The Devil's Own

by Christopher Nicole

  'You'll take a cup of coffee?'

  She shook her head. 'I doubt my stomach could retain it. I would like to leave now, Kit.'

  Hastily he finished his own coffee, and got up.

  'I'll wish you all the fortune in the world, Lilian.' Parke kissed her hands. 'You'll be back within the hour.'

  'Of course I shall.' She waited for Kit to arrange her cloak around her shoulders, went to the stairs. Jonathan was below with the trap.

  'You keep safe, Miss Lilian,' he said. 'But man, they got people down by the beach.' 'Already?' Kit enquired.

  'People? Oh ...' Lilian squared her shoulders. 'But I expected that.'

  She sat beside him and the trap rolled out of the archway and on to the street. It was just dawn, and the first tiny fingers of daylight were starting to throw shadows from the houses. It occurred to Kit that the town must have looked just like this □n that terrible morning Lilian had lain on this very street, and waited to be discovered, for the humiliation to begin. Not for the first time he had to wonder if this was a way of committing suicide, if she actually hoped for death, knowing that she could never live down the shame.

  And yet, she had already lived down the shame. For as Jonathan had said, there were already people about, moving towards the beach, men and women, and children, hoping for a spectacle none of them had suspected possible. And most of these shouted encouragement at the trap.

  'You'll give her best, Miss Lilian.'

  'Be sure you aim true, girl.'

  'She deserves a bullet through the head, Miss Lilian.' 'You'll puncture her pride, girl.'

  Lilian almost smiled. 'What a bloodthirsty lot they are, to be sure.' She glanced to her right as they passed the Christianssen's house. Abigail stood on die doorstep, with little Agrippa in her arms.

  'Godspeed, Miss Lilian,' she shouted.

  Had she hoped to see her parents there as well, Kit wondered? Or did she know that by adding this deed of blood to the other deed of shame she had finally ended all hope of a reconciliation between herself and her father? And yet, there was a movement at the curtains shrouding the upper window, and there was no breeze.

  'Their thoughts go with you, have no doubt of that,' he said.

  'I'm sure they do.' She would not meet his eyes. Because he was the only possible weakening of her resolution. She rode like a woman going to her execution. Well, was she not? And why did he not assert himself, whip the trap into a gallop, forbid this hideous masquerade? Because to do that would be to lose her just as much as if she was killed? He kept coming back to that inescapable fact.

  Well, then, why had he not broken down Marguerite's door and fought his way through her overseers, if necessary, to force her to withdraw? Because that would not alter the situation cither? Because this was something, not beyond his understanding—he understood their rival feelings only too well— but beyond his power to control.

  But then, had he not too often found all life beyond his control? As if any man, or any woman, for that matter, could control life. Life was a sea, often turbulent, whipped by winds of tremendous force and capricious direction, and one kept afloat as best one could, or one sank without trace.

  He wondered if Marguerite would subscribe to that point of view. She at the least had never had any doubt about her ability to control such aspects of life as surrounded her. So no doubt she would control this morning's event as well.

  And Lilian was hoping for mercy.

  The beach was crowded, the people massed against the sea-grape bushes which lined the sand. And here waited Dr Haines and several other gentlemen, amongst them John Harding.

  He nodded stiffly to Kit as he helped Lilian down. 'I am to marshal this event Captain Hilton,' he said. 'At the request of the challenged party.'

  'Who I observe is not present,' Kit said, his heart commencing to pound with hope.

  'It is not yet time,' Harding pointed out. 'I assume you are acting for Miss Christianssen?'

  'I am.'

  'And is your client content with the arrangements?'

  Kit shrugged. What was there to criticize? The beach sloped gently down to the even more gentle sea. The sand was even, and the backgrounds at either end were trees. And Harding he knew for an honest man, even if often enough a misguided one. 'She is content.'

  'Then here are the weapons.' He opened the case. The four pistols lay on the velvet. 'They are loaded and primed. I did so myself.'

  Kit frowned. 'Four?'

  'Your client used the words a "final settlement between us" in her challenge, Captain Hilton. By the code I understand, this means the exchange continues until one party cries, "Enough."'

  'By God,' Kit said. 'You will have blood, then.'

  'It would seem to be what the ladies wish, Captain.'

  Kit walked across the sand to where Lilian waited. 'Did you know that Marguerite wishes to exchange shots until one party is hit or withdraws?'

  'It is her prerogative.'

  'Oh, indeed. But it is madness. Lilian ...'

  'Please, Kit. I will have no more of it. Besides, it is too late.' She pointed, at the carriage which came rumbling up the road, displacing a cloud of dust.

  It halted on the edge of the sand, and the Negro driver jumped down to open the door. A man got out first, and waited to assist Marguerite down, but she waved him away. She had indeed prepared herself well, and was all in black, black gown beneath black cloak, black boots, black kid gloves, wide-brimmed black hat, and a black veil over her face, so that she was, in fact, totally invisible. At the sight of her the crowd started to boo, and her head half turned in that unforgettable gesture, before she came down the sand.

  'Show your face,' they yelled. 'Show your face.'

  ' 'Tis a substitution,' they bawled. 'Have her unveil.'

  Marguerite came up to Kit and Lilian. 'Good morning to you,' she said.

  'It is customary to show your face, Mrs Hilton,' Dr Haines suggested with some caution. 'Do you doubt it is I, Kit?' 'No,' he said. 'No, I do not doubt that, Meg.'

  "Well, then. Good morning to you, Mr Harding. Hodge here will act as my second.'

  The overseer nodded to the gentlemen.

  'Very well, ladies,' Harding said. 'We had best be about this business. I must first of all appeal to you to cease this grim intent, and embrace each other as friends.'

  'If Mrs Hilton wishes,' Lilian said in a low voice.

  Marguerite stared at her. Almost they could see the glint of her eyes through the veil. 'I do not wish,' she said. 'This woman has seen fit to start this business. Let us carry it to a proper conclusion.'

  Kit opened his mouth and then closed it again. Nothing he could say could do other than make matters worse.

  Harding held out his box. 'Will you select your weapons?'

  Marguerite took one of the pistols, and Lilian, after a moment's hesitation, did likewise.

  'Now, will you stand back to back, please,' Harding said. 'And when I give the signal, will you walk away from each other for ten paces, and then turn, and fire at will. I will count the paces, ladies, and I must impress upon you that should either of you turn and fire before the count of ten, then she will be guilty of a felony, which shall be murder should her ball strike home, and will be treated accordingly. Do you understand me?'

  Marguerite continued to stare at Lilian, whose face had suddenly flushed, red spots clinging to her cheeks, while her mouth settled into an even firmer line. She was summoning all her courage.

  'Remember, I beg of you,' Kit said. 'Do not be hurried.'

  'It matters naught.'

  He bit his lip, let his hands fall to his sides, watched her walk away from him to where Harding waited. She was very nearly a head taller than Marguerite. And now even the rustle of the crowd fell silent, and the only sound was the faint murmur of the surf, as the sun broke out of the Atlantic behind them to bathe an orange light across the scene.

  'Now,' Harding said. 'One ... two ... three ... four ... five ... six ... seven ... eight ... nine
... ten.'

  Lilian stopped and turned, the pistol hanging by her side. Marguerite had also turned, and once again stared at her enemy. Then slowly, her right hand came up. How slowly it rose. Kit wanted to cry out in sheer anguish. But Lilian never moved, and her face never changed expression. Up and up came the pistol, extended at the end of that black-sleeved, black-gloved hand like an extra finger, absolutely straight. No other part of Marguerite's body moved.

  The morning seemed to stop, even the sun seemed no longer to edge its way into the sky. The sound of the explosion, when it came, was a surprise. Black smoke eddied into the air, and Kit realized that he had shut his eyes. He opened them again, and looked at Lilian. She stood absolutely straight, and unharmed. He wanted to shout for joy, and then he looked at Marguerite, who still extended her arm and gazed along the pistol as if in utter disbelief. The second explosion sounded almost before he had realized what was happening. But Lilian had merely pointed her pistol at the sky and fired. And now the crowd relaxed, and a babble of chatter rose into the air.

  Neither woman had moved, and Harding was walking forward with the open box. The noise dwindled; the onlookers had not realized there was to be more than one exchange.

  Harding went to Marguerite first, the box extended. She gazed at him for some seconds, looked into the box, and then suddenly, in a gesture of remarkable frustration, struck it with the empty pistol she still held in her hand. Taken by surprise Harding dropped it, and the pistols fell to the sand. Marguerite threw her own weapon on top of the others, turned, and walked towards the beach. No one spoke; they merely watched in amazement. The door of the carriage still stood open, and the coachman waited beside it.

  'Take me home,' she said, her voice clear and distinct.

  The door closed, the coachman climbed on to his box. The crowd woke up to what was happening and started whistling and booing. Hodge scratched his chin.

  'Your client has defaulted, sir,' Kit said. 'Mine is vindicated.'

  'By God,' Hodge said. He hurried towards the town to find a horse.

  'The most remarkable thing I ever did see,' Harding commented. 'And from Marguerite? It is unbelievable.'

  Yet had it happened. Kit was already running across the sand to reach Lilian and catch her as her knees gave way and she fell in a dead faint.

  So then, even buccaneers and planters can be happy, from time to time. Jean DuCasse had found happiness, like Kit once, in planting. He had retired from the sea he had dominated so splendidly, and grew sugar-cane in the new French colony of Santo Domingo, which had grown out of that same Hispaniola they had haunted as matelots so long ago. He wrote letters begging Kit to visit him, whenever this tiresome war would end. But for Kit Hilton happiness was to stand on the poop deck of a stout little ship, and feel the wind rippling his hair while he listened to the creaking of the sheets and the swish of water away from the hull. Her name was Calliope, and she was everything he could have wanted: fast, seaworthy, trim, stiff enough to make life aboard comfortable, and armed with four cannon in each broadside and a saker forward. She was a pursuer; a ferret, not a hare.

  But there was nothing for her to pursue. The sea was empty of ships save for the three-master bearing down on St John's. But she proudly flew the mingled cross of the new union, and was from England. He had already fired a blank charge in salute, and dipped his ensign. Kit Hilton, exciseman. But the planters would take no risks at this juncture. They had no wish to invite reprisals from Mr Parke, and they well knew he only waited the excuse. Even the House had not met in a month. Daniel must be left to fume and fuss, and wait, as they.

  So for the coastguard cutter it was just a matter of sailing, and returning home. Why, he might be a gentleman of leisure, with naught to do but amuse himself. For the harbour was opening ahead of him, and Myers the mate was giving the order to shorten sail preparatory to anchoring. And when he was rowed ashore in his jolly boat there would be no frowns to greet him and no boos, at least from the common folk, while the planters seldom came into town nowadays. Although today he saw Harding, and two others, gathered at the far end of the dock, pinching their lips and glancing at him, but offering no greeting. They hoped for mail.

  Something to tell the Governor. A horse waited for him, and he nodded and smiled as he rode up the street, exchanging a greeting with Barnee, looking out for Abigail and her baby as he passed the warehouse. Sometimes even Astrid Christianssen was there to greet him. But never Dag. Rumour had it he scarcely left his books and his work. An unhappy man. Because his daughter had failed him.

  But she had not failed herself. Once through the town Kit could whip his horse into a gallop, and storm up the hill, under the shady trees, to rein before the gleaming white balconies and verandahs of Government House, against which the brilliant red and green of the hibiscus hedge stood out in sharp contrast.

  She walked on the lawn, towards him, put up her cheek to be kissed. No, indeed, she had not failed herself. The slight air of defensiveness which had used to accompany her like a cloak had gone, aHd forever, he hoped. Now she was proud to be seen by his side, proud to live with him as his mistress.

  'It is good to have you home, dearest,' she said. 'And did the ship behave as you wished?'

  'She is a treasure.' Kit walked towards the house, holding her hand. 'Daniel has done me proud. And how is the great man?'

  'He broods, and writes letters. I think he has missed you, Kit. Certain it is he has asked for you to go up to him the moment you returned.'

  'Then I suppose I had better do so. But he has no other solace?'

  She climbed the wide, shallow steps in front of him. 'Oh, indeed. Mrs Chester comes here quite blatantly now, at least twice a week. I think this island must be so inured to scandal that there is no longer even comment. Not that I should pass judgement. Why, often enough she sits on this verandah with me and enjoys a cup of tea. For are we not two of a kind?'

  'Sweetheart.' He caught her hand again. 'You know I would set that right, if I could. I do not suppose ...'

  For they had heard nothing of Marguerite since her tumultuous exit from the scene of the duel.

  'Rumour, as usual,' she said. 'How now no one is allowed on to Green Grove at all. I believe even a messenger from Goodwood, informing her of her father's death, was turned away.'

  'Philip is dead?'

  She nodded. 'A week ago. I think this is what is upsetting Mr Parke. The funeral was used as an expression of solidarity by the planters. 'Tis said there was not a man of them absent. Which makes the non-appearance of Mrs Hilton the more surprising.'

  'By God,' Kit said. 'He was clearly dying when last we met. But what of Celestine? And my children?'

  'I understand Mrs Warner will sell Goodwood and return to England.'

  'With Tony and Rebecca? By God, they'll not be whisked across the ocean. I shall have to pay her a visit. But it is, as you say, inconceivable that Marguerite did not attend her father's funeral. But then, is anything about Marguerite as it seems? I still cannot understand her behaviour that day on the beach. Had her voice not been so clear and sane I would once again have supposed her to be demented.'

  'Or sorrowful,' Lilian said. 'Believe me, Kit, I often lie awake at night and wonder at the wrong I have done her.'

  'Yet our love had come to an end before I came to you, Lilian,' Kit insisted. 'The affair is now closed. She sought her revenge, most cruelly, and you stood up to her and forced her to admit defeat. And you were right, in everything about her. She admitted how much she had wronged you by her action on the day. Can you not forget that?'

  'No,' Lilian said. 'I cannot forget her so long as she looms so large in your mind.'

  'My mind? Why ...'

  'You should not try to dissemble, Kit,' Lilian said severely. 'It is not in your nature. Green Grove, with its mistress, is too deeply embedded in your heart for either of us ever to overlook it.' She freed her hand as they reached the upper floor. 'You had best go to the Governor.'

  Kit hesitated. But
she would do better when she had been given more time. Even now, happiness was something at which she would have to work. And he could do no more than help her, when she wished help. He knocked.

  'Kit? Come in, man. Come in.'

  He opened the door. For his office, Parke had appropriated the best room in the house, intended as an upstairs withdrawing room, wide and high-ceilinged, with glass doors opening on to the upper verandah, and standing wide to allow the breeze to enter. A huge mahogany desk faced the doors, and from his chair the Governor could look out across his lawn at the sea and the harbour. Yet he did not appear contented. A sheet of paper and a quill lay on the desk in front of him, and he played with the silver inkstand.

  'Kit,' he cried. 'Thank God you are back. You've made an arrest?'

  'I have seen but a single ship, and she was out of Bristol. And I even sailed into St Eustatius itself.'

  'Aye.' Parke scowled. 'They know you too well, as they know me.' He got up, paced the room. 'They will make no move. They wait ... do you know, I had supposed it was Warner himself restraining them? God knows I have pushed and prodded and provoked long enough. I had supposed, when their acknowledged leader died, that they would react, and strongly. But by God, they do nothing. Save refuse to grant the necessary supplies. Every day I am assailed with more bills, and every day I possess less funds. By God, this matter must be settled soon or government will become impossible.'

  'I will tell you why they do nothing,' Kit said. 'They are waiting.'