Black Heart of Jamaica

by Julia Golding

  The boy was led away while another took his place on the block and the whole hateful process began once more. I’d seen enough. My skin was crawling and I felt nauseous. I needed a breath of air, away from this press. I wanted to cleanse myself of the stench of the trade in human flesh but I doubted there was anywhere in Jamaica one could be free of it.

  Only fifty yards from the block, people went about their business as normal, oblivious to the life-shattering events a stone’s throw away. I slowly made my way through the crowds to the pier. I searched faces, trying to understand why they saw nothing bad about a market in human lives. Did the white population really think that people like Jenny and Pedro were less than them? It seemed so obvious to me that this was wrong; didn’t they see it too?

  ‘Wanting to go out on de water, missy?’

  Jolted from my thoughts, I turned to find myself addressed by a stocky boatman wearing a red striped neckerchief. Another man, taller and thinner, stood silently at his shoulder. Both were smiling, displaying fine white teeth, but something was not right – the smiles did not reach their eyes.

  ‘Um, yes, I suppose.’ My voice sounded feeble. ‘Maybe later.’ I took a step back but stopped as I was now on the edge of the pier.

  ‘We take you now.’

  ‘Thank you, but really I have to be going.’

  ‘Yes, we take you. Massa says.’

  ‘Who? Mr Shepherd?’ I glanced around, hoping to see Billy lounging somewhere close by.

  The men just smiled, not moving from my path, prepared to wait me out.

  ‘Your offer is very kind, but I’ve changed my mind about going on the water this morning. Good day to you both.’

  Still they did not move.

  ‘Would you be so kind as to step aside so I can pass?’ I fixed my eye on the smaller man, hoping to intimidate him into shifting – not very likely when you’re my height and everyone towers over you.

  His smile if anything grew broader.

  ‘You’re not going to move, are you?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘You’re going to stand there until I agree to go with you?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Then tell me who your master is: Captain Bonaventure?’

  While trying to delay them with my questions, I scanned the people on the pier, hoping to find an ally. Would they come to my rescue if I made a bolt for it? Ducking between the tall one’s legs seemed my best bet.

  I put my hands on my hips, glaring at them as if they were two naughty schoolboys. ‘You do know it’s impolite not to answer a lady’s questions, don’t you?’

  Over to my right I thought I saw one of Bonaventure’s crew. It was an indication of how desperate my plight was when one of the rascals that manned the Medici seemed a safe port in a storm. But to reach him, I needed a distraction. Clasping my hands together in pretended exasperation, I slipped the coral bracelet off my wrist. ‘I’ve never met such a quiet pair. If I hadn’t heard one of you speak, I’d swear you were mutes.’ I flourished my hand expressively, casting the bangle to the pier’s boards. ‘Oh no! I’ve dropped my bracelet. Anyone see where it went?’

  Obediently, the two men looked at their feet, the bracelet clearly in sight.

  ‘Me get it for you, missy,’ the stocky one said, stooping to retrieve it.

  Here was my chance. I dived between the spread legs of the tall one, catching them both unawares. He snatched between his knees but came away with nothing. I was already on my feet and running, congratulating myself on my cunning. Prematurely. Suddenly my legs flew from under me and I hit the planks hard, tumbling to land on my chin with a crack. Before I had regained my full senses, a hand gripped my shoulder and pulled me up.

  ‘I do apologize, missy, somehow you seem to have tripped over my cane. I can’t imagine how that happened. Allow me to make sure you are not injured.’

  The grip did not ease but I found myself turned for inspection by Kingston Hawkins.

  ‘My, my! Miss Royal. What a coincidence.’ I glared, fully aware that he had known it was me all along. He pressed his free hand to my forehead. ‘I do believe you’ve banged your head and are feeling faint. Allow me to escort you to my carriage until you recover.’

  I don’t know about my head, but my chin had certainly taken a knock. I wiped my hand across it and came away with a smear of blood.

  ‘And you’re bleeding! Bruised too, probably. How distressing. We must fetch a doctor to look at you.’

  ‘That’s quite unnecessary, sir,’ I said, still feeling shaken by my nosedive.

  Our little scene was attracting some attention from bystanders. Hawkins raised his voice so they could hear our exchange.

  ‘No, no, I insist. You are a guest in my country and I must make sure you are well looked after. Jason, carry Miss Royal to my carriage.’

  The stocky slave I’d mistaken for a boatman picked me up before I had a chance to protest.

  ‘Put me down!’ I beat on his shoulder ineffectually. A big hand shifted to press my face into his shirt-front, muffling my objections.

  Hawkins turned to our audience. ‘Not to worry, the lady is a little dazed is all.’

  The bystanders returned to their tasks of fishing and net-mending. Clearly, they felt it was quite in order for the only white man in sight to care for a white girl after an accident and they were not about to interfere.

  The burly Jason held me tight as he carried me to the carriage. Dropping me on to the padded seat, he quickly retreated. I tried to follow him out the door but found my way blocked by Hawkins.

  ‘Sit down,’ he growled, all pretence at politeness gone. He jabbed my shoulder with his cane, forcing me back on to the cushions. ‘You should’ve left when you had the chance.’

  I curled up in a corner, minimizing myself as a target. My jaw was aching, but by far and away the greatest worry was his intentions towards me. In London I had baited him in front of the Bow Street Magistrate and forced him to free Pedro – a humiliation he had not forgotten. Bravado was my only option: cowering with fright would not work with Hawkins.

  ‘Strangely enough, sir, I was trying to find a ship out when your men intercepted me. If you would just set me down, I’ll do my best to accomplish that before the end of the day.’

  His smile stretched, thin and mean. Tossing aside his hat, he ran a hand negligently through his greying dark hair, self-congratulation oozing from every pore. ‘Too late for that, I’m afraid, Miss Royal. I’ve looked forward to having this opportunity to teach you a lesson. Such a shame Pedro ain’t here to share it.’

  That was the only thing to be grateful for.

  ‘Sir, I don’t know what you have in mind, but I should tell you that I am not without friends here. They will worry about me if I do not return immediately.’

  ‘Never fear, missy: I’ve sent Jason with word that you are visiting people in the country. Your little acting allies will have sailed before your expected return. And when you don’t come back, who’ll worry then?’

  I clasped my hands tightly around my knees, bracing myself against the bumpy road. He was serious. If I didn’t do something, he’d make me ‘disappear’ with no one the wiser.

  ‘You take your revenge too far, sir. We were seen together on the pier. You can’t hope to escape suspicion if any harm should befall me.’

  ‘You place too high a value on your own importance, missy. Who’ll care what becomes of an actress once her company has left town? And who would have the effrontery to question me about such a matter?’

  ‘Mr Shepherd.’ I lobbed the name into the conversation, hoping to provoke some second thoughts.

  Hawkins snapped his fingers. ‘His threats mean nothing. He won’t find you unless I want him to and he’s made it clear that he’s planning to leave soon. I doubt he’ll put off business to look for a chit like you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on it.’

  ‘Oh, but I do.’

  That concluded our conversation for the present. I toyed wit
h the idea of leaping from the moving carriage but discarded it when I realized that I would quickly be recaptured. I could do without broken bones if I was to make my escape on a more auspicious occasion. Clenching my teeth, I concentrated on quelling my rising sense of panic. Hawkins got out a newspaper and made a point of reading it, from time to time casting a contemptuous look in my direction.

  ‘I don’t suppose, sir, you care to tell me where we’re going?’ I asked after an hour.

  ‘To my penn, of course. You can call it my kingdom, if you like.’ He chuckled, a long finger stroking the top of his cane that rested on his knees. He would’ve been a handsome man if his heart hadn’t been as rotten as a month-old fish. Traces of that stink marred his features with lines of cruelty around his mouth.

  The carriage turned off the main road and entered a shaded avenue leading to a white board house. It wasn’t as fine as the residence he had sold to Billy, but it was built in a similar style with shuttered windows on the single storey. The carriage slowed and halted at the steps. Tense like prey crouching before a predator, I made no move, waiting to see what orders Hawkins would give concerning me, looking for a chance to escape.

  Flinging the paper on the seat, Hawkins got out and closed the door with a snap. ‘To the barracks,’ he called. ‘Make sure my guest is well secured.’

  With a fresh heave on the harness, the horses set off again, taking the carriage round the back of the building. We clattered into the stable yard and the door opened a final time.

  ‘Dis way.’ A stern-faced groom waited for me to descend. I hopped out, taking in my surroundings with a quick turn. Stalls for horses stretched one side of the courtyard; the other three comprised cell-like living quarters for slaves.

  ‘I think I’ve come far enough,’ I said brightly as if I did not notice the menace in his stance. ‘My morning call is over and I’ll just make my way home now.’

  Hawkins’ lackey had other ideas: he took my elbow and propelled me towards one of the buildings. ‘Your room in dere,’ he said gruffly. So Hawkins had planned this well in advance. The groom gave me a little shove past a heavy iron-bound door and closed it behind me. I heard the bolt slide home. Footsteps retreated and I was left alone.

  For the first time since the encounter on the pier I allowed myself to feel fear. I was in a horrid little cell with no furniture, only a high window and a blanket on the floor. A jug of water stood in one corner, in the other a bucket. It looked as though I was going to be here some time. Lying down on the threadbare blanket, I curled up and pretended to myself that this hadn’t happened. Hawkins was just playing with me as he had done before. None of his threats meant anything; he just wanted me scared witless.

  Well, he had succeeded. Could I go home now?

  It appeared the answer was ‘no’. Hours passed and no one came for me. The walls seemed to press closer; I could imagine them squeezing me into a smaller and smaller space like a coffin. I had to get out. Desperate to see what was happening in the world beyond my cell, I turned the bucket upside down and climbed on so I could look out the window. I was just in time to glimpse Hawkins riding by with his overseer, off to check his field workers, no doubt. The barracks seemed empty, apart from an old woman sweeping the courtyard and an occasional groom going about his business. I tried to attract their attention but they were either deaf or under instructions to ignore me.

  It was as if I didn’t exist.

  I returned to the blanket. There was no point beating on the door or exhausting myself with frantic pacing. I would need brains to get out of this and that required a cool head. As I took stock of my unpromising situation, a mad bubble of laughter welled up in my throat. I’d imagined today that I would start out on my glorious rescue of Pedro and instead found myself sorely in need of saving. I had underestimated Hawkins’ hatred. As soon as he had found out I was in Jamaica, I should’ve made plans to protect myself, but I’d been so wrapped up in my own arrangements that I hadn’t thought of the very present danger to myself.

  Now I knew better.

  I wondered what Georgie and Jenny would make of the message that I’d gone to visit friends in the country. Would they assume that meant I’d left for Billy’s new plantation? If I’d been planning to go to his penn, Jenny would surely think it strange that I hadn’t gone with her and that, if she gave it enough thought, should make her suspicious. Better still, if they checked the story with Billy, then he too would know something was up and I’d bet that he would be canny enough to suspect Hawkins to have a hand in it. My heart gave a small leap. I could almost imagine Billy and Georgie now riding to my rescue. Looked at this way, my situation was not entirely desperate. I’d been in worse scrapes before, hadn’t I?

  And surely a sane man (and I was praying Hawkins was not mad) wouldn’t do away with me just because he held a grudge about something that had happened almost two years ago? I admit, Reader, that I had bitten him then – but only after provocation. Time to let bygones be bygones.

  With that piece of philosophy, I allowed myself to doze off, gathering my strength for another encounter with Hawkins.

  The next person I saw was not the master but his overseer. He came to my door late in the afternoon, just as the sun bobbed on the horizon. It cast long shadows across the courtyard and threw a menacing orange light into my cell. The heat of the day was beginning to fade but it was still stuffy and airless. A fleshy, shaven-haired white man, the overseer had the look of an escaped convict and fists that promised he’d enforce his will if anyone was foolish enough to disobey. I did not count myself among this group so got up on his order.

  ‘Follow me,’ he rasped, jerking his head over his shoulder. His voice sounded as if it was being strangled before leaving his throat.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You’ll see.’ He made it sound like a threat. Not that I needed any more intimidation.

  Keys at his belt jingling with every step, he led me round to the back of the main house and in through the servants’ entrance. The voices in the kitchen faltered as I followed him past the slaves cooking dinner. My eyes met briefly with those of a plump cook holding a ladle over her pots, but no one remarked at my presence. They dared not. Taking me to the wing that housed the estate offices, the overseer opened a door and ushered me into Hawkins’ study. The owner was already in occupation, running his finger down a column of figures in a ledger. He did not look up, continuing his work as if we weren’t there. Unsure what to expect next, I eyed the chair on my side of the desk, wondering if I should sit down, but decided against it.

  ‘So, Dawlish, she came quietly, did she? I rather thought you’d have more trouble,’ Hawkins addressed his overseer.

  ‘She came like a lamb, sir.’

  ‘Good. Then my plan is working.’ He closed the ledger with a thump and raised his eyes to mine. ‘Learning your place at long last, gal?’

  I did not blink. ‘What place would that be, sir? As your illegally detained prisoner?’

  He shook his head. ‘You misunderstand what is happening here. Did you not know that we don’t like vagrants on Jamaica?’

  ‘I’m not a vagrant,’ I replied hotly.

  ‘Yes, you are. You’ve broken your contract of employment on which you were allowed to enter the country and now have no means of support. You could be arrested, charged and imprisoned for that. Your sentence would very likely be several years as an indentured servant. In other words, punished by the legal surrender of your freedom in service to a master.’

  ‘There’s nothing legal about what you are doing, Mr Hawkins. And I doubt very much the law would be so heavy-handed when it is known that I was about to depart.’

  Hawkins raised a sceptical brow.

  ‘Besides, I see no magistrate. You’ve plucked me off the streets and given me no opportunity to take my so-called vagrant self away as I fully intended.’

  ‘For your information, missy, I am a magistrate.’ Hawkins lolled back in his chair. ‘All I’m doing is
just cutting out a few of the annoying and unnecessary intervening steps. I’m sure you’d prefer not to be incarcerated in Kingston gaol. Dawlish, fetch the paperwork.’

  Hawkins had the upper hand this time and we both knew it.

  The overseer took a roll of parchment from the shelf by the door and spread it out on the desk to face me, weighing down the ends with an inkwell and a paperweight.

  Hawkins gestured to the document. ‘I took a long time deciding on a just revenge until I thought of the perfect answer. Let the punishment fit the crime. You deprived me of a slave so you can take his place.’

  I clenched my fists. ‘Forget it. I’m leaving.’

  ‘Dawlish!’

  Even before he spoke, the brute of an overseer grabbed my arm and towed me over to the desk.

  ‘This is a farce! You can’t make me your slave!’

  ‘No, not slave.’ Hawkins tapped the paper. ‘Indentured servant. If you were listening – and that’s a quality, by the way, that I demand of all my people – you would’ve heard me say it already. It’s all bona fide, believe me.’

  I’m afraid I did believe him. I locked my hands behind me.

  ‘I’d prefer to take my chances in gaol if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Oh but I do. You’ll sign. Dawlish!’

  The overseer prised my fists apart and forced my right hand forward. With a callous smile, Hawkins dipped the quill into the ink and pressed it into my fingers. Then, like a rough teacher making a child form her letters, the overseer guided my hand over the parchment, scrawling my name. I had few means of resistance. The best I could do was to spell my name with a ‘K’, guessing Hawkins would not notice. As soon as we’d finished, Hawkins whipped the paper away and blew on it.

  ‘Excellent. You’re mine now for . . . how long is it?’ He looked down at the paper. ‘My goodness: twenty years! Rather excessive punishment for vagrancy, but I doubt anyone is going to challenge it.’

  I shook my aching fingers. ‘It won’t stand. You forced me – my signature’s worth nothing.’