HF - 03 - The Devil's Own (35 page)

'Of course I did. Does not every wife wish for her husband to aspire to the very summit? But now ... yet it can be done,
still. A reappraisal of the situation ...'

'Madam, you disgust me.' Kit said. 'Reappraisal? You have scant knowledge of your husband if you suppose I would change my tune for a position. You have scant knowledge of my ambitions if you think I would seek to lead a pack of traitors. And you have scant knowledge of the world if you think this little rock is of the slightest importance to anyone who does not live on it.'

Her turn to stare. No doubt it was the first time in her life she had been so addressed, at least since that fateful day on the hill-top in Tortuga. Pin-points of rage gathered in the centres of the green eyes. Yet was she still perfectly controlled, aware that the usual crowd had gathered in, the planters at the top of the steps, the hangers-on at the foot. Here was a ripe source of scandal, for many a long day.

Marguerite smiled. 'You are angry, my darling," she said softly, 'and upset. Come on back to Green Grove, and we shall discuss the matter further over a jug of sangaree. I had forgot the speed and vehemence of your temper, darling Kit.' She had raised her arm while she spoke, and already the crowd was parting to allow George Frederick to bring the carriage to the foot of the steps.

'I'll come to Green Grove,' Kit said, 'when my belly feels the urge.'

He turned away and went down the steps. People stepped aside, and he walked down the street. Where? He neither knew nor cared. He felt the whole world was swirling about his head. On what a senseless, silly issue. Did he care whether Antigua was independent or a part of England? What hold had England on him? Was not every word that John Harding had spoken absolutely true?

And did he not, through Marguerite, have a greater stake in this island than any other man there today?

Through Marguerite.

And what a stake. He found himself standing on the dock, gazing at the almost empty harbour. Two weeks ago all had been hustle and bustle here, as the last of the sugar ships had been loaded. Now the port was again sleepy. God, to be at sea. What had Marguerite promised him, once? The biggest, the finest ship that could be built
. He should have taken that.

But would she have come with him? Perhaps not. Perhaps it would have been better had she not. At sea men were free. All men, regardless of the colour of their skins.

So then, he was a good deal of a hypocrite. But he had known this for a very long time. He hated slaver)'. He hated it from the first and he hated it still. He pretended that he led his blacks as a general might command his army, but y
et was the lash in constant use,
and worse. He would take part in this life, because of the wealth and the power and the admiration and the love it brought him, but he would not put his seal on the decision that it was better than any other life, better than the freedom so hardly gained in England, better than the world, that Antigua was the world. To do that would be to condemn himself to being one of them.

And was he not already, one of them?

'They say,' Agrippa remarked, 'that no man can ever fight his true nature for all of his life. But that hot tongue of yours will get you into trouble, one day, Kit. Unless it has already done
so.'

Kit half turned his head. 'Were you there?'

'I am a typical St John's layabout,' Agrippa pointed out. 'I always attend the Assembly. It is like being present on Olympus at a gathering of the gods.'

'It is a relief to discover that at least one person on this island can regard our proceedings as a joke.'

'I hope to be laughing the day I die, too. You are invited to dinner.'

Now Kit did turn. 'By you?'

'By Dag Christianssen. If you are not above accepting the hospitality of a Quaker.'

Kit frowned at him. 'And he is not below inviting a planter to his table?'

Agrippa grinned. 'We both figure you put on a suit of clothes, Kit. Clothes are easy. You can always take them off.'

'For which, Lord, we humbly thank thee.' Dag raised his head, smiled at his guest. 'You'll finish the bottle, Kit.'

'Why, I ...' Kit looked the length of the table, to where Astrid Christianssen also smiled at him. 'It is strange, to be drinking alone.'

'Why so?' Astrid asked. 'If you like the taste, and the quality.'

'The taste and the quality are delicious. The meal was delicious.' His gaze drifted across to Lilian, sitting opposite; her hair was loose and she wore a simple grey gown, as shapeless as ever. He had not spoken to her in nine years. Then she had been seventeen. Now she would be twenty-six, a tall, handsome, grave young woman. 'I really do not know how to thank you all.'

You all. Agrippa sat next to Lilian, and Abigail sat next to himself. She was a plump, pretty girl, very dark-skinned, and looking more so in her white dress. She was a true Negress, as opposed to the many northern tribes included in the generic term by the planters. There was memory from the past. Sitting down to dinner with a Negro and his wife. Sitting down to dinner with a friend.

'You may pay for your dinner, Kit,' Dag said. 'By telling us whether you feel we are really in imminent danger of a French invasion.'

'I'm afraid I believe we are,' Kit said.

'Oh, no,' Astrid cried. 'But what must we do?'

'I'm afraid we will have to fight them,' Kit said. 'They are, as we are constantly reminded, no more than buccaneers, not soldiers. Any Great House, properly defended, will be discouraging to them. If you will remember their raid on Jamaica, the only plantations which fell were those which were surrendered or abandoned. As for St John's, I do not think they would even consider an assault.'

'Right,' Dag said, half to himself. And sighed. 'No doubt you are right.'

'But you would not contradict your beliefs, old friend. Nor should you. On the unlikely mischance that a Frenchman should break in here, you may safely leave your life in the care of Agrippa, surely.'

'I pray it will not come to that,' the Negro said.

Dag smiled at Kit's astonishment. 'Agrippa thinks as we do, now. And Abigail.'

'By God.' Kit scratched his head. 'You'll forgive me. I had not supposed Christian
ity was of interest to you.'

'Nor was it,' Agrippa acknowledged. 'Until Dag got to talking.'

Kit picked up Abigail's left hand; she wore a thin gold band. 'And you also?'

She smiled at him. 'You got for ... I'm sorry, Agrippa spends so much time making me speak good English. You have to thank Dag for that too.'

'I wish you would tell me how it came about.'

'He purchased my freedom, Captin. You could say he bought me. I belong to him, double.'

'And you've children?'

'No, Kit,' Agrippa said. 'I'd not wish a child on this world unless his skin could be as white as snow.'

Astrid gave a nervous smile. 'Or perhaps until the world changes for the better, he means, Kit. It must.'

'Aye,' Kit said. 'But I'd have thought yours was not a Christian concept, Agrippa.'

'I am new to the religion, Kit. Would you describe planting in Antigua as a Christian profession?'

'You'll not quarrel at my table,' Dag said.

'I'll not quarrel with Agrippa under any circumstances, Dag. But our conversation leads me to wonder why you have not tried your persuasive tongue on more of the Negroes.'

'Would that I could, Kit. But I have been expelled from too many plantations in my efforts to do so.'

'I fail to see why. You can hardly be accused of preaching sedition.'

'Oh, but I am. You cannot enslave the body of a man, efficiently, unless you also enslave his soul. It is impossible to be a Christian, and not believe in the eternal freedom of your soul. Therefore it is impossible to be a slave and Christian at the same time. Logic'

'Yes,' Kit said. 'You are all too deep for me. I can only say that you have not attempted to preach on Green Grove.'

Dag smiled, sadly. 'And what do you suppose would be the reaction of your wife to that, Kit?'

Kit gazed at him for several seconds.

'I must sec if I can find you a horse,' Agrippa said.

'At this late hour?' Dag demanded. 'You'll spend the night here, Kit.'

'Of course you will, Kit,' Astrid insisted. 'We shall be pleased. Unless you feel your wife will be worried.'

'To say truth,' Kit admitted, 'Marguerite is not at the moment very pleased with me. She sympathizes more with the point of view of Mr Harding than I supposed.'

Dag smiled at him. 'Then perhaps it would be as well not to return until tomorrow. Time is the great healer in family differences. They are infinitely preferable to quarrels and harsh words, or harsher deeds, which may be regretted."

'Yet must we not interfere between husband and wife,' Astrid said. 'Believe me, Kit, we should be more than happy to offer you a bed. But only if you feel it would be best.'

Kit scratched his head again, and found himself staring at Lilian. He had drunk the entire bottle of wine himself, and he had drunk it while still in a state of some agitation. The room was swaying unevenly, and he had an erection. He was angry with Marguerite and with himself. He had wanted to fight Harding. Instead he had all but quarrelled with his oldest friends. His only friends. Now he wanted ... what?

And Lilian had taken no part in the discussion, either for her religion or against the planters. And now, having met his eyes for only an instant, she lowered her head to stare at the plate.

'No doubt Dag is right,' he heard himself saying. 'Marguerite's rages seldom last very long.'

'Then it is settled,' Dag said. 'And the hour is late. I am sure we shall all be better for a good night's sleep. Lilian, you'll make up a bed on the floor of the office, and sleep there. Kit, you can have Lilian's bed.'

'I could not possibly evict Lilian,' Kit protested.

'You may have our bed. Kit,' Agrippa said. 'If it does not concern you.'

'Now, why should it do that?' Kit demanded.

'Gentlemen,' Dag said. 'This happens to be my house, and you will surely allow me to make the arrangements within it. I am sure Lilian has no objection to sleeping in the office, Kit.'

'I should be delighted to offer Kit the use of my bed,' Lilian said.

'Then you will show him up,
' Astrid said. 'Dag, you and
Kit are much of a size. No doubt you can discover a nightshirt to fit him.'

'That I shall.' Dag left the table, bustled towards the back of the house. Kit stood up, found Agrippa looking at him. 'Sleep well, Kit,' the Negro said. 'And sound.' 'I usually do.'

Lilian had already gone up the steps, and waited for him there.

'I'll say good night, Astrid.'

'It is our great pleasure to have you under our roof once again, Kit,' Astrid said. 'I hope, in the future, that you will not only seek to visit us in times of crisis.'

'Be sure that I shall not.' He climbed the stairs, watching the gown moving in front of him, obscured in the gloom, for she carried the candle. 'Your parents are uncommonly kind."

'I think they look on you as the son they never had.' She opened the door on the landing. ' 'Tis a small room, and uncommonly untidy.'

He stood in the doorway beside her, and his arm brushed hers. Here was no magnificently scented rush of air, as with Marguerite, but a subtle quality of freshness, such as he had not known in a very long time. But he had known it once. In Panama City.

'I wish you would allow me to sleep downstairs,' he said. 'It is not right.'

'You are our guest.' She moved forward, lifted the pillow on the pallet bed, and took out a wisp of white. Then she placed the candle in the holder. 'It is also a somewhat hard bed.'

'I am tired enough to sleep on anything.' He stood beside her again. I want you, his mind said. I wanted you years ago, and then my wanting was overwhelmed by my desire for Marguerite. Now ... was it just the anger talking? The anger and the wine? The desire to spite Marguerite? But was that not the reason he was here at all? Come down to it, was that not the reason he had been invited? Antigua was cleaving down the centre, and Kit Hilton was a catch, for the common party. Could they but hold him. If that were so, then why should he spare them a thought of gratitude, of concern? This night he wanted a soft, fresh, unexpected home for his
weapon. His body demanded it. And here it was, in front of him.