But instead he shrugged. 'You'll join me for breakfast?'
'Indeed I shall. You may send in my maids.'
Once again he hesitated. Then he turned and left the room. Suzanne sat before her dressing-table, and gazed at herself. It is my lot, she thought, less to make men jealous, than to make men fall in love with me. There is a power, did I but know how to use it.
She did not turn her head at the knock, watched as the door opened again, and smiled at Gislane as the mustee crossed the room towards her. 'You will excuse me, Mistress Huys, but Madame Corbeau requests your presence.'
'Is she well?'
'She appears to be well, madame.'
'Then tell her I will attend her after breakfast.'
'As you wish, madame.' But Gislane did not immediately leave the room. 'Did madame sleep well?'
Suzanne turned, slowly, crossing one leg over the other. 'When I slept, Gislane. Are you jealous of me?'
'I am not jealous, madame. I but wondered, why?'
'Because I am the mother of Matt's children? It would take too long to explain. Nor do I see any need to explain, to you, Gislane. I give you a thought, though. You and I must be very alike. We both attracted Matt, and we both fell in love with him. And it would seem that we are the only two women ever really to please Monsieur Corbeau.'
Gislane gazed at her. 'We are alike in yet another way, when it comes to a man, madame.'
'Indeed? Tell me of him.'
'No, madame. As you say, there is no need for explanations, between us. But yet there is one great difference between us. You slept with the master because you wished to do so. I slept with him because I had no choice. And you may think he is no more than a planter, madame. I know he is a devil from hell, when his mind is disturbed. And so does the mistress.'
Suzanne frowned at her. 'Are you warning me, Gislane, against Monsieur Corbeau?'
Gislane smiled. 'No, madame. I am not warning you, against the master. I am but warning you.'
'She is so consistently rude, I really wonder that Louis retains her here.' Suzanne fanned herself; the month was August and it was very hot.
Georgiana lay on her back and gasped. From the foot of her bed her face could not be seen because of her swollen belly. She was far too fat for childbirth. 'You know his philosophy,' she said. 'He has told it to you. Don't lie to me.'
'Why would I lie to you, Georgy. So she amuses him, in some way. But he must also amuse her, enormously, despite her protestations of hatred. Or why does she stay?' She came round the bed, laid a cool compress on her sister's brow. 'And why should Louis not tell me his philosophy?'
Georgiana smiled, a ghastly breaking of the sweating face. 'Because he only tells this philosophy to those he would bed, Susie dear.' The eyes opened wide for a moment, staring at her, and then closed again.
Sue bit her lip. 'I have never made any great pretence of hypocritical virtue, Georgy. And I think you will find I was but the passion of an idle hour, while you lay here swollen and unavailable. He knows I am only staying until you are delivered.'
'Then your stay is nearly over.' Georgiana's eyes came wide. 'Now, Sue. Now.' The word trailed away into a scream of agony. Sue ran across the room and pulled the bell-cord. And found herself immediately unnecessary. Of course, she thought, as she sat in the corner and watched the maids and the nurses and the girls bringing water, all supervised most efficiently by a sombre Gislane, this will be Georgy's third child, and they have had sufficient practice. Yet the birth was not going to be easy. There was that weight. And so she sat in the corner, while the others came and went, throughout the night. For a while she was joined by Louis, who did not sit, but paced up and down, stopping every few seconds to glance at his wife, and then at his sister-in-law, before resuming the pacing. It occurred to Sue that they were sharing the same thoughts; what would happen were Georgy to die in labour? There was cause for fear, on her part, for the problem it would pose. And on his part, for the pleasure he would then grasp at? And would she have the strength to withstand the grasp?
And did either of them think sufficiently of Georgy, lying there in pain?
But in time the boy was delivered, and the order was given to serve the house slaves with rum, and there was an hour of bell-ringing and wild cheering, and the other children, the Corbeaux as well as Tony and Richard, were allowed in to look at their new brother or cousin, and then there was, at last, peace. But still she would not leave Georgy's bedchamber. For now the decision was at hand, or if already taken, it must now be implemented. There was no reason to stay. Her last letter from Matt was over a month old, seeking her return. The death of Hodge had momentarily shocked the plantocracy into quiescence, and the slaves were being better treated than at any time in the past.
A letter to which she had not replied. A letter to which she must reply.
She slept, slumped in her chair, and awoke feeling strangely rested, even if one arm was stiff. For a moment she forgot where she was, utterly. Her ears instinctively reached for the sounds of morning on a sugar plantation, and heard nothing. Yet it was daylight. Indeed, it was more than daylight, she realized as she sat up. The clock on the mantelpiece showed a quarter to eight.
She reached her feet in a long bound, gazed first of all at the bed, where Georgiana slept with a faint snore, arms outflung and pale brown hair wisping across her face, and then at the cot, where the babe also slept, for he was a good fellow, and indeed had needed waking for his midnight feed.
She straightened her gown, and ran across the room to the verandah, to look down on an empty garden, where by this time the women should have been weeding, and at the trees fringing the river, listened to the faint murmur of the surf on the beach. And heard hooves, rattling across the morning. Hooves, and another sound, like distant thunder. But the hooves were close at hand, and now she watched a horseman debouch along the road which led out of the plantation and farther up the coast. A horseman flogging his horse with his crop as he galloped, long auburn hair streaming in the winds, skirts flying, for he wore no more than an undressing robe over a nightdress. A horseman?
Sue ran for the bell-cord, pulled it, knowing in her heart there would be no response. She seized the doorhandles, threw the doors wide, raced across the parlour towards the other doors, hesitated in the lobby, shouted, at the top of her voice, 'Louis,' knowing it could never reach him in this enormous building, and then ran for the stairs. Now she heard more noise, the sound of a bell, the sound of voices.
'Francois-Pierre?' Corbeau, standing in the hall, wearing only a shirt and breeches, shouting. 'Francois-Pierre? Why was I not called? Where is everyone?' He stared around him like a man lost. 'Gislane?' he bellowed.
Sue tumbled down the stairs, losing her footing when still some distance from the floor, and landing with a crash. She clutched the bannisters and dragged herself up.
'Sue?' Corbeau hurried towards her. 'What in the name of God is happening?'
'A horseman.' She gasped. 'A horseman.'
She pointed at the door, and he ran outside. She gathered her skirts and ran behind him, paused in the doorway as the horse stamped its way up the marble pathway to the front porch, and deposited its rider on the stone steps. Angelique de Morain rolled on her back, and left a bloody mess where she had first fallen.
Sue felt her hands clasping her throat, without knowing how they had got there. She watched Louis bending over the woman, and could not see past his back, but she knew, instinctively, and felt a twitch of pain in her own breasts.
'A mob of them,' Angelique moaned. 'A mob. They left me for dead.'
Hooves, drumming on the roadway. Jules Romain led half a dozen overseers up the drive, leapt from his horse and ran up the marble pathway. His face was pale, his clothes dishevelled. 'There is no one there,' he shouted. 'Monsieur, there is no one in the slave village.'
Corbeau still held the dying woman in his arms. After all, Sue remembered, she was his mistress, before me.
'They held me down,' she gasped.
'They held me down, and crawled on my belly, and laughed. And then they ... they cut me, Louis. They held my breasts up before my eyes, Louis.'
'How many were they?' he asked. 'Where is Charles? Where is Pauline?'
'Pauline?' she stared at him, and then tried to sit up. 'Pauline.' Her voice rose into a scream, and then ended with a sudden break.
'Oh, my God,' Sue whispered.
'No slaves, monsieur,' Romain gasped. He stood above the dead woman, took off his coat.
'They are all at Morains,' Gislane said. 'They have gone to join Boukman.'
They turned their heads, as if she had pulled a string. She stood in the centre of the hall, and wore a crimson undressing-robe, while her head was bound up in a red turban. None of them had ever seen her dressed like that before. It occurred to Sue that she must just have left her bath. But what a bath it must have been, her flesh glowed.
Corbeau laid Angelique de Morain on the stone and stood up. 'Boukman?' His voice was brittle.
'He is a famous hougan, monsieur,' Gislane said. 'A priest of the voodoo. The slaves think he is the Great Serpent, Damballah Oueddo, come to earth, to lead them against the white people.'
'And so they have attacked Morains? By Christ. You know this, and you stand there, before me?'
'I am guessing this, monsieur,' she said, quietly. She did not seem to be afraid.
'And should we not hang you, on the instant?' Romain demanded.
‘I am here, monsieur. Did I deserve hanging, should I not be with them? They will be here, soon enough.'
'By Christ,' Corbeau said. 'By Christ. Romain, get your people up here. Women and children. Every weapon you can raise. Callou. Take horse and ride for Cap Francois. Alert the military, tell them the Morains Plantation is in the hands of insurgents, and that we expect an assault momentarily. Tell them Charles de Morain and his wife are both dead, and their family, and presumably their overseers. Tell them we need support, as quickly as possible. Tell them to send the cavalry ahead. And cannon. Hurry man.'
'I go, monsieur.' The overseer ran for his horse.
'He will not get through,' Gislane said. 'They have cut the road.'
Corbeau glanced at her, then at Romain. 'Well, man, do not just stand there. Get your people.' For the noise came swelling down from the mountains and the canefields, of people shouting. Many people. Romain ran for his horse in turn, and Corbeau lifted Angelique de Morain into his arms. 'You will help me, Gislane,' he said.
'Yes, Monsieur.' The mustee came forward.
'And I, Louis?'
'Get upstairs. Find Mademoiselle Tantan and the children, and take them up to Georgiana's apartment. Stay there. You may close the shutters. Stay there, Sue. Take care of my wife.'
She hesitated, and then went up the stairs. At the top she looked down, saw Gislane and Corbeau carrying the mutilated body into the parlour where Louis had taken her on her first day here. She wanted to do no more than this, stand and stare, and listen to the throbbing of her own heart, know the weakness of her own belly. There was no planter, and no planter's wife, from the very beginning of European settlement in the islands, who had not known that one day this could happen. She had never watched the slave gangs trooping aback without knowing that one day they might turn and rend their overseers and rush at the house. It was a constant awareness, as a sailor must always know that the wind and the sea can rise to overwhelm him and his ship, without ever supposing that he will not be able to survive. So now, here was a time for survival.
She picked up her skirts, ran along to the children's rooms, where Mademoiselle Tantan was already dressing them. 'Mama?' they asked, in surprise.
‘You must all come to Aunt Georgy's room,' she said. 'As quickly as you may.'
Mademoiselle Tantan frowned at her. 'But they have not breakfasted, Madame Huys. And there are the lessons ...'
'Not today, mademoiselle. Bring them to my sister's apartment, as rapidly as you can.'
She ran along the endless corridors, pulled open the bedroom doors, found Georgiana sitting up in bed, the babe to her breast. 'Oh, really, Sue, whatever is happening,' she complained. 'I have rung, and no one has come. Somebody will be whipped for this.'
Sue crossed the room, stood on the verandah, looked down at the drive, up which the overseers' women and children, and a goodly number of the mulatto families as well, were trooping, carrying such belongings as they had been able to gather, chattering amongst themselves, looking over their shoulders at the canefields, listening to the swelling noise.
'And whatever is that racket?' Georgiana demanded. 'It woke poor Louis up.'
Suzanne returned inside. 'There is a slave revolt.' 'A what?'
'The slaves have revolted,' Suzanne said again. 'Our slaves?'
'And others. It has all the marks of a conspiracy. Morains is fallen.'
'Morains? But... Angelique? Pauline?' 'Both dead.'
'Oh, my God. I must ...' she swung her legs out of bed, then looked down at the babe, who had released the teat to start crying. 'Oh, my God.'
'You are to stay here,' Sue said. 'Louis's orders. Come in, children. Come in. Now, you can help me to close these shutters.'
'But...' Georgiana stared at them all in horrified amazement. 'Where are our people?' 'Here. Can you not hear them?'
For indeed a confused babble was spreading upwards throughout the house, punctuated by the banging of the hurricane shutters being placed in position.
'Mama? Mama?' Tonv clutched her arm. 'There is to be a battle?'
'Aye,' she said. 'There is to be a battle. One we will win, because we will always win. But there will be bullets. We must close the shutters.' She went to the windows, Tony and Francis Corbeau and Mademoiselle Tantan at her side. They pulled the first shutter closed, watched the flames rising from beyond the trees, listened to the booming noise.
'The village is on fire,' Mademoiselle Tantan said, and crossed herself.
Sue pulled the shutter to, but did not drop the bar. Instead she stood at the slight aperture, staring down the drive, still so empty, listening to the noise, the shrieks and the yells and the cat-calls from beyond the trees, drowning out even the sounds within the chateau, the orders being called and the wailing of some of the children. At least the babe was again sucking, and content.
'Should madame not get dressed?' inquired Mademoiselle Tantan.
‘I really would rather not get up until those dreadful people have gone away,' Georgiana said. 'Oh, I hope they are all hanged. Every last one. Has Louis sent for the soldiers, Sue?'
Sue nodded, but she watched the gap. Now there were people down there, milling about, waving machetes and swords and muskets. Were they drunk, at this hour in the morning? Perhaps, she thought. But it would scarce be liquor.
And now they advanced, still without order, following a gigantic black man, who strode before them holding a sword high above his head. But they were an undisciplined mob, who would surely be dispersed by the first burst of fire from the overseers. Why, there were nearly fifty white men down there, armed with muskets, and with loaded replacements at their elbows. But how confidently they advanced.
The entire chateau seemed to tremble. 'A volley,' Tony bawled, jumping up and down. 'Oh, let me see, Mama. Let me see.'
'A voyyey,' Dick cried, apeing his brother. 'A voyyey.'
'Keep back,' Sue commanded. She watched the crowd in horror. Because at least twenty of them had fallen, and still they came, only now they were running, and the huge black man in front was unharmed, holding his sword above his head as if it were no more than an extension of his arm.
Again the house trembled, and more black men tumbled to the marble of the pathway. But they were on the marble of the pathway, flooding through the gates, trampling across the flowerbeds, baying and howling like wolves. And the big man, still untouched, was on the steps to the porch.
Suzanne slammed the shutter, dropped the bolt into place. As if it mattered. Should she not rather throw the window wide, and climb out, with h
er children? Could they suffer more, falling from this height, than they would suffer, in this room?
'Oh, it's all dark,' Georgiana complained. 'And that noise.' The babe rested on her shoulder, belching quietly. 'Have the soldiers come, Sue?'
Sue leaned against the shutter, watched the children, slowly ceasing their jumping as they saw her expression. Mademoiselle Tantan dropped to her knees, her hands clasped in front of her breasts. But she too gazed at the door.
Noise boomed about them, echoed upwards through the floor, crashed along the corridor. Screams and yells were punctuated by oaths; shattering glass was smothered in rippling musket-fire; gigantic tearing sounds swathed the morning, and with it a faint tang of smoke. Oh, God, Sue thought. Perhaps they have set fire to the house. Perhaps it will burn, and consume us all, before they get here. But what a desire, to be burned alive rather than face the slaves.
A shoulder crashed against the door, and then another. Sue found herself slowly sucking air into her lungs until she felt they would burst. She was incapable of movement. Tony and Dick ran to her, clutched her skirt, buried their faces in her thighs, and she dug her fingers into their scalps. Francis and Oriole clambered on to the bed, where Georgiana sat up, the babe still across her shoulders, and stared at the trembling pink and white satin as if mesmerized. Mademoiselle Tantan continued to kneel, and pray.
HF - 03 - Mistress of Darkness Page 53
