A brown-skinned woman was wending her leisurely way across the square, her knees alternately displacing the folds of her long pink cotton dress to reveal a froth of white petticoat around her ankles. Finding his eyes naturally drawn to the female shape, Probyn examined her for a moment, but seeing that she was thirty-five or maybe more, soon lost interest and was about to look away when all at once the bottom appeared to drop out of her basket and from it tumbled a host of vegetables which started to bounce and roll away from her.
Deeming it beneath his dignity to chase them himself, but responding to his instinct to help, Probyn alerted the two young guards who pelted off and made sporadic grabs at the vegetables until all were gathered and safely returned to their owner.
Treating both soldiers and their corporal to a gracious smile, the woman seemed in no hurry to get away. ‘Tank you, you saved me a werry long walk, Corporal…?’
‘Kilmaster,’ he answered her unspoken question, having to raise his eyes for she was slightly taller than himself. ‘And it was our pleasure, madam.’ He was standing alone in the dappled light now, the policeman’s attention having been distracted by someone else.
She inclined her straw hat in dignified pose. ‘Miss Emily Hercules.’
He made no comment on the unusual name, nor on the lack of marital title for one so aged. His eyes flickered over her, admiring her shape, though he did not find in her face the delicacy he so admired in a woman, her jaw being on the heavy side and crammed with long teeth, albeit gleaming white. However, her brown eyes were velvety soft, betraying a compassionate nature. Here was a woman who would do one a good turn.
‘I’d like to repay you—’ she began rapidly.
Ever the opportunist, he jumped in. ‘There’s no need but if I might impose on you, there is a way you can help us.’ He hurried to explain that the soldiers were in dire need of scraps of material for their patchwork. ‘If you don’t think it rude could you ask your friends too? Anything that might otherwise be put to waste.’
‘Most certainly,’ she smiled at him, her eyes brimming with a friendly intelligence. ‘I shall do it straight away.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t implying that it was urgent!’
‘It be no trouble at all,’ she reassured him, her gloved hand changing the heavy basket to her other arm. ‘If you would care to call at my house tomorrow I shall have it ready.’
Informed of where she lived, Probyn thanked her and said he would come at the end of the day.
* * *
Walking along a steep valley path the following evening he followed the woman’s directions to her stone cabin that stood alone in a hollow scooped out of the hillside. She had been waiting for his coming. The door was thrown open before he had even reached her verandah.
‘Come in! I have it ready.’ From behind Emily Hercules’s skirts peeped three small, barefooted children.
Taken aback by their presence, he hesitated, affecting to look at the damage to her woodwork, great chunks of it chavelled away.
She followed his eyes, seemingly embarrassed. ‘White ants, such appetites, dey had almost eaten the place from under me before I noticed. What must you think of me? I keep telling myself to repair it—’
‘I could have a word with the captain and ask if I can send some of the boys up. It’s no trouble,’ he stalled her objection, ‘they’re lost for things to do.’
‘Hence de patchwork,’ she flashed a smile and nodded. ‘Well, plenty material here for dem to be going on with, please come in.’
Finally responding to her gracious invitation, he entered awkwardly but ignored her request to sit down, fixing his eyes on a picture of the Queen. The children, exquisite little creatures, seemed mesmerized by him.
‘You must forgive my nephew and nieces staring,’ said Miss Hercules, bending suddenly to tickle the infants and set them all a-giggle.
Probyn was careless in his reply. ‘Oh, they’re not yours then? I mean—’ he felt the colour rush to his cheeks.
She seemed unabashed. ‘No, I remain unblessed.’ Maternal hands stroked the trio of curly heads. It was obvious she doted on them. ‘Dey are my sister’s. I have the privilege to care for dem whilst she is at work.’
She smiled at her nephew’s close interest in the visitor. ‘Young George, he wants very much to be a soldier.’
Probyn smiled at the youngster. ‘I hope he’ll face less opposition than I did.’
‘Do sit yourself down,’ bade Miss Hercules for the second time.
Noting the teapot and cups, he looked uncomfortable. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m being rude but I mustn’t stay too long, I have to escort the guard.’
‘Oh, den I must not keep you.’ With the slightest flicker of disappointment she turned away to fetch a large bag, revealing the scraps of material therein.
He peered into the bag, exclaiming his delight. ‘That’s awfully generous!’
‘I should like to see de end result when it be finished,’ she told him.
‘You shall,’ he said and took the bag, then, sensing her loneliness but not daring to flout regulations, he apologized again for being unable to stay, saying he hoped he had not put her to too much trouble, before making his escape.
* * *
Whilst thankful to the woman for supplying his platoon with enough material to last all year, Lance-Corporal Kilmaster found that his encounter with her had stirred up thoughts of his own female relatives and he was to become even more homesick than ever. The letters and parcels which arrived sporadically over the following months were no substitute for the real thing, though had it not been for them he felt he would sometimes go mad, and if, after all the ritual that went into greeting a ship, he found that it was not carrying a message for him, the gloom he experienced caused him seriously to consider buying himself out.
But there was no such despondency on this May morning as he and everyone else slithered down Jacob’s Ladder to greet the vessel which had stopped here to take on coal. Not only did it carry letters but a draft of his own regiment. To great ceremony, the old gunboat firing a salute, the men were ferried ashore to engage in a cricket match. Leaving his letter unopened for now in order to relish it later, Probyn took up the wicket on the only level piece of grass on the island. Surrounded by deep ravines on all sides, there followed a precarious game which the local side won, the afternoon ending with a splendid feast and fun all round.
Only after the visitors had returned to their ship did he open his letter, settling down in the corporals’ mess with a cup of tea, intent on savouring the contents.
‘Dear Brother,’ wrote Merry, ‘I am sorry to have to tell you …’ His heart lurched. Even before he read the next line he knew that his father had died.
‘You look as if you lost a quid and found a clod.’ Noisily stirring his tea, Wedlock remarked on his companion’s grief-stricken expression.
Not divulging his loss, fearing that he might cry and needing to get completely away from Wedlock, Probyn shot from his chair and left the room, continued past the gates of the fortress and into the countryside beyond, the only place where he could truly be alone.
Surrounded by open fields, no witness save a distant mansion and the sinking sun, he dropped to his hunkers and gave vent to his emotions, sobbing into his palms. He had known it would come eventually, why was it such a tremendous shock?
When, finally he managed to control his tears, he pulled out the letter and read it in full, seeking a line that would tell him his father had been proud to learn of his son’s promotion before he died; but it was non-existent. Maybe he would never know.
He folded the letter away and sat there for a while gazing red-eyed into space, listening to the distant whine of a flax mill, the yelping of gulls and the low rumble of the sea against the rocks. He would have liked to sit there much longer, but shadows were beginning to creep across the valley. Having managed to check his grief, he coughed twice, blew his nose, then replaced his helmet and began to make his way back to barrack
s, in no hurry to arrive.
Leaden with bereavement, he hoped to meet no one, and was devastated to see a woman coming towards him along the valley path, and even more so when he recognized it to be Emily Hercules. With no way of avoiding her, he braced himself to offer a courteous greeting, intent on hurrying by. But her toothy smile and the fact that she stood in his way made it impossible to do anything other than tarry.
He prayed the failing light would hide his torment, but the immediate change in Miss Hercules’ demeanour told that she had interpreted his red eyes. ‘Why, Corporal Kilmaster, whatever be the matter? You are deeply distressed I tink.’
He had not anticipated such open comment. But he might as well tell her the truth. ‘I’ve just received news that my father’s died.’ At her look of genuine compassion, fresh tears sprang to his eyes but he fought them valiantly. ‘So if you’ll excuse me—’ He tried to get by her. The pain was dreadful.
‘I cannot let you go like this!’ She laid a brown hand upon his arm.
‘I know how badly you must feel, my father is dead also. Come, let me make you a cup of tea.’ She made as if to lead him.
‘I should get back to the barracks—’
‘And so you shall when you are feeling better but a barracks full of men is not the place to be when one needs comfort and my house is just over dere.’ Without further ado she ushered him towards the white cabin, murmuring condolences.
Small fat wire-birds pecked amongst the long shadows that led to her door. They went unseen by his grief-stricken eyes, though the sight of the ant-ravaged verandah brought forth a shamefaced apology. ‘I’m sorry, I promised to do something about that.’
‘Never mind, you have more important tings to tink ’bout.’ In motherly fashion she urged him inside and began to stoke the fire, then put a kettle on to boil.
He placed his white helmet on the table and sat down, watching her miserably, feeling he should say something. ‘You’re not looking after your nephews and nieces today?’
‘No, I don’t have dem every day, only on certain days when I’m not at work myself. My sister and I take it in turns to have the pleasure of their company.’ Her eyes simmered with affection.
Head throbbing, he asked where she worked and received the reply that both women were employed by the post office.
‘Does your sister’s husband work there too?’ He was not interested, merely trying to take his mind off his grief.
‘Elizabeth is unwed.’
‘Oh.’ Used to his aunt’s colourful past, he was not as scandalized as some might have been at the news of three illegitimate offspring. In fact this woman here reminded him somewhat of his Aunt Kit, not in appearance but certainly with her deep fondness of children and her inherent kindness. ‘So they’re all called Hercules too. It’s a nice name, unusual.’
‘It’s a slave name,’ she told him without any trace of rancour, pouring boiling water into a teapot and giving it a stir. ‘My grandfather was rescued by the Navy whilst on the way to America. He was liberated and brought to St Helena where he married my grandmother. Her family have been here for centuries. Dey had six children and so did my parents.’
Immediately he thought of his own family, but pushed the image aside. ‘Have you ever left the island, Miss Hercules?’
She shook her head and placed a cup and saucer before him, smiling. ‘No, but I should werry much like to see the Mother Country before I die.’
‘I don’t know how you can bear to live in such isolation.’ He stared dolefully into his empty cup. ‘Knowing the rest of the world is out there.’
‘But that is what I love ’bout it!’ exclaimed Miss Hercules, sitting next to him at the table to pour the tea. ‘This is the only world I know.’ She looked into his eyes, saw how young he was. ‘Of course, I understand that it is different for you. There must be people whom you miss.’
Watching the beverage flow into his cup, he heaved a sigh. ‘There’s just Aunt Kit left now, and my sister Meredith. Since I joined the army the rest of them don’t speak to me. Not that I care.’ The latter was issued with boyish conviction.
Without asking she dropped a spoonful of sugar into his cup and tinkled the spoon around it, her nut brown face showing disbelief. ‘I would be proud if my brother defended the Flag.’
The steam from the kettle and the heat of the fire had made his nose run. Excusing himself he pulled out a damp handkerchief and trumpeted into it, then dabbed assiduously at his moustache before shoving the rag away. ‘Did you never want to marry?’ He would not normally be so blunt but her attitude invited intimacy.
‘I would like to, yes.’ She lifted her cup. ‘But in thirty-six years nobody ever asked me and time flies so quick now.’
He sought to lend a glimmer of hope. ‘My aunt was almost as old as you when she got married, so don’t give up yet. But I know what you mean about the years flying past. Why, I’m almost twenty-two myself! I were barely nineteen when I left home.’
Her eyes gazed into his, delving beyond the attempt at maturity, then with a little smile she proceeded to sip her tea.
Mention of home had brought the hurt flooding back. He drank quickly to stave off the tears, scalding his throat. ‘I should be going.’
Miss Hercules bade him take his time. ‘You have not far to go. Bide a while.’
Reluctant to face Wedlock’s questioning, he nodded and took his tea more slowly. Neither of them spoke for some moments. The light was fading quickly now, though she made no effort to ignite a lamp.
‘When I was young,’ Miss Hercules had adopted a distant stare, the light of the flames dancing over her brown features, ‘I boasted that I would have ten children, and here I am alone.’
‘But you might not always be,’ murmured Probyn throatily.
‘Few men would take a wife who cannot bear a child.’ Her voice had the merest quiver of pain.
‘But how can you be sure? I mean …’ He coughed, trying to dislodge the lump of grief that clogged his throat, ‘I don’t want to be indelicate but if you’ve never been wed how can you be sure you can’t have children?’
She studied his innocent face, pityingly. ‘Because I have a defect of the womb.’
He looked stricken. ‘I’m sorry, I never meant to pry!’ And his eyes fell away quickly.
‘You did not pry. You asked, I told you. Just as you told me ’bout your sadness.’
At the compassion in her voice, tears sprang to his eyes, he could not hold them back. ‘Lord, I feel so stupid!’ He dashed an angry hand to his face.
‘You must not.’ She rose quickly and put her arms around his shoulders, pulling him to her, cradling his head in her bosom, rocking him.
He dared not move but sat there hypnotized, seeing from the corner of his eye a brown hand stroking his cheek, the digits rough against his skin, rough and comforting and loving. Tilting his face, he was presented by a look of such tenderness that he had never known, not even from his mother.
A sudden sense of danger welled, causing the half-hearted protestation, ‘I shouldn’t—’
But she stifled his objection with quick warm lips, her eyes so full of desire that he could not resist. ‘There’s nothing to be afeared of,’ she whispered, and pulled him gently to his feet, and kissed him, thenceforth introducing him to such overwhelming feelings, such indescribable passion, as he had never experienced in his life.
* * *
Laying alongside her afterwards on the fireside rug, caressing the brown limbs that had only moments ago been locked around him, pulling him into her very core and draining him of everything, he could scarcely believe that life could change so drastically within so short a span, and yet perversely it had also seemed like an eternity that they had spiralled together in mid air, suspended in time, deaf and blind to all outside influence, conscious only of each other. It was all totally beyond any fantasy he could have conjured.
And then under the disapproving gaze of the Queen’s bulging eyes came guilt. How could
he do such a thing with his father lying dead and buried? And he shed tears of remorse and loss, wept into Emily’s shoulder whilst she held him, issuing naught but maternal whispers of adoration.
And then they made love again, she to lead and he to follow, but this time the path was a familiar one and he took it with confidence, anticipating its twists and turns, mischievously racing her towards a distant paradise, but never overtaking her, content to let her dance along just one step ahead, gazing with rapture into her face as she lost all reason and finally came back to him, to beckon him onwards to heights of renewed bliss.
It was dark outside now. Sated, and adhered by perspiration to the womanly form beside him, he gave a smiling wince and eased himself away but only in order to face her. ‘I must go, Emily, and I mean it this time.’
Nodding, she kissed him and allowed him to stand, helping him to dress in the firelight, handing over his soldier’s accoutrements one after another.
There was a hint of anxiety as she saw him to the door, a reluctance to let him leave, but she did not voice her fears and kissed him warmly as he promised to call again the moment he could.
However he sensed her mood. ‘Have I done something wrong?’
Emily wrapped a shawl about her against the cold evening and shook her head, smiling.
‘Then what is it?’ He embraced her quickly.
‘I’m afeared that you might be too embarrassed to call on me again.’
‘Embarrassed?’ He was thoroughly perplexed.
‘Because I have witnessed your tears. Some men might not like being reminded—’
‘I’m not like that!’ He squeezed her taller form. ‘Emily, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I can’t wait for us to meet again.’ Before tonight he had assumed that he knew the extent of sexual matters, but the ecstasy that he had enjoyed in this woman’s arms bore not the slightest resemblance to that first sordid coupling with the girl in York. He kissed her fervently, and Emily returned his passion.
Family of the Empire Page 36
