HF - 03 - The Devil's Own (19 page)

'Another? Faith, you are a secretive fellow.' Parke sighed. 'But I suppose I have spent too much of my time buried deep in the sugar factories to appreciate the society of this island. Yet it grieves me, dear friend, to take my leave without meeting this charmer of yours.'

'Then dally a while longer,' Kit suggested. 'I cannot see that there is so great a haste about visiting Barbados. I had supposed you to consider Antigua a perfect paradise.'

'Indeed I do. But letters from my father keep reminding me that there are other islands, other sugar factories, even other handsome young women, to be investigated.'

The tailor at last stood back and clapped his hands. 'A perfect fit, a perfect cut, Captain Hilton, if I do say so myself. Now, what that coat wants is a matched pair of breeches to go underneath, and why, sir, you'd look fit to walk through Hyde Park itself.'

'I am extremely unlikely ever to walk through Hyde Park, Mr Barnee,' Kit pointed out. 'And I think the breeches should wait until I have managed to pay for the coat, don't you?'

'Oh, fie upon you, sir,' Barnee declared. 'Did you suppose I'd come running behind you for payment? You are employed by Colonel Warner, and that is sufficient for me. Now, as to the breeches ...'

'I'll run up no debts, Mr Barnee. Colonel Warner owes me a month's wages, which are due this day, and by God, sir, the first person I shall settle is yourself.'

'And speak of the devil.' Parke removed his tricorne with a flourish. 'Good day to you, Colonel.'

Philip Warner stepped into the tailor's shop, kicking dust from his boots. He did not trouble to uncover. 'What, Barnee? What? Dandifying Captain Hilton? Was I invited to a fitting?'

'A man needs a n
ew coat, Colonel Warner,' Barnee said primly.

'And right glad am I to see you, Colonel,' Kit said. 'Mr Barnee has been good enough to trust me while making this splendid garment, and I would not like him to have to wait much longer for his money.'

'Money? Money?' Philip Warner burst out laughing. 'Now, what gives you the impression that I propose to pay you money?'

Kit flushed. 'I have commanded your sloop for a month, sir, as we agreed. In that time we have made twelve voyages to St Eustatius, and every one of them we have returned with our holds full of smuggled merchandise. I'd have thought you'd be more than satisfied.'

'Kit, Kit,' Warner said. 'I am more than satisfied. Much more. Compared with that fellow Longstreet you are a treasure. I came down here today, not merely to settle with you, but to insist that you remain in my employ. And to offer you a bonus in addition.'

'Faith, sir,' Kit said, frowning. 'I do not take your meaning. You said not a minute ago ...'

'That I have not a penny with which to pay you. Tell us, Barnee, when last were you paid in coin?'

'Well, sir ...'

'There you are, lad. Coin is scarce, and not to be wasted. And what would you do with it, save gamble it away overnight? I know you buccaneers, by God. Now, sir, here is my statement. I promised you ten pounds for the month, and here, I have written down that I owe you ten pounds. But more, so much profit have you brought into my warehouses that I have added another ten in reward. So there you have, twenty pounds, over my signature.'

Kit took the piece of paper, slowly, stared at the figures. 'But what am I supposed to do with this, Colonel?'

'Use it, to your heart's content. It is a charge against my credit, and will in turn establish yours. Now, for instance, what is this rogue Barnee charging you for this suit?'

'It is but a coat, Colonel,' Barnee protested. 'And I am making no profit at two pounds.'

'I repeat, you are a rogue. But none the less, Kit, if pay him you must, write him a cheque for two pounds, over your signature, and let him certify that it is so paid on my bill in turn.

Or if not, just show him my bill and let him be sure that you have the credit.'

Kit scratched his head. 'Except that I do not have the money.'

'By God, lad, but you are a primitive soul. Credit is worth far more than money, as the only person who can take away your credit is you yourself, by your extravagance. And the proof of a pudding is in the eating, is it not? Ask Barnee whether he will not be satisfied with a bill of yours, whether he has any doubt that he may exchange it anywhere on the island for goods.'

'Indeed, sir,' Barnee said. 'If your credit is backed by that of Colonel Warner's, then you will have no problem. I attempted to explain that much to you just now.'

'Except that every bill must be redeemed eventually,' Kit said. 'Must it not?'

'Why of course,' Philip said. 'Every year, when we have finished grinding the crop and our sugar is ready to be shipped, my bills are collected and set against the value of my shipment. It is all done by my agents.'

Kit scratched his head. 'But how do you know where you stand, Colonel?'

'Where I stand, Kit? Where I stand? I know where I stand every morning when I ride through my fields. Now then, I must along to the warehouse and see what you have brought in this last time.'

'Then you will require my presence, sir.'

'Not in the least,' Warner smiled at him. 'I never saw a man yet invest in a new coat of such splendour who wished to discuss business. You take your Danish lady-friend out for the walk you intend, and take my blessings w
ith her. For I tell you straigh
t, Kit, if I had my doubts about employing you when you first landed here, in view of your antecedents and your reputation, why, I admit myself to be mistaken. You are a steady lad, sir, a steady lad. And the Quaker will make you steadier yet. You'll retain command of the
Bonaveriture?'

'Well, sir, I must say ...'

'Good, good, then it is settled. My associates will be more than pleased. Good day to you, Barnee. Daniel, you'll join me for dinner?'

Parke hesitated, and then nodded. 'With pleasure, Philip. A farewell feast.'

'And never will a guest be more sorely missed. Good day to you, gentlemen.'

He bustled across the street to the Ice House, and Kit scratched his head some more. 'He leaves me breathless. Do you know, when first we met, I had thought him a pompous boor. But he can be a very pleasant fellow. Certainly I could not have asked more of him. And I owe it to you, I am sure.'

Parke was frowning as he gazed at the street. 'Oh, indeed, he is a pleasant fellow, Kit. And yet, I sometimes wonder whether I have done you any favour in bringing you here.'

'Well, I have no doubts on that score.'

'You think so? Has it occurred to you that while I am entertained most royally at Colonel Warner's plantation, you have never even been invited there? Have you ever met Mistress Warner?'

'Well, no. But I am happy enough on my ship and in my station. I glory in every minute I spend at sea. And then, Daniel, however much of a friend you are to me, there
is
a difference in our station. Your father owns a cotton plantation larger than Colonel Warner's, and his father founded these colonies. Mine was a buccaneer.'

'A friend of Thomas Warner's, though. At least, your grandfather was. And none of your brothers or uncles are cannibal kings, at any rate. I think you set too low a claim upon yourself, dear Kit. The other criticism that I have to make of your situation is somewhat more serious, I think. You are now a man of substance, are you not, with a bill for twenty English pounds neatly folded in your pocket.'

'And right comforting it is too, I can tell you,' Kit said. 'I have never owned so much in my life before.'

'But it is dependent upon Colonel Warner's credit, is it not?'

'Do you doubt
that?
'

'Not in the least. Having ridden every corner of his plantation, I have no doubt that he does understand his worth whenever he looks out of a window. But yours exists only as long as he supports it. Bear that in mind, Kit. There are other forms of slavery than the handcuffs and the whip. But perhaps I have already said too much. You will make your home here, and
marry your Quaker, and be happy. And I must take myself back to the hurly-burly of Virginian society, compared with which these islands seem like untroubled paradises.' He seized Kit's hand. 'But I would not have missed this voyage for the world, especially as it brought me your acquaintance. I trust we shall meet again, some day.'

'Oh, we shall,' Kit cried, suddenly aghast at the idea of his friend's departure. 'And you shall not find me changed. Believe me. As to why you, and Colonel Warner, and everyone else, it seems, should suppose that I am enamoured of Lilian Christianssen, or if I were, that she would consider betrothing herself to a buccaneer, a man of violence and with intolerable crimes staining his soul, why, the idea is preposterous.'

'Is it?' Parke inquired. 'Then tell me why she smiles whenever she sees you? And tell me what you talk of when you walk together of an evening?'

'Can two people of opposite sexes not be friends?' Kit demanded. 'As to our conversation, it mostly concerns Master Fox, for whom she has a reverence almost amounting to worship, and in whom she would also interest me.'

'So, then, we shall find you a Quaker yet. And in any event, Kit, you betray yourself in this coat. Now I must go. Adieu, dear friend. A thousand times adieu. But we shall meet again. I make that resolution, and Daniel Parke is a man of his word.'

He hurried off, patently upset at having to say farewell. And Kit let him go, because even Daniel's departure loomed small by the standards of this afternoon's adventure. As during his month on Antigua the widow Templeton had not visited St John's, then would he visit the widow Templeton. This coat had been designed for just that purpose. So what of Daniel's words? Did Philip Warner seek to make a slave of him? As if a white man could make a slave of another white man. And did it matter if he placed himself in Philip's power, for a while, as long as he could enjoy Marguerite's company, from time to time?

He left the shop, stood for a moment on the sidewalk, enjoying the knowledge that he was, for the first time in his life, truly well-dressed.

'Why, Kit, how splendid you look.' Lilian smiled at him, and then fr
owned. 'The rumour is true.'

His turn to frown.
'What rumour?' 'That you are to
leave Antigua.'

'I? Leave Antigua? Now, wherever did you learn that?'

She flushed. 'Mr Parke and the master of his schooner were at the warehouse yesterday, completing their stock and settling with Papa. In coin, too. He knows not what to do with it. And as you came to St John's in the company of Mr Parke ...'

'It seemed natural to you that I should also leave in his company. Not I, Lilian. My past is too firmly set in these islands. I should feel a stranger anywhere else.'

'And you will never be a stranger here, Kit.' Her flush deepened, but she smiled through it. 'Then will you come to supper? Mama would be so pleased.'

Kit Hilton, dining at the merchant's, on fish and water and grave talk, while Daniel Parke dined at Colonel Warner's Goodwood, on wine and meat and gay laughter and gayer gossip, with dice to follow. There was a salutary lesson in relative society, he thought.

'Alas, Lilian, I cannot, this night,' he said. 'Believe me, I am sorry. But I shall call. Tomorrow.'

‘I’
m sure Papa will be glad to see you,' she said, and gazed at his coat once more. 'I had best not detain you. Until tomorrow, Kit.'

She walked down the street with the graceful flutter of skirts; but what skirts, how drab and formless. And the flat grey hat, tied so securely under her chin, allowed but a wisp of the golden hair to trickle on to her back. Lilian Christianssen? What rubbish. A Quaker? A woman who thought life should be a vast realm of goodness, when anyone could have told her different? But Lilian was, in any event, only a girl.

Agrippa approached, leading the hired horse. 'He's quiet enough, Kit,' the big man said. 'I wish I could be as sure of his rider.'

'I can sit a horse.' Kit mounted. 'There. Do I not look splendid?"

'You'd turn the heart of any girl, Kit.' Agrippa retained the bridle. 'You're sure of what you do?'

'You do not understand, dear friend. This girl and I have known each other for years. At least, we met as children, and

I have carried her image in my heart ever since. Why do you think I came to Antigua?'

'I thought you sought a plantation, where there'd be no slavery, where there'd be no unhappiness, where all would share in the common profit.'

'And is not Green Grove a plantation? The largest in the Leewards, so it is said.'