‘Hallo-o-o-o-o, the house’ she called as Mr Speckles had instructed. Then she waited at the edge of the clearing. Hens squealed and fluttered in panic round the doorway at the unexpected sound of her voice. And hogs bumped and snorted their protests in all directions. A long loose string of a man appeared with a rifle drooping under one arm. She recognised him as Jud Norton. He and his wife Ada, paid occasional visits to the store.
‘I’m Master Chisholm from the store. I’m bound for Forest Hall, the Harding plantation. Could you oblige me with directions from here?’
Jud leaned against the doorway, not saying anything, as if holding up the rifle in the crook of his arm didn’t leave him enough strength. His greasy hair straggled loose, and a long beard accentuated his sunken jaws. From behind him, in bare feet and bulging homespun gown, Ada appeared, cleaning floury hands on hips.
‘Yep.’ She pointed to one side of the house. ‘Just keep goin’ nor’ nor’ east. ’Taint more’n ten miles from here. But you’ll be wantin’ something fer your stummick first.’
Regina guided the carriage between the tree stumps, jumped down and secured the horses to a tree.
‘Thank you. I’d appreciate something to drink.’
‘Some fresh milk mebbe? And cornbread?’
‘That would be fine.’
She squashed past Jud, who was still draped against the door lintel, and accepted a stool beside the table. It was roughly made with knots and holes in the wood and one leg shorter than the others.
Answering his own unspoken question, Jud said,
‘ ’Taint likely you came across any Injuns. They’re like foxes, them fellers.’
‘I didn’t see any.’
Jud spat on the earthen floor of the cabin.
‘Nobody sees them fellers till they’re ready to show.’
Regina sipped at the wooden bowl of milk Ada gave her.
‘Are there many around here, do you think?’
Before Jud could answer, Ada cut in.
‘Don’t you go speakin’ agin.’
‘What fer?’
‘ ’Taint no use agitatin’ Master Chisholm. You jest drink your milk, Master Chisholm. It’ll perk up your spirits some.’
Jud gave a slow easy shrug. It was obvious by the look of him that he didn’t do much work around the place, Regina thought. She had heard, of course, that many backwoodsmen were lazy at everything except begetting children. It was the wife who was the industrious one. With her spinning wheel, loom and dye pots, she produced clothing, blankets and quilts. She made soap and candles, from the woods she picked herbs and roots for purges, emetics, syrups, cordials and poultices. As often as not she could use a gun, not only to kill animals for food but to protect her home from wild beasts and Indians.
The milk and the cornbread refreshed Regina and she wasted no time in setting off on her journey again. Ada came out to stand between the tree stumps to wave her goodbye but Jud remained propping up the lintel.
As the mantle of the forest closed around her again, she couldn’t help remembering what he had said about Indians, although the one or two Indians who came to the store always seemed peaceful enough. They padded in with a heap of skins, laid them on the counter and stood silently waiting for a few beads and baubles and perhaps a jug of whisky in exchange. They had dark hair and eyes and high broad cheekbones like Harding, and, like all men, they could not be trusted.
The thought of them made her uneasy. But she was soon soothed again by the splendid isolation of the forest, the rhythmic clop-clopping of the horses’ hooves and the branches flicking cobwebs of light overhead. She was sorry when the trees began to thin out and then alternate with blackened stumps until there, in the midst of them, ghostly white against the shadows of the trees, stood Forest Hall.
14
FOREST HALL was a double storeyed mansion made of wood with a frontage of pillars and an outside staircase. To Regina it looked magnificent, a fairy palace shining through the gloom. Yet it had a lonely threatened air, as if it knew that it was only a matter of time before the tight fist of the forest closed in and suffocated it.
‘Hallo-o-o-o-o, the house!’ she called, weaving the horses between the trees, dust rising and shivering the air.
As she came nearer to the house, she noticed that its glass windows were draped with dirt. Paint blistered and flaked from walls and pillars, baring patches of brown, and the wooden stairs were concave and splintered at the edges.
At the sound of her carriage, slaves came shambling round from one side, some of the men wearing only tattered shirts and no breeches. A girl and a boy both showing marked signs of puberty were completely naked.
Suddenly the front door opened and Harding stood on the wooden platform between the stairs, his thumbs hooked in the top of his breeches. A wide-sleeved shirt with a frill down the front hung open to reveal black hair curling against brown skin. His mouth drew back in a grin that showed teeth as startlingly white as his shirt.
‘So you’ve actually done it.’
With difficulty, Regina climbed down and relinquished the reins to one of the slaves. She was stiff and sore, and from her tangled hair to her bare feet she was covered with sweat and dust.
‘Well, sir,’ she said. ‘Where is my horse?’
He suddenly let out a roar of laughter.
‘By God, sir, you deserve it. I never for a moment thought I would see you standing there on your own.’
‘I am not afraid of the forest, Mr Harding.’
‘Then there can be very little you are afraid of.’
‘I have enough will to conquer any fears that may assail me.’
‘You are a young man after my own heart, Master Chisholm. Come in and be refreshed with some food and wine. But first, let Old Abe find you a new coat and breeches.’ Without looking at him, he beckoned to a black man with stooping shoulders and a shaved grey head. ‘Go with him and he will show you where to wash and dress.’
Her feet made a hollow echo on the stairs and balcony then smacked into the hall. It was dark and cool. A flow of air, sweet-scented with herbs and flowers, drifted in from an open door at the far end. With it a shaft of light heavily laden with dust spread across the floor. Flies bustled about and left their droppings like smudgings of grey paint on banisters and wainscoting. A chandelier made a high-pitched protest in the breeze.
Regina followed Old Abe up a staircase and along a corridor to one of the bedrooms. It had a four-poster bed without curtains but a mosquito net hung over it from a hook on the ceiling. The windows darkened the room with dirt and the floor was bare. The only other articles of furniture, apart from the bed, were a kist and a wash stand on which stood a blue and white jug and bowl, criss-crossed with brown hair-cracks.
Old Abe began rummaging in the kist, spilling clothes onto the floor in his search for something suitable. At last she said,
‘You’re wasting your time. Nothing of Mr Harding’s could possibly fit me. I’m so much smaller than he is.’
‘Yes, suh. But these ain’t what Mr Harding wears. These’n extra clothes.’
They found a handsome green plush coat eventually and brown breeches. Ordering Old Abe to wait outside until she called him, she washed her face in the bowl of water, combed and tied back her hair and donned the new clothes. They were heavier than her own and had a luxurious feel about them. They gave her a sense of importance and when she allowed Old Abe to lead her back downstairs, she followed him with a swagger. He stopped at a door at one side of the hall. It opened into a drawing-room where her host waited with a whisky bottle in his hand ready to pour out drinks. Behind him was a large fireplace from which dead wood-ash overflowed. Above the mantelpiece hung an ornate gold-framed mirror and on the mantelpiece itself were green and gold vases, a miniature by Tassie, two snuffboxes and a long churchwarden pipe. On one side of the fireplace stood a table crowded with bottles and glasses. One wall of the room was lined with leather-bound books and a tall clock with a face of brass stood in the corner. An Axmins
ter carpet added to the luxury of the settees and chairs covered in rich brocade. Yet the room, like the rest of the house, had a drab, neglected look. The windows were dull with grime. The carpet was so dusty that the colour was practically indistinguishable and cobwebs straggled from the ceiling candelabra.
‘Where is Mistress Harding?’ Regina asked. ‘She is well, I hope?’
Harding passed over a glass and she noticed how broad and brown his hand looked.
‘No, she is not,’ he said, ‘but then she seldom is. She has been moaning and groaning in bed ever since journeying back from the store. The slaves will all be naked before she gets down to making any clothes for them and the house in ruins for lack of proper housewifery.’
‘It’s a long, hard journey for a lady. I’m not surprised she’s feeling poorly.’
He gave a bitter laugh.
‘Oh, I’m not surprised, sir. I’ve been bedevilled for years with the weak-livered creature’s uselessness.’
‘She can’t help being weak and female. It does you no credit to speak of your wife like that.’
His eyes flashed at her like those of a wild animal and she noticed for the first time that they were tawny streaked.
‘You dare criticise me in my own house?’
She was taken aback by his anger.
‘Forgive me, Mr Harding. I didn’t mean to give offence. The fatigue of the journey has made me forget my manners.’
‘Drink up your whisky.’
She gulped some down, then looked around.
‘It’s a very grand house.’
‘It’s nothing of the kind.’
‘I’ve never been in such a large house in all my life. It’s very grand to me, sir.’
‘You must have seen some of the bigger mansions from the ship on your way up the river when you first came to this country. The really wealthy men own those plantations on the river banks.’
‘But this is one of the biggest plantations in the interior, I’ve heard.’
‘That’s true,’ Harding agreed. ‘Oh, make no mistake. I am proud of what I have. That’s why I’m bitterly dissatisfied that I have no son to carry on the place.’ His mouth took on an ugly twist. ‘I will never forgive the useless, affected creature who lies upstairs for failing me in this. Later I’ll show you around but now we must eat.’
He strode from the room and she followed him into a dining-room panelled in yellow pine. A table was set with fruits and vegetables of every kind along with several different types of meat and fish, oysters, crabs and terrapins. Slaves surrounded the room, drooping back against the walls, but as soon as Harding entered, they shuffled forward, bumping into one another in general chaos in their efforts to lay out plates and serve the food. One of them splashed too much wine into Harding’s glass, spilling it over onto his hand.
‘Sorry, suh. I’ll jes’ mop you up, suh.’ The slave hastily attempted to dry the wine with a napkin but with a wide swing of his arm, Harding knocked the man staggering back.
‘Get away, you fool.’
Regina kept her attention lowered on her plate.
Still clutching the bottle the slave hurried over to her.
‘Yo want a smitch o’ wine, suh?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ she murmured.
‘Well,’ said Harding. ‘Don’t just sit there gawping. Eat!’
She felt a glow of malicious satisfaction in the knowledge that Harding did not enjoy a happy relationship with his wife and that he was so obviously cast down because he had no son and heir. Serves him right, she thought. If he was so keen on having a strong, spirited woman for a wife, why didn’t he have the sense to marry one. She realised, of course, that most marriages were arranged like business contracts and that few men actually chose their wives for any other reasons but financial ones. No doubt Mistress Kitty was offered to Harding with such a tempting dowry of land or money or both that he was not able to refuse. She couldn’t really blame him for that. There was very little she wouldn’t do for money herself or the pleasures that money offered like the meal she was now relishing.
Since she had come to Virginia she had managed to get enough to eat, but only of plain food like cornbread or mush. In Glasgow for most of the time she had been near to starvation. First at her home in Tannery Wynd she had known little other than porridge. Then later, at the mercy of Quin, she had survived on filthy scraps either stolen or begged for. Never, either in Glasgow or the settlement, had she dreamed of consuming such a meal. She ate steadily, packing herself with as much as she could hold, savouring every mouthful so that she would always remember it.
‘You like good food, I see,’ Harding remarked.
‘I appreciate all the good things of life, sir.’
‘What can you know of the good things of life, Master Chisholm?’
‘I have enough intelligence to recognise them and appreciate them when they are offered to me.’
He laughed.
‘I believe you. Well, have you finished appreciating the food?’
‘Yes.’
‘Come then. I will show you around.’
Across the hall from the drawing-room and dining-room was a long ballroom lined with high-backed grey chairs like rows of dead people long forgotten.
‘Most planters have a yearly or twice yearly ball,’ he explained. ‘That way everyone’s able to meet and exchange news. Otherwise we seldom see each other. There’s such distances between plantations. This ballroom is seldom used, however. My wife is usually not fit enough to entertain.’
‘I’m sorry. It must be very lonely for you both. These vast distances are what impressed me most when I came to this country,’ Regina said.
Harding shrugged.
‘I’m not averse to my own company.’ He pointed towards the ceiling. ‘Do you appreciate that crystal chandelier brought over from England with much difficulty and expense?’
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘My wife’s pride and joy,’ he said, his top lip drawing back into a humourless smile. ‘That and some china dishes and silver knick-knacks. Foolish fancies for things often overcome her. At the moment she has taken a fancy for you. You’d better come up and see her.’
‘Yes, of course.’
She followed him out of the ballroom and up the stairs. As they passed a slave in the hall, Harding shouted,
‘Light some bloody candles. It’s as dark as the tomb in here.’
‘Yes, suh.’
They turned left at the top of the stairs and at the end of the corridor Harding stopped and swung open a door.
‘Master Chisholm,’ he announced abruptly.
Kitty Harding was propped up in a four-poster bed. The mosquito net and the curtains were crushed untidily back. The curtains and the bedmat were so dirty it was impossible to tell what colour they were. But Kitty herself was a riot of vivid hues. A scarlet robe was fastened with an emerald brooch at her bosom and at her throat was a necklace of sapphires. Strings of pearls and plumes decorated her powdered wig and her face was spotted with patches of various shapes.
‘Robert … Robert … my dear. And Master Chisholm, Master Chisholm.’
She stretched out a hand and Regina bowed politely over it.
‘Mistress Harding. I trust your health is improving.’
The windows were closed and there was a hot stench of unemptied chamber pots. Something that looked like a flea sprang from Mistress Kitty’s wig. She coquettishly fluttered her fan.
‘Oh indeed, indeed. And all the better for your kind inquiry. I do declare, I do declare you look mighty handsome, young sir.’
On the wall above the fireplace hung a child’s sampler worked in blue and red cross-stitch: ‘Kitty May Colington 1728.’ Open fans were propped up along the top of the mantelpiece, along with a crush of fashion-babies or dolls dressed in fine clothes. There was also a china cup and saucer, an ornate clock and several snuffboxes. A green velvet armchair and a needlepoint footstool sat in one corner and a table with a candelabra an
d a litter of books filled another. A kist lay open with gowns, petticoats and stays spilling from it and flaunting their gaudy tints.
‘Do sit down, Master Chisholm. Oh, I do declare, I’m so pleased to see you.’
‘I’m showing him around,’ Harding said from the doorway. ‘We’d better go outside before it’s too dark.’
Blinking with disappointment, Kitty managed a tremulous smile. It had taken a terrible effort of will to gather enough energy to prepare herself for the visit. As soon as she had heard Regina arriving, she had dragged herself about the room to find her robe and jewellery in a determined effort to look her best.
‘Of course, Robert, dear,’ she said lightly. ‘Of course. Of course.’
Harding gripped Regina’s arm, levered her from the room and crashed the door shut. But before going outside, he stopped downstairs in the hall and smoothed his hand against one of the panels. To Regina’s surprise, it swung open. He lifted a candle and held it forward to reveal a narrow stairway.
‘There’s a couple of secret rooms down there,’ he explained, ‘in case of Indian attack.’ He closed the panels again and replaced the candle before turning away. ‘So far we’ve never needed to use them. The tribes around here are peaceful enough. But occasionally more warlike tribes come down from the north and attack the plantations. Mostly the smaller ones through. The danger faced by the biggest plantations—the ones further down the river with their own wharfs—is from pirates.’
She followed him across the hall to the front door.
‘Pirates surely don’t come ashore.’
‘Indeed they do. They’ve kidnapped slaves and owners alike before now.’
It was still light outside and a scented breeze swayed the long grass. Some of the grass around the building had been cut short but there was nothing like a formal lawn. Too many stumps and trees crowded too near the house, their tall branches twisting into unexpected postures, their roots humping up.
Standing to one side of the house and slightly behind it was a cluster of whitewashed wooden buildings. One was a large kitchen in which crowds of half-naked slaves blended into dark corners. Harding allowed her no more than a glance inside. Another building was a storehouse. There was also one in which Harding did business and kept his plantation accounts. It had a counter on top of which sat a crock of quills, an ink-pot, a slim white pipe and a box of snuff. Behind the counter was a handsome leather chair. Nearby shelves were filled with ledgers.
The Tobacco Lords Trilogy Page 43
