HF - 03 - Mistress of Darkness

by Christopher Nicole

  Georgiana frowned at him. Presumably he was indulging himself in some kind of a joke. 'Gislane?'

  'Who did you suppose it would be?'

  'But ...' A nigger? she wanted to shout. Are you out of your mind, you stupid boy? 'What will Robert say?'

  'Well, I know he won't be very pleased, of course. But he'll get over it. He always does.' He grinned at her. 'Maybe he'll flog me every day for a year, too.'

  The phaeton was turning into the drive. Georgiana felt so hot she thought she would faint. Gislane Nicholson? Gislane Hilton? A girl with Negro blood in her veins sitting on the front verandah of Hilltop? Sleeping in Mama's bed? Why, as Mrs. Matthew Hilton, after Robert died she'd be giving orders to her two cousins-in-law.

  'You will help me?' Matt asked.

  The carriage had stopped. 'Oh,' she said. 'Oh, of course I'd help you, Matt, but... it's awfully important, don't you think? I mean, to marry ... and then, you hardly know the girl.'

  'I know her better than anyone in the world. She has told me everything about herself. Did you know she is really a Hodge. There was a Hodge worked for the Hiltons, oncet Certainly an ancestor. And she is actually a slave. Escaped from Hodges on Nevis.'

  'Oh, my God,' Georgiana said.

  'But that makes me love her the more, want her more, care for her the more. I am the happiest man in all the world.' 'Have you slept with her?'

  'Good God. Is that all you think about? You really are nothing more than a slut, you know, Georgy. Of course I haven't slept with her. She's going to be my wife.'

  'I still don't see how you can know she'll make you happy. Have you kissed her?'

  'Her hand, of course.'

  'Not her mouth? Just her hand? I'll wager that is the only part of her you've touched, either. Why, she might be ugly, under her clothes.'

  'How can she be ugly under her clothes? She's beautiful. Anyway, I love her. Can't you understand that? I love her. Everything about her. The way she looks and the way she smiles and the way she talks and the way she laughs, and the way she walks...'

  'You have talked with her, then? I mean, you know she won't bore you, afterwards? You know, with her ... well...'

  'You were going to say being a mustee.'

  I was going to say being a nigger, Georgiana thought. 'I do feel you should think on it a while longer, Matt. Really I do.'

  'Look who is giving advice,' Matt said, contemptuously. 'Anyway, I can't. I have asked her, and she has accepted. She is going to be waiting for me tonight. I'll take the phaeton, of course. Now be a dear and step down. I must go along to the bank and get some coin.'

  'But what about the Duke's reception?' Georgiana wailed.

  'You can go alone. Just be sure to take a maid in the carriage,' Matt said. 'Make my excuses. It is you they want to see, not me. And don't worry. I'll be back in a week or two, after I've honeymooned. I'll have Gislane with me.'

  Georgiana opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She remembered that when they had been children it hadn't done much good to argue with Matt. He could be the most stubborn boy she had ever met. The door was open. She stepped down, and almost before she had reached the gravel the phaeton was whipping away towards the gates. It seemed blurred. She could not believe what he had told her. Robert would put a stop to it, of course. But Robert was probably back in Jamaica by now. It would take weeks to get a letter to him, even supposing the privateers did not capture the ship carrying it.

  But something had to be done. Because of course Matt was just being foolish. Gislane was a beautiful girl. Even she had to admit that. So he wanted to bed her. He wanted to bed her where he would not bed his own cousin, the lout. But having done that, what would there be left? What could there be left, between a white man and a nigger woman? It just didn't make sense.

  Richards was opening the door for her. 'Why, Miss Georgiana, you look quite upset. May I bring you something?'

  Georgiana fanned herself with her hat. 'A glass of wine. No, a botde. Two bottles.' But he had given her an idea.

  'And when you have done that, Richards, I wish you to send for Mr. Barton. Tell him it is most urgent that he attend me immediately.'

  She sipped her wine, and paced the withdrawing-room, and fanned herself, suddenly afraid that Matt might change his mind and come back; she would never be able to dissemble. But the next thud of hooves was a horseman rather than a carriage, and Barton came rushing in, a short, thickset man with a shock of crisp black hair. 'News from Jamaica? The storm was worse than we feared.'

  'Worse than that, Mr. Barton.' She snapped her fingers. 'Richards, a glass for Mr. Barton. And sit down, sir. Sit down. You'll not hear what I have to say standing.'

  Barton frowned at her, slowly sat in the chair by the fireplace, took his glass of wine, looked at it, and sipped. He was not used to being treated as an equal by the Hiltons. Georgiana waited until Richards had retired to his pantry, and then informed him of the situation. He listened, finishing his wine the while, his face drawing into a deep frown which even seemed to affect his nose and mouth. 'My God,' he said. 'Mr. Robert will be furious.' 'There's calmness.' Georgiana had continued to walk up and down while she spoke, but now she stopped in front of him. 'And furious Robert may be, but that is only a fraction of the matter. This nigger girl will be your mistress, Barton. And mine. And Great-aunt Rebecca's. You'd best think on that. Think on Matt addressing Parliament on some great question, with his mulatto in the gallery. Think of Mr. and Mrs. Hilton invited to Court. Robert was invited to Court. Think on that.'

  Barton stared at his empty glass in horror, and Georgiana refilled it, and then poured another for herself. 'You must reason with him, Miss Georgiana.' 'That were quite impossible with so pig-headed a lout. He has been away from Jamaica for too long. He thinks perhaps no one will know, no one will guess. And he is so romantic he supposes that if they do he will be able to brazen it out, thumping himself on the chest and shouting, I am a Hilton, I do as I choose.' 'Well, miss ...'

  'Oh, of course he can do as he chooses, Barton. That is the tragedy of it. But we will all be refused polite society. I'll not have it.'

  Barton gazed at his second empty glass. 'Perhaps if I were to speak with him.. .'

  'Speak,' Georgiana shouted. 'Is that all you can recommend, words? God in Heaven, no wonder the country is in such a sorry state with every rag tag and bobble Yankee backwoodsman defying even the King's soldiers. This is no matter for talk. Listen. The girl must be disposed of. I have thought of nothing else all afternoon, and I know now there can be no other solution.'

  'D ... disposed of?' Barton's colour began to fade. 'You mean...'

  Georgiana filled his glass. 'I'd not have her killed. Although I doubt she deserves anything better. I wish her removed, so that she can never come back. Or at least to somewhere Matt can never find her again.'

  Barton pulled his nose.' 'Tis a tall order, Miss Georgiana. Mr. Matthew is a determined young man.'

  She frowned into the grate. 'Then I wish her so disposed that he will never want to find her again.'

  ‘You mean ... disfigured? 'Tis breaking the law we will be, Miss Georgiana.'

  Georgiana snapped her fingers. 'We'll break no laws, Barton. I have it. You'11 seize the girl, but you'll not harm her, you understand. You'll have her taken privily to Bristol, and set her aboard a ship bound for Nevis. That were not difficult. She is an absconded slave, belonging to James Hodge. We are doing nothing more than returning him his property. I will give you money to pay the captain.'

  'You are a cool one, Miss Georgiana. But will not Mr. Matthew be able to trace her whereabouts?'

  'No doubt he will, in time,' Georgiana agreed. 'But, in time, will he wish to? When she has spent but a year as a slave, and of a man like Hodge .., you will have heard of Hodge, Barton?'

  'Oh, yes, indeed, Miss Georgiana. Everyone connected with the West Indies has heard of Hodge.'

  'He comes of bad stock. His great-grandfather was once in the employ of Meg Hilton, as I remember. And
he is as known for his lechery as his cruelty. He'll be more than pleased to have his little half-breed cousin returned to him. He'll put some colour into those pale cheeks, I'll wager you that. Not even Matt will wish to have her when Hodge is finished. Besides, it is no more than an infatuation with a pretty face. It will die.'

  'No doubt,' Barton agreed. And downed his wine. "Yet is he a powerful young man, Miss Georgiana. We will not frighten him.'

  'No more you should,' Georgiana agreed. 'You will have to assault him.'

  'We will have to break his head.'

  She stared at the agent for a moment. 'Very well, if that is necessary. And so long as you are sure you do him no permanent harm. But he cannot be left on the ground. Arrange for one of your people, someone he doesn't know, to happen by a few minutes after the assault, and fetch him back here.'

  Barton hesitated, peered into his empty glass, then sighed and stood up. 'Ten o'clock, you said.'

  'Ten o'clock. So you'd best make haste.'

  Barton nodded, and sighed, and remained still. There will be repercussions, Miss Georgiana.'

  ‘I will take full responsibility, Mr. Barton. In the name of my brother Robert. I have no doubt that I am doing what he would do in these circumstances, saving that he might not be so prepared to save the girl's life. You'll not fail me, Barton.'

  'No, Miss.' Barton went to the door, paused again. 'And I'm to have Mr. Matthew returned here as soon as possible.'

  Georgiana was looking at herself in the mirror, smoothing her fichu back on to her shoulders to leave as much bare flesh exposed as possible.

  'Aye,' she said. 'I'll look after Mr. Matthew.'

  chapter four

  THE SEEKER

  Distant drumbeats shattered the darkness, filled the universe, louder and louder and louder. Matt forced his eyes open. He would do anything to escape the incessant crashing of the drums, for the drummers seemed to be using his very skull as a surface on which to exercise their sticks,

  'God,’ he screamed. 'God.'

  'Matt?' Georgiana, leaning anxiously over the bed on which he lay. 'Oh, thank God, We have been so worried.'

  There were other people in the room, and now an elderly man bent over him. Dr. Bennett, the Hilton physician. 'Careful now, young man. I think a cooling draught, Miss Georgiana. With just a trace of spirit in it'

  'Richards,' Georgiana snapped. 'Quickly. An iced drink for Mr. Matt. And add a little gin.'

  'My head,' Matt moaned, rolling to and fro.

  'Aye,' Bennett agreed. 'You've some more ice there, woman?' A fresh handkerchief filled with ice was laid on his brow. 'You've taken a nasty crack across the skull, Matthew. But so far as I can see there is no real damage. A little concussion, perhaps. Nothing another twenty-four hours of rest will not cure.'

  'A crack?' Matt tried to focus.

  'With a stick, Dr. Bennett thinks,' Georgiana explained. 'You must have been set upon by footpads.'

  Now her face did come into clear focus, and with it, memory stormed back, of another face, Gislane's face, lit up by her smile as she crossed the darkened lane towards him, her bundle of clothes beneath her arm. And then frowning, as she stopped, and would have said something, and then ,..

  'Gislane,' he said. 'What has happened to Gislane?' Georgiana frowned and shook her head. 'But I must know.' With a great effort he raised himself on his elbow.

  ‘You were lucky,' Georgiana said loudly. 'A gentleman passed by, and the robbers took fright and ran off before they could empty your pockets. Fortunately he recognized the phaeton, and so placed you in it and brought you back here.'

  'A gentleman?' Matt asked.

  Georgiana raised her eyebrows. 'He would not give his name. Nor would he accept any reward. And I will confess that the sight of you lying there, covered in blood and dead for aught I knew, drove all other considerations from my mind.'

  'But Gislane was there.’ Matt lay back on his pillows. 'She must have been assaulted as well.' 'Gislane?’ inquired Dr. Bennett.

  'Perhaps you would excuse us, Doctor,' Georgiana suggested. 'It is a private matter.'

  'Oh, certainly, Miss Georgiana. There is no more I can do, in any event. Rest, Matthew. Just rest will soon have you on your feet I'll stop by again tomorrow.'

  He went to the door, and encountered Richards with a tray. 'Your drink.'

  'I'll take it. Georgiana closed the door behind them both, returned to stand by Matt. ‘Drink this, and you'll feel better.

  Matt discovered he was parched. He sipped, and then again.

  The gentleman who brought you home spoke nothing of Gislane,' Georgiana said.

  'But she was there,' Matt insisted. 'She was coming towards me, when I was attacked.'

  'So perhaps it was not footpads, after all,' Georgiana said, thoughtfully. 'Perhaps your elopement was prevented.'

  'For God's sake, who would do such a thing? Who knew of it?'

  'The Nicholsons, for example?'

  'Good God.' He sat up, and held his head. 'Ow. Give me the rest of that wine.'

  'Now you are not to get out of bed,' she insisted, holding the goblet for him. You really must rest. But don't you see, Matt, who else can it have been, and in such a place? I thought it a little fortuitous that a friend should have happened along in time to prevent the footpads from robbing you. No, no, they made their objections to you as a son-in-law quite plain. Gislane obviously was indiscreet, and they decided to prevent her escaping.'

  'I cannot believe it.'

  The goblet was empty. She placed it on the table, and sat beside him, put her arms round his shoulders, brought his head down on to her breasts. 'I understand that it must be a terrible shock. But I can see no alternative possibility.'

  He struggled to free himself. 'But Gislane ... what will they have done to her?'

  'Given her a good thrashing, perhaps,' Georgiana suggested.

  ‘I must get over there,' Matt said. 'By heaven, I'll make them sing a different tune.' He pushed her away, scrambled from the bed, began to dress, on this occasion quite forgetting the need for modesty in her company.

  Georgiana remained on the bed, rubbing her shoulder where his hand had gripped as he had pushed her aside. 'You cannot go out. Dr. Bennett said you should stay indoors. And what will you do, Matt? They have right on their side; the girl is not yet of age.'

  'They have no right at all if they inspired the assault on me,' Matt said. 'And I shall know, believe me. They must suppose me a very sorry fellow if they imagine a tap on the head will drive me from Gislane forever."

  'Oh, God's teeth,' Georgiana said, and lay down in his place. 'Stop acting the fool and come back here, You'll likely fall from your horse and do yourself some permanent damage. Look at you, swaying all over the floor.'

  Matt found himself sitting in a chair, his shirt unfastered, his breeches still around his thighs. God, how the room heaved.

  'So there.' Georgiana came towards him, 'Poor, poor Matt. You remind me of Don Quixote, indeed you do. Nor would you have any more success against the Nicholsons than he did with his windmills. I would suppose they are as alarmed as you. Indeed, it is a surprise that they have not come calling. Now let me help you back to bed.'

  Her arms were once again round his shoulders, her strength gently pulling him to his feet. How sweet she smelt, and how soft. And how eager, to look after him and be at his side.

  'Now you are trying to confuse me,' he grumbled. The bed came up to meet him, and she released him to heave his legs on to the mattress.

  'I must get these breeches off,' she said. 'You just lie still, sweet Matt.'

  He lay still, and sighed, while her fingers slid over his hips. 'You are too good to me, Georgy. I am a perverse fellow.'

  'Oh, indeed you are,' she agreed. 'But if your mishap has taught you where your fortune truly lies, then perhaps you are the gainer. I have written to the Duke, informing him that because of your accident we shall not be attending his reception.'

  'But that is absurd,' Matt protested
. 'You were going to go by yourself, in any event.'

  'I must look after you,' she said firmly, and gently pushed him on to the pillows. 'Anyway, it is too late. The reception will have started an hour ago.'

  'An hour. But...'

  'It is Saturday morning. Did you not know? You have lain there, no more than halfconscious, certainly not aware of who or where you are, for a good thirty-six hours.'

  'Thirty-six hours? My God. Gislane. I must find out what happened to Gislane. If you would truly assist me, Georgy, send a messenger to the Nicholsons.'