HF - 03 - The Devil's Own (56 page)

'And taken where?'

'To St John's, Kit. By now it was close to dawn. The masked men rode her into town, and stopped in the middle of the main street, and took her out of the cart and tied her wrists and her ankles all together in the small of her back, and left her there. In the middle of the street, Kit. Then they thrust a gag into her mouth so that she could not cry out, and rode away.'

'Who found her?'

'The entire town found her, Kit. As her kidnappers intended. It was a fisherman first. And he roused the Pinneys at the store, and they roused Barnee. They knew not who it was, you see, and supposed in fact that she was some Negress. It was not until they took the gag from her mouth and she spoke that they understood.'

Slowly Kit straightened. Lilian, tarred and naked, in the midst of the St John's mob. With her head shaved. He looked down at his right hand; his nails had eaten into his palm, as Marguerite's had done on that terrible day at Green Grove.

'Dag would not have her in the house, Kit,' Astrid whispered. 'He said she had sinned most terribly, and this was but a punishment on her for that sin. I called upon Mr Barnee for help, and he gave it willingly enough. We got his own wagon, and placed her in that, and brought her back here,
Kit. It was then for the first
time I understood what had hap
pened to Agrippa. Lilian would not speak, then.' Marguerite. And Green Grove.

'We got Dr Haines to come out,' Astrid said. 'And he examined her, and bathed her, and tried to get the worst of the tar off. And he gave her a salve for the burns ... tar burns, Kit. It leaves scorch-marks on the skin.'

Because who else could possibly have done it? She had virtually threatened him, the last day on the boat before they had reached Barbados. Her decision must have been taken then, and the message despatched by the mail sloop almost immediately. She had intended to avenge herself on him, without even knowing which way the trial would go. At a time, indeed, when all had prophesied Philip Warner's condemnation.

'And then we put her to bed, Kit. And there she has remained. Mr Barnee looked after the burial of Agrippa, Kit. He has been very good.'

Her voice was a distant mumble; her face was indistinct. So this, then, was what Lewis would have said, and thought better of it.

'But Dag, Kit. He won't come near her. He says she is accursed. He even condemns me for being here. But she is my daughter, Kit. How could I leave her alone, at a time like this? Why, she would have starved to death. But now you are back, Kit ... Kit?'

Her fingers closed on his, and he started.

You'll stay a while longer, Astrid. I beg of you.'

'Of course I will, if you wish. But ...'

He had already turned away, and was climbing the stairs.

'Kit, no,' Astrid screamed. 'You must not. She begged me that you would not see her. Please, Kit. Give her time, Kit. Every day she improves. Every day we get more of the tar off. Every day her complexion recovers. Every day her hair sprouts a little more, Kit. Do not go in to her now.'

Every day. He hesitated, his hand tight on the banister. 'You'll stay with her?'

'I will stay as long as you wish me to, Kit. But what will you do?'

'Do, Astrid? My first concern will be to seize the vermin who carried out this deed, and have them on their bellies before her.'

'But, Kit ...' she chewed her lip. 'It will mean violence, and anger, and perhaps even bloodshed.'

'And do you, Astrid, not feel anger, and a desire for violence, and perhaps even a demand for bloodshed?'

'It is not part of our philosophy,' she said. 'Life is there to be made the best of.'

'Aye,' he said. 'But it is not achieved by bowing your back to every lash that fate or hideous humanity would inflict upon it. You'll not stop me, Astrid.'

She hesitated, and then shook her head. 'I'll not stop you, Kit. I'll wish you good fortune, and success. And may God have mercy on my soul.'

'You bring them men, Captin,' Abigail muttered. 'You bring them men. God going smile on that.'

But once again, no God was involved here. This was an affair of the devil. And it would be rewarded with devil's work. The sun was already dropping behind the protection of St Kitts as he strode into Falmouth, to demand a horse from the innkeeper. The animal was immediately available. People gathered on street corners to look at Christopher Hilton, but to avert their eyes whenever his gaze swung in their direction. They knew well enough he was on the path to hell, this night, and that anyone who should cross him would surely accompany him on that dread journey.

He rode out of the village, his sword slapping on his thigh, his pistols heavy in his pockets. What did he intend. Murder? Only if forced to it. But confession and atonement. An atonement so abject that it would make it possible for Lilian once again to venture forth into public, with not an obscene smile or an obscene gesture to be noticed. He could settle for nothing less. The alternative was death.

It rained, a steady patter which suggested the onset of the storm season. A suitable night for such a venture. The rain was not heavy enough to penetrate his coat and dampen his powder, and the distant lightning suited his mood. He expected nothing more; Antigua was seldom troubled with hurricanes, and in any event it was too early in the season.

He was aware of being hungry. He had deliberately eaten a light lunch, looking forward to his dinner with Lilian, after their separation. But his belly would not stomach food now, in any event.

At the crossroads he hesitated, for the first time uncertain. The ship carrying the Warners might have been ahead of the frigate, but it could have docked only hours before. And he had already estimated the scope of the celebrations which would be enjoyed in St John's. There was no possibility of Marguerite already having returned to Green Grove.

On the other hand, she
would
return there, soon enough. And on Green Grove he had no doubt he would find the actual perpetrators of the assault and the murder.

He turned his horse to the right, through the lanes and between the fields he knew so well, topped the hill and looked down on the glimmering lights of the village, the glowing windows of the Great House. It was close to midnight.

He walked the horse down the hill, travelling with deliberate slowness, determined to alert no one on the plantation, enjoying the seething anger which bubbled in his belly. He entered the compound as quietly as he had come the whole way, for the gate was open, and guided his horse towards the Great House. To his left the slave compound lay in silence; above it the white village was also dark, and beyond even that the huge bulk of the boiling house loomed through the night. But a lantern hung above the main steps to the Great House verandah, and now the mastiffs barked, and a moment later they came bounding from the kennels beneath the steps, for they were always unchained at night, perpetual watchdogs to restrain marauders, be they white burglars or vengeful slaves.

And these were fresh dogs. They did not know the master of Green Grove. They charged down the slope with high-pitched venom baying from their throats, and the hired horse whinnied nervously.

Hastily Kit dismounted. He let the bridle go and walked in front of the animal, up to the house. The dogs roared at him, and checked to bark, and to ascertain his nature before loosing themselves at his throat. They pan
ted and dripped saliva, and
inhaled some more, and smelt only the anger standing out on his face and shoulders. Their growls turned to whines and they formed a circle around him, ever parting as he strode towards the steps.

'But what is that?' Maurice Peter demanded from the night. He stood on the steps, a blunderbuss in his hands, and peered at the dark figure in front of him. 'And the dogs done bite you, man? Ow me God, is a jumbie.'

'No ghost, Maurice Peter,' Kit said. 'Not yet, at any rate.'

'Ow, me God,' Maurice Peter said again. 'The Captin? But we ain't expecting you this night, Captin.'

Kit went up the steps. 'Is the mistress home?'

'No, suh, Captin. Not yet. But she arrive back in St John's this afternoon, and she send word that she coming this night. So I waiting for she.' Maurice Peter peered more closely at the white man. 'You did hear that the Colonel done been set free, Captin?'

'I was there,' Kit said.

'Ow, me God,' Maurice Peter said. 'But you there. Yes, you there.'

'And now I wish to have a word with my wife, so I'll do the waiting up, Maurice Peter. Fetch me a jug of sangaree. I have ridden long and hard. And then you may retire.'

Maurice Peter hesitated, then thought better of arguing. 'Yes, Captin.'

'Where are the children?'

'Oh, they in bed, Captin. Mistress Johnson done been sleeping in since the mistress gone to Barbados, and she does put them to bed too early.'

Kit nodded. 'Sangaree, Maurice Peter.'

He tiptoed up the stairs, pausing only when a board creaked beneath his weight. But the whole upper part of the house was silent; the only sound the faint patter of the drizzling rain on the skylights.

He reached the gallery, opened Tony's room, stood above the bed to look down on the boy. Tony slept deeply, and quietly, half turned on his side. What did he think of it all, Kit wondered? Because surely he was old enough to understand that his mother and father were enemies. But after this night his father would be gone for ever.

He closed the door, softly, and went to Rebecca's room. She slept violently, tossing and turning, although fast asleep. But she was too young to understand what was happening, yet she was aware enough to know that something was happening, and was disturbed by it.

He resisted the temptation to kiss the child, for fear she would awake, and closed her door in turn. No doubt they would grow up looking on Miss Johnson as a parent more than either their mother or their father. But then, no doubt, that was how Marguerite intended it.

He went back down the stairs, stopped at the foot to listen to the drumming hooves, ran on to the verandah. The lantern still hung above his head, its light attracting swarms of insects. But the blunderbuss was gone. In its place a jug of iced sangaree and a glass waited by the door. Maurice Peter was on his way to warn his mistress.

Kit sat down with a sigh. How tired he was. He seemed to have been tired for a very long time. He wanted to rest, with Lilian, in some quiet place. He wanted to recapture the delight of Falmouth as they had first known it. But they could never find pleasure or contentment in Falmouth again. In all of Antigua again. Perhaps in all of the Leewards, or all of the West Indies. Unless he guarded her honour and her reputation with his sword and his pistols. Well, he would be prepared to do that. Once he had had a rest.

His head jerked, and he discovered himself awake. After how long? The rain still drizzled downwards, and the night was still dark, but now increasingly chill. It could not want so many hours to dawn. And the carriage was rumbling through the gate below him and starting to mount the slope. It was driven by two slaves, and Maurice Peter rode alongside, carrying his blunderbuss.

Kit got up. The carriage came to a halt and one of the drivers got down to fix the step. Patience Jane came out, casting her master a fearful glance. She held the door for her mistress.

Marguerite wore a light brown cloak over her gown, with a hood to protect her hair from the rain. She came up the steps, slowly, smiling at him. But it was an arranged smile. Her face was tired, with dark shadows beneath her eyes. At least the cold seemed to have cleared up; she no longer held a kerchief to her nose.

'Kit,' she said. 'What a pleasant surprise. But the frigate did not make St John's. Or we would have invited you to the celebration.'

'Captain Holgate set me ashore at English Harbour,' Kit said. 'He was in haste to make Sandy Point. You'll have heard that Benbow has been defeated?'

'There is a rumour to that effect, certainly. Fetch me a glass. Patience Jane. I will have some sangaree. By God, but I am weary.' She sat down. 'So your friend Monsieur DuCasse is once again triumphant. What a pity you did not drown
him
in your water butt, all those years ago. You may put the carriage away, Henry Kenneth.'

The vehicle rumbled towards the stable. Maurice Peter dismounted and led his horse behind it.

Patience Jane returned with the glass, and Marguerite drank, with great satisfaction.

'You may retire also, Patience Jane,' Kit said.

The girl hesitated, looking at her mistress.

'Do as the master says, child.' Marguerite watched her go into the house. 'What brings you to Green Grove in the middle of the night, Kit, sweetheart? There is surely no more harm you can wish to do to my family?'