'Ha.' Robert got up, paced the room, waved his arms and the servants disappeared. 'I understand your concern, Louis, truly I do. I can only reassure you as best I may. As for the vagaries of Matt's heart, I can offer no opinion. But even should he manage to recreate his first passion, which will be a very unusual experience, I can tell you, he will not find the girl again. And for that same reason, she is unlikely to encounter him again by chance.'
Corbeau frowned. 'You have not done away with the girl?'
'I am no murderer, sir.'
'But... how can you be so sure? Georgiana says she was sold to Hodge of Nevis. My God, that is but ten miles from
Antigua. Do you not see the peak from Green Grove's front verandah?'
'Oh, indeed you do. But Gislane is no longer on Nevis.'
'I must ask you to be more explicit.'
Robert glanced at him, then sighed, and sat down again. 'You'll understand this is a most secret matter, Corbeau, which has hitherto been known only to myself.'
'I'll respect your confidence. But I have a right to know.'
Again Robert sighed. 'I suppose you do. Well, you may suppose I was well aware that Nevis is altogether too close, to either Statia or Antigua. I visited Hodges privily, oh, more than a year gone - the girl had only just arrived - and convinced him that he should sell her again.'
'Convinced him, by heaven. I like that. Sell her where?'
'To a Dutchman.'
'My God. A planter?'
Robert nodded.
'My God,' Corbeau said again. 'Knowing their reputation?'
'Knowing their refusal to countenance any restrictions on their treatment of their slaves, if that is what you mean. Nor do your people, Corbeau.'
'Yet are we somewhat more refined. You have a heart of stone, Robert.'
'I have a duty to protect my family, you mean. As you were just insisting.'
'Aye. Oh, I admire you. Yet am I not convinced. A Dutch planter? Not from Statia, obviously. And there is little enough planting on Saba. Where did you find this man?'
'She was sent to Essequibo.'
Corbeau stared at him. 'The River Coast? That great swamp, where Europeans die like flies?'
Robert shrugged. 'She is only part European.'
'My God,' Corbeau said again. 'And the man's name?'
'I have no idea,' Robert said. 'I thought it best.'
Corbeau nodded. 'Smartly done, to be sure. You are to be congratulated, sir. However, I am afraid I must press you just a shade further. You have done, I admit it freely, everything in your power, short of that murder which repels you, to your honour, to ensure that this girl never again threatens the future of the Hiltons. Yet are there very many strange coincidences in life, some good, some disastrous. It is at least possible that she might escape the Guyanese swamps, or that Matt may learn what happened to her, and chase behind her. What then?'
'The idea is impossible.'
'If it is so impossible you can at least consider it.' 'What would you have me say?'
Corbeau sat beside him. 'Listen to me. I am thinking now of my children, Georgiana's children. No matter what happens, you'll agree they will be the only truly legitimate heirs to your estates. Dirk Huys will never divorce Sue, and you know that as well as I. Now Matt is entitled to his inheritance, so long as he acts the part. God knows, I would stand between no man and what is rightfully his. But should he act less than the part, why, then, the Hiltons of the future must be protected.'
Robert gazed at him for some seconds. 'You're a cunning fellow, Louis. Yet I cannot gainsay your point. Very well. Should Matt ever introduce Gislane into this house or Green Grove, he shall forfeit his inheritance, should I still be living, and I shall insert a clause to that effect in perpetuity, into my Will. In which case the Hilton estates will devolve upon the children of Georgiana.' He sighed. 'And a famous name will quite disappear.'
Corbeau laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder. 'You take altogether too gloomy a view of the situation, Robert. As you say and hope, perhaps Matt is indeed in love with Sue, and we worry needlessly. But to have taken the proper precautions, that were the sensible thing to do. Now I am for bed.' He went to the archway into the hall, stopped, and looked over his shoulder. 'Tell me, Robert. This Gislane, Georgiana even has to admit that she is quite the most beautiful creature she has ever seen. Is that a fact?'
'What? Oh, aye. Entrancing. Do you know, I last saw her, naked and triced up to a bar. Indeed I saved her from a flogging. And she had then spent four months on a slaver. And yet... by God, Louis, I nearly took her for myself. Try to imagine every bit of high yellow you have ever known, take each of their very best points, from toe to tit, and put them all together, and you'd have that girl. As to what she'd be like now, after a year of Dutch company, well, I cannot say.'
'An intriguing thought,' Corbeau agreed. 'But between Georgiana and yourself, you almost make me understand Matt's point of view. 'Tis an odd world we live in, to be sure.'
chapter ten
THE PLANTER
Green Grove was the largest plantation on Antigua, and yet was by some degree smaller than Hilltop. It was far more beautiful; its compactness gave an impression of tremendous fertility - seen from the gentle hill which overlooked at once the canefields and the Great House and the slave village and the beach beyond, and the Leper Island, it was simple to understand how it had first obtained its name, even in the month after grinding.
It was also the most evocative of the Hilton possessions. Here Kit Hilton the buccaneer had come courting, and here he had wooed the beautiful Meg Warner, despite the opposition of her family and indeed of all Antigua society. Here they had lived their stormy lives, loving and hating each other with equal intensity, and here Meg had contracted the leprosy which, had left her even more notorious in death than she had been in life. Her bones still lay on the Leper Island, even if the island was now deserted, shunned by all as a place of evil spirits; the Government had itself taken over the segregated treatment of the disease and built its own lazaretto close to St. John's.
But it was Meg Hilton's spirit which dominated these fields, and this house. And Meg, with her single-minded determination to have what she wanted, regardless of legal or moral impediment, would surely be smiling on this latest example of Hilton perversity, Hilton disregard for convention. Matt felt it in his bones, knew it in the swelling of his heart, as the gig started its downward journey. He glanced at Sue, and found her watching him.
He closed his fingers over hers. 'Happy?'
'If you will be happy. Matt.'
He pursed his lips to blow her a kiss. 'I am happy whenever I am near enough to touch you.'
Now at last she smiled. 'There is a challenge no woman should resist. I shall always be near enough to touch, Matt. Until you grow tired of me.'
'There is an incomprehensible thought.' He watched the drive unfolding in front of the horses, the muscles flexing in Thomas Henry's shoulders as he tightened the reins; the slaves on Green Grove had always retained the double names invented by Marguerite. But there were so many incomprehensible thoughts, chasing about his head, demanding to be exposed. He had spoken no more than the truth; when Sue was within an arm's length he knew no doubts, no fears, would accept no self-condemnation. Yet was she also right. Their love depended on their physical joy in each other, and it was difficult to see that lasting a lifetime, through sickness and inevitable separation, even if neither of them doubted it would at least survive the current scandal.
But there was the sum of her problem. She had acted as a Hilton, thrown up husband and respectability for the company of a man she had chosen to love. Her business must be to keep him, if only to justify herself. But what of him? How simple to say, why, I am the same. I saw, I loved, and now my existence is controlled from embrace to embrace. Except that he had used those thoughts, enjoyed those emotions, once before, and in so doing brought catastrophe upon a girl who had done no more than respond. Perhaps, he thought, this is what truly fri
ghtens me, that having destroyed Gislane, merely by loving, I am now in the process of destroying Sue. But Sue could never be destroyed; no matter what happened to her, she would face life, and treat life, and conquer life, as a Hilton. Not a slave.
So, then, every moment he sat here, or rode the dams at Green Grove, or drank his punch and sangaree on the front verandah, he was compounding his crime. He had, to all intents and purposes, committed murder, and was taking his ease while his victim still died.
But always his conscience foundered upon the same rock.
Was not Gislane already dead? Or at least, the Gislane he had known? Could he not but make matters worse, by seeking and finding her? Must not her hatred of white people, and of the Hiltons, and of Matt Hilton most of all, be the dominating fact of her life? Whatever had become of her, however horrible her life, he could only accept the fact that to him she was dead, as to her he must be dead. It was a simple enough resolve.
The pressure of Suzanne's fingers tightened on his own, and he started. She smiled at him, but her eyes remained solemn. No doubt she was sufficiently used to his brown studies, and sufficiently aware of their cause.
But now too the time for thought was past, at least for a while. The gig was pounding up the driveway, and as it was late afternoon they were encountering files of slaves returning from the fields, driven by the whips of their overseers. They stared at the carriage in disinterested bemusement, two visitors for Mistress Lander's dinner table, perhaps. But one of the overseers recognized Sue, and then Matt, and raised his hat, and called out to another. Here was a fruitful cause for speculation in the white compound.
The gig rolled to a stop. Green Grove Great House was but a smaller version of that at Hilltop, from the carefully constructed mound of earth on which the house stood, through the deep verandahs and the reinforced doors, past the mahogany floors and the cedar walls, to the huge skylights in the roof; Hilltop was in fact no more than an enlarged copy of the original Hilton house. And on the verandah were Thomas Arthur the butler, and Jane Lander herself, a tall, angular Scotswoman, complexion bleached yellow by an adult lifetime in the tropics, grey-streaked black hair drawn back in a tight bun to emphasize the pointed forcefulness of her features. She was frowning at the sudden appearance of an unexpected carriage, and the frown was only deepening as she recognized the occupants, even as she hurried down the stairs behind her butler to assist Suzanne to the ground.
'Mistress Huys,' she cried, and bit her lip. 'How good to see you. Matthew, is that you?' She could remember him as a babe.
'The bad penny himself, Jane,' he cried. 'Ian home yet?'
'I expect him shortly. But come inside. Come inside. There are mosquitoes. Thomas Arthur, you'll prepare sangaree. Is this a visit...' she checked, to glance at Suzanne, and flush.
'I am afraid we are come to stay, Jane, Suzanne said, lifting her skirt to climb the stairs. 'We? I... I do not understand.'
'Robert has decided it is time I become a planter,' Matt explained. 'Of course Ian will continue to oversee the plantation. Make no mistake about that. No doubt in the next twenty years or so I will learn the business.'
She glanced at him, before her eyes seemed to roll back to Suzanne. Antigua was only a dozen miles from St. Eustatius; they had seen the Dutch island on the northern horizon as they had sailed past St. Kitts.
'And I have elected to be a planter's wife, if it is possible,' Suzanne said, with that coolness which however well Matt knew to be affected, was certainly her greatest asset. Now she drew off her gloves and sat down.
'Oh, my dear,' Jane cried, joining her on the settee, her mind apparently made up. 'There will be a divorce?'
Suzanne took a glass of sangaree from Thomas Arthur's tray, and waited while Matt did the same. 'Not in the immediate future. Dirk is a possessive man.'
'Oh. Oh, dear. I ... I must see to your rooms, of course.' Jane got up. 'You will remain in the front room, Matt, and...'
'Matt will move into the master bedroom, with me, Jane,' Suzanne said. 'We may as well understand each other, and our situation. I have no doubt at all, from the way Joanna Chester averted her eyes when she happened to see us disembarking this morning, that all Antigua is well aware of what has happened. So please do not pretend to be ignorant. I have left my husband, in order to become Matt's mistress. As I said just now, I hope in time to become his wife, but there is little possibility of that for some years. In that time I have no desire or intention to act the nun.'
Jane Lander stared at her. 'But...'
'Green Grove will become the centre of endless gossip, and all who live here will doubtless be ostracized. It has happened before, Jane, and certainly it will happen again.'
‘Oh, my God ...' Jane gazed past Matt at her husband.
Ian Lander was no taller than his wife, and had somewhat less strong a face. But now it was cold. 'I'm sorry I was not in St. John's to meet you, Matthew. I was not informed you were coming.'
'I have Robert's letter here.' Matt pulled it from his pocket, and waited, while Lander slit the envelope and perused its contents, his frown deepening the while.
‘I think I will go upstairs and change for supper,' Suzanne decided. ‘I have been wearing these clothes for two days; the captain would not let us leave the deck as we sneaked past St. Kitts for fear Dillon's people would rush out upon us. Do you think one of the girls could draw me a bath, Jane?'
‘I will see to it,' Jane Lander said, but she hesitated, as her husband was clearly reaching the end of his study.
'Mr. Hilton says you are to assume full control of the plantation,' he said, gazing at Matt.
Matt nodded. 'I understand that was his intention. I have promised him to devote myself utterly to the task, for a period of at least three years.'
Landers gaze drifted in the direction of Suzanne, who was again on her feet. 'And in that time —'
'I shall be living here also, Ian.' Sue's cheeks glowed, but with anger rather than embarrassment, Matt had no doubt.
The manager drew a long breath. ‘I doubt you will have much use for my services in the future, in these circumstances.' He did not specify to whom he was speaking.
'Oh, what rubbish, Ian,' Matt shouted. 'I have forgotten all I ever knew about planting, if indeed I ever knew anything at all. Without you the plantation would rapidly descend to ruin.'
'Aye,' said the Scot. 'But I doubt...'
'We shall be happy to help you in every possible way, Matthew,' Jane said, quietly. 'And you, of course, Mistress Huys. I will see to your bath.'
She left the room, and Sue hesitated only long enough to gaze at Matt, and speak to him with her eyes, demanding strength. He nodded. 'You attend your bath, Sue; I am sure Ian and I have a great deal to discuss. You'll sit down, Ian, and tell me of the plantation. And take a glass of sangaree.'
Lander sat down, rolled his glass in his hands as he listened to Suzanne's boots on the stairs. 'It is said, when the war ends, that Dirk Huys will go seeking the man who has dishonoured his name.'
'I shall not ask any man on this plantation to fight my battles, Ian.'
Lander sighed. 'You grew up on Antigua, Matt. You'll recall its size. Dirk is but the half of your problem.'
'What, will anyone refuse to ship Hilton sugar?' Matt took another glass. 'Barton would give him short shrift.'
'Oh, aye. No one will refuse our sugar, Matt. And Mistress Huys must be the most beautiful woman to walk these boards since Miss Meg, God rest her soul. But to stare at that sea, and the island, and those fields, endlessly, will become a purgatory with the best of company.'
Here was an immediate crisis; Ian clearly could not forget that he had been Ned Hilton's best friend. Matt drained his second glass, and set it down with great care. 'I'll bow to your knowledge, your experience, in the field and in the factory, Ian. Not once we mount those stairs. And by heaven I'll break the head of the first man who utters a word against Mistress Huys.' He stood up. 'And I'll hold the men responsible for the tongues of their wi
ves. Remember that.'
Dawn was the best time of the day. It seldom changed its hour, invariably arrived between five and six of the morning. The Great House faced south, and the master bedroom was on the south-facing wall, so that the light was never piercing, but rather a tremendous pink and yellow glow, which ranged into the windows, slid up and down the walls, set up an aura around the white mosquito netting which shrouded the tent bed and left the occupants inside invisible.
HF - 03 - Mistress of Darkness Page 29
