The King's Exile (Thomas Hill Trilogy 2)

by Andrew Swanston

  The men working there were both black and white. They wore linen breeches, leather boots, and long leather gloves to protect their hands and arms from the hot sugar. Every few minutes a boy with a pail threw water over the workers to help them keep cool. Small things but a mighty improvement on what the brutes’ slaves suffered.

  ‘A simple plant, in demand everywhere just because it’s sweet. I wonder what other plants there are that can so easily be turned into gold,’ mused Thomas.

  ‘Many, probably, as long as the labour’s cheap enough. Or free,’ said Patrick. ‘Tobacco and cotton in Virginia, grapes in Spain.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose it’s really you and me making men rich, Patrick, not the cane. Indentured or slave, we’re much the same. A means to an end.’

  ‘Exactly. Although some of us have been treated better than others,’ said Patrick. ‘Now, did you look at the brutes’ curing house?’

  ‘If that is where earthenware pots drip brown liquid into pans, yes I did. Although I suspect that will not stop you showing me another one.’

  Having kept the brutes’ ledgers for more than seven hundred days, Thomas knew very well what the curing house was and what happened to the sugar and the molasses after they had been cured. He just preferred not to think about it.

  ‘Really, Thomas, you should take more interest in the process. You can’t devote your time only to matters of philosophy.’

  ‘Yes I can. And if it weren’t for sugar cane, I wouldn’t be here. Couldn’t we look at something else?’

  ‘No. The curing house it is.’

  The curing house was much like the brutes’. Pots of drying sugar stood over earthenware pans which caught the brown liquid dripping from holes in their bases. To avoid the heat, they stood outside and peered in.

  ‘Pay attention, Thomas,’ said Patrick sternly. ‘You may be tested on your knowledge later.’

  Thomas rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘Very well, sir. But please make the lesson brief as my attention will soon waver.’

  ‘On this estate we make what is known as muscovado sugar, which is further refined when it reaches England or Holland. Colonel Drax started making white sugar, using clay pots, but that takes longer.’

  ‘Then why did he do it?’

  ‘Soft white sugar fetches much higher prices than muscovado. Mr Lyte thinks we will all be producing it one day. Here we allow the sugar to cool for twelve hours after boiling, then we pack it in these pots and let it cure for a month. The brown molasses which drips out goes to make rum. When the pots are emptied, the sugar is hard. The middle of the loaf is packed into barrels ready for shipment and the ends are reboiled.’

  ‘And the molasses?’

  ‘Ours goes to a new distillery outside Bridgetown. Some planters make their own rum from it. What did the Gibbes do?’

  ‘Drank the stuff. Is the lesson over now?’

  ‘You are a miserable student, Thomas, and I shall waste no more time on you. Let us return to the house.’

  ‘An excellent idea. I’m feeling somewhat faint. A glass of wine should revive my spirits.’

  Thomas soon started on the Lytes’ accounts, which were, as Adam had warned, in a sorry state. Piles of paper had to be converted into entries in their ledgers, columns of figures added up and made to balance and the totals reconciled with the records of money in hand and deposited with their agent in London. Not difficult work, but slow and painstaking.

  When he was not walking with Patrick or working on the accounts, Thomas took advantage of the Lytes’ books. He was sitting in the parlour with a copy of Bacon’s The Wisdom of the Ancients, when Mary came and sat beside him.

  ‘Thomas, I’m pleased to see your recovery continues. Able to read serious books and plump enough to wear my brother’s shirt. Patrick must have been taking good care of you.’

  ‘Indeed he has. He’s a skilful physician and an excellent cook and I have much to thank him for.’ Thomas touched his cheek. ‘Even my scar is fading. I do believe he feels guilty that he has been so much better treated than I have.’

  ‘Perhaps he does. But at least you are alive.’

  ‘The thought of getting home has kept me alive for the better part of two years, madam.’ Thomas paused. ‘Have you thought further about my position?’

  ‘We have, but as yet without finding a solution. Adam is a cautious man and will not rush to a decision. And while you have been recovering there has been no urgency. Rest assured, how ever, that we shall do whatever we reasonably can to help you. It would grieve me greatly to send you back to the Gibbes. Patrick tells me you called them the brutes.’

  ‘Yes, madam, red brute and black brute. And I wrote a list of adjectives to describe them. It reminded me of being at school when we gave the teachers names. It’s odd how the mind works in such situations.’

  ‘Not so odd, I think. A matter of survival. I believe I might have done the same thing. And while you are our guest, we hope you will use our given names. In Barbados there is less formality than in London.’

  ‘Thank you. But are you not in danger by my being here?’

  Mary laughed. ‘Put it out of your mind, Thomas. You are safe enough here. Adam will think of something and if we suffer an attack by runaways, you will be needed. Now say no more on the matter.’

  ‘Very well, Mary. Tell me, instead, how you came to the island. Patrick told me you were not born here.’

  ‘Neither of us was. I was twelve years old when we arrived, Adam four years older. At first I found it hot, humid, uncomfortable and frightening – not a bit like Dorset, which was the only other place I had known. When both our parents died of the cholera just before the battle at Kineton, I expected to be put into the care of relatives but Adam would not hear of it and insisted on taking responsibility for his younger sister. Restless and ambitious and much taken with travellers’ tales of the fortunes to be made in the Caribbean islands, he wasted no time in putting our family home up for sale. To those who accused him of callousness so soon after the death of his parents, he replied that a war-torn England was no place for him or me and that we would seek a better and safer future in the new colony of Barbados.’

  ‘He must have been a determined young man, and a brave one.’

  ‘He was. A neighbour, Sir Lionel Perkins, tried to dissuade him, having his eye on me as a future bride for his son Richard. They agreed in the end that I would return to marry Richard in the event of Adam’s untimely death, in return for Richard having the right to my hand when I reach twenty-one years of age. I do not look forward to that day. Adam purchased our passage on a trading ship leaving Southampton for the Caribbean and we arrived here in the spring of 1643, with a few hundred pounds and the intention of turning them without delay into a large fortune.’

  ‘Which, if I may say so, you have done. A remarkable achievement.’

  ‘We were lucky in finding this estate available at a good price and we have worked hard to develop it. There is only one aspect of our business we dislike.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘We do not like slavery.’

  ‘Yet you have slaves.’

  ‘We do. When we bought the estate the slaves came with it. We were faced with keeping them or turning them out to fend for themselves. We decided that the latter would be more cruel than the former. We try to treat them well and have acquired no more. When we need more labour, we find indentured men and only those who chose to be indentured or were found guilty of some petty crime such as poaching. As far as we know, we have no robbers or murderers.’

  ‘What happens to them when their term is up?’

  ‘We have promised all of them the purchase price of ten acres of land or their passage home. So far, all have stayed. Having made the promise we shall keep it, although with the price of land rising daily we shall have to sell many tons of sugar to do so. Adam tells me that good land is now selling for as much as thirty-two pounds an acre. Not only that, but the war in England has depressed the price of muscovado.
What money there is, is being spent on swords, not sugar.’

  ‘Another reason to hope for peace. Still, if the estate is attacked the men will no doubt be willing to help defend it. That would not be the case everywhere.’

  ‘Indeed it would not. In fact, Adam and I have chosen quite a different path to almost all other landowners. While they have moved from imported cheap labour to bonded men from Brazil and Guiana to convicts to African slaves, we are moving from slavery to voluntarily indentured servants. And we do believe our men will stay loyal. They know that they are much better off here than as runaways in the woods.’

  ‘And what of Patrick?’

  Again, Mary smiled her beguiling smile. ‘Patrick is special. His father was white, his real mother died in childbirth. At birth he was put in the care of the woman he calls his mother. They were here when we bought the property. It was obvious that he was extremely intelligent so we took him into the house as a servant.’

  ‘His knowledge is considerable.’

  ‘For that, thank our books and my brother. Adam has done everything he could to teach Patrick about the world. They discuss politics, philosophy, literature, everything. Patrick has become Adam’s adopted brother.’

  ‘He’s a fortunate man and he knows it. There cannot be many like him in Barbados.’

  ‘None, I should think. In Europe, however, I believe such a relationship is not uncommon. Master and slave become father and adopted son, or something very like it.’

  ‘Adoptions of that sort also happened in ancient Rome, so it’s not exactly a new idea.’

  ‘Which reminds me, Thomas. We are visiting our neighbour Charles Carrington tomorrow to look at his new windmill. Would you care to come?’

  ‘I would. Thank you, Mary.’

  ‘And, Thomas, rest assured that we will do what we can to help you.’

  Thomas did not doubt it. The question was: what, given Adam’s position, could they do?

  At breakfast the next morning, Adam raised the one subject on which there was sure to be an argument. He did not seem to care that Thomas was with them. ‘I heard from Sir Lionel Perkins yesterday. A letter came with a cargo ship. He asks after you and confirms that Richard is still unmarried.’

  Mary rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘Sir Lionel Perkins. Trust him to spoil my day. You know my feelings, Adam. I don’t want to go back to England, Richard Perkins or no Richard Perkins. This is my home now.’

  ‘You’re only nineteen, my dear. Time enough to consider the matter.’

  ‘Adam, you pompous ass, you raised the subject, not I,’ said Mary testily. ‘I don’t want to return to a country I don’t know to marry a man I don’t know. This is our home now and our livelihood. I do not wish to leave Barbados. Now let us talk of something more agreeable lest we embarrass Thomas further.’ Perhaps I should offer to marry Perkins, thought Thomas, that would solve both our problems.

  After breakfast they went to visit Charles Carrington’s new windmill. The Carrington house came as a surprise. More medieval castle than plantation house, complete with battlements and fortifications, it would resist anything less than heavy cannon. Thomas could just see Charles tipping boiling oil or hurling stones from the roof down on to an attacker. He was waiting for them when they arrived. He waved a greeting and walked out to meet them.

  ‘Adam, welcome. And Mary, always a delight. And, if I’m not mistaken, Thomas Hill, about whom I have heard a good deal.’

  ‘A pleasure to meet you again, sir,’ replied Thomas, ‘and especially not in the company of the Gibbes.’

  Charles laughed loudly. ‘Those creatures. Well done escaping their clutches, although you do seem to have fallen into other clutches. I trust they are more friendly.’

  ‘Charles, you are a pig,’ said Mary.

  ‘I find myself in excellent clutches, sir,’ said Thomas, thinking that the way he looked at Mary suggested that Charles Carrington would like to find himself in the same clutches without further ado. And judging by the colour in Mary’s face, she would not discourage him. No wonder talk of the Perkins family had upset her.

  ‘Now, Charles,’ said Adam briskly, ‘to business if we may. How is the windmill performing? Are you happy with it?’

  ‘Adam, my dear fellow, all in good time. First I want to know what news there is from England.’

  ‘Adam had a letter from England yesterday but it told us little, did it, Adam?’ There was an edge to Mary’s tone.

  ‘Not much, certainly. Cromwell rules by fear, but we knew that.’

  ‘And the Perkins? What news of them?’ Mary looked up sharply at this but Charles had carefully addressed the question to Adam. He must have guessed who had sent the letter.

  ‘Sir Lionel complains of gout but Richard is well. Still unmarried and helping to manage the estate. He’ll be a wealthy young man one day.’

  Mary glared at her brother and changed the subject. ‘How is the crop, Charles?’

  ‘We should get over two tons an acre. The weather’s been kind and the old leaves we dug in seem to have helped.’

  ‘That’s interesting. We must try it ourselves, Adam, don’t you think?’

  ‘Indeed. We could mix the debris from the mill with horse manure. It might serve.’

  Intricate discussion of animal manure and vegetable matter could only occupy them for so long and soon Mary said brightly, ‘Now, Charles, I believe I’m ready for the windmill. Will you escort us?’

  She took Charles’s arm and they chatted amiably as they walked.

  ‘I suppose I have the revolting Gibbes to thank for the windmill. It was theirs that persuaded me. It was a big investment and I did not think I could do it until a Dutch merchant persuaded me. No fools, those Dutch. He lent me the money in return for a discount on the price of all the sugar I produce until the loan is cleared. It won’t take long.’

  ‘I imagine not,’ said Adam, ‘not with demand in Europe growing as it is. Very shrewd of you, Charles.’

  ‘It was the merchant who was shrewd. He’s making more profit and getting more sugar from me. He told me that windmills are used by most of the Brazilian planters. They don’t eat like cattle do.’

  ‘But they need wind.’

  ‘There’s plenty of wind up here. The sails turn day and night when we’re harvesting.’

  Sure enough, when they reached the windmill there was a good breeze and it was hard at work. A gang of men, black and white, was feeding cane through the rollers to extract the juice.

  Charles proudly explained the windmill’s workings and answered their questions with aplomb. It was an impressive device but the cane still had to be fed in by hand.

  ‘Alas,’ said Charles, ‘I wish there were another way but I can’t think of one. I tell the men to take care but accidents happen and fingers are mangled. We have to send for Sprot, who removes the fingers and pockets my sovereigns.’

  ‘I wonder what he does with the fingers.’

  ‘I’ve heard that he sells them for fish bait. A guinea a dozen, I believe.’

  Mary grimaced. She took Charles’s arm again and allowed him to lead her back down the path. ‘It’s time you were married, Charles. Anyone in your sights?’ she asked loudly enough for Adam to hear.

  ‘Good Lord, no. Can’t imagine anyone would have me. A younger son with no prospects and forced to try and make his way in the Caribbean. And we’re rather short of eligible ladies at present.’

  If I could read your mind, Mr Carrington, thought Thomas, it would say something like ‘a pox on Perkins’, and I don’t blame you. Marry her at once is my advice, and damn the consequences.

  ‘Most impressive, Charles,’ said Adam, when they had returned to the house. ‘Will you give me the name of the Dutch merchant?’

  ‘Of course I will. In exchange for an invitation to dinner.’

  ‘I invite you, Charles,’ said Mary quickly. ‘Would a week today be convenient?’

  ‘It would. Very.’

  CHAPTER 17

 
TOBIAS RUSH HATED being stuck on a ship and out of touch with his affairs. For six weeks he had paced the deck, barked at the crew and drunk more than he normally did. When eventually they docked in Southampton he found a carriage to take him straight to Romsey, where he would deal with the tiresome matter of the message before travelling on to London. He had an idea and another visit to Seething Lane was called for.

  After an uncomfortable journey to Romsey, Rush was in an evil temper. When he found the door to the bookshop in Love Lane bolted, he rapped on it with his cane. Nothing happened so he picked up a stone and beat it with that. Still nothing happened so he beat it again. He was on the point of giving up when he heard the bolts being slid open. The door opened a few inches and he pushed his way in. The two girls who stood staring at him must be Hill’s nieces. Apart from their fair hair they favoured their mother. They were pretty children. ‘Where is your mother?’ he demanded.

  The older one answered. ‘She is at the market, sir. She will be back soon.’

  ‘Who are you, sir?’ squeaked the younger one. ‘We should not open the door to strangers when our mother is out. She said so.’

  ‘I am Tobias Rush. Has your mother mentioned me?’

  The girls looked at each other and shook their heads. ‘I don’t think so, sir,’ replied the older one. ‘Are you a friend of hers?’

  Rush relaxed. The woman had held her tongue. ‘Indeed I am. And I shall wait here for her to return. I have an important matter to discuss with her.’ He walked around the desk and sat on the chair behind it. ‘Why don’t you come and sit beside me?’ Again the girls looked at each other.

  ‘You go upstairs, Lucy,’ replied the older one, ‘I will wait with Master Rush.’ Lucy did not need a second bidding. She disappeared through a door at the back of the shop and ran up the stairs. ‘May I fetch you anything while you wait?’

  ‘Nothing, child. What is your name?’