HF - 03 - The Devil's Own

by Christopher Nicole

  feel they have right on their side, and Daniel knows he has the law on his. Lock the door and sit tight. Do not move unless I come for you.'

  'Can I not stand at your side?' she asked.

  'No,' he said. 'And if you force me to it I shall bind you hand and foot to prevent it.'

  She hesitated, and then sighed. 'So be it. I should not be of much assistance, that is certain. I can only say Godspeed.'

  He kissed her on the forehead. 'Perhaps He may be able to prevent a catastrophe. Certain it is I can think of no other possibility.'

  He buckled on his sword belt, checked the priming on his pistols, returned to the great hallway, where a dozen Negroes were gathered, fingering unfamiliar muskets and chattering amongst themselves.

  He clapped his hands, and they fell silent. 'Now listen to me,' he said. 'There is a mob coming here, who mean to do your master harm. We must prevent them, which means we must stop them entering this house. We may leave the ground floor to the soldiers. You will come upstairs with me.'

  'We going do that, Captin,' Jonathan said. 'We going fight for the Governor.'

  He led them up the stairs, arranged them on the verandah, evenly spaced, each man with a musket and a supply of powder and ball, and a pike for close work. 'You'll lie down,' he told them. 'So as not to present a target, and you'll fire through the banisters. Thus there is naught to be afraid of. Remember that those people down there are in the wrong, and you have the law on your side. But wait for the command.'

  'You going be here with us, Captin?' someone asked.

  'You may count on that.' Kit stood on the verandah and looked down, at Parke and the sergeant, marshalling the guard on the lawn. There were a score of redcoats, armed with muskets and sword bayonets, and in front of them stood the cannon, which had been loaded and dragged round to face the top of the drive. Because now the noise was close, and from his vantage point he could see a mass of men starting to climb the hill, and punctuating the dark of the people was the gleam of metal; the sun was just climbing above the horizon and sending darts of brilliant light over the island.

  Parke looked up. 'Are you ready, Kit?' 'We are ready,' Kit said.

  'Very good.' He drew his sword, and walked in front of the soldiers. Slowly the noise swelled, and a few moments later the crowd appeared at the head of the drive. There were a considerable number of them; Kit realized with a pounding heart that perhaps Jonathan had not after all been exaggerating; he would have said there were at least two hundred. They carried an odd assortment of weapons, in the main pikes and muskets, but there were several drawn swords to be seen, and these belonged to the planters. He recognized both Chester and Harding, and frowned as he began to pick out the overseers. Haley of Goodwood was there. And so was Hodge of Green Grove.

  Hodge? Then the plantation was not as cut off from events as he had supposed. Because there were other Green Grove men present as well.

  But there were also others he recognized. The sweepings of St John's, and already flushed with drink, early as it was. Or perhaps they had spent the night building up their courage.

  But whatever force was driving them on, he suddenly realized this affair was not a foregone conclusion. He went into the study, found the Queen's letter lying on the desk, folded it and stowed it in his pocket. Then he returned on to the verandah.

  Daniel Parke had not moved. He remained in front of his small army. And now the mob itself checked, to stare at him, at the redcoats and the house, still shouting and laughing amongst themselves. If only the men of the garrison would come, Kit thought, then there would be no risk of bloodshed.

  'This is revolution, Mr Chester,' Parke called out, his voice very loud and clear.

  'We are a citizens' committee, Mr Parke,' Chester replied. 'We have come to demand your resignation, and your departure from Antigua.'

  'And I, sir, demand your dispersal on the instant,' Parke said. 'Or I shall fire into you.'

  The planters hesitated, glancing at each other, reluctant to carry events further even now.

  'Ten seconds, Mr Chester,' Parke called. 'That is all I will allow you.'

  'Sir, you exceed your prerogative,' Chester called, and stepped forward.

  'Give fire,' Parke shouted, and the match was applied to the touch-hole. The cannon roared and a cloud of black smoke billowed up to shroud the verandah. There were screams and howls from the mob, and as the smoke began to clear Kit saw that the ball had hurtled through the very centre, decapitating two men and leaving a swathe of scattered arms and legs.

  'Oh, Christ,' he muttered. There could be no more talk now.

  'Charge them,' Chester bellowed, waving his sword. 'Fire your pieces,' Parke yelled, returning to the line of redcoats.

  The muskets rippled, and the mob, emerging on to the lawn, paused; several men fell.

  'Retire,' Parke bawled. 'Retire to the house, and there reload. You'll give fire, Captain Hilton.'

  'Take aim,' Kit said. 'Do not waste your shot. Fire as you will. Steady, now, lads, steady.'

  The Negroes fired, and raised their heads to see what damage they had done, and chattered excitedly amongst themselves as they reloaded. Certainly they had shed their fear, and it occurred to Kit that well led they might make a formidable force. Supposing there were a few dozen of them.

  The mob was now advancing at a run, churning up the fresh green of the new-laid lawn. Beneath him the soldiers clattered on to the downstairs verandah, and there turned to face the onslaught, but already he could hear cries of alarm; these people were their friends in more sober moments.

  'Stand to,' Parke shouted. 'Stand to.'

  'Seize him,' Chester yelled, running at the steps.

  'By God, sir, I'll have you at the least,' Parke said, and stepped forward, his pistol levelled.

  But someone else fired first; Kit would never be sure who it was. The Governor gave a gasp and fell to his knees, and with a scream of terror the soldiers threw away their muskets and fled through the house, their boots clattering on the polished floors.

  Kit stood up in his horror. It was Green Grove all over again. He watched the mob surge up to Parke, who was still kneeling, his left hand pressed to the wound in his body, his right still trying to level his pistol, and seized him as a pack of dogs might seize a bone. And at last Kit came to life.

  'Follow me,' he yelled, and ran for the stairs, drawing his sword as he did so. He reached the foot in three bounds and checked to regain his balance, then discovered he was alone. Yet it did not occur to him to hesitate. The mob was baying like wolves now, most howling anger and derision, only one or two voices, amongst them John Harding's, calling for order. Kit burst upon them like another cannonball, swinging his sword from left to right. A cutlass came up to meet him, and was swept aside, its owner tumbling down the steps. For a moment Harding himself faced him, and then sprang to one side, while another man fell with a thrust through the chest. Then they fell back and he stood astride his friend.

  They panted. 'Shoot him down,' Chester called. 'Hang him high. He is no less our enemy.'

  But Kit was looking at Parke. The Governor's clothes were torn and slashed, and to the bullet wound in his ribs there had been added a dozen knife cuts. Even hands had done their worst; there were scratches on his face and one of his eyes appeared to be gouged.

  Slowly Kit straightened. 'You are a fool, Edward Chester,' he said. 'Better to have called him out, man to man.'

  'He fired into us.' Chester's voice was hoarse.

  'He was entitled to do so.' Kit took the letter from his pocket. 'He is Governor of this land, and will remain so until dismissed by Her Majesty.'

  'But ... he was recalled ...'

  'To answer your charges,' Kit said. 'Not to be dismissed, unless he failed to satisfy his peers. You had best read it.'

  The shouts had already died, and feet were shuffling. Kit stepped away from the dead Governor, held out the letter. Chester took it; his hand trembled. Hastily he perused the words, then handed it to Hardin
g.

  His action accomplished more than a regiment of cavalry would have done. Already men from the back of the mob were drifting down the hill. Now even those from the front shrank back, and the men who a moment before had been shouting for Kit's blood now would not meet his eyes as they slunk across the trampled lawn.

  'By God,' Harding said. 'We have committed treason.'

  'It was your idea as much as mine,' Chester said.

  Harding glanced at him, and then at Kit. 'What do you propose?'

  "That you disband that rabble and return them to their proper occupation.' 'And then?'

  Kit sheathed his sword. 'The Governor is dead. There is no man of your force can escape the guilt of it, but I doubt there is a man will identify himself as the one who struck the fatal blow. It will lie with the Queen.'

  'We are the ringleaders,' Chester muttered. 'And he deserved to die. By God he did. Mary is pregnant. Did you know that, Kit? She carries his bastard in her belly.'

  'And for that you should have called him out. This is murder.'

  Harding looked past him, at the Negroes gathered on the verandah, at the soldiers slowly returning now the sound of battle had died. 'And you will have us hanged?'

  Kit sighed. For all their enmity, he realized, the three of them, standing here on a bloodstained lawn, were all the hope of survival Antigua possessed. 'There was provocation.'

  'What?' Chester's head came up. 'You will testify to that?'

  'Aye,' Kit said. 'For an end to strife, for an understanding of where your, our duty lies, to the Queen and to our country, I will testify to that.'

  'By God, sir,' Harding said. 'There is nothing small in your nature. I'll say that to God Himself.'

  Chester squared his shoulders. His right hand started to move, then he checked it. 'You'll have my support, Kit, in whatever you elect to do.' He turned away, and stopped, and looked down at the Governor for the last time. 'But he deserved to die.'

  They buried Daniel Parke, together with his victims, that same morning, in the cemetery outside St John's. Six soldiers from the garrison carried the coffin, and a firing squad of their comrades delivered a volley over the grave. Captain Smith stood behind the remainder, armed and looking very stern. He was anxious to quash any suggestion that he had deliberately delayed turning out his men to avoid taking sides. The planters stood in a group, with their wives, and the townspeople gathered in a huge mass beyond. None of them bore arms this day.

  Kit Hilton stood by the graveside, next to the Reverend Spalding. Lilian, with Jonathan the butler, and Abigail, were a little distance away. Dag and Astrid Christianssen were also by themselves.

  There was no oration by the priest, and Kit did not feel that he could utter one. The first clods of earth fell upon the wood and he turned away, to meet Lilian's gaze. For the moment the island was his. In a most remarkable fashion, he realized, Parke's death was his triumph. He had stood always for moderation and good sense, and for that had been rejected and pilloried. But now at last had the plantocracy gone too far. But only for the moment. Daniel Parke had been his support, and now all opposition was crushed by the enormity of his death. But they would recover soon enough.

  He walked round the grave, approached the planters. 'I am in possession of Mr Parke's will,' he said. 'Which you may copy, if you wish, Edward.'

  'I?' Chester demanded. 'What have I to do with Mr Parke's will?'

  'It is simply that he leaves all his possessions to the child of your wife, Mary, whenever it is born.' 'By God,' Chester said.

  'Aye. It will be of some service to you, I have no doubt, in proving their liaison. To my mind, it will also serve to prove that his was no mere lust, but a genuine affection. I hope you will do him, and Mary, the honour to believe that.'

  'By God,' Chester said again. 'What a remarkable fellow he was, to be sure.'

  Kit rejoined Lilian, and escorted her through the crowd, which parted before them.

  'Kit.'

  He stopped, and turned, and felt Lilian's fingers bite into his arm.

  Dag Christianssen's cheeks were red. 'I'd have you know that I honour your defence of the Governor, both for the way you stood by a friend, and for the way you protected a principle.'

  'I thank you, Dag.' Kit thrust out his hand. 'It would be my great happiness could we be friends, once more.'

  Dag hesitated, then took the proffered fingers. 'Perhaps, after all, there was some sense in what you claimed, and what you did. Perhaps indeed a wrong such as you did Lilian could only be set right by a public flaunting. I wish things could have been different. But I'll bear a grudge no longer.'

  'Kit.' Astrid kissed him on the cheek. 'You'll come to our house for luncheon.'

  'Indeed, I doubt that we properly belong at Government House in the absence of a governor, Astrid.'

  'Well then,' she smiled. 'You must move back in with us. Oh, we will make room for you, be sure of that.'

  'Then we shall be happy to accept,' Kit said. 'And perhaps Dag will help me with my deposition, for I must set down everything that has happened here for the perusal of Her Majesty, and I think the sooner it is done the better.'

  'And will that not bring even worse misfortunes upon this unhappy island?' Dag asked.

  'I hope not,' Kit said. 'I have promised Chester to be fair to him as well as to Daniel. There was provocation, and misunderstanding, and misfortune. And in any event, it is to Her Majesty's advantage that sugar is grown here, and successfully, and that the planters have some say in the management of their own affairs. I imagine her best course would be to regard the appointment of Daniel to this governorship, however much of a blessing it proved to me, to have been a mistake.'

  'If you can even attempt to persuade her of that, Kit, then shall I be your scribe with pleasure. I will prepare my pens.'

  He hurried ahead of them down the street, his wife at his elbow. Kit and Lilian followed more slowly. She had said nothing all day, that he remembered.

  'Can you not find it in your heart to be happy, at least about the reconciliation with your family?' he asked. 'One would suppose that in Daniel Parke you had lost your closest friend. But as I remember you thought little of him.'

  'I feared him,' she said. 'If that is what you mean. Perhaps I even foresaw that he must come to a violent end, and feared that he would involve you in his own catastrophe. As he did.'

  'Yet do I stand here at your side, now, unharmed.'

  'And for that I am eternally grateful. Yet it is also but what I expected, Kit. You are too straight a man to be brought down by rogues, except through an unhappy chance.'

  'Well, then ..."

  'I fear you are also too straight a man to live a lie, for all of your life.'

  He frowned at her. 'Could you but forget the fact that I am married, I have no doubt at all that I also could manage it.'

  'I doubt that, Kit. I doubt that very much. No doubt, knowing that this day of disaster was overhanging us, you slept restlessly, last night. And cried out in your sleep.'

  He stopped, and turned to face her. 'Her name?'

  'Meg. Time and again. Meg. But you have done this before.'

  'By God,' he said. 'That I should have inflicted such a misfortune upon you. It shall not happen again, Lilian.'

  'What will you do?' she asked. 'Spend the rest of your life in wakefulness?'

  'If I could make you understand. She is a part of my life. A great part. Like Daniel, she helped to make me what I am.'

  'And you love her still,' Lilian said quietly. 'So after all, she is the victor between us, and I must remain a trespasser.'

  He stared at her, his mind desperately searching for the words which would have set her mind at rest, and finding none.

  'Kit.' Astrid came running out of her front doorway.

  'What is it, Astrid? Some more catastrophe?'

  'Miss Johnson, Kit. She is here to see you. But Kit ...'

  Kit went inside, to pause in amazement. Could this be the prim middle-aged lady he had know
n for so long? Elizabeth Johnson was hatless; her hair was loosed and tumbled. Her gown was torn and mud-stained, and there were shadows beneath her eyes. She looked as if she had not eaten in days.

  Dag held a glass of water to her lips, and she sipped, and panted. 'He'll not find me here, Mr Christianssen. Say he'll not find me here.'

  Dag raised his head, to look at Kit.

  'Who'll not find you here, Elizabeth?'

  'Captain Hilton.' Elizabeth Johnson half fell out of the chair to seize his hands. 'Oh, thank God. He came into town, you see, to join with Mr Chester and Mr Harding, and most of the overseers came with him. So I managed to escape. I walked all night, Captain, crawled through the canefields to get here.'

  He held her shoulders and raised her up. Certainly there was no doubting the evidence of her journey.