HF - 03 - The Devil's Own (66 page)

The overseer nodded to the gentlemen.

'Very well, ladies,' Harding said. 'We had best be about this business. I must first of all appeal to you to cease this grim intent, and embrace each other as friends.'

'If Mrs Hilton wishes,' Lilian said in a low voice.

Marguerite stared at her. Almost they could see the glint of her eyes through the veil. 'I do not wish,' she said. 'This woman has seen fit to start this business. Let us carry it to a proper conclusion.'

Kit opened his mouth and then closed it again. Nothing he could say could do other than make matters worse.

Harding held out his box. 'Will you select your weapons?'

Marguerite took one of the pistols, and Lilian, after a moment's hesitation, did likewise.

'Now, will you stand back to back, please,' Harding said. 'And when I give the signal, will you walk away from each other for ten paces, and then turn, and fire at will. I will count the paces, ladies, and I must impress upon you that should either of you turn and fire before the count of ten, then she will be guilty of a felony, which shall be murder should her ball strike home, and will be treated accordingly. Do you understand me?'

Marguerite continued to stare at Lilian, whose face had suddenly flushed, red spots clinging to her cheeks, while her mouth settled into an even firmer line. She was summoning all her courage.

'Remember, I beg of you,'
Kit
said. 'Do not be hurried.'

'It matters naught.'

He bit his lip, let his hands fall to his sides, watched her walk away from him to where Harding waited. She was very nearly a head taller than Marguerite. And now even the rustle of the crowd fell silent, and the only sound was the faint murmur of the surf, as the sun broke out of the Atlantic behind them to bathe an orange light across the scene.

'Now,' Harding said. 'One
...
two
...
three
...
four
...
five
...
six
...
seven
...
eight
...
nine
...
ten.'

Lilian stopped and turned, the pistol hanging by her side. Marguerite had also turned, and once again stared at her enemy. Then slowly, her right hand came up. How slowly it rose. Kit wanted to cry out in sheer anguish. But Lilian never moved, and her face never changed expression. Up and up came the pistol, extended at the end of that black-sleeved, black-gloved hand like an extra finger, absolutely straight. No other part of Marguerite's body moved.

The morning seemed to stop, even the sun seemed no longer to edge its way into the sky. The sound of the explosion, when it came, was a surprise. Black smoke eddied into the air, and Kit realized that he had shut his eyes. He opened them again, and looked at Lilian. She stood absolutely straight, and unharmed. He wanted to shout for joy, and then he looked at Marguerite, who still extended her arm and gazed along the pistol as if in utter disbelief. The second explosion sounded almost before he had realized what was happening. But Lilian had merely pointed her pistol at the sky and fired. And now the crowd relaxed, and a babble of chatter rose into the air.

Neither woman had moved, and H
arding was walking forward with
the open box. The noise dwindled; the onlookers had not realized there was to be more than one exchange.

Harding went to Marguerite first, the box extended. She gazed at him for some seconds, looked into the box, and then suddenly, in a gesture of remarkable frustration, struck it with the empty pistol she still held in her hand. Taken by surprise Harding dropped it, and the pistols fell to the sand. Marguerite threw her own weapon on top of the others, turned, and walked towards the beach. No one spoke; they merely watched in amazement. The door of the carriage still stood open, and the coachman waited beside it.

'Take me home,' she said, her voice clear and distinct.

The door closed, the coachman climbed on to his box. The crowd woke up to what was happening and started whistling and booing. Hodge scratched his chin.

'Your client has defaulted, sir,' Kit said. 'Mine is vindicated.'

'By God,' Hodge said. He hurried towards the town to find a horse.

'The most remarkable thing I ever did see,' Harding commented. 'And from Marguerite? It is unbelievable.'

Yet had it happened. Kit was already running across the
sand to reach Lilian and catch her as her knees gave way and she fell in a dead faint.

So then, even buccaneers and planters can be happy, from time to time. Jean DuCasse had found happiness, like Kit once, in planting. He had retired from the sea he had dominated so splendidly, and grew sugar-cane in the new French colony of Santo Domingo, which had grown out of that same Hispaniola they had haunted as
matelots
so long ago. He wrote letters begging
Kit
to visit him, whenever this tiresome war would end. But for Kit Hilton happiness was to stand on the poop deck of a stout little ship, and feel the wind rippling his hair while he listened to the creaking of the sheets and the swish of water away from the hull. Her name was
Calliope,
and she was everything he could have wanted: fast, seaworthy, trim, stiff enough to make life aboard comfortable, and armed with four cannon in each broadside and a saker forward. She was a pursuer; a ferret, not a hare.

But there was nothing for her to pursue. The sea was empty of ships save for the three-master bearing down on St John's. But
she
proudly flew the mingled cross of the new union, and was from England. He had already fired a blank charge in salute, and dipped his ensign. Kit Hilton, exciseman. But the planters would take no risks at this juncture. They had no wish to invite reprisals from Mr Parke, and they well knew he only waited the excuse. Even the House had not met in a month. Daniel must be left to fume and fuss, and wait, as they.

So for the coastguard cutter it was just a matter of sailing, and returning home. Why, he might be a gentleman of leisure, with naught to do but amuse himself. For the harbour was opening ahead of him, and Myers the mate was giving the order to shorten sail preparatory to anchoring. And when he was rowed ashore in his jolly boat there would be no frowns to greet him and no boos, at least from the common folk, while the planters seldom came into town nowadays. Although today he saw Harding, and two others, gathered at the far end of the dock, pinching their lips and glancing at him, but offering no greeting. They hoped for mail.

Something to tell the Governor. A horse waited for him, and he nodded and smiled as he rode up the street, exchanging a greeting with Barnee, looking out for Abigail and her baby as he passed the warehouse. Sometimes even Astrid Christianssen was there to greet him. But never Dag. Rumour had it
he
scarcely left his books and his work. An unhappy man. Because his daughter had failed him.

But she had not failed herself. Once through the town Kit could whip his horse into a gallop, and storm up the hill, under the shady trees, to rein before the gleaming white balconies and verandahs of Government House, against which the brilliant red and green of the hibiscus hedge stood out in sharp contrast.

She walked on the lawn, towards him, put up her cheek to be kissed. No, indeed, she had not failed herself. The slight air of defensiveness which had used to accompany her like a cloak had gone,
aHd
forever, he hoped. Now she was proud to be seen by his side, proud to live with him as his mistress.

'It is good to have you home, dearest,' she said. 'And did the ship behave as you wished?'

'She is a treasure.' Kit walked towards the house, holding her hand. 'Daniel has done me proud. And how is the great man?'

'He broods, and writes letters. I think he has missed you, Kit. Certain
it
is he has asked for you to go up to him the moment you returned.'

'Then I suppose I had better do so. But he has no other solace?'

She climbed the wide, shallow steps in front of him. 'Oh, indeed. Mrs Chester comes here quite blatantly now, at least twice a week. I think this island must be so inured to scandal that there is no longer even comment. Not that I should pass judgement. Why, often enough she sits on this verandah with me and enjoys a cup of tea. For are we not two of a kind?'

'Sweetheart.' He caught her hand again. 'You know I would set that right, if I could. I do not suppose
...'

For they had heard nothing of Marguerite since her tumultuous exit from the scene of the duel.

'Rumour, as usual,' she said. 'How now no one is allowed on to Green Grove at all. I believe even a messenger from Goodwood, informing her of her father's death, was turned away.'

'Philip is dead?'

She nodded. 'A week ago. I think this is what is upsetting Mr Parke. The funeral was used as an expression of solidarity by the planters. 'Tis said there was not a man of them absent. Which makes the non-appearance of Mrs Hilton the more surprising.'

'By God,'
Kit
said. 'He was clearly dying when last we met. But what of Celestine? And my children?'

'I understand Mrs Warner will sell Goodwood and return to England.'

'With Tony and Rebecca? By God, they'll not be whisked across the ocean. I shall have to pay her a visit. But it is, as you say, inconceivable that Marguerite did not attend her father's funeral. But then, is anything about Marguerite as it seems? I still cannot understand her behaviour that day on the beach. Had her voice not been so clear and sane I would once again have supposed her to be demented.'

'Or sorrowful,' Lilian said. 'Believe me, Kit, I often lie awake at night and wonder at the wrong I have done her.'

'Yet our love had come to an end before I came to you, Lilian,'
Kit
insisted. 'The affair is now closed. She sought her revenge, most cruelly, and you stood up to her and forced her to admit defeat. And you were right, in everything about her. She admitted how much
she
had wronged you by her action on the day. Can you not forget that?'

'No,' Lilian said. 'I cannot forget her so long as she looms so large in your mind.'

'My
mind? Why
...'

'You should not try to dissemble, Kit,' Lilian said severely. 'It is not in your nature. Green Grove, with its mistress, is too deeply embedded in your heart for either of us ever to overlook it.' She freed her hand as they reached the upper floor. 'You had best go to the Governor.'

Kit hesitated. But she would do better when she had been given more time. Even now, happiness was something at which she would have to work. And he could do no more than help her, when she wished help. He knocked.

'Kit? Come in, man. Come in.'

He opened the door. For his office, Parke had appropriated the best room in the house, intended as an upstairs withdrawing room, wide and high-ceilinged, with glass doors opening on to the upper verandah, and standing wide to allow the breeze to enter. A huge mahogany desk faced the doors, and from his chair the Governor could look out across his lawn at the sea and the harbour. Yet he did not appear contented. A sheet of paper and a quill lay on the desk in front of him, and he played with the silver inkstand.

'Kit,' he cried. 'Thank God you are back. You've made an arrest?'

'I have seen but a single ship, and she was out of Bristol. And I even sailed into St Eustatius itself.'

'Aye.' Parke scowled. 'They know you too well, as they know me.' He got up, paced the room. 'They will make no move. They wait
...
do you know, I had supposed it was Warner himself restraining them? God knows I have pushed and prodded and provoked long enough. I had supposed, when their acknowledged leader died, that they would react, and strongly. But by God, they do nothing. Save refuse to grant the necessary supplies. Every day I am assailed with more bills, and every day I possess less funds. By God, this matter must be settled soon or government will become impossible.'

'I will tell you why they do nothing,' Kit said. 'They are waiting.'

Parke frowned at him. 'Waiting? For what?' 'A letter from England?'

'A letter?' Parke glanced at him, and the frown deepened, and then he turned at the knock. 'Come.'

Jonathan stood there. 'The mail, Your Excellency, begging pardon.'

Parke seized the leather satchel, glanced at Kit again;
his face had paled, very slightl
y.

'And begging your pardon again, Your Excellency,' Jonathan said. 'There are some gentlemen waiting to see you.'