'You'd best tell her,' Robert said from above him.
Matt turned his head in surprise.
'Aye, she can stand it.' Robert said. 'You've stood enough in your time, eh Aunt Becky? The young fool has fallen in love with a nigger girl.'
Rebecca Hilton's lined face seemed to grow smaller as she smiled. 'Every one of you, one after the other, has fallen in love with a nigger girl,' she said.
'Aye,' Robert said. 'And been content to bring the wench to bed. He's the first wished to marry one.'
'You don't understand,' Matt said desperately, as he watched the humour leave his aunt's face. 'This girl is not a Negress. She has only a fraction of black blood in her veins. Were you not prejudiced you'd not notice it should she enter the room this moment, I swear it.'
'And who in the West Indies is not at once knowledgeable and prejudiced?' Rebecca asked.
'I have thought of that, Aunt Becky,' Matt said. 'We shall live in England.'
'In England?' Robert demanded. 'And who will manage the Hilton estates after I am gone?'
'An attorney can do it, surely,' Matt said. 'Most other planters live in England.'
'They are not Hiltons,' Rebecca said. 'Bed the girl, Matt, and have done with it. Set her up in a house in Kingston, if you choose. But let us have no absurdities like marriage.'
Matt opened his mouth, then changed his mind. There was no time for argument. 'It matters naught at this moment what I would do with her, Aunt Rebecca,' he said. 'She has been sent to Nevis, to Hodge. Her master. Christ, I think I am going mad. Robert, you must come with me to get her away from there.'
'I?' Robert asked. 'What do you expect of me, may I ask?'
'You are Robert Milton,' Matt pointed out. 'There is not a man in the West Indies will not bow before that name.'
'Yet must I always uphold the law,' Robert insisted. 'You say the girl legally belongs to Hodge, at least in the West Indies.'
'Then buy her,' Matt shouted.
'With what purpose in mind?' Rebecca Hilton asked.
'To ... you can give her to me as my mistress,' Matt said. 'There it is. I am to be twenty-one within a year. Give her to me as my birthday present. I'll ask for no more.'
Robert hesitated, and glanced at his aunt. Rebecca stared at him.
'You'd swear to keep her as your mistress, always?'
Matt hesitated. 'If those are your terms, sir. I'd swear. At least for the period of both your lives.'
But his hesitation had been as fatal as his honesty. 'Aye,' Robert said. 'You are in love with the girl. And you are entirely lacking in experience. You'd best forget her, Matt. Believe me, boy ...'
'Forget her?' Matt shouted. 'Forget her? I can never do that. I will never do that. Will you not buy her?'
'It could cause a scandal,' Rebecca said.
'A scandal,' Matt said. 'Aye. Well, then, have your scandal. You'll not help me? I'll help myself.'
'You've no credit to pledge, saving mine,' Robert said.
'Who said anything about credit? I've two good arms here. I'd like to see Hodge stop me.'
Robert frowned at him. 'You'd attempt to seize the girl? That would be breaking the law.'
'And that will cost me a fine or a term in gaol. But by God, I'll have Gislane.'
'That will cost you a bullet through the brain, more like,' Robert said. 'And Hodge will be entirely within his rights.'
'We shall see about that,' Matt declared. 'I must get back to Kingston and find a ship. Oh, fear not, Robert, I have sufficient funds to get me to Nevis, at the least. Aunt Rebecca,' he dropped to his knees beside the rocking chair. 'I beg your forgiveness.'
'You are a stupid, wicked young man,' she said.
'Yet have I my honour. And will act upon it.' He rose, and turned, and discovered Robert had left the room. He ran outside, to the gallery, and saw his cousin, together with Maurice the butler and two footmen, waiting at the foot of the stairs. Coke stood in the background, by the front door, his hat in his hands, his face flushed with embarrassment as much as with heat. 'You'll not try to stop me, Robert.'
Robert Hilton shrugged. 'If you force me to, Matt, why, I shall do just that, even if it means breaking your head again. You have just reminded me that you need several months to manhood. Several months, I would hope, in which you may come to your senses.'
Matt turned; there was another staircase at the back of the house. But behind him were four more menservants, and these had ropes in their hands.
chapter five
THE MIDDLE PASSAGE
Gislane awoke as from a nightmare, and yet hardly seemed to awake. She had dreamed she was being smothered, and still strands of cloth were blocking her nostrils, and even more unpleasantly, filled her mouth and pushed their way down her throat. The cloying, ill-tasting wool precluded thought, hardly made her aware of the bumping of the vehicle in which she was travelling; she was lying on bare boards and each jolt seemed to lift her from the floor.
Think, she told herself. Think. There is no reason to lose your head. Raise your hand, and discover what it is in your mouth. She attempted to lift her right arm, and discovered to her horror that she could not; the arm itself seemed to lose all feeling just below the elbow.
Now memory came flooding back, intruding even on the wool discomfort in her throat. She remembered leaving the house by the side door, a bundle of clothes under her arm, and seeing the phaeton and Matt standing in the shadow of the trees on the far side of the lane. Had it been Matt? Of course it had, because when she had run across the road he had greeted her, and held his arms wide for her, and in that instant, as she reached the grass by the phaeton, someone had stepped round the coach, carrying a length of wood. She had stopped, and cried out a warning, but she had been too late; Matt had gone down without a sound, and she had turned to discover two other men standing behind her, one carrying a blanket. She had raised her hand, the blanket had been thrown over them as well as her head ... and she had fainted. Presumably. She could remember nothing more.
Her sudden terror of what might have happened to Matt for a moment subdued even her surging fear of what might be going to happen to herself. She found she could move her legs, although they were bound together by a rope passed several times round her ankles. She drummed them on the floor of the wagon, for it could hardly be a coach, she thought; she could feel no seats by her shoulders on either side, and there was a total absence of springing. The attempted exercise made her gasp, and once again she was in danger of choking.
But now there were people, close by her in the darkness. Yet she could not see them, such was the intensity around her. For the first time she realized she was blindfolded.
'She's awake,' a man said.
A hand touched her cheek. The flesh was rough, and it stank. 'And like to suffocate, you've the gag that tight. Take off the sack.'
Fingers dug into her hair, and she discovered that she had lost her hat. But a moment later she could blink her eyes into the gloom. She was indeed in a wagon, which contained some barrels and boxes besides herself; she was lying just behind the driver's seat, and apart from the man handling the reins, who had not turned round, there were two others kneeling beside her. She did not recognize either of them; nor did she much care for their looks. Fear began to surge back into her chest again, making her feel physically sick. Fear of what? She had no idea what to expect, why they should seize her.
'Aye, you're a lively one,' said the man who had first spoken. 'Intelligent, they say, for a nigger. So study this.'
A naked knife blade appeared immediately in front of her face, but she hardly saw it. A nigger, the man had said. Oh God, she thought. Oh, God. She had lived with the nightmare of discovery for so long it did not seem possible it could really have happened.
'Now we're kindly folk,' said the man. 'And we can see you've difficulty breathing. So I'm going to take away the gag. You'll like that, eh, nigger girl? But mark me well, one sound out of you, excepting as we tell you to, and I'll carve you good and p
roper. It wouldn't do you much good, anyhow. There ain't a house for ten miles. Nod if you understand me.'
Gislane nodded, without thinking. She wanted only to be able to breathe. Her head was jerked forward, and once again the fingers fumbled around her neck. Then the cloth was pulled out, slowly, allowing her first uninterrupted breath, it seemed for all of her life, leaving her throat like a desert. Cautiously she licked her lips. 'A drink,' she whispered.
The man grinned at her. 'Why not, darling. It might cheer you up.' He held her shoulders, pulled her upright, and set her back against the heaving, shuddering wall of the wagon; her hands were bound behind her, she discovered, and they had indeed lost all feeling.
'Head back.' He arranged her to his satisfaction by the simple expedient of dragging on her hair, while his friend pulled the cork from a bottle.
'Not wine,' she begged. 'Water.'
'Water'll do nothing for you, darling.' The liquid was poured into her mouth. She closed her teeth, and it dribbled over her chin and into her gown. Hastily she opened her mouth again, and swallowed. It removed some of the roughness of her throat, at the least.
'Now you've made a mess,' said the man holding her hair. 'But you can give us a thank you kiss.'
Foul breath shrouded her face, and she attempted to close her mouth, but too late. Then she wanted to bite the tongue which came questing between her teeth, but she was too afraid of what he might do to her, and so she submitted to having her mouth and even her throat explored, while his hands slid over the front of her gown and down to squeeze her thighs.
'Ah, you're a darling all right,' he said at last, releasing her. 'Jimmy Hodge'll be that happy to see you again.'
She felt sick again; she had never been kissed like that before - Matt's shy embrace when she had consented to elope with him had been no more than a reassuring suggestion that they would explore each other's desires in mutual uncertainty. Matt. Oh, God, Matt.
'Please,' she said. ‘Did my cousin send you?'
The man's teeth flashed in the darkness. 'Now that would be telling, darling.'
'Please listen,' she said. 'That man who was waiting for me. His name is Matthew Hilton. If you know the West Indies at all you'll know that name. His cousin is Robert Hilton of Hilltop in Jamaica. Please, if you'll take me back to London, Mr. Hilton will reward you well. He'll protect you from Hodge. Please.'
'She was eloping, like,' said the first man to his companion. 'Now what do you think, Jemmy, lad. She'll be no unpicked flower, not her.'
'Barton said not to harm her,' Jem muttered.
'Hold your tongue, you rascal,' the older man growled. 'No names. That were understood. As for the girl, one rod counts much like another, after the first. If we was to untie her legs we could take turn and turn alike, all the way to Bristol. Christ, I feel it coming over me.'
Oh, God, she thought; the fear pain in her chest threatened to choke her. Barton. Barton. The name meant nothing to her. But it had to be remembered. 'Please,' she said again. 'You must know the Hiltons. If they'll reward you for taking me back, be sure they'll punish you for kidnapping me. You can't go against the Hiltons. Please.'
Her voice cracked with fear, and for a moment she thought she might have made some progress. The older man continued to gaze at her for a while. Then he sighed.
'Maybe you're right, Jem. He did say we wasn't to touch the darling. But it's a shame. Now you listen, nigger girl. He didn't say nothing about not having to a stick to your arse if you caused trouble. You'll be getting that soon enough, anyway. We've a long way to go. So you just lie there and keep quiet, or I'll give you something to bawl about.'
Relief seemed to shroud her entire body, and for a little while clouded her brain. She lay against the side of the wagon, bumping and rattling to every hole in the road, her teeth chattering together while her mouth remained filled with the taste of her captor's saliva and the spilled wine settled into a soggy mess on her bodice. In time she fell over, and bumped her head on the boards, but this was more comfortable than sitting up, and she made no effort to move. The night settled into a long misery, nor was the day greatly better. The wagon stopped once, apparently for a change of horses; the boy, Jem, for he Was hardly older than she, came into the wagon and sat by her side, a knife in his hand, while the ostlers moved around them. She wondered if he would stab her should she call out, but she was too tired and numb with pain and utterly miserable to consider attempting it.
So then, she thought, you are nothing more than a coward. Oh, God, she thought, what can I do? But Matt... surely he will have recovered by now. They might have risked assaulting him, but they would never risk kidnapping a Hilton. Then they might have killed him. But to murder a Hilton ... why, Robert would track them down if it took him the rest of his life. No, no, Matt had been rendered no more than unconscious. Then he would have regained consciousness by now, and already be mounting a search. No doubt horses were pounding down the road behind them, driven onward by the Hilton energy and the Hilton wealth. A horse could travel several times as fast as this old wagon. They'd be overtaken at any moment, and he would hold her in his arms.
Oh, God, by now she should have been lying in his arms. Had she really thought what that would mean? How could she, when she had no idea. It had all happened too quickly for understanding or for thought. She had known only that here was a man who would end her fears and sweep her into a future of prosperity and safety and even, perhaps position. So she plunged selfishly and blindly and excitedly forward, not even knowing, or caring, whether or not she loved him. No doubt she was being punished for that presumption.
But he loved her. No one could be that consummate an actor. He loved her, and he would follow and find her, no matter what happened. There was the only important fact at this moment.
Perhaps she even slept. The wagon was moving again, with endless discomfort. It was still daylight, and her tormentor was shaking her into wakefulness, pouring more red wine down her throat to make her head spin, and feeding her lumps of cheese and scraps of bread. She was so hungry that even this stale food tasted delicious, but digestion was difficult. All the time she chewed he sat and stared at her, and at last his desire proved too much for him and he raised her skirts, tugging them up to her knees and beyond to gaze at her legs, while she tried to hold her breath and the half-masticated food turned to lead in her throat.
But he did no more than shake his head, and return to his seat by the driver. He wanted, but he was afraid to touch her. Because of the Hiltons? There could be no one else. She swallowed the last of the food and felt a little confidence returning. They were afraid of what they were doing, and she must keep them afraid.
But soon nature interfered with her courage, and she was forced to beg them to stop the wagon and allow her down. 'God save us from a weak-bladdered whore,' growled her captor, but he was delighted, and slapped Jem on the shoulder. The boy untied the rope holding her legs together, and they jerked her towards the back of the wagon. Now to her horror she found that she could not support herself; thrust through the flap at the rear, she sank to her knees. Nor would they assist her again, but stood on either side of her, laughing and making coarse comments.
How strange, she thought, that this time yesterday I would have preferred to die rather than relieve myself in front of two strange men. But this time yesterday the idea that I would ever spend twenty-four hours bound and gagged in the back of a dirty wagon would also have been inconceivable.
Yet the unfortunate interlude brought with it one blessing; they did not bother to retie her ankles, and she even managed to get some feeling back into her toes by the time they rumbled into another town, just at dusk. But now they returned with ropes and even the gag.
'Please,' she begged. ‘I won't cry out. I am likely to suffocate.'
'Then you'd best breathe quietly,' suggested her captor, and to make matters worse a hood was dropped over her head, imprisoning her in a darkness even more noisome than the interior of the wagon.
/> 'Now you'll walk,' the voice said, and she was once again thrust over the side of the vehicle. But there could be no doubt that she was by the sea; even through the foul-smelling sackcloth she gained a wisp of the salt air, and the October wind was fresh enough to cut into her crumpled cloak and chill her flesh.
She stumbled forward, tripping over the uneven cobbles, but unable to fall as the men each held one of her arms. One of her shoes fell off, but she could make no sound and her captors either were unaware of what had happened or were not prepared to go back for it. Within a moment she had stepped in a puddle and her stockings were wet through. Yet she could neither weep nor give way to her growing terror; she was too busy keeping her breathing as even as possible and endeavouring not to swallow any of the wool.
HF - 03 - Mistress of Darkness Page 12
