HF - 03 - The Devil's Own

by Christopher Nicole

  'Showed it to you?' Kit asked, frowning as a sudden alarm gripped at his belly.

  'And should he not?' Philip inquired. 'Alas, I doubt it will be possible for him immediately to act on your behalf, Kit. Mr Walker, being the only attorney on the island, is most uncommonly busy. Oh, yes, indeed, he has not a moment to call his own. Of course he has no intention of abandoning so valuable a client as yourself. He has placed your name on his list, and hopes to be able to attend to you just as soon as he is able; certainly within a twelvemonth.'

  'Within a twelvemonth?' Kit asked, slowly.

  'But then, you see, Kit,' Philip explained. 'It will be at least a twelvemonth before the case against you is prepared and ready. There are witnesses to be interrogated, and briefs to be prepared, and I do not see how it is possible for a mere magistrate to hear a charge of murder against so illustrious a personage as yourself. But alas, you see, Kit, we lack a governor at this moment. For which sad state of affairs you have no one but yourself to hold responsible. Worse, it seems we even lack a governor in St Kitts. So you will have to wait. But let me give you a word of advice, from the depths of my experience, lad. Do not despair. Eat sparingly, take regular exercise, and all will be well. Why, man, I spent all but a year in prison, awaiting trial. And near two months of that time was upon the sea, coming and going. I doubt there can be a worse fate than that, sir. And look at me. I have survived, and am as hale and hearty as ever before in my life, and believe me, sir, to my regret, I lack the sustenance of your youth.'

  'By God,' Kit said. 'You but seek to avenge yourself upon me for your own misfortunes.'

  'Indeed not, sir. You did kill a man.'

  'In self-defence.'

  'Your story, Kit. And if I may say so, it is no more than natural that you should insist upon it. But there are witnesses, including your own wife, against you. Now she may not testify, but the overseers were there, full half a dozen of them. And their tale is sadly different.'

  'By God, sir,' Kit said. 'You have it all decided to your satisfaction, no doubt. Yet there is still justice in this world. The Queen's Majesty is still represented here in Antigua, and I will seek my freedom at that door. I will set my case before Mr Trumbull in his capacity as Speaker of the House.'

  Philip Warner continued to smile. 'You are indeed entitled to set your case before the Speaker, Kit, as he is charged with preserving the Queen's authority in this island pending the arrival of a new governor. But you would waste your time to approach Mr Trumbull. Had you attended the Chamber more often you would be aware that he has long desired to lay down his burden, and has in fact now done so, a suitable replacement having been discovered.'

  'A suitable replacement?' Kit demanded. But now the weights in his belly were more than he could bear.

  'Indeed, sir,' Chester put in, 'by unanimous vote of the Assembly, we have elected Colonel Warner to the vacant speakership, there surely being no gentleman more deserving of the honour, both on account of his past services to the community, and the past suffering he has undergone on behalf of the community.'

  'So, now, Kit,' Philip said. 'You may put your case before me. Or have you, indeed, just done so?'

  12

  The Challenge

  'A visitor to see you,' said Jacks the gaoler.

  Kit scrambled to his feet, and the drunk retreated to the far end of the cell.

  Jacks grinned at him, safe on the outside of the bars. 'Oh, you've not been forgotten, Captain Hilton. Not a man like you.'

  Desperately Kit straightened his clothes; they would have stood up by themselves, he had no doubt, so soaked were they with sweat and dirt. And with equal desperation he thrust his fingers through his hair, and even scraped at the fortnight old beard. Because it surely had to be ... Barnee?

  'Captain Hilton,' the tailor said. 'By Christ, what have they done to you?'

  'Why, they have done nothing to me,' Kit said. 'Save confine me in this filthy hole. I am allowed into the yard for half an hour every morning. And I am fed twice a day. I suppose you would call it food. And for the rest, I am ignored. But I have constantly changing company, so I am never bored.'

  Barnee glanced at the drunk. 'Nobody could blame you for being bitter, Captain. I'd have come sooner, had I supposed it wise. But now, why, the tumult has all but died away.'

  'Then they will bring me to trial?'

  Barnee sighed. 'Somehow, sir, I doubt that is their purpose.' He frowned at Kit's clothes. 'Such a tragedy. Why, do you know I spent three weeks on those breeches?'

  Kit grasped the bars. 'What do you mean, Barnee? Have no papers been prepared against me?'

  Barnee shook his head. 'Not to my knowledge, sir.'

  'By God,' Kit said. 'But my wife, has she not been after the matter?'

  'Mrs Hilton has not been seen in St John's, sir, since the night she and the Colonel returned in triumph.' 'Not seen? The devil. Two weeks?'

  'Indeed, sir. Nor has there been any entertainment in Green Grove in that time. There are rumours, certainly. To the effect that she regrets her quarrel with you, and is ashamed of the outcome, or even that she regrets what happened to Miss Christianssen. And then her overseers say she is unwell, and spends much time in her room, visits the canefields but occasionally, and then heavily veiled as if she had been weeping.'

  'I doubt that, somehow,' Kit said. 'But Lilian, Barnee. You spoke of Lilian. What news of her?'

  'Now that is why I came, Captain.'

  'And you have dawdled these last ten minutes? Speak up, man.'

  'She is well, sir. At least, she is much better.' 'Her mother is still with her?'

  'Better than that, sir. She is with her mother and father.' 'Here in town?'

  'Indeed, sir. It was my fortune to play the part of mediator between them, and now she is in good hands, and indeed, asks of you continuously.'

  'But ... what of her condition? The shame of it?'

  'Oh, well, sir, we brought her into St John's privily, and she remains indoors of a day, only occasionally venturing out after dark to enjoy the breeze. Her hair is not yet grown, you understand, nor is her complexion clear. Indeed, I fear it may be some time before she will again be the girl you remember, Captain. But it will be.'

  'You have seen her?'

  'In a manner of speaking, sir. She wears a hooded cloak, and a veil, when in company.'

  'But what of her manner? Her spirits?'

  'Ah, well, sir, there is more of a problem for those who love her. You will know that she was always a solemn girl, sir, given to quiet thought. That side of her character now entirely dominates. She does not smile, and she speaks seldom. Indeed, she gives the impression of a woman wrestling with some deep, and possibly irremediable, problem.'

  'And would you not be similarly downcast, had you suffered but a tithe of what she suffered?' Kit demanded. 'That I should be here, behind bars, while she is in such despair ... I sometimes feel like taking that gaoler by the neck and choking the life from his body. It were an easy thing.'

  'And then would you truly be hanged, Captain,' Barnee pointed out. 'No, no, sir. Patience is the key to your problem. I have said, I do not believe they mean to bring matters to a trial. For one thing it could set a dangerous precedent, should a planter be tried for the death of an employee; God knows that is not such an uncommon occurrence. And for another, I believe the answer rests with your wife, and I cannot believe, despite all that has passed between you, that she hates you to that extent. It is she who is paying for your keep here.'

  'And for that I must be grateful?' Kit asked. 'She will know better than ever to let me come near her again. For, by God, I will finish what I began.'

  'No doubt, sir,' Barnee said soothingly. 'But I would again beg of you, be patient. The gossips have it that a new governor has been appointed for the Leewards, and he could already be on his way here. There is an end to your problem, surely, as he will bring the approbation of Her Majesty, and 'tis well known that she is displeased with the attitude of the planters in favour
of Colonel Warner.'

  'Aye,' Kit agreed. 'Yet much will depend on the character of the man himself. It will take no little resolution to oppose so unitedly stiff-necked a body. Have you no word of his name?'

  'None, sir,' Barnee said. 'Yet am I convinced that his arrival cannot but mean a speedy end to your imprisonment. Now I must be away.'

  'You'll take a message for Lilian,' Kit said. 'Tell her that I love her, now and always. Tell her that she shall be avenged, this I swear. Convince her, Barnee, that this is but a brief episode in our lives. She must be sure of that.'

  'She is, Captain. Of that I am certain. Yet will I give her your words, of course.'

  'And you'll come again, Barnee? This place is almighty tedious.'

  'I will come again, Captain. And until then, take care.'

  Take care. Of what, he wondered. Of his safety? That was well looked after. The other inmates, all transients, feared him and shunned him as if he suffered from the plague. Of his appearance? There was an impossible task. He possessed no mirror, and could only judge on feel, and smell. Thus his hair and his beard both grew, untidily and dirtily, and the dirt accumulated beneath his fingernails as the sweat accumulated throughout his body to give him an extra skin, he thought. As for his clothing, that surely was beyond recall, as he slept in his suit, lived in it, took his scanty exercise in it. Of his health, then? Oh, he would take care of his health, in so far as it was possible. The first meal after Barnee's departure he had almost rejected. Marguerite's money? But then it had occurred to him that if she meant to keep him alive it would be foolish of him to reject that. She fought in her way, and he must fight in his, counting upon the ultimate victory.

  Of his mind? Here was the true nub of the matter. To sit in a noisome, over-heated cell, minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, week after week, and even month after month was surely more than man had been intended to suffer. Certainly a man like Kit Hilton, to whom the sea and the sky and the breeze on his face were a large part of what was worth possessing. Not to know what was happening, what Marguerite was doing and planning, tucked away behind the protection of her cane-filled acres and her scent-filled house, what Philip Warner was saying and doing, in the House of Assembly, and what Lilian was suffering and feeling. To know that she was just down the street, in fact, and yet as distant as if she had been on another planet, was the bitterest thought of all.

  Perhaps, then, his sanity depended on Barnee. For the tailor came every week with what news he could glean, of John Benbow's death, but strangely of no new depredations by DuCasse, of the execution of two of Benbow's captains for cowardice in the battle of Santa Marta, of the successes of the Anglo-Dutch army in Europe, where the Duke of Marlborough was making his reputation, of the soaring price of sugar, and of more domestic matters, too.

  Philip Warner had resigned the Speakership. He had, in fact, but taken the post in acknowledgment of the planters' wish, and to complete his triumph. But age and infirmity were making it less easy for him to get about, and impossible for him to sustain the burden of hours of debate in the Chamber.

  'Now there is good news, at the least,' Kit said. 'Surely his successor can hardly be so opposed to my interest.'

  'You think so, Captain?' Barnee asked sorrowfully.

  'It cannot be John Harding?'

  'No, indeed, Captain. From your point of view it is worse. The new Speaker is Colonel Warner's nominee, as you may suppose; Edward Chester.'

  Chester, by God. Dear Edward. Possibly the one man in Antigua who hated Kit more than the Colonel himself.

  But the change in the speakership had no effect upon his imprisonment. Because he was here on the orders of the mistress of Green Grove, and he would stay here, no matter what the men might say or wish or do, until the mistress of Green Grove chose to hang him or release him. What had she boasted when first they had met and loved? That she was at once the wealthiest, the most beautiful, and the most powerful woman in the Leewards. Easy words to say. And yet how true.

  But Barnee was also able to reassure him about Lilian. Her health improved every day, and her hair was grown. She looked as she had always done, apparently. But what of her mind? There was a cause for concern. She seldom spoke and never laughed. She sent her love by every message, but would not venture into the street. How deep must be the degradation of what had happened bitten into that delicate, reserved mind.

  It was time to draw on the past. For what indeed, was the value of the past, if not to bolster the future. Time then to remember the endless horror of Hispaniola. He had never doubted then that he would survive. Untrue. He had doubted. After Bart Le Grand's matelot had been stuck like a pig, and had died squealing like a pig, then he had despaired. And been rescued, by Jean and by Bart himself.

  Well, then, what of the march across Panama, spurred on always by that heroic villain Morgan? But always then an early end had been in sight. This was more akin to that long year on the beach at Port Royal, when he had been sustained only by the energy of Agrippa. Another who had suffered on his behalf, and died, on his behalf.

  Agrippa. So much had happened since that dreadful night of his return from Barbados, the fact of his friend's death had scarcely penetrated his understanding. And he could offer nothing more than revenge, if that were ever possible. But he had never been very effective at vengeance. He had always looked to the future rather than the past. Even in Jamaica, he had never doubted that he would eventually be lifted from his despair.

  As he had been, by Daniel Parke. A blessing, or a curse? Oh, surely, no matter what had happened since, a blessing, which had brought him Marguerite, and more of life than he had ever dreamed to be possible, for ten splendid years before their world had fallen apart, and which had eventually brought him Lilian, still there, could she but be reached.

  Daniel Parke. He listened to the salute of guns from the fort, billowing forth noise to welcome the new governor, and to the name which suddenly seemed to spread on the wind. He clung to the bars, and gazed at the corridor and the distant office, unable to see the door to the street, unable to hear distinctly, aware only that his heart was pounding fit to burst. It was incredible, but it was true. Because there he was, wearing a gold satin coat over a silver waistcoat, face heavy with good living, and yet lacking none of its old arrogance and contempt, lips pouted a trifle petulantly, but eyes brilliantly embracing as ever, speech and manner unchangingly peremptory. He stood in the office and gazed at the prisoner, and his colour seemed to darken.

  'By God,' he said. 'By God, sir. I could not credit my ears. By God, sirs, but there will be atonement for this.'

  So then, what can be the greatest pleasure known to man? To sit in a hot bath, after so very long, having been shaved and knowing that the best in food and drink awaits only a decision to leave the embracing warmth. And to be in the company of a friend. And what a friend.

  'My head swings,' he said. 'I doubt not that I am dreaming.'

  Parke sat in a chair, and sipped a glass of wine. He had removed his coat and his wig, and vet looked hot. He had indeed put on a great deal of weight in fifteen years.

  'Then awake,' he commanded. 'For be sure that I have need of you, Kit.'

  'And be sure, Dan, that you will have but to look in my direction, starting from now, and my body, my sword, my pistols and my brains will be at your service. What, raise a man from the dungheap once in a life time? There was a reason for undying gratitude, to be sure. But raise him twice ... why, that puts you beyond the attainment of any service I might perform.'

  Parke frowned at him for several seconds. And then smiled. And there, at the least, nothing had changed. The flash of white teeth was as winning as ever in the past. 'Now take care what you promise, Kit. For be sure I shall call upon you. There is much we must do.'

  'Indeed there is,' Kit said. 'If I could but understand how you come to be here, and in such splendour, and blessed with such power ... I tell you, it must be a dream.'

  'Dreams are not very different
to nightmares.' Parke got up, paced the room, arming himself with his cane and flashing at imaginary foes as he talked. 'I doubt my life has been less chequered than yours, Kit, since last we met. And believe me, I am fully aware of the ups and downs of your own career. So you married the fabulous Mistress Templeton. My congratulations, sir. Although had you asked my opinion I should have advised against it, even so long ago. And would I not have been right?'

  Kit sighed. 'She is perhaps, too much for any one man. Yet is she the mother of my children.'

  'All. I too have a wife, and children. At least, a daughter. The most beautiful creature you could ever see, Kit. But I have not seen her in five years.'

  'There is some tragedy here,' Kit said.

  'In a manner of speaking, only. You know my pleasure in cards and dice. Believe me when I say, Kit, I understand that to be a curse. Look at me, and see a man who had all Virginia at his feet. When my father died, and I inherited his plantations, there was no buck to stand beside me. And so, like you, dear friend, I married the best woman going. And I fathered her daughter, and I lived, and loved, out as well as in, for what gentleman will not, and I played, as my fancy took me. And you know full well, friend, that I cared not whether I won or lost, for the stake. I would as soon take my winnings and throw them to the poor. But the winning of it. The triumph. The looks of dismay on the losers' faces.'