HF - 04 - Black Dawn

by Christopher Nicole

  'You would have me lead you into battle?'

  'We would have you lead us, Mr Richard. You must say where.'

  Dick looked at the black men, waiting in the gloom. Free men, certainly. But they had been slaves, and they had earned their freedom by labour, or gained it through a quirk of white generosity. No man here had fought for it. Besides, the idea was impossible.

  'Even generals need armies, Josh,' he said. 'I have no army. Your people's freedom must be an act of law.'

  'Jamaican law?' someone growled.

  'It will be Jamaican law,' Dick said. 'When the planters show sense.'

  'Prayer will not accomplish that,' Josh said.

  'I think you are right. But they can still be shown, by example. By the Hilton. They will follow his lead. Indeed, they have been following his lead these past fifteen years, which is why things have reached this state.'

  'Will you win your claim?' Josh asked. 'I have heard it said there is no one will vouch for you.'

  'No white person,' Dick agreed. 'They know I am their enemy, or they are afraid of my brother.'

  'And I should not be afraid of your brother?' Josh asked. 'I am a runaway, from Hilltop.'

  'It would mean two hundred lashes,' said one of the men.

  'If your identification should make me once again the Hilton’ Dick said, 'then you have nothing to fear.'

  'Would they take the word of a black man?' asked another voice.

  'He is a reverend’ said another. 'But a runaway’ said a third.

  'They would take the word of a man who risked two hundred lashes’ Dick said.

  'And if they do not?' asked a fourth voice.

  Dick hesitated. But of course the risk was enormous. He could promise nothing. He had promised Judith his protection, but that had not saved her. He looked at Josh, and sighed. 'They are right, Josh. I cannot ask you to do this. The risk is too great.'

  Josh's turn to hesitate. And then to sigh, in turn. And then to smile. 'I prayed for you to come back, Mr Richard. If you don't get Hilltop back, then none of us ever going to be really free. You send for me, man, when you are ready.'

  The tap on the door had him instantly awake, instinctively reaching for the sword which lay by his bed. It was hardly dawn.

  Cartarette sighed, and rolled over, her hand on his arm. The tap came again.

  Gently he eased himself from the bed, dragged on his breeches, tiptoed to the door, his sword in his hand. He released the bolt, allowed the door to swing in.

  'Mr Hilton?' John Mortlake whispered.

  'What's amiss?'

  'Why, sir, perhaps nothing. There is someone to see you.' 'At this hour? And on this day? Court sits at ten.' 'Aye, sir. There's the mystery, and perhaps the hope. 'Tis Mistress Hilton.'

  Dick frowned into the half-light. 'True, sir’ Mortlake insisted. 'You've an empty room?' 'Next door, sir.'

  'Then show her up.' Dick stepped into the corridor, went into the room beside his own, opened the jalousie; light was just reaching along the street. He listened to footsteps in the corridor, watched the door open. He preferred not to anticipate, not to wonder, even. He laid the sword on top of the dressing table.

  Ellen stepped inside, closed the door behind herself. She wore a poke bonnet over a black pelisse, and a veil. But there could be no doubting the identity of that tall figure. She hesitated, looking from him around the room, seeing the sword.

  'How splendid you look,' she said.

  'Even disguised as a monster?'

  'Monsters can be splendid.' She released the ribbon under her chin, took off her bonnet, shook out her hair. 'Today is the day. Are you excited?'

  'No.' He remained on the far side of the room, watching her.

  She placed the bonnet on a chair, glanced at the bed, slowly released her pelisse. 'Are you confident?'

  'I am a confident man.'

  'Ah.' She laid the pelisse beside the bonnet. Her gown was pale green. 'You were not always so.' ‘I have changed.'

  She sat on the bed. 'Indeed you have. I am to give evidence against you.' 'So I believe.'

  'My evidence will destroy you, when taken in conjunction with that of Judith Gale.' 'Perhaps.'

  She frowned at him. 'You do not believe me? You should. And if you lose your case, you will be imprisoned. At the very least.'

  'Did Tony send you here to threaten me?' 'Tony does not know I am here. Neither does James.' 'James?' Dick's turn to frown. 'Hardy? Would it matter if he did?'

  She smiled. 'It would matter. Have you never wondered how two brothers could be so different in character? That puzzled me even in England. Now I know the answer. Two brothers cannot be so different in character. Tony has the ability to project himself as a dominating man. He has not got the strength of character to be a dominating man.'

  Dick nodded, slowly. 'I am beginning to understand.'

  'Without James at his shoulder, he would be nothing. James, and me, of course.'

  'Oh, quite.'

  'But it is you we are discussing. I would not have you go to gaol, Dick. However badly you treated me, I would not wish that on you. You have a pretty little wife, and three charming children. You have never wished to be a planter. You have no friends, here in Jamaica, thus you have no reason to remain. There is a ship in the harbour clearing for England at ten o'clock. At the very moment the court sits. With a little haste you, and your wife, and your children, could be safely on board her, free as the wind. And waiting for you at your very own Bridle's Bank in London would be an order on the Hilltop crop. Shall we say ten thousand pounds a year?'

  'All this, to save me going to gaol?'

  'AH that. And perhaps because I did, once, love you.'

  'Does it not occur to you that you have just ruined yourself as an adverse witness?'

  'I have not admitted your identity. At least, not before a witness.'

  'You are here. Suppose I made you stay?'

  'Then would you be adding kidnapping to the other crimes of which you will certainly be accused. I will merely say that I came here to offer you a settlement out of court, presuming that an impostor such as you is really only in search of money. People will say I was foolish to do so, but no one will condemn me for it. I am Ellen Hilton.' She got up, crossed the room, stood beside him. 'Why do you not make me stay, Dick? I would rather enjoy being manhandled by a monster such as you are become.'

  He inhaled her perfume. If she had come out of fear, she concealed it well. And how much did he want to seize her, but not from love. If Josh's tale was true, he at last knew all her secrets, all the lurking desire behind that secret smile, all the cesspool that was her mind. To touch her would be to break her neck. And she dared remind him of her love.

  Yet in removing her from the arrogant pleasure of being Mistress Hilton of Hilltop, he would be doing her a far greater injury than any physical punishment he could bestow. As she knew, or she had not come this morning.

  'I am touched by your solicitude, Ellen. Thus you have my promise that when I regain Hilltop, I shall give you an income of ten thousand a year, also.'

  Her smile died, her lips became a steel trap. 'Do not be a fool, Dick. I am offering you your only chance of surviving this day a free man.'

  'And I am refusing your offer, Ellen.'

  She stared at him for a moment, then turned to the bed. She put on her pelisse, looked in the mirror to adjust her bonnet. She walked to the door, and there turned. 'I do not know what you hope to achieve,' she said. 'But I promise you this, Dick Hilton. I will destroy you, no matter what the outcome of this case. And as you have rejected me, I will destroy your wife as well. Think about that, Dick. Appear in that court, and you have signed your own death warrant.' She stepped outside, closed the door behind herself.

  'At last.' Cartarette adjusted his cravat, stood back to look at him. 'Confident?'

  He kissed her on the nose. 'I'd be more confident if you were coming.'

  'It will be a long day, and a hard one, for your supporters. We will wait
to hear the outcome from your own lips.' She turned away, sat down.

  'Cartarette . . .' He knelt beside her, arms round her waist to hug himself against her breast, quite upsetting the cravat again; he had told her nothing of his strange dawn visitor, had been back in bed before she awoke. She had enough to worry about. 'Cartarette. How I love you.' He waited, for a moment, could hear nothing but the beat of her heart. And sighed. 'You have inspired me to fight again, and again, for our rights.'

  She kissed him on the forehead. 'And be sure you win, dear Mr Hilton.'

  He gazed at her for a moment. But time, after all these months, was at last pressing. And she had used the word dear for the very first time. It might be unwise to press his fortune further.

  He stood up. 'Oh, aye,' he said. 'I'll win.' He closed the door behind him, gently. She was right about remaining here. Why, she should not have risked going abroad these past two months. And now, after Ellen's threat... the planters would find an easier target in the Claimant's wife and children, than the Claimant himself. His reputation had gone abroad. Black people smiled at him, the little boys and girls ran behind on the street, as they were preparing to do now, shouting and cheering. The white people, if they had anything at all to do with planting, crossed the street to walk on the farther side when they saw him coming. The opposing sides had solidified.

  And yet, he thought, as he went down the stairs, the end was in sight. It had been a long wait, but one intended by the Governor to be entirely in his favour. An unsuccessful wait, alas. Ships had come and gone. His letter had travelled with Morrison on the Green Knight, and Morrison had assured him it had been delivered. But Morrison had brought no reply. And now that he was here again, why, the case had to come to court; Morrison was one of his only two witnesses.

  Harris waited in the lobby, looking suitably grave. With him was a black man, carefully dressed in black, with a white cravat.

  Dick shook their hands. 'Well, Mr Barker. Confident?'

  The barrister smiled at him. 'Oh, aye, Mr Hilton. I have nothing to lose. And an entire reputation to gain should we win.'

  Presumably his honesty was an asset, Dick thought. They walked up the street together, stared at from behind curtains and from the far side of the street, cheered by the rabble who followed them, waved at most ostentatiously by John Mortlake, standing on the verandah of his hotel. 'Any word from Strong?'

  'He is in Kingston, Mr Hilton, and waiting. He will be there this morning. But he feels it best to remain concealed until the court is called to order.'

  'Aye. I wish I could feel more secure in his safety. More secure in anything. Do we have a case, Harris?'

  The mulatto gazed at the ground in front of him as he walked. 'Strong is a powerful witness, Mr Hilton. Had Miss Gale also adhered to us there would be no risk at all.'

  'And with her evidence against me?'

  Barker sighed. 'I will have to destroy her in cross examination.'

  Dick turned his head to look at him. 'You said you risk nothing. Yet she is white, you are black. Will you not also destroy yourself?'

  Barker smiled, but the smile was sad. 'Mr Hilton, have you not sat back and thought, some time during these past few months, how many lives are hanging on this case. I do not think my life is at risk. And I possess nothing else, save my certificate.'

  'My God,' Dick said. Because he hadn't really thought of anyone save himself.

  The courtroom was packed. It was necessary for Reynolds and Harris to sit almost alongside each other, as it was equally necessary for Dick to sit almost alongside Tony immediately behind the two lawyers. Tony merely glanced at him, then stared straight ahead. Ellen was not in court; she would be in the witness room, beside Judith. Her friends were certainly here, Gwynneth Evans and Grace Tresling, and a half a dozen other women, but most of them were veiled.

  And time for speculation was past, as the jury filed in. All planters there, and therefore all hostile. His hope must be in the Governor, here acting as Chief Justice, as this was a civil case. The earl's face was impartially severe.

  Barker had been given the signal by the clerk, and was clearing his throat. Dick could see the beads of sweat standing out on his forehead.

  But his voice was firm, and deep. 'May it please the court,' he said. ‘I represent Mr Richard Hilton . . .'

  He was interrupted by a chorus of boos and hisses from the galleries.

  The earl gazed over the room. 'This court can easily be cleared,' he remarked. 'Indeed, it will be somewhat cooler. Proceed, Mr Barker.'

  'Mr Richard Hilton,' Barker said, even more firmly. 'Who is here today presenting suit to regain rightful title in the plantation known as Hilltop.' He paused, as if expecting another barrage of sound, but this time the court remained quiet. 'My learned friend Mr Calthorpe appears for the present occupant of Hilltop, Mr Anthony Hilton.' He paused again, to bow towards Calthorpe, who gave a brief nod of acknowledgement.

  'The plantation, Hilltop,' Barker said, 'was left to Mr Richard Hilton by his uncle, Mr Robert Hilton. This fact is not disputed. Mr Hilton, accompanied by his brother, Mr Anthony Hilton, came to Jamaica in 1810, and took up residence on the plantation. Four years later Mr Richard Hilton left Jamaica

  suddenly. We need not go into the reasons for his departure ..’

  Calthorpe cleared his throat, very loudly, but did not interrupt.

  'Except to say,' Barker went on, slightly raising his voice, 'that in leaving the island, Mr Hilton had no intention of abandoning his possession of his plantation. Indeed, he intended to return as soon as possible. However, the ship on which he travelled, the Cormorant, was never heard of again. It was, in fact, wrecked on the coast of Haiti. But as no word was heard from Mr Richard Hilton, he was, in the course of time, assumed to be dead, and after the lapse of the term demanded by law, seven years, Mr Anthony Hilton was granted ownership. He had already been in possession, operating the plantation in his brother's name, for those seven years.'

  Barker paused, and looked around the courtroom with the air of a magician about to pull a rabbit from a hat. 'However, Mr Richard Hilton was not dead. He had, in fact, gained the island of Haiti, the sole survivor from the wreck of the Cormorant. And on Haiti he remained, for the next sixteen years. Now it is pertinent to ask why.'

  The jurymen were nodding their agreement.

  'The fact is, Mr Hilton suffered some serious and terrible injuries soon after reaching the land. He fell from a great height, and so disfigured his face that he could scarce recognize himself. This accident was also a severe shock to his system. He lay ill for more than a year, and then he found himself able to take such a part in the life of the community in which he found himself, he wished to remain there for a time. It was in this period that he assumed a false name, that of Matthew Warner. But indeed, my lord, his very choice of this name is an indication of his identity, for the Hilton and Warner families were in the past closely connected, and Anthony Hilton the First and Sir Thomas Warner were the two very first Englishmen to settle in the West Indies.

  'And then, my lord, in the course of time, Mr Hilton regained sufficient health, and sufficient confidence in himself, to return to Jamaica. He anticipated being welcomed by his brother. But on the contrary, my lord, he was rejected. Mr Anthony Hilton professed not to recognize him, and indeed attempted to institute criminal proceedings against him, for fraud. Mr Richard Hilton therefore appears here today, my lord, as a supplicant for a restoration of his legal rights, and it will be my responsibility, and my pleasure, to prove beyond any reasonable doubt that my client is indeed Richard Hilton, the Hilton of Hilltop.'

  He paused, and sat down. The Earl of Belmore glanced at Calthorpe, who was already on his feet.

  'You do not have to say anything at this stage, Mr Calthorpe.'

  'I understand that, my lord. But my point is a simple one. My client counterclaims that the entire case is based upon a fraud, and requests your lordship to dismiss it. The whole list of circumstances related by my . . .' he
gave Barker a glance of total contempt, '. . . learned friend is so obviously a tissue of lies that it is difficult to understand his temerity in presenting it. The Cormorant was lost at sea. That is an indisputable fact. It is possible that Richard Hilton may have survived the wreck. But is it likely that this man, the wealthiest planter in the entire West Indies, would prefer to live in a Negro, a savage, an anarchistic community for sixteen years, when he had but to return to the comfort and security of his Jamaica home? This man, this Claimant, bears absolutely no resemblance to the late Richard Hilton. His case is based upon certain events from Richard Hilton's past, which he appears to remember. Sheer common sense must suggest to this court that these events are hearsay, perhaps related to the Claimant before Richard Hilton's death, perhaps, and more likely, gleaned by his inquiries over the past sixteen years, which indeed informs us why he has waited this long to present his claim. He had to build up his own, false, background, and he had to wait for memories in Jamaica to fade. My lord, it is as plain as a pikestaff that this man is an impostor, and I request this court to dismiss his claim, and to permit the counterclaim, of attempt to defraud, which is accompanied by other charges of criminal nature, to be heard.'