Black Heart of Jamaica

by Julia Golding

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed miserably.

  ‘It’s not like him. I thought he was fond of you.’

  ‘He is most of the time, but now he’s furious and this is his way of punishing me. I expect he’ll come round when he’s had time to calm down.’

  As the men bent their backs to row us ashore, the sweet sound of a violin drifted across the water from the Running Sally. Pedro was playing Amazing Grace. I remembered him once telling me it was a hymn written by the repentant slave trader John Newton: an unsubtle reproof to me if ever there was one.

  Returning to find my room neatly ordered, my mending done and my night-robe laid out on the bed gave a further twist of the knife to my guilty conscience. I couldn’t enjoy being spoiled when I knew to whom I owed the pleasure. Jenny looked up when she saw me on the threshold and leapt to her feet, tugging her apron straight.

  ‘Missis tired? Me fetch your supper?’

  ‘Sit down, sit down,’ I answered wearily. ‘You don’t have to jump up every time I come in. In fact, I’d much prefer it if you treated me like your friend and stopped calling me “missis”.’

  Jenny obeyed my order and resumed her seat, twisting her fingers restlessly in her lap. ‘But you be my missis. You not sorry you take pity on Jenny? You not send her back? You not like my work?’

  Somehow I’d managed to upset her with my clumsy attempts to put her at her ease. I now knelt at her side and trapped her hands in mine, making her meet my gaze.

  ‘Look, Jenny, you have to understand that you don’t have to prove your worth to me. You’re a good maid, I can see that. I just want you to understand that I do not believe in slavery. I can’t think of you as my possession. I’ll employ you as my maid but I’d much prefer to make a proper friend of you.’

  She looked at me warily, suspicious of my intentions.

  ‘I know it’s hard for you to understand but maybe it would help if you knew more about me.’

  Jenny ventured a smile. ‘Missis want to tell story? Me like dat.’

  ‘My name’s Cat.’

  She nodded. ‘Missis Cat.’

  It was no good. I had to live with the fact that she wouldn’t change the habits of a lifetime on so brief an acquaintance. Searching for a way to make her see me on her own level, I told her how I too had been a maid and worked for no wages but board and lodging. I explained that where I came from there were no slaves and I could not accept that her liberty was something that could be taken from her. At the end of my narrative, Jenny swallowed and looked down on me with scared brown eyes.

  ‘So Missis not want look after Jenny?’

  After the upsetting encounter with Pedro, I was finding this explanation almost too much for my depressed spirits. ‘Jenny, what I’m trying to say is that I want to be your friend.’

  ‘But buckra not friend.’ Jenny got up and walked to the window. ‘Useless slave, dey sent into bush, dey starve. Me ask Missis Georgie to care for me.’

  I groaned. I could almost see Billy’s smirking expression as I backed down. ‘You don’t have to ask Georgie anything. You’re my responsibility, Jenny. You’ll have food and lodging as I promised for as long as I have them myself.’

  My slave gave a curt nod of understanding. ‘You want Jenny now?’

  What could I say in answer to such an appeal? Suppressing a groan at the betrayal of myself, I patted her arm. ‘Yes, I want you. I’ll look after you.’

  She clapped hands in relief and spun round. ‘Me get your supper now?’

  Surrendering to the inevitable, I gestured to the door. ‘Yes, Missis Cat is ready for her supper.’

  The following day was mercifully busy, spent reworking As You Like It with me as Rosalind. When Georgie and I arrived with our new maid, the members of the theatre company accepted Jenny without a murmur. Mrs Peabody found her employment in the wardrobe with Hetty, assisting in the tricky task of altering the costumes from Hetty’s statuesque form to my slight figure. From what I could see, Jenny was thoroughly enjoying herself, tape measure draped round her neck like a badge of office.

  As for me, with Georgie’s help, I had little trouble smoothing out the snags in my performance and I managed to remember my moves, or what we theatre folk call the blocking, after several walk-throughs of the main scenes. I had never been more grateful to the Bard for providing my imagination with something so absorbing that I could temporarily ignore my fall from grace into the ranks of the slave owners. But even without consciously thinking about it, the outlines of a plan began to take shape in my mind. If I could just get Jenny’s papers from Billy, it would then be in my power to free her. As Pedro had so forcefully pointed out, my bargain with Billy weighed little in the scales against her freedom. From what Jenny had said, liberty was no use without some means of support. I had hopes that if she made herself indispensable to Mrs Peabody, she might get taken on as part of the ensemble. And there was always her voice . . .

  But first I had to get those papers – and that meant seeking out Billy and persuading him that he could trust me with them.

  ‘Georgie, do you know where Captain Bonaventure and Mr Shepherd are lodging?’ I asked my friend as we changed back into our street clothes.

  A slight blush warmed Georgie’s golden complexion at the mention of Bonaventure. ‘The captain stays on his ship. But I believe your friend might be found at the Kingston Coffee House when he is not out on the penn. It’s where the gentlemen meet to do business.’

  I wrinkled my nose. ‘Doesn’t sound very female-friendly.’ I’d had an unfortunate experience in a gentlemen’s club and did not want to repeat the experience.* ‘Would you mind coming with me, Georgie? I want to ask Billy for Jenny’s deed of ownership.’

  She tied her bonnet strings neatly under her chin. ‘Of course. But I doubt he’ll be ready to hand it over.’

  ‘I’ve got to try.’

  Taking my hand and giving it a squeeze, Georgie searched my face for a clue to my intentions. ‘I know this is hard for you, Cat, but Jenny’s a good girl. You’ll do her no favours by freeing her. If you have her best interests at heart, you’ll go on as you have, treating her with courtesy and looking after her needs. If you do that, she’ll serve you faithfully.’

  Her counsel was exactly what Pedro had warned against: the assumption that as the mistress I knew best. I didn’t want to argue the point with Georgie so I reached for my bonnet and tied the strings loosely.

  ‘I promise I’ll not do anything rash, but I do want those papers.’

  Leaving the theatre arm in arm, we strolled down North Parade, admiring the soldiers in their red coats as they marched through their drills. A party of horsemen in blue jackets with scarlet capes rode by, causing heads to turn, though I have to admit most of my interest was reserved for the beautiful horses.

  ‘That’s the Horse Militia,’ Georgie explained as the jingling bridles and clatter of hooves faded. ‘They’re the elite force made up of local gentlemen – it costs a fortune to buy a commission.’

  ‘They look like very fine peacocks in their uniform.’

  ‘It’s not just for show. Jenny told me they’ve doubled their exercises since the San Domingo revolt. They fear the same will happen here.’

  Bleakly, I wondered how Georgie had managed to get Jenny to chat so freely about such things when all my conversations had been so painful. Perhaps it was because Jenny and Georgie both accepted our situation; I was the only one fighting it.

  Arriving outside the Kingston Coffee House, we sent in a message asking Billy to come out to see us. Peering inside I could just make out a long dark room partitioned off into cubicles to give the businessmen privacy for their confidential talks. A waiter wove between the tables serving the customers little cups of black coffee. Georgie tugged me out of the way as three naval officers entered, giving us assessing looks as they passed. After a few moments, the door swung open again, releasing a delicious waft of roast coffee beans, and Billy emerged.

  ‘Ladies,’ he bowed. ‘To what
do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Would you care to walk a while with us?’ I asked, side-stepping the question for the moment.

  With a grin, he offered us each an arm and led us towards the sea promenade. ‘You make me the envy of every gentleman in Kingston.’

  Suppressing a snort, I kept my eyes on the glittering water.

  We paused to allow a fisherman past with his catch of silver fish.

  ‘So, how’s that little slave girl turning out, Cat?’ Billy asked.

  ‘Splendid, thank you.’

  Dropping my arm abruptly, Billy staggered and slapped his heart as if he’d just been shot. ‘The fatal day arrives! Cat Royal thanks me for somethink!’

  I gritted my teeth. ‘Yes, she’s a treasure. Now if you could give me her papers, I’ll be able to look after her properly.’

  ‘You think me a complete flat?’ laughed Billy. ‘I know what you’ll do the moment you ’ave them in your paws: you’ll break our agreement.’ He tucked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. ‘Cat, I think it my duty to keep you on the straight and narrow, a woman of your word.’

  ‘Billy –’

  ‘You can say nothink to change my mind, so give it a rest.’

  Georgie flashed me an ‘I-told-you-so’ look and wandered a little further off to give us some privacy. She fell easily into conversation with a woman selling fruit.

  I tried desperately to think of some way of changing Billy’s mind, but I had no hold over him. Striking bargains with my wily enemy was a dangerous business and not to be entered into lightly. I was reluctant to risk that again.

  Billy’s thoughts, however, had moved off Jenny and on to my companion.

  ‘Lovely girl, your Miss Atkins. Bonaventure’s quite taken with her.’

  It struck me that this was a very strange discussion to be having with Billy Shepherd of all people: he was talking to me as if we were confirmed friends used to sharing such confidences. I did not know how to respond as until now our conversations had largely consisted of an exchange of insults.

  ‘Mulatto, ain’t she?’ he continued, eyeing Georgie’s corkscrew curls. ‘You’d hardly tell from her appearance. Limits her opportunities though, don’t it?’

  ‘So she says.’

  ‘Shame, but she’s right. Knows life that one. Not a dreamer, not like you.’ Billy tossed the market woman a coin and picked up a bunch of strange curved fruit, bright yellow in colour. ‘Here, try one. It’s called a banana.’

  I took one cautiously and put it to my nose. It smelt deliciously sweet. I nibbled a corner but found it tough and horrid tasting.

  Billy guffawed. ‘No, you ’alf-wit: you ’ave to peel it. Give it ’ere.’ Expertly he skinned the fruit. ‘Now try.’

  After my earlier attempt, I took the banana and inspected the creamy-white centre suspiciously. Something that smelled this good surely couldn’t taste too awful. I ventured a small bite. A wonderful taste melted on my tongue, quite unlike anything I had ever eaten.

  ‘That’s heavenly!’ I demolished the banana enthusiastically. When I finished, Billy handed me another one. From the look on his face, he seemed genuinely pleased at my delight.

  He winked. ‘You can save that one till later.’

  Smiling, I tucked the fruit in my pocket. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Blimey, a second “thank you”, Cat: it’s turnin’ out to be a red-letter day for us.’

  Unable to hold on to my annoyance about Jenny’s papers, I couldn’t help laughing with him. Billy seemed different out here under the Caribbean sunshine, not the scheming cutthroat who terrorized large parts of London with his gangs of boys and his blades. It reminded me that he was only five or so years older than me, for all his worldly ways. He’d grown up quickly on the streets, always tougher and more embittered than the other boys I knew in Covent Garden. This was the first time I’d seen him so playful. If I hadn’t known him better, I would’ve said he seemed almost innocent in his enjoyment.

  Innocent? Cat Royal, get a grip on yourself! This was Billy Shepherd: a wolf in wolf ’s clothing.

  It was time to push matters to their conclusion before I got any more ridiculous notions. ‘So, Billy, what will it take to get those papers from you?’ I asked, throwing the banana skin into the water.

  He offered me his arm again. ‘I’ll ’ave to think about it. For the moment, it suits me to leave things as they are.’

  I knew it was pointless to argue. ‘You really are the devil incarnate, you know that?’

  ‘So I’ve been told – mainly by you.’

  ‘You know I hate what you’re doing. Are you ever going to stop playing tricks like this on me?’

  He paused as if giving the matter serious consideration. ‘Nah, I don’t think so.’

  I groaned and he squeezed my arm against his side.

  ‘Your life would be a lot less interestin’ if I left you alone.’

  ‘Some hope.’

  He chuckled. ‘Tell me, Cat, after all this time, are you still scared of me?’

  ‘Should I be?’ This was the man who’d threatened me on many occasions but just now his intentions seemed more or less benign.

  Billy scratched his chin in mock-thought. ‘You want the truth?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I really don’t know.’

  And giving me a wicked grin, he offered his free arm to Georgie and led us back to the theatre.

  * Reader, if you wish to relive that particular humiliating experience, please see Cat Among the Pigeons.

  SCENE 3 – RECRUIT

  The week that passed saw little progress in resolving any of the problems facing Pedro and me: he was still at a loose end on the Running Sally and I mistress of one very efficient slave, no closer to securing her freedom. The only bright spot in my life was the theatre. After two more performances, the role of Rosalind came naturally and I threw myself whole-heartedly into enjoying my part in the play. We were also rehearsing for Farquhar’s The Recruiting Officer for the second week of our run in Kingston, so even away from the stage Georgie and I were kept busy learning our lines.

  Being part of a touring company made heavy demands on us actors, always expected to have something new to maintain the interest of the crowd. Unlike Drury Lane with its big cast and hordes of stagehands, we all had to double – and triple – up, turning our hand to anything demanded of us by our sergeant major, Mrs Peabody. And when she barked ‘Jump!’, my, how we jumped! I’d never met so authoritarian a manager. Hunkered down over my dog-eared copy of the script, I wondered wryly when Mrs Peabody was going to call on my hitherto untested ability to recite Psalm One Hundred and Nineteen. I hadn’t seen any sign of the good people of Kingston being particularly desirous of such entertainments. From the evidence available, they were as big a bunch of sinners as theatre-goers in London, with more taste for plays than scripture.

  We were about to go on stage for the final performance on Saturday night when matters took an unexpected turn. Hat pushed back on his head, coat billowing, Jim rushed in late, straight into a barrage of reprimands from Mrs Peabody. Like a frigate eluding the enemy’s guns, he executed a swift tack to change course and dashed over to where I was waiting in the wings.

  ‘Cat,’ he said in a hoarse whisper, ‘Pedro’s gone.’

  I clutched at my throat, feeling a twist of panic. ‘What! The Running Sally’s sailed?’

  ‘No, just Pedro. He’s disappeared.’

  ‘But that makes no sense – not without saying goodbye to me. Has something happened to him?’ My mind ran through the possibilities: an accident, kidnap, an attack . . .

  ‘I don’t know, but the sailors think he slipped away early this morning. They don’t think anything bad has happened to him. But he’ll be in trouble if he’s found here illegally.’

  Out on stage the curtain rose to a round of applause.

  ‘I must go and look for him,’ I said desperately, turning on my heel. I was already imagining him languishing in some gaol, mistreated by his sus
picious captors. Or on the run, skulking in a dangerous part of town, prey to any band of cutthroats. Or run off to San Domingo . . .

  Jim seized my forearms and gave me a little shake. ‘Have some sense, gal. There’s nothing you can do now. You’ve got to go on tonight. After the show, we can make plans. But we have to be discreet: the last thing we want is the authorities to be alerted to his presence – if he’s here, that is.’

  ‘Where else might he be?’

  ‘He could’ve shipped out. There was no point him sitting about in harbour any longer, was there?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, I s’pose not.’ My heart sank, thinking of his strange behaviour over the slave revolt. But if he’d gone off to fight, surely he would’ve sent word to me first?

  Not if he knew I’d try to stop him.

  From the stage, I heard my cue. Jim was right: I couldn’t walk out now, letting all my fellow players down. Pedro would not want me to be so unprofessional. ‘All right. I’ll speak to you after the show.’

  Jim nodded and ran to fetch his instrument before Mrs Peabody docked any more of his pay for tardiness. I stepped out into the pool of light, trying to calm myself. There had to be an explanation, and I would not rest until I found it. I forced a smile on my face and fell into role.

  Jim advised me that it would be safest to keep his information to the smallest number of people. We decided therefore to make our plans back at the lodging house in the room I shared with Georgie and Jenny, the only place we could be assured of privacy. The three of us listened as Jim ran through what he had discovered from the sailors. Pedro’s violin and music had gone, suggesting that he had planned his escape, but he had left no message, not even a note, to let us know his intentions.

  Jim rubbed his chin. ‘The captain promised he’d say nothing to the Port Royal authorities unless asked a direct question – which they won’t unless they get suspicious. You know your friend better than me, Cat, but I’m surprised at Pedro just going off like that.’

  I curled up on the bed and hugged my knees. It was the only way to stop myself running out into the street to begin a desperate search. ‘Pedro’s a very private sort of person, keeps things from even those closest to him.’ I brushed a tear off my cheek, unable to stop this tell-tale sign of distress that had been building since I heard the news. ‘And you saw how we parted last time, Jim! He must still be angry with me. He must’ve got so furious with the whole situation – and now he’s just snapped and run for it.’