HF - 04 - Black Dawn

by Christopher Nicole

  'He's speechless,' Tony said, contemptuously. 'Try to imagine, Dickie boy, what you will feel like when you flog your first Negress. They strip them, you know, and then they . . .'

  'Be quiet,' Suzanne commanded.

  'Yet it is something that has to be considered,' Matt Hilton said. 'I had supposed I had brought up my sons to regard all human beings as God's creation. No West Indian planter can hold that point of view.'

  It will mean leaving England, Richard thought. Why, he had always dreamed of leaving England, of going out into the world, of earning himself fame and fortune.

  But it would also mean leaving Ellen. And Mother. That was quite impossible. Except that Mother clearly wished him to go.

  'Whenever he eventually wakes up,' Tony said, 'be sure to let me know. In the meanwhile, Mama, can you possibly lend me five guineas? I'm terribly short, and now that Richard is to be heir to a fortune . . .'

  Suzanne sighed. 'You shall have the money, Tony. But Richard is not necessarily heir to a fortune. No doubt your uncle has some such idea at the back of his mind, but obviously he wishes to see Richard, to have him on the plantation, to discover if he is the right sort of person to own a sugar estate . . .'

  'In other words, to corrupt him,' Matt remarked.

  A fortune, Richard thought. Four thousand pounds. There was a fortune, to Ellen. And to Ellen's parents. But Robert Hilton was worth four hundred thousand pounds. No, four million pounds would probably be nearer the mark. That figure would make old Taggart's eyes bulge. He'd be happy to have Richard Hilton as a son-in-law then. Even if it meant a brief separation.

  He suddenly realized that it was probably the only way in which he would ever be acceptable to the Taggarts.

  He raised his head, met his mother's gaze. She was staring at him, willing him to accept, obviously, but not to hurt his father at the same time.

  He crossed the room, knelt beside Matt Hilton's chair. 'But don't you see, Father, that this could be the chance we have all waited for. I don't speak of the money, although heaven knows we can do with it. ..'

  'Blood money,' Matt growled.

  'That can be changed,' Dick insisted. 'That is what I mean. Supposing I do inherit, well then, can we not practise all the beliefs you have ever held?'

  'Oh, yes,' Tony said. 'Free the slaves. Go bankrupt. Get stoned in the street. And don't suppose the blacks will ever thank you. They'll be throwing stones as hard as anyone. You remember St Domingue. I can remember St Domingue. I remember Aunt Georgiana screaming. I . ..'

  'That will do,' Suzanne said. 'We can all remember Georgiana screaming. But that was St Domingue, and it happened because of the revolution in France. It could never happen in a British colony. And certainly never on Hilltop. I think Dick is quite right. It is entirely possible to be both a planter and a Christian. Why, you were a planter, and a Christian, Matt, before you quarrelled with Robert.'

  'It'll all turn out for the best, Father. You'll see.' Dick scrambled to his feet. 'Now, Mama, will you excuse me?'

  Suzanne frowned at him. 'It will be time for dinner in an hour. Where are you off to?'

  Dick smiled at her. 'To the Taggarts, Mama. I'm going to ask Ellen to marry me.'

  The butler regarded him as if he were a beetle. 'I am sorry, sir,' he said. 'But Colonel and Mrs Taggart do not receive, unless a card has been presented beforehand. Do you have a card, sir?'

  'I do not have a card,' Dick said. All the way here he had been repeating to himself, over and over again, I am going to the West Indies, I am going to inherit Hilltop, and Green Grove, I am going to be one of the wealthiest men in the British Empire. Perhaps in the world. But how his resolution and his courage were draining away, now he was actually here. He took a long breath. 'But I shall speak with the colonel, none the less. Tell him Hilton, of Hilltop in Jamaica, is calling.'

  The butler hesitated; in the dim light the shabbiness of Dick's coat, the tarnish on his beaver, were not clearly discernible. 'You had best come in, sir.'

  'Thank you.' Dick entered the hallway. The door closed behind him, and the butler relieved him of his hat. He was inside the Taggart house. For the first time in his life. He gazed at the walnut panelling, the acanthus motif, the paintings, no doubt of previous Taggarts, staring disapprovingly down from the wall. He watched the butler walking ahead of him, to open the double doors to the parlour.

  'I do beg your pardon, colonel, but there is a gentleman insists on seeing you.'

  'Eh? Eh?'

  'What's that, Varley?' asked a woman. 'A gentleman? Give me his card.'

  'The gentleman does not have a card, madam,' Varley explained. 'He says he is Hilton, of Hilltop in Jamaica.'

  'Eh? Eh?' Varley was pushed aside, to allow the colonel into the hall. 'Hilltop? Jamaica, you say. Why . . .' Colonel Taggart paused, and frowned. He was surprisingly short, for Ellen's father, and had big, rather vacant features. His head was quite bald save for a fringe of hair over the ears, but he attempted to compensate by wearing an enormous pair of moustaches, which drooped on either side of his lips. Now the moustaches, and the eyebrows, seemed to come together as he peered at his visitor. 'I know you, sir. Why . . .'

  'Richard Hilton, Colonel Taggart.' Dick stepped past him, entered the room. 'Mistress Taggart.' His heart was pounding fit to burst.

  'Richard Hilton?' There could never be any argument that this was Ellen's mother. Indeed, it was a rather startling thought that Ellen herself would look like this in twenty years' time, the long face, the prominent nose and chin, and even more prominent teeth, the high, rather strained voice, the towering coiffure of fading brown hair.

  'Why, Mr Hilton,' cried Aunt Julia Taggart. 'Mr Hilton?

  'Dick.' Ellen put down her needlework and hastily got up. 'Oh, my Lord, Dick?'

  'Gad, sir,' Taggart shouted, following him into the room. 'You are the young lout who has been pestering my daughter. Gad, sir. Varley, fetch my whip.'

  'The bank clerk?' Mrs Taggart asked, her tone suggesting she was at the very least blaspheming.

  'Dick?' Ellen asked again, watching the colour rise in his cheeks and then fade again. She could tell how nervous he was.

  'The whip, Varley. The whip,' Taggart was shouting. 'Breaking in here, sir, under false pretences. Why . . .'

  Dick had got his breathing back under control. 'If you will permit me, sir,' he said, 'I meant exactly what I said. I leave for Jamaica on the first available ship, to assume the management of my Uncle Robert's plantations. Hilltop, as you may be aware, is only one of the Hilton estates in the West Indies.'

  'Jamaica,' cried Mrs Taggart.

  'Jamaica? You, Dick?' Ellen sat down again as if her knees had suddenly lost their strength.

  'Aaaaah,' said Aunt Julia, and fainted.

  'Jamaica?' Taggart bellowed. 'Oh, my God, she's gone. Varley, the salts. Quickly, man.'

  Ellen regained her strength, hurried across the room to kneel beside her aunt and pat her hands and face. 'Aunt Julia, Aunt Julia, Dick meant no harm.'

  'I'm terribly sorry, truly I am,' Dick gabbled, all his courage having finally fled. 'I wished Ellen, I wished you all to know. My uncle has sent for me. I am to be his heir.'

  'The salts, sir,' Varley said from the doorway. He also carried a riding whip, in his left hand, but did not offer it.

  'Here. Wake her up.' Taggart gave the bottle to his daughter. 'Varley, bring out the brandy. You'd best sit down, lad, and tell us about it. And you'd better be speaking the truth.'

  Dick perched on the edge of a straight chair, watched Ellen moving the bottle slowly to and fro beneath her aunt's nose. 'Will she be all right?'

  'Of course she'll be all right. She only does it for effect. Now come on, lad, speak up. Jamaica?' 'Yes, sir.'

  'By the first available ship?' 'Yes, sir.'

  'Jamaica,' Ellen muttered. 'Oh, aunt, you are all right?'

  'It's so terrible,' Aunt Julia complained, opening her eyes and sitting up. 'Breaking in here. Really, Mr Hilton, you deserve to be whip
ped. Really you do.'

  'Oh, do be quiet, Julia,' her brother suggested. 'Mr Hilton is going to Jamaica. To be a planter. Aye, here . . .' He seized the two glasses from the tray presented by the butler, handed one to Dick. 'Drink up, lad. Jamaica. There's the life for a young fellow. Planting with Robert Hilton. Gad, sir, the Empire could do with more like him. Your uncle, eh? You, young lady,' he shouted at Ellen. 'Why did you never tell me this lad was Robert Hilton's nephew?'

  'I did, Papa,' Ellen said, standing in front of them. 'Are you really leaving England, Dick?'

  Dick sipped his brandy, felt his chest explode into flame, and confidence. 'I came straight round to tell you. I must, Ellen. It is my entire future, opening before me. Will you wait for me?'

  'Eh? Eh? What's this?' Taggart bellowed.

  'Wait for you, Dick? Oh, of course I'll wait for you.'

  'Ellen,' boomed her mother. 'Whatever are you saying? Colonel Taggart, these young people are mad.'

  'Wait? What's this? Wait?' Taggart bawled.

  Dick stood up, finished his brandy, set down the glass. How simple life was suddenly become. It was merely a matter of declaring one's intentions. 'I have the honour to ask for Ellen's hand in marriage, sir.'

  'Good God,' cried Colonel Taggart.

  'Dick,' Ellen cried. 'Oh, you darling.'

  'Marriage?' said Mrs Taggart. 'Good heavens.'

  'Aaaah,' said Aunt Julia, once more subsiding.

  'Ellen is only seventeen,' Colonel Taggart pointed out.

  'Now, really, Papa,’ she protested.

  'Jamaica?' Mrs Taggart said. 'All those black people?'

  'She will be mistress of the finest plantation in the world, Mrs Taggart,' Dick explained. 'And of course, sir, I realize that we cannot be married immediately.'

  'Dick!'

  'No, no, Ellen,' he said. 'Your father is quite right about that. I must go, and see what it is like, and make my mark with my uncle, and then I can send for you. I but came tonight to ask you to wait for me, as I said.'

  'Bless my soul.' Colonel Taggart gazed at his wife. 'Robert Hilton's nephew. Why wasn't I told? Why wasn't I told?'

  'Jamaica,' Mrs Taggart said. 'It is across the ocean. Oh, my God, Ellen, you cannot travel across the ocean.'

  'Why not?'

  'Well, there are storms. And privateers. There is a war on. Have you forgotten that?'

  'There are few privateers any more, Mrs Taggart,' Dick said. 'The Navy has seen to that. Anyway, it will be at least a year before Ellen comes out, so . . .'

  'A year?' Ellen cried.

  'Well, I. . . there will be a great deal to be done. To be prepared. But when the time is ready, I will come back for her, Mrs Taggart. For you, Ellen. We shall be married here in London, and honeymoon our way across the ocean.'

  'Robert Hilton's nephew,' Colonel Taggart said. 'Well, well. We must discuss this, Charlotte. Oh, indeed. Come with me, and we'll have a talk. Julia. Julia, for God's sake wake up. We must have a chat.'

  Mrs Taggart got up. 'Ellen?'

  ‘I think Ellen should stay here, and entertain Mr Hilton, while we discuss this,' Colonel Taggart said.

  'Then had not Julia better stay as well?' Mrs Taggart inquired.

  Colonel Taggart seized his wife by one arm, his sister by the other, half carried them to the door. 'I am sure Mr Hilton would prefer to be alone with Ellen, my dears. After all, they are betrothed. There can be no impropriety. You'll stay to supper, Mr Hilton. Simple fare, I'm afraid, but good company, sir. Good company. And the best port. Oh, yes, indeed.' The doors closed behind them.

  'My God,' Dick said. 'I am shaking like a jelly.'

  Ellen gazed at him for some seconds. 'Is it all true?' she asked at last. 'I think I am dreaming.'

  'So do I. Constantly. But it is all true. I am to take the first ship.'

  'And Papa has said yes. Oh, Dick.'

  He reached for her hands, checked. He had once kissed her cheek, quickly and surreptitiously.

  'You are just a jelly,' she said, softly, and freed her hands, to slide them up his arms, round his neck. Her body was against him, and his own fingers were closing on her shoulders. He felt a terrific pressure building up inside himself, as if he would burst. 'I love you, Dick,' she said, in hardly more than a whisper. 'I am so happy.' She kissed him on the mouth, lightly, waited for a moment, their lips pressed together, then allowed her tongue to come out and stroke across his, and then suddenly held him close and seemed to fill his mouth. She tasted faintly sweet, and he realized she must be tasting his brandy. He had never touched a woman's tongue before. He had never been able to afford to buy, and had been too shy to attempt to pursue and possess. Saving Ellen, and theirs had been a clandestine romance beginning that autumn day last year when he had raised his hat, and been rewarded with a smile, progressing through hasty snatches of conversation to holding hands, and the one immortal moment when Aunt Julia had left her gig to talk to a friend and he had kissed Ellen on the cheek, and discovered then that they loved each other.

  'Dick,' she whispered in his ear. 'Oh, Dick. Hold me close, Dick. Dick . . .' She drew him down on to the couch, seized his hands, and guided them round her waist to slide up the hardness of her stays to the sudden softness above.

  'Ellen,' he begged. 'No. We must wait.'

  'Wait?' she demanded. 'With you about to leave England, for a year, you say.'

  'Only a year, sweetheart,' he said. 'Only a year. And then..’

  'Then why not now?' she asked fiercely.

  ‘I . . . ' How to say, I scarce know how to go about it? Indeed I do not know how to go about it. How to say, I am so excited, by the event, so terrified of my own boldness in being here at all that I would never manage the necessary erection? 'Ellen, just a year. It is not so long to wait. And then, my darling, then, we shall have our entire lives together, with no risk of interruption, no risk of impropriety . . .'

  'Impropriety,' she said, and released him, moving to the far end of the settee. 'And will you wait for a year also, Dick?'

  'Of course,' he said. 'I swear it, Ellen. Just say you'll marry me.' He attempted a smile. 'You have not said so, yet.'

  'Tell me about Hilltop,' she said. 'Is it really the finest plantation in the West Indies?'

  'In the world.'

  'Oh . . .' she panted. 'How big is it?'

  Dick did a hasty calculation. 'About ten thousand acres.'

  'Ten thousand ... I don't believe you.'

  'Twenty square miles, Mother always said. That's more than ten thousand acres. And the Great House is a palace, Mother says. An army of servants, a drawing room the size of this house, a piano . . . you'll be mistress of all that, Ellen.'

  'Mistress Hilton,' she murmured, 'of Hilltop in Jamaica. Angela Coleman will be green. Oh, I'll marry you, Dick. Only a year. Be sure it is only a year.'

  He sang as he walked back through the Park, flicking at the flowers with his cane, disturbing more than one courting couple with his boisterous passage, enjoying the soft spring air on his face, the loom of the rising moon peeping through the trees, the distant rumble of the traffic on the Lane and down Grosvenor Street. Colonel Taggart's port bubbled in his veins, the scent of Ellen filled his nostrils, the touch of her hand, of her lips as they had been allowed another brief moment alone together before parting, seemed imprinted on his flesh. It was the most glorious evening of his life, he decided. There was nothing which had ever happened which could possibly stand comparison. He could not, indeed, envisage anything ever happening in the future to compare. Except of course the night they were wed.

  And even that could have been his, this night, had he wished. The song disappeared with the smile, and he sloped his cane across his shoulder as he walked into the darkness. She would have surrendered everything a woman should most hold dear, on the spot. And indeed, had become angry when he would not accept her surrender.

  Of course, in retrospect, she would be grateful for his forbearance. And himself? Now, he felt like it. Now his breeches were
full. Now he would seek out the lowest whore to spend his desire as rapidly as possible. And now he had given his word, to remain chaste for a year.

  It had been the correct, the only thing to do, in the circumstances. His instincts had not played him false. Yet the fact was, he had known nothing but cold fright at the prospect of Ellen; Ellen, with all that her body, her mind, her personality, her very name, meant to him, surrendering to his passion. He had been afraid that she would be disappointed, that he would be disappointed, that they would not have the time to survive the slightest setback, that they might be interrupted to compound a catastrophe, that... it would all be different when they were married. Once that was accomplished, all difficulties would melt away, because they would be tied to each other, unable to escape, forced to love each other, or hate each other. What a remarkable thought.