'Murdered?' Stapleton gazed from one to the other in horror.
'By God, Kit,' Philip Warner said. 'But you make it hard.' 'Murdered?' Stapleton repeated. 'Now come, the pair of you, confess to having had another of your interminable quarrels.' 'You'd best ask the crew,' Kit said.
'For God's sake,' Philip shouted. 'Were they not murderers? Were they not the inhuman creatures who have been butchering defenceless people for too long? By God, sir, the question of how they were done to death does not enter into it. One does not ask the hunter, how did you kill that pack of wolves, the fisherman how he managed to destroy the shark that was taking from his line. You merely say, thank God the deed is done.'
'By God, sir,' Stapleton said. 'You do not deny the crime?'
'I deny any crime. The deed I will admit. You charged me with avenging our losses here, and with ensuring that no such raid could ever take place again. Well, sir, I have accomplished both of these objectives, in the shortest possible space of time, and with the least possible loss to ourselves. You should be doubling your congratulations rather than wasting your time in listening to this ... this pirate become Quaker.'
'By God, sir,' Stapleton said. 'And you the Deputy Governor of this island, the representative of the King, God bless him. Where would English justice be, sir, were it always carried out in so arbitrary a spirit? The men were on board your ship, sir. And you arrested them. As they had been granted safe conduct, why, that would have been treachery enough for the most hardened blackguard. But to slay them in that cabin there, why sir, my brain still finds it difficult to grasp the enormity of such a deed.'
'They endeavoured to resist,' Philip said again.
'And so they were killed. Eight unarmed men before the entire crew of this ship. By God. You'll consider yourself under arrest, sir, until this charge is proved or disproved.'
'Bah,' Philip said. 'You'll not find a jury in this island, in all the Leewards, to convict me on any charge arising out of this affair. Those men were Caribs. There you have my defence.'
'Aye,' Stapleton said. 'No doubt you make a fair point. But there are other courts of law, Colonel Warner. As of this moment you are relieved of the duties and responsibilities, and prerogatives, of the Deputy Governor of this island, and you will be placed upon the next ship bound for England, to stand your trial there, and may God have mercy on your soul.'
' 'Tis done.' Kit laid down the quill, and slowly straightened his fingers. He had never written so much in his life.
The clerk scattered fine sand across the ink, raised the papers, one after the other, blew them clean. Stapleton was already reading the first sheet, standing by the window where the best light was to be found, every few seconds jerking his head at the steady cacophony outside.
'This will serve admirably,' he said. 'You'll dictate your statement as well, Mr Bale. My clerk will pen it.'
'And then I'll be free to leave?' Bale was sweating with fear.
'Aye. You'll be free to leave. Now make haste, man.' The Governor put down Kit's statement. 'You hear those people, Captain Hilton? You'll need a file of soldiers to see you from town.'
Kit set his hat on his head. 'Do you mean to leave me a file of soldiers for the rest of my life?'
Stapleton frowned. 'Why, that would be impossible.'
'My own opinion entirely. I've never needed protection in the past, Sir William. I'll not require it now, I promise you.'
Stapleton walked with him to the courthouse door. 'I do not rightly understand my feelings for you, Kit,' he said. 'I know you for what you were: a buccaneer. No doubt you will claim provocation, but 'tis little enough excuse for the mayhem caused in these fair islands by Morgan and DuCasse. I know you for what you are now, a planter, as stiff-necked a profession as I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. Neither of those are reasons for me to like you. And now you see fit to oppose public opinion and who knows, even public welfare, in the cause of an abstract concept of justice. I see you as a man who will cause trouble wherever he goes, because you will not bend with the times, with opinion. You will merely stand rigid until you break. But I would be doing you less than justice did I not also say that, as a man would rather look upon the towering oak, knowing full well that its rigidity must in time bring its downfall when the winds grow too strong for it, than upon the blade of grass which but lies flat and then recovers its stance when the gale is over, so I wish there were a few more like you. In all the world, to be sure. But here in the West Indies most of all. My hand, sir. Be sure you will ever have my support should you seek justice.'
Kit grasped his hand. 'I thank you, sir.'
'And now you go home to Green Grove?'
No idle question, that. It was twenty-four hours since the fleet's return, twenty-four hours since Philip Warner's arrest. The news had spread throughout the island, as the angry mob outside testified. But Marguerite had not come into town. She, who was usually in the forefront of any public occasion. But perhaps that was a happy sign.
'Yes, Sir William. I shall return to Green Grove.'
Stapleton nodded. 'Then I will wish you God speed. But Kit, be careful, I do beg of you. Watch your back. Tempers are running high, and we have seen how careless these people can be of honour.'
Kit nodded. 'At least they will know the risk they run.' He pressed his tricorne a little more firmly on his head, opened the door and stepped through. The crowd were baying and shouting, and for the moment did not notice him; their attention was taken by the tall figure of Agrippa, who stood with the two horses at the foot of the steps.
'Nigger,' they chanted. 'Pirate. Nigger pirate.'
'He should be hanged,' someone yelled. ' 'Tis the pirates should be suffering justice, not our Governor.'
'Aye, to the gallows with him,' someone else yelled.
Agrippa stared at them, and they made no move to close him. But their temper was rising.
Kit walked down the steps. His own anger simmered only just below the surface. And he had recognized Chester in the throng.
'Edward,' he called. 'Dear chap, you'd best send your friends home, lest someone gets hurt.'
There was a sudden silence, as they turned to look at him. He continued to walk down the steps, and now reached the foot.. Agrippa held his stirrup for him, and he swung himself into the saddle.
'Indian lover,' someone yelled.
'What did you do?' asked someone else. 'Hold your own wife on the floor for the red devils to make at her?'
Kit swung his horse smartly aside, knocking two men from their feet, reached the last speaker, bent from the saddle to seize the man by his coat and whip him from the ground. He held the wriggling body close, while the fellow's feet kicked feebly and the crowd gaped a such a display of strength and determination.
'The next time you address me, sir,' Kit said, 'have a weapon in your hand, or take a whipping." He threw the man away from him; the flying body cannoned into three more men and all fell. The crowd surged back, and then surged forward again, to check and once more retreat as Kit's hands dropped to the pistols at his belt. And Agrippa was also armed.
'Ow, ow me God,' screamed the man he had thrown down. 'My leg is broken.'
'Now there is a pity,' Kit said. 'I had intended it to be your head. Will you gentlemen stand aside, or must I clear a way with my sword?'
'By God, Kit Hilton,' Chester shouted. 'Would you declare war on us all?'
'If need be, Edward. Will you be the first? These people can make a space for us. I have here pistols and a sword. Or would you prefer daggers and bare hands? Name it, man. Name it. Let us be at it.'
Chester stared at him, the colour slowly draining from his face. The crowd stared also, from one to the other of the planters. But others were separating from in front of the two horses. Kit urged his mount forward, and Agrippa clattered immediately behind him. A few moments later they were through the crowd and trotting along the road leading south.
'I thought we would have to fight our way out,' Agrippa remarked.
Kit shook his head. 'They have too high a regard for their own skins. They have to be whipped to it, or shown the way, and the planters lack the belly to draw on me.'
'Yet can they still harm you, Kit.' Agrippa urged his mount level. 'For how may a man exist, without human companionship?'
'And am I that bereft? I have you, old friend. And any others?'
'They support you entirely, Kit. They are distressed you would not immediately call upon them.'
‘I’ll have no man be forced to declare his support for me, Agrippa, especially one who lives in the centre of that rabble and yet refuses the use of weapons. Nor could I expose Lilian to such contumely.'
'Yet is she already exposed,' Agrippa said.
'How can that be?'
'God alone knows, Kit. But it is common knowledge in St John's that she is your mistress.'
Kit frowned at him. 'Dag has heard this?'
'He has said nothing to me. But if he is not stone deaf, he has heard it.'
'By God,' Kit said. 'But no one in the island knew of it, save you, and me, and Marguerite ... by God.' He kicked his horse in the ribs, set it to a gallop. A man, rushing to disaster, with anger in his heart. For did not his strength truly depend upon Marguerite, and the wealth of Green Grove? And he could expect nothing but anger there, at what he had done. That indeed was why he was hurrying home now, to placate her. And how could he do that, with anger colouring his own emotions?
Yet he would not slacken his pace. He felt like a ship caught in the full force of a hurricane wind, blown hither and thither and unable to do more than keep afloat, by doing the correct things, trimming the sails, manning the pumps, shifting the ballast, from hour to hour, intent only upon survival, but without any knowledge of where in the ocean the storm would eventually leave him floating, or if, indeed, he would be left floating at all, and not stranded upon some rocky shore.
He galloped down the last of the road and into the drive. The Negroes stopped work to stare at him. They were busy clearing the burned-out fields, saving which of the plants could be used as ratoons for a fresh crop. Others laboured on the Great House, plugging bullet holes, removing the shattered doors where the Caribs had broken in, standing by with pots of paint to remove the last traces of the conflict, as were still others working down in the overseers' village. But all stopped to stare at their master, flogging his horse into the compound, throwing the reins to Maurice Peter and stamping up the stairs on to the verandah, while Agrippa also reined in beneath him, but remained mounted.
'Father,' Tony came tumbling through the withdrawing-room, starkly empty as most of the furniture had been removed, to be repaired or consigned to the flames. Only the spinet remained, strangely overlooked by the marauding Indians, or untouched because they did not recognize its meaning.
'Boy.' Kit swept him from the floor, hugged him close.
'Did you win, Father? The news from town is that all the Caribs are dead.'
'Not all.' Kit set him back on the floor, stooped to kiss Rebecca on the cheek. 'Where is Miss Johnson?'
'She has not come out today, Father. There is so much tumult and excitement she feared to ride alone.'
'And your mother?'
'Mama is upstairs, in bed.'
Kit frowned at the boy. 'Marguerite, in bed, at this hour?'
'She has been in bed for two days, Captin,' Maurice Peter said. 'Since the fleet sailed, almost.'
'By God,' Kit said, bounding up the stairs. But how his heart overflowed with relief. Because there was surely the reason she had not come to town.
He pulled the door open. She sat up in bed wearing a shawl over her shoulders, but nothing else so far as he could see. Her hair was loose on the pillows propped behind her head. She looked as well, and as beautiful, as ever he had known her, and there was a jug of iced sangaree on the table beside her.
'Meg. They told me you were ill.'
'A slight fever,' she said. 'Nothing more.'
He crossed the room, and noticed the thin lines running away from her eyes, the bunches of muscle at the corners of her mouth. She had been under some strain, and she was nervous. 'Sweetheart.' He held her arms, and kissed her on the mouth.
'I expected you yesterday,' she said. 'Did not the fleet return, yesterday?'
'Indeed we did. There was much to be done.'
Their eyes seemed to lock. 'Indeed,' she said. 'A victory to be celebrated, as I have heard.'
'We were ever straight with each other in the past, sweet Meg.'
'So be straight with me now, Kit. I have heard so much, and all of it garbled and contradictory. I would not injure your projects by appearing in town. I also would believe nothing of what those foul-mouthed gossips brought to me. I would hear it all, from no other lips than yours.'
He got up, and her fingers left his, reluctantly. He paced the room, paused to pour himself a drink. 'You knew my purpose?'
'I doubted it would succeed.'
'It would have. Unfortunately, your ... father did not respect it. I gave Tom Warner my word, Meg. I gave his people my word. And they were shot and stabbed and carved in cold blood. You have mirrors scattered throughout this house, in which we have enjoyed preening ourselves and thinking, and saying to each other, what a splendid pair we make. Had I not accused your father of the crime he committed I should have had to break them all.'
'Then the rumours are true.' She spoke very quietly.
'Philip Warner has been removed from the position of Deputy Governor, and is under arrest. He leaves St John's tomorrow, for London, and his trial.'
Marguerite gazed at him for some seconds, then she threw back the covers and got out of bed. She left the shawl behind her, went to the door, and threw it wide. 'Ellen Jane,' she called, her voice clear and high as a bell.
'Yes, mistress?'
'You'll prepare my bath. And my town clothes. Quickly, girl.'
'You'll go to town?' Kit asked.
Marguerite draped her undressing-robe around her shoulders. 'Should I let my father go to his trial without saying goodbye?'
'No,' Kit agreed. 'I had not expected that. Shall I ride with you?'
'No.' She extended her left hand, looked at the ring which glinted there. 'No. I prefer to go alone. But it would be best for you to return there, before I return here.'
'To be with my mistress, you mean, as you have so carefully put about?'
Her head came up, and her gaze scorched his face. 'You can be with whomsoever you please, Kit. But I do not wish to see you again.'
How quietly she spoke. And how ridiculous her words. 'You, do not wish to see me?'
'You have forced me to understand my own stupidity. You watched me lie on the floor beneath a black man, and then sought to forgive the man who caused it. I do not understand the mind of a man who could do that. I endeavoured to understand. I endeavoured to tell myself that perhaps you have a stature, a breadth of vision, that exceeds mine. I placed you above other men, ten years ago, when I elected to marry you. Father endeavoured to dissuade me, and I would not listen to him. But it would seem he was right. Or I overestimated my own powers. I knew you then for what you are, Kit. At least, I knew your strengths and your weaknesses, your past crimes and your possibilities. I did not understand, alas, that streak of deep wayward revolution that runs through your soul. I should have. Not only did my father warn me of it, but it was there in your own past, in the history of your family. Tony Hilton was ever a rebel. Edward Warner was ever a rebel. Susan Hilton was the daughter of an outlaw and the wife of another. Perhaps it is simply that too much of the wild Irish runs in your veins. I knew all of these things, ten years ago. But I thought I could change you.'
Almost she smiled.
'How many women make that mistake? I thought I could take that strength and that vigour and that demoniac energy and harness it, for the use of Green Grove, for the use of the Warners, for the use of Antigua. And you have proved me wrong, time and again. So leave this place, Kit. I took you from the dus
t. I'll not return you there. Sign what bills you wish, find what happiness you wish, with your Danish whore. I'll not gainsay you. God knows ...' she hesitated. 'I love you. I have never loved any man but you. I shall never love any man but you. But to have you in my bed now would sicken me no less than the memory of George Frederick.'
The sun dropped into the Caribbean Sea with its invariable suddenness, and darkness swept across Antigua. The two horsemen walked their mounts slowly through the main street of St John's.
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