‘No, he’s from Africa. We met in London.’
My singer smiled and launched into another verse:
‘If me want for go in a Kingston,
Me can’t go there!
Since Massa go in a England,
Me can’t go there!’
I plucked a leaf from a bush and rolled it between my fingers. ‘Actually, the new massa is sitting in the house.’ Then I suddenly had what I considered a brilliant idea. ‘Do you want me to ask him if you can audition for Mrs Peabody? She is always on the lookout for new talent.’
He stopped digging again and looked over at the girl.
‘You hear dat, Jenny? De buckra gal make me a big massa – dat no problem for her.’ He chuckled but the girl glared at me.
‘Why you tease him?’ she asked, flapping her apron at me as if I were a goose she wanted to drive off the vegetable patch. ‘We not want you here.’
‘But I’m serious!’ I exclaimed. ‘I meant no offence.’
‘Leave de buckra gal. She have too much of de sun.’ The man tapped his head.
It was true I’d stormed off without my parasol, but that was the extent of my madness and I did not like anyone to suggest otherwise.
‘I’ll ask Mr Shepherd today,’ I announced, refusing to be discouraged from doing my good turn. ‘He’ll listen to me.’ Turning on my heels, I took a step towards the big house.
‘No!’ A warm, rough hand the size of a dinner plate grabbed my elbow, swinging me round. The singer let go of me immediately, holding up empty palms to show me he meant no harm. ‘Me no lay finger on you, missy, but you must not do dat. You make trouble for Moses if you go tellin’ massa me want to leave.’
‘But you have an amazing voice! It shouldn’t be wasted.’
‘No matter what voice Moses have, Moses is good worker, not trouble-maker.’ He must have read something of my confusion for he added in a lower tone. ‘Dey kill trouble-makers, missy.’
I realized at last that I was only distressing the man for whom I had thought to do a favour. ‘All right, if you really do not want me to say anything, I won’t.’
He patted me heavily on the shoulder, then dropped his palm quickly, concerned he had taken too much of a liberty. ‘Tank you, missy,’ he said, clasping his hands behind his back.
‘Come, sit in de shade,’ called Jenny, trying to make amends for her earlier hostility. ‘Your nose is as red as de chilli pepper.’
Taking heed of her vivid if somewhat unflattering description, I came through the little wicket gate and accepted a stool in the shelter of the back wall.
‘I’m sorry if I upset you,’ I told Moses. ‘It’s just when I hear a talent like yours, I can’t help but want to bring it to the attention of other people. My best friend Pedro is a violinist; it didn’t occur to me that you would not be allowed to be a musician too.’
Billy had been right: I was hopelessly naïve about some things – what it meant to be a field slave for one.
‘Your Pedro, he be lucky.’ Moses took a draft of water from a half-coconut shell. ‘Is he free?’
‘He is now. He used to belong to a Mr Hawkins.’
Moses shuddered. ‘Dat Mr Hawkins – he be old massa.’
‘Is Hawkins still in Jamaica?’ I gasped as I imagined a most unpleasant reunion.
‘Massa Hawkins lose crop in de hurricane, and so he had to sell de penn to de new massa from London to pay debts. He go now to his other penn in Trelawny Parish, a much poorer man.’ Moses chuckled at the thought.
That explained how Billy had come to be involved in this particular estate.
‘Hawkins is a nasty piece of work: you’re well rid of him. I can’t imagine Mr Shepherd will be worse. He told me he wants to make money out of the estate so I don’t think he’ll ill-treat you.’
Moses shrugged. ‘Me no can do noting if he do mistreat us.’
Feeling we had reached an understanding, I returned to my earlier question. ‘So, Mr Moses, will you tell me about your song?’
‘Mr Moses – you hear dat, Jenny! Me be Moses, just Moses, missy. But my voice – dat noting special. Many of us sing. What else be dere for us? It keeps de soul alive.’
‘Yes, it would; I can see that. Will you teach me the words?’
He looked hard at me. ‘You no laugh at Moses?’
‘Absolutely not. I’d be grateful. I heard a song when I first arrived but I want to add some more to my repertoire.’ I sang the mocking ditty the canoe women had sung to greet the Running Sally. Jenny joined in, surprising me with a rich alto.
‘Can everyone sing here?’ I grinned at them both.
‘No, Old Barney have de voice like de sawmill,’ said Moses with a matching expression. ‘Birds fall from de sky when he sing. Me take you to him one day and he show you.’
Jenny poked her father. ‘Tatta, don’t be cruel to poor Missy Red-nose.’
‘Cat Royal,’ I supplied, thinking it far better to drop the ‘red-nose’ from her vocabulary.
‘Oi, Cat!’ called a voice from the lane.
My new friends sprang to their feet.
‘Yes, Billy?’ I replied wearily.
He marched into the garden as if he owned it – which he did, of course. ‘When you’ve finished spreading rebellion among my slaves, it’s time to go.’
Moses and Jenny stood nervously behind me in the presence of their master. I felt a jolt of anger: they had no need to be ashamed in front of a grub like Billy Shepherd.
‘Mr Moses and Miss Jenny, may I introduce you to the new master of this estate, Mr Billy Shepherd.’ I swept my hand towards him as if this were a drawing room rather than the back step of a hut. ‘Mr Shepherd, I don’t know if you’ve had the chance to make the acquaintance of two very important employees of your farm. Good workers, both of them.’
Billy strode to my side and took my elbow. ‘What you playin’ at?’ he murmured in my ear. ‘I won’t look kindly on any attempt to make trouble ’ere.’
‘No need to worry. I did try to turn them to my free-thinking ways and they rejected all my lures. Loyal to the bone, they are. I’m sure you’ll treasure them according to their worth. Both seem very good investments to me.’
Billy put his hands on his hips, glancing between me and my two new acquaintances. ‘That good, are they? I tell you what, Cat: I’ll make you a present of the girl.’
My jaw dropped. ‘You’d give me one of your slaves?’
‘Why not? You need a maid, don’t you?’
‘I’ve never had a maid; I’ve only ever been one.’ I took a panicked look at Jenny: she seemed as astounded as I by this development.
‘But now you’re a star of the stage, you’ll need someone to look after you, fix your costumes and all that,’ Billy continued smoothly. ‘You can share ’er with Miss Atkins.’
‘That’s very generous of you.’ My mind began to work through the options: I could give Jenny a new start, restore her freedom, make friends with her hopefully.
Billy held up a finger. ‘But there’s one condition.’
‘Only one?’
‘That you don’t free her.’
His plan became all too clear. ‘You slimy, double-crossing –’
‘Now, now, Cat, don’t go shockin’ my people with your foul language. I want you to be a slave owner. It’ll do you the power of good to take on the responsibility, teach you a thing or two about life.’
I couldn’t do it. I turned to Jenny. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t want to own anyone.’
‘And if you refuse,’ continued Billy smoothly, ‘I’ll put Jenny here to work in the fields for the rest of the summer. Been a house slave up till now, ’aven’t you, sweetheart?’
Jenny’s eyes went wide with shock. She must be cursing the day for bringing me to her back gate. ‘Yes, massa.’
‘Tell Miss Royal that you want to work cutting cane for the rest of the season.’
Moses gasped and swallowed a protest.
‘Me want . . . me want . . .�
�� Jenny couldn’t bring herself to tell such a flagrant lie. Her fingers clutched her apron convulsively. ‘Please, missy, me be your maid. Me be faithful, good gal.’
I clenched my fists and groaned.
‘Yeah, I always knew you’d come round to my point of view, Cat. She’s all yours.’
There I stood, Cat Royal, Drury Lane foundling and now slave owner. I’d never felt more ashamed of myself. I turned to my new maid. ‘I’m so sorry that I’ve got you into this, Jenny. I don’t have much money, but I’ll make sure you get paid and fed and clothed.’
Billy chuckled. ‘You don’t need to pay ’er. You seem to be missin’ the point of ’avin’ slaves.’
‘Yes, I do need to pay her. She may technically be a slave but to me she’s as good as free and I’ll do my best by her.’
Knowing he’d won this round, Billy jerked his head towards the hut. ‘Pack your things, Jenny. I want to get back to Kingston.’ He looked down at me and cracked his knuckles. ‘Well, this ’as been most amusin’. I always said you gave me good value, Cat.’
‘I hate you, Billy.’ I folded my arms grumpily across my chest and scowled.
He ruffled my hair in an annoyingly patronizing manner. ‘Nah, you don’t.’
SCENE 2 – EXPLANATIONS
Georgie said nothing to me about our new maid. I guessed that Billy had informed her of his gift and she accepted it as perfectly natural. After all, he’d already given me a valuable necklace; in Jamaica, a slave was not so surprising. Taking the development in her stride, she welcomed Jenny to our little chamber, discussed sleeping arrangements and ran through her duties. Georgie and I shared the only bed, so Mrs Edwards dug out an old mattress for Jenny which could be laid down by the door when we all retired for the night. I expressed a concern that it might be draughty, but Jenny assured me that it was quite comfortable and better than she expected.
When Georgie left us alone for a moment, I seized Jenny’s wrist and began apologizing again.
Jenny held up a hand to stay my flow of words. ‘Really, missis, me be happy with dis. You kind buckra; me happy slave.’
I slapped my forehead. Missis? If only she knew how much I hated to hear myself called that. ‘But I’ve taken you away from your father, your friends. I’ve no idea how I’ll free you.’
Jenny shrugged and moved to my trunk and began shaking out my crumpled clothes. ‘Me trust you to do what be right.’
‘And I won’t let you down, Jenny; that’s my solemn vow.’
‘Fine, missis. Now let me mend dese tings for you.’
I slumped on the bed. ‘You sew?’
‘Yes, missis.’
I now understood how having a maid could become a very seductive idea. My resistance was rapidly turning into gratitude. ‘Well,’ I hesitated, ‘a number of my stockings have holes and the shift is ripped at the hem . . .’
‘Don’t you worry about dat, missis. Jenny fix all as good as new.’
Despite feeling uncomfortable about my maid doing my chores, I was now left with a few hours on my hands. I decided to spend them with Pedro, in part because I needed to confess to him what had happened. If he thought I was right to take Jenny, then I knew I wouldn’t feel so bad about myself.
As my earlier excursion had taught me that it was not a good idea to venture out alone, I sought Jim to see if he would accompany me on the trip to the Running Sally. I found him propping up the bar next door, nursing a brandy, and charming his companions with a stream of witty anecdotes about life back in Boston. Always ready to oblige a lady, as he put it, he needed little persuasion to be my escort.
The sun was low in the sky as the boatmen rowed us across the bay. Lolling with his hat over his eyes to shut out the glare, Jim only sat up straight when we approached our destination.
‘Ahoy, Running Sally! Two to come aboard,’ he called.
Pedro’s face appeared at the side. When he saw who it was, he waved back enthusiastically and threw down a line.
‘Need a chair, Cat?’ he asked with a cheeky grin, referring to the wooden seat let down for ladies.
‘You jest, I hope?’ I hadn’t spent months in His Majesty’s Navy to mess around with equipment for the landlubber. To prove my point, I tied my skirts at the side to stop them billowing in an unseemly fashion and swarmed up the rope.
Jim whistled appreciatively. ‘Where you learn to do that, Miss Cat?’
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ I called back.
He climbed up more slowly and heaved himself over the rail. ‘I brought you a present, Pedro,’ he announced, fishing in the bag slung over his shoulder. ‘All the latest sheet music I could get my hands on.’
I wished I’d thought to bring such a gift. But then, my resources were very tight just at the moment, what with the expense of fitting out Jenny with a suit of clothes and shoes, extra food . . .
Pedro’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he took the parchment. He caressed it lovingly. ‘Handel’s Water Music? Brilliant!’
‘And rather appropriate considering the view.’ Jim gestured towards the sea. ‘The rest are just hymns and such. Good tunes though.’
Pedro shook Jim fervently by the hand. ‘Thank you, Jim. They’re a godsend. I’ve been wretchedly bored.’
I gave my friend a hug. ‘It’s good to see you, Pedro. Are they treating you well?’
He gestured us to take seats on a coil of rope. ‘Yes, they’re good people. They’ll take me with them – if I want to go, that is.’
‘Where are they off to next?’
‘Mexico.’
‘Mexico!’
‘I know. I’ve no desire to go, but what choice do I have?’ He rubbed his head wearily, as if tired of this debate. No doubt he had been thinking of little else since being refused entry to Kingston. ‘Enough of that – tell me how things are with you.’
Jim lit a pipe and slumped back on the rope. ‘Our little Miss Cat here turned out to be the star of the show.’
I grinned and hugged my knees.
‘Really?’ Pedro wrinkled his brow. ‘Let me guess – you had to take over from Hetty?’
I nodded. ‘She couldn’t get past the first line. I was whisked on as her understudy.’
Pedro punched me lightly on the shoulder. ‘Good for you. I knew you had it in you.’
My brief pleasure at impressing him was rapidly clouded by the rest of my news. ‘There’s something I need to tell you. An old friend has turned up.’
‘Oh?’ Pedro cocked an eyebrow. ‘Anyone I know?’
‘Billy Shepherd.’
He choked. ‘That’s not funny.’
‘No, it isn’t. He’s been looking for me.’
‘And found you.’
‘’Fraid so.’
‘And what’s he doing?’
‘Aside from being worryingly generous to me, he’s set himself up as a planter and donated me a slave called Jenny.’
Pedro gave me an uncompromising look. ‘You refused, of course.’
‘You don’t understand. He made it so I couldn’t – threatened to make Jenny work in the fields if I didn’t accept her.’
‘Then you freed her.’
I shook my head miserably. Pedro jumped to his feet and strode away.
‘He made me promise I wouldn’t.’ Pedro’s back was rigid: he was furious. ‘She’s from one of your old master’s plantations – Billy’s bought it. The work in the fields is cruel. She said she’d prefer to take her chance with me.’
Pedro swung round, hands clenched at his side. ‘And your promise to Shepherd means more than her freedom?’
‘No, of course not!’ I was indignant that he could think such a thing of me. ‘But Billy’s not given me her papers yet – said he’d take her back if I try to break our agreement. I’m trying to think of a way around it.’
‘But for the moment you’re a slave owner.’
‘Yes.’ My voice was a whisper.
‘I thought you were different.’ His eyes sparkled
with cold fury, almost as if he thought he was seeing me properly for the first time.
‘I am! You know I am!’
He shrugged and turned away. ‘We’ll see after you’ve got used to having someone run after you and look after all your needs. Next you’ll say you can’t do without her – that you are a kind mistress who knows what’s best for a poor ignorant slave girl.’
I gave a snort. ‘You really think I’d say anything like that? After all these years as my friend, you believe me capable of that?’
‘Don’t you like having a maid?’
‘Yes, but –’
‘You’re already falling into the trap, Cat. I expect that’s what Billy wants.’
‘I expect he does, Pedro, but I won’t forget what this is all about. I don’t want to own anyone.’
‘We’ll see.’ From his brittle tone, Pedro’s disappointment was all too clear. ‘Hadn’t you better be getting back to your slave?’
‘If I’ve outstayed my welcome, I suppose I should,’ I replied stiffly. I felt as if I was being sent away in disgrace and it didn’t seem fair. ‘But Pedro, what would you have done in my position?’
He folded his arms and leant back against the side. ‘But I’d never be in your position, would I?’
‘Oh, Pedro. Don’t hate me for this, please! I promise Jenny will be all right – I’ll make sure of that.’
‘Thanks for coming, Jim.’ Pedro held out his hand, pointedly ignoring me.
‘Goodbye, Pedro,’ I said, offering my palm.
‘Mistress,’ he replied mockingly, giving me an obsequious bow.
‘Don’t!’
Seeing my hurt expression, he struggled with himself for a moment then gave me a swift hug. ‘Goodbye, Cat.’
Once back in the boat, I gazed up at the hull of the ship looming high over our little boat, water reflections rippling on the wood. At this angle, I could no longer see Pedro – yet another barrier had sprung up between us. Jim jumped in after me, making the boat rock. The oarsmen steadied the craft with their blades and grumbled that he should sit down quickly. With a cheery apology, Jim obeyed then turned a curious look on me.
‘Your friend is very hard on you,’ he said, nodding back at the Running Sally.
Black Heart of Jamaica Page 7
