Still on her knees in the mud, Madeleine reached up and grasped her hand. Her face worked. ‘Your hand’s like ice,’ she said. ‘And you forgot your mackintosh.’
Sophie didn’t reply. She knew that if she tried to speak she would burst into tears.
‘Thank you,’ whispered Madeleine.
Sophie shook her head. She tried to pull away, but Madeleine kept hold of her hand. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered again.
‘. . . and Mr Kelly was so brave,’ Belle was telling her father. ‘He lent us his horse, his name’s Partisan, because Aunt Sophie’s had fallen down a ravine, and he saved Muffin – have you found her yet?’
Cameron shook his head, clearly struggling to take it all in.
‘And he wouldn’t come with us because he said he’d slow us down and then we’d all go up in smoke. He said a knackered horse can’t carry a man, a woman, and a child. So we had to leave him behind.’
Cameron turned to Sophie. ‘Is this true?’
She nodded. ‘That’s his horse,’ she said, jerking her head at Partisan. ‘He was supposed to follow us on foot,’ she went on, her teeth beginning to chatter, ‘but I don’t think he got through. He can’t have done, can he? We waited at the house for hours.’
Madeleine came and stood behind her and put her hands on her shoulders.
‘There wouldn’t have been time for him to get out, would there?’ Sophie said shrilly. ‘I mean, we only just made it ourselves, and we were on horseback. Did the fire – did it go all the way to the hill?’
Cameron nodded.
‘Perhaps he found another way down,’ said Madeleine. ‘If anyone knows his way around, it’s Ben.’
Sophie’s teeth were chattering so hard she could scarcely speak. ‘I’m going to look for him,’ she said, turning back to Partisan.
Cameron stepped in front of her. ‘No, Sophie,’ he said.
‘But I’ve got to. I’ve got to find him—’
‘Sophie,’ he said gently, ‘in ten minutes it’ll be dark. You’re exhausted. And this horse isn’t going anywhere.’
‘But—’
‘I’ll send a man out to look for him.’
‘Come on, Sophie,’ said Madeleine behind her. ‘There’s nothing more you can do tonight. Come back to the house.’
Sophie looked from Cameron to her sister, then back to Cameron. ‘Does he have a chance?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said bluntly. ‘We’ll know by morning.’
She was in her old room at Eden, trying to sleep. She was also at Romilly, curled up on Ben’s blanket, waiting for him to return.
After a while she felt him behind her, settling down against her back. She was so tired that she couldn’t move. She wanted to put out her hand and touch him, but her arm was too heavy. She couldn’t even summon the energy to open her eyes. ‘I’m glad you’re back,’ she mumbled.
‘Sophie,’ whispered Madeleine.
She woke up with a start. ‘What? What?’
It was dark in the room. By the light of the single candle on the bedside table Madeleine’s nightgown was a pale blur. ‘He’s all right, Sophie,’ she said, sitting down beside her. ‘Ben’s all right. We’ve just got word.’
Blearily, Sophie rubbed her face. She felt heavy and sick with fatigue. ‘Where? Where is he? Is he hurt?’
Madeleine shook her head. ‘I think he’s spending the night somewhere in the cattle pastures. He sent a boy to check that you and Belle were all right.’
Sophie leaned forward and put her face on her knees.
‘After you left him on the hill, he found his way down to Stony Gap,’ said Madeleine, putting her hand between Sophie’s shoulder blades and gently rubbing up and down. ‘He got there just before the fire. Apparently he jumped off the bridge into the river. That’s what the boy said. Anyway. He sent a note.’
Sophie drew a deep breath. ‘What does it say?’
‘D’you want me to read it?’
She nodded. She heard the rustle of Madeleine’s nightgown as she leaned closer to the candle. ‘In the end, the River Mistress saw me through. Ben.’ Madeleine paused. ‘That’s all there is. Does it mean anything to you?’
Sophie nodded. After a while she said, ‘What time is it?’
‘Three in the morning.’ Madeleine folded the note again and handed it to her. ‘It’ll be light in a few hours. Then you can go and see him.’
Sophie took the note and nodded.
‘You’ll be all right now,’ said Madeleine, stroking her hair. ‘Now you can get a proper sleep.’ She rose to go, but Sophie grasped her hand.
‘What about you? Are you all right? And Cameron? And Belle?’
She saw the gleam of Madeleine’s smile. ‘We’re all fine, thanks to you.’
‘No, I didn’t mean that—’
‘Yes, but I do. I do.’
There was a silence. Then Sophie said, ‘What about the estate?’
Madeleine laughed. ‘The estate! Oh, don’t worry about that. Cameron says if he works round the clock he can get in quite a bit of Orange Grove before it spoils. And we’ve still got Bullet Tree Piece. So it seems that we’re not absolutely ruined just yet.’ She paused. ‘You know, there’s a rumour that it was started deliberately.’
Sophie yawned hugely. ‘Really?’ Sleep was stealing up on her again. She could hardly keep her eyes open.
Madeleine patted her shoulder. ‘I expect it’s just a rumour. You go back to sleep.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
On the morning after the fire, Alexander Traherne awoke from his first decent sleep in weeks, feeling peaceful and relaxed. Still in his nightshirt, and before even tasting his cup of chocolate, he dashed off three short notes.
The first was to Sophie, telling her that she was absolutely right, and releasing her from her promise.
The second was to his insurers, informing them of the destruction of his house and property at Waytes Valley, and instructing them to pay the compensation monies forthwith to his account.
The third was to Guy Fazackerly, announcing that the whole of the debt would be repaid on New Year’s Day.
Then, business concluded, he went down to breakfast.
To his surprise there was no-one about; not even his mother, who always poured his tea. At length the butler brought a message from his father, to say that he was wanted in the study.
To his relief, the governor hailed him cheerily and seemed in an excellent humour, although Bostock, his man of business, wore the haggard look of a man who’d been up all night.
Cornelius lit a cigar for himself and indicated the humidor to his son, and for a while they smoked in silence. Bostock sat a little apart, staring at the floor.
Alexander felt mildly curious as to what this was about. He and the governor weren’t in the habit of sharing companionable silences. When it had gone on long enough, he flicked a speck of lint off his knee and remarked that it was a bad business about that fire.
To his surprise, the governor waved that away. ‘These things happen. It simply means that I shall be taking off the crop a little quicker than I’d intended, and spending a lot more on labour to do it.’ He leaned back in his chair and chuckled. ‘Just as well Waytes Valley ain’t yet yours, eh, my boy? Or you’d be getting a snap introduction to the art of taking off the crop at speed!’
Alexander paused with his cigar halfway to his lips. ‘I rather thought that it was mine,’ he said with careful nonchalance.
‘Oh, no, old fellow. Not until you’re actually married.’
‘Ah,’ murmured Alexander. A setback. Definitely a setback. Particularly since he’d just sent that note to Sophie.
But still. She could be brought round easily enough. Although it was a confounded shame about the insurance monies. Out loud he said, ‘So crop-time will cost you a bit, will it? Shall you be put to much expense?’
‘Quite considerable, I’m afraid. I shall need to bring in hordes of coolies from St Ann to get it done, and those brutes never come che
ap.’
‘But won’t all that be covered by the insurance?’ said Alexander.
‘I doubt it,’ said the governor, examining his cigar. ‘They tend not to pay up when it’s a question of arson.’
Alexander nearly choked on his cigar. ‘Arson?’
‘Odd, isn’t it?’ said his father without looking at him. ‘Bostock tells me that a man was seen with a box of matches, “acting suspicious”, as they say.’
Alexander shot a startled glance at Bostock, but the man of business went on staring at the floor.
‘Of course,’ he continued, turning his cigar in his fingers, ‘if they find the fellow who did it, he’ll hang. And I shall take the greatest pleasure in going along to watch.’
Alexander ran his tongue over his lips and forgot to breathe.
‘Still,’ said the governor briskly, ‘that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘It isn’t?’ Alexander said faintly. ‘You mean there’s more?’
‘Oh, decidedly,’ and this time when Cornelius looked at his son his small blue eyes were markedly less genial than before. ‘I don’t suppose you saw Parnell this morning?’
Alexander shook his head. How could he think about Parnell at a time like this? Hanged? For a few miserable sticks of cane?
‘That’s because he left,’ said his father. ‘Rather early this morning. In an absolute funk.’
Alexander dragged his mind back to the present. ‘What?’ he murmured. ‘Where did he go?’
‘Back to England. At least, that’s what his note said. Some balderdash about urgent business. Didn’t even have the courage to tell me to my face.’ He drew on his cigar, narrowing his eyes against the smoke. ‘It goes without saying that the match with your sister is off. In fact, everything’s off. Including my own spot of business with him. Which, I might add, puts me in a decidedly tricky position just at present.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Alexander mechanically.
‘So am I. Particularly as it seems that I have you to thank for it all.’
Alexander went cold. ‘I?’
He wondered how Parnell could possibly have found out about the fire – and indeed, why it should have put him into a funk. What did it matter to Parnell if a few acres of cane went up in smoke? It didn’t make sense.
‘D’you know what put him in a funk?’ said the governor. ‘No? Shall I tell you? It seems that he got to hear about you and some little mulatto girl.’
Alexander’s stomach lurched.
‘Frankly,’ said Cornelius, fixing him with his hot blue gaze, ‘I’d have thought it would take more to frighten him off than a trifle like that. But perhaps it was the way in which the little strumpet broke it to him.’ He paused. ‘It’s a shame he didn’t tell me who she was. I should rather like to get my hands on her.’ He shot Alexander an enquiring look.
But Alexander made no reply. He wasn’t that stupid. If Evie had been vile enough to shop him to Parnell, there was no telling what she might do if he shopped her to the governor.
‘So you see, Alexander,’ said his father, stubbing out his cigar, ‘thanks to you, your sister has just missed out on a most advantageous match, and I shall be compelled to draw in my horns rather considerably. I may even have to sell some of the property.’
Alexander’s thoughts darted in panic. In four days the world would know that he’d welshed on a debt of twenty thousand pounds. Added to which was the threat of unpleasantness – he couldn’t bring himself to be more specific – over that wretched fire. And clearly he could expect no sympathy at home. Despite the governor’s false calm, he was incandescent. It was all so horribly unfair.
Cornelius got to his feet and drew out his watch. ‘I’m glad we’ve had this little chat,’ he said, ‘but I mustn’t keep you any longer. Your boat leaves in just over an hour.’
‘My boat?’ said Alexander weakly.
‘Coastal steamer to Kingston. It should get you there in time to catch the packet to Perth.’
‘Perth?’ cried Alexander. ‘But – isn’t that in Australia?’
‘Well done, Alexander.’ The governor went over to the humidor on the side table and selected another cigar. ‘You can check the details with Bostock on your way to town,’ he said, without turning round. ‘Oh, and he has some papers for you to sign. Relinquishing your rights. That sort of thing.’
A spark of rebellion kindled in Alexander’s breast. ‘I shall relinquish nothing, sir,’ he said proudly.
His father laughed. ‘Oh, I rather think that you will! Insurers can be horribly persistent in investigating a fire.’
Alexander opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again.
‘Chin up, old man,’ said the governor crisply. ‘You’ll get an allowance of twenty pounds a month—’
‘Twenty pounds a month?’ cried Alexander. ‘But I can’t possibly live on that!’
‘– twenty pounds a month,’ went on the governor imperturbably, ‘on condition that we never – never – see you again. Now off you go.’ He shut the lid of the humidor with a thud. ‘And say goodbye to your mother on your way out.’
It’s mid-morning at Salt Wash, and Evie’s helping to dole out a late breakfast for the field-hands before they make a start on taking off the crop.
There’s sort of a holiday feeling in the village. Everybody’s staying with everybody else, and they’re all pulling together to help out. It’s like Free Come Day and Christmas and crop-over, rolled into one. Even her mother’s not taking the loss of her place so bad as she’d expected. ‘I can get new things,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Too besides, it’s time for a change.’
Yes, thinks Evie as she spoons a great dollop of green banana porridge into each outstretched bowl. It’s time for a change. And she bites back a smile.
Inside, she can’t stop smiling. For the first time in months, she’s fizzing over with good humour. Revenge tastes good. A little while ago she went out for a walk along the Coast Road, and two carriages passed her by, and now the memory of them is like a kernel of heat in her belly. Yes, revenge tastes good.
The first carriage carried Alexander on his way to the quay. Lord God, but that man was white! Staring, staring in front of him, like he’d just seen his own self duppy. The carriage had almost passed her by when he glanced down and saw her – and that was best of all: seeing the knowledge in his face that she was the one who’d brought him down.
Neptune said that when Master Cornelius got word that Mr Parnell had fled, he’d smashed every last thing on his mantelpiece. Every last thing. It’s almost enough to make you feel sorry for Alexander. Well. Almost.
The second carriage came along a little later, when she’d already turned back for Salt Wash. It was heading in the opposite direction, towards Montego Bay, and in it sat that Mr Austen who used to be secretary to Ben, and his new employer, Mr Augustus Parnell.
Mr Parnell glanced at Evie as he passed, but he didn’t really see her. Why should he? To him she was just some coloured girl on the road. How was he to know that she was the writer of the little note which had finished it all?
Strange, strange, how simple it had been, and how effective! Over the past few months, Mr Augustus Parnell had been perfectly happy to overlook all kinds of irregularities in his prospective in-laws: the determined womanizing of father and son; his own sweetheart’s infatuation with Ben. But what had plunged him into blank white terror – what had made him turn tail and scurry back to England – was the prospect of having a coloured girl for a sister-in-law. All it had taken was the simple revelation that Cornelius Traherne had a coloured daughter – a darkie half-sister for Miss Sibella – and he had fled. Apparently, the notion of being connected to a mulatto was just too horrible to bear.
Strange, strange. Over the past few days she’d toyed with all kinds of moonshine schemes for revenge on the Trahernes. Poison. Shadow-taking. Each notion crazier than the one before. Then it had come to her in all its simplicity. What Congo Eve and Great-grandmother Leah ha
d handed down to her – indeed, what her own mother had passed on – wasn’t just about being four-eyed and putting hand on people. It was about being her own self. Evie Quashiba McFarlane. And once she’d got that sorted out, everything else just fell into place.
Humming under her breath, she went to the cookhouse and fetched more porridge, then returned to the head of the queue. She was just getting back into the rhythm of doling it out again when the next man in line snarled things up by not moving along. ‘Go on now,’ she said without looking up.
The bowl stayed where it was.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ she said. ‘You want breakfast or not?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Isaac Walker, ‘I certainly do.’
She blinked.
He looked tired, and his fancy clothes were crumpled and black with soot. And he was just standing there at the head of the queue: not smiling, but looking as if he was ready to smile.
Evie’s good humour evaporated. There was something about this man which made her afraid. Something about the way he looked at her with his small, clever eyes: not as a man usually looks at a pretty woman – or not only that – but as one human being looks at another when they want to make friends.
But she didn’t want to make friends with him. She didn’t want to make friends with anyone. ‘If you want your breakfast,’ she said tartly, ‘you’d better go and eat it, Master Walker. Now move along, I’ve got work to do.’
‘I just wanted to make sure’, he said in his quiet, gentle way, ‘that you and your mother are all right.’
‘We’re fine,’ she snapped. ‘Mother’s over at Cousin Cecilia’s. That’s the second house on the right, by the breadnut tree. Why don’t you go and look in on her?’
‘No thank you,’ he said politely. ‘I came to see you.’
Her hackles rose. ‘I’m busy,’ she snapped.
‘I can see that,’ he replied.
His expression was hard to read, but he was clearly undeterred. Suddenly she wondered how many people in the past had mistaken his gentleness for weakness.
The Daughters of Eden Trilogy Page 82
