton, sir, let me welcome you to Hilltop.'
'Glad to be here, Mr Boscawen,' Dick agreed, and straightened to shake hands. Boscawen looked at Absolom, received a quick nod, and seized Dick's fingers. 'Now, this lady, Mistress Gale? She must be put to bed.'
'Oh, you can leave she there, Mr Hilton,' Boscawen said. 'She going to wake up, soon enough.'
'She cannot stay there,' Dick decided. 'If you chaps would care to lift. . .' He frowned. She really was very scantily clad. 'No, I will lift her. If you would be good enough to show me her bedchamber, Mr Boscawen.'
Again it took some seconds for the butler to understand he was being addressed; no doubt, Dick decided, he was still half asleep. Dick stopped, got one hand under Harriet Gale's shoulders and the other under her knees, and struggled to his feet, watching with complete dismay the front of her undressing robe once again flopping open to expose one absolutely perfect breast.
'Joshua,' he suggested.
Joshua folded the material back into place, and scratched his head. 'I going be back to town, then, Mr Hilton.'
'Of course not,' Dick said. 'You must be exhausted. Mr Boscawen will find you a bed. I have no doubt at all. As soon as we have taken care of Mistress Gale. Will you lead on, Mr Boscawen?'
The butler lit a candle and climbed the stairs, and Dick followed, the woman in his arms. Her breathing was less stentorous by now, but she was still unconscious. At the gallery he paused for breath, and also because he had become aware of noise below him; in the doorway to the left of the hall there had suddenly accumulated at least a dozen black people, women as well as men, peering at their new master.
'Good day to you,' he said. 'I will see you all in a moment.'
They stared at him, and Boscawen was waiting farther along the gallery. He now opened a bedroom door, and Dick entered, to find himself in a chamber on a scale similar to the rest of the house, some twenty-five feet square, he reckoned, containing a large tent bed as well as a variety of dressing tables. The bed had not been slept in, and he laid Harriet Gale on top of the coverlet; the night remained warm.
'Thank you, Mr Boscawen,' he said. 'Poor woman, she must be grieving for my uncle.'
'Oh, she doing that, Mr Hilton,' Boscawen agreed.
'Well, we'd best let her sleep it off, I suppose.' He backed to the door; Boscawen continued to hold the candle. She made a quite entrancing sight, he thought, and tried to estimate her age. Certainly she was not a girl, but equally certainly she was nowhere as old as Mama. And she was his housekeeper, now, presumably. What a delightful thought.
He closed the door, followed Boscawen back along the gallery, and discovered yet another two additions downstairs, a tall, spare white man, and an equally tall, thin white woman, both with red hair, and freckled rather than sunburned complexions, and both fully dressed, despite the hour; it was just beginning to grow light outside.
'Mr Hilton?' The woman stood at the foot of the stairs; she spoke with a pronounced brogue. 'I'm Clarissa Laidlaw. Charlie is your manager.'
'Mistress Laidlaw,' Dick said, and hurried down the stairs. 'I really am sorry to have awakened you at this hour, but the watchman insisted.'
'Hoots, man,' Laidlaw said, squeezing his hand.' 'Tis dawn, and time we were adoing.'
'Oh. Yes, of course.' He glanced around the suddenly empty hallway. 'But where is everyone?'
'The house servants, you mean?' Clarissa Laidlaw inquired. 'I have sent them packing. They are the laziest swine, who only wish to stand and stare. Your coffee is being prepared.'
'At this hour?'
' 'Tis the normal time, man. The normal time,' Laidlaw said. 'Well, Boscawen, you black devil, get on with it. And send that other scoundrel back to town.'
'Yes sir, Mr Laidlaw,' Boscawen said.
'Wait a moment
,' Dick said. 'That other, ah, person, is Mr Merriman. Am I correct?'
'Mr Merriman?' Laidlaw looked at him in amazement.
'Reynolds' clerk,' Dick explained. 'A very good fellow, who accompanied me out here despite the inconvenience. He certainly needs a good rest and a square meal before he can return, and I would like to thank him personally. Will you attend to that, Mr Boscawen?'
'Oh, yes, sir, Mr Hilton,' Boscawen agreed, and hurried off.
'Mr Boscawen?' Laidlaw remarked at large.
Clarissa Laidlaw cleared her throat. 'I'm sure you are also very tired, Mr Hilton.'
'And quite overwhelmed by my circumstances, Mrs Laidlaw,' Dick agreed. 'I had no idea my uncle had died, or that I had inherited, until yesterday afternoon.'
'Oh, good Lord, you poor boy,' she cried. 'We just did not realize.' She hesitated, her hand on his arm, frowning at him. 'I am told you have already encountered the Gale woman.'
'Mistress Gale? Oh, yes. She seemed a little unwell, so I put her to bed. 'Tis not correct, I know, but hardly so incorrect as leaving her on the floor.'
'Unwell?' Laidlaw demanded. 'The woman was drunk.'
'Well, yes, I suppose she was.'
'Incorrect? You'd not find it easy to be incorrect with that woman, Mr Hilton,' Clarissa Laidlaw said. 'But now you've arrived, we'll be seeing the last of her, and thanking the Lord for that.'
'Seeing the last. . Dick scratched his head. 'I'm told she was my uncle's housekeeper. Will she not perform the same duty for me?'
'Land's sakes,' cried Mrs Laidlaw.
'The lad does not understand,' her husband said. 'Housekeeper, Mr Hilton, why, 'tis just a word used in Jamaica, for . . . well
'The wretched girl was Mr Robert's mistress,' Clarissa Laidlaw declared. 'Why, she is nothing more than a prostitute. But you'll be sending her packing this morning, Mr Hilton. Oh, yes.'
'His mistress?' Dick exclaimed. 'Good Lord. But you mean, she has been living here . . .'
'As openly as you could wish,' Clarissa Laidlaw said. 'Disgusting. And then, when Mr Robert died, she just refused to move out, if you please. Said she'd wait to discover what the new owner would be like.'
'Good heavens,' Dick said. 'No wonder she was nervous.'
'But now you are here, why, you will see to it.'
'Oh, of course,' Dick agreed. 'I mean, she can't possibly
stay. I could settle some sort of an income on her, I suppose ..’
'On that woman?'
'Well, I rather feel this is what Uncle Robert had in mind,' Dick said. 'You may leave it to me, Mrs Laidlaw. Now . . ." 'Coffee,' she said.
'The bookkeepers are waiting,' said Laidlaw, who had stepped outside for a moment.
'Bookkeepers?' Dick asked. 'I'm sure that can wait until I have seen something of the plantation.'
'Bookkeepers are overseers, really,' Mrs Laidlaw explained. 'It is a local terminology. They assemble every morning for their orders.'
'We, that is, you and I, Mr Hilton, must decide which fields need the most weeding, and where we shall employ our work gangs,' Laidlaw explained. 'When we are grinding, of course, it is simpler, in a sense. But we are still some weeks away from that, thank the Lord.'
'Coffee,' Mrs Laidlaw decided, very firmly. 'Mr Hilton has been up all night.' She smiled at Dick. 'I'm sure you'll permit Mr Laidlaw to give the necessary orders, Mr Hilton. He has been doing it for years.'
'Why, yes, if you would,' Dick said. 'I wish to meet my overseers ... I mean, my bookkeepers, as soon as possible. Perhaps later on this morning.'
Laidlaw gave a brief smile. 'These men are going four, five miles aback, Mr Hilton. They'll not return before eleven, and then it will be time for siesta.'
'Aback?' Dick asked. 'Siesta? I can see I have a great deal to learn. When would you suggest?'
'Perhaps this evening,' Laidlaw suggested. 'You'll have had a rest by then. Will you excuse me?'
Dick allowed himself to be led into the archway to the left of the stairs, found himself in a dining room hardly smaller than the huge withdrawing room, containing a mahogany table which would seat sixty without discomfort, he estimated, and lined with equally large mahogany sideboards, laden with silver and crystal, while the walls were once again covered with the paintings of previous Hiltons. In the midst of this splendour the single cover looked distinctly lonely.
'But are you not going to eat with me, Mrs Laidlaw?'
'I have already had my coffee,' she explained. 'We rise early on Hilltop. Do sit down, Mr Hilton.' She rang a brass bell from the sideboard, and immediately a parade of black girls entered, each dressed in white and with a white cap on her head, each bearing a large silver dish from which arose a most delicious aroma of fried eggs and bacon and bread.
Dick sat down, had his plate loaded, and suddenly remembered Joshua. 'The man, Merriman,' he said.
Clarissa Laidlaw's smile was a trifle less warm. 'He will be fed in the kitchen, Mr Hilton. You did not really expect him to sit with you?'
'Well, no, I suppose not.' He chewed. How good it tasted.
Mrs Laidlaw poured coffee. 'You were born in Jamaica, I understand?' 'Oh, yes.'
'But left as a child. I wonder ... do you mind if I call you Richard, Mr Hilton? It would be so much simpler. And of course I would be most obliged if you would call me Clarissa.'
'Well, of course, Mrs Laidlaw. I mean, Clarissa.'
She sat next to him, placed the mug of steaming black liquid beside his plate. 'Because the sooner you learn something of the manners and, er, morals, of the country the better.' She gave him one of her bright, paper-thin smiles. 'Not all of our morals are as loose, as, well, one hates to speak ill of the dead, and Mr Robert Hilton was a good friend, oh a very good friend, but of course towards the end of his life, he had troubles, you know, oh yes, he had troubles.' She stopped, perhaps because she needed breath, perhaps because of the clipclop of hooves outside the window. 'We are busy today.'
She got up, walked to the door, and was almost bowled over by Tony. 'Eggs,' he shouted. 'By God, there's a meal. Eggs.' He sat at the table. 'Shove some over, there's a good lad. Christ, what a place. Have you seen it, Dickie lad? Have you taken a good look? Christ what a place.'
'Who is this person?' demanded Clarissa Laidlaw.
'My brother. Mrs Laidlaw, Tony Hilton.'
'Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am,' Tony said, through a mouthful of egg.
'Your brother?' Clarissa Laidlaw frowned at Tony. 'Of course, he has the Hilton nose. But I would have supposed he was the elder.'
'He is,' Dick said.
'But . . .'
Tony swallowed, drank some coffee, hastily placed at his elbow by one of the servants. 'It's a rum world, Mrs Laidlaw. Yes, indeed. Now, Dickie boy, you'll not credit it, but at the hotel I put up for the night there was a school of cards. And my luck was simply abominable.'
Dick sighed, also drank some coffee. 'How much?'
'I suspect they were sharpers. Before I knew what hit me, it was up to fifteen guineas. That is why I did not stay. Galloped all the way, I did, with an old nigger to guide me.'
'Where is he?'
'Oh, I sent him packing when we reached the valley. But the point is, my friends were reluctant to let me go until I signed a note. They were happy when I told them I was Robert Hilton's nephew.'
'I can imagine,' Dick said.
'Trouble is, I told them to fetch out here today and it would be settled. So if you'd be so kind, old son . . .'
'Fifteen guineas?' Dick cried. 'I have not fifteen shillings in the world in cash. Mrs Laidlaw, Clarissa, what am I to do?'
'Send them packing,' she said. 'Give them an order on your agent, and tell them to clear off or you'll set the dogs on them. We don't have any dogs now, more's the pity; Robert had them put down when he found he was dying. But you can have Absolom chase them with his stick.'
'Good Lord,' Dick said. 'Won't they have the law on me?'
'You are the law on Hilltop, Richard,' she said se
verely.
'Good Lord,' he said again.
'Sounds good, eh?' Tony said.
'But if I am the law, then I can't break it, can I?' Dick asked. 'This order on my agent, will he pay it?'
'From the proceeds of the crop, when it is ground,' Clarissa explained.
'But your husband says that is some weeks off.'
'So they'll have to wait. They'll be glad to, for an order on the Hilton crop. Now, then, if you are finished . . . oh, what is it, Boscawen?'
The butler cleared his throat. 'Is Mistress Gale, Mistress Laidlaw. She has woke up, and is calling for Mr Hilton.' 'Calling for him, indeed,' remarked Mrs Laidlaw. 'Ah,' Dick said. 'I suppose . . .'
'Who is Mistress Gale?' Tony asked, helping himself to more eggs. 'A lady,' Dick began.
'A lady, indeed,' snorted Mrs Laidlaw.
'I suppose we'd better see her,' Dick said, getting up.
'We'd?'
'Well, I. . .'
' Tis a time to show your authority, Richard,' Clarissa declared. 'A time to be a Hilton. A time to be the Hilton.' 'But. . .’
'Besides, she has a most foul tongue. She'd likely slander herself if she saw me. But you, now, she'll listen to the Hilton.'
Dick glanced at Tony, who winked; his mouth was too full to speak.
'Well,' he decided, 'I'm sure Uncle Robert intended to see her all right.'
'Friend of Uncle Robert's, was she?' Tony inquired, having swallowed.
'His kept woman,' Clarissa explained, in a huge whisper.
'I say, what fun. Good luck, Dickie old boy. Better hope she's not like him, eh?'
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