HF - 05 - Sunset (22 page)

'Oh, my God,' he whispered, rising to his knees. 'Awake, Miss Hilton?' It was Bowman. 'Maybe he'll go away?' she asked. 'At a quarter to eight? Not likely. My God, a quarter to eight.'

'I'll get rid of him. You
...'
She bit her lip. 'Stand over there, against the inside of the door.' The cabin was too small for any proper concealment.

He hesitated, then leapt from the bunk, gathered such of his clothes as he could, and stood against the bulkhead.

Again the gentle tap. 'Miss Hilton?'

'Just a moment, Bowman.' She hunted the room, found Alan's shoes and stockings, and his shirt, bundled them beneath her pillow, then pulled on her shift, opened the door. As she had supposed would be the case, Bowman's eyes bulged.

'Yes?'

'I
...
ah
...
as you were retiring, miss, I wondered if you would like me to empty the pot for you.'

'How thoughtful of you, Mr Bowman,' she said. 'But I haven't, used it.'

'Ah,' he said, ‘I
beg your pardon.'

'Not at all, Mr Bowman. Perhaps you could attend me in the morning. Goodnight.'

She closed the door, leaned against it, had to fight against a tremendous desire to laugh.

Alan came into the centre of the room, staring. She saw that there was a trace of blood on his penis. 'My God,' he said. 'They told me
...'

'That I
had been raped by a black man?’

'Meg
...'

'You should not believe all the gossip you hear.' 'But Meg, what have I done to you?' She kissed him on the
mouth. 'You have made me the
happiest girl in the world. More than that, you have made me yours, Alan. Only yours, now and always. Now you had best make haste. It is five minutes to the hour.'

He pulled on his clothes. Think Bowman was suspicious ?'

'He was too interested in my bubbies.' She held his arm, kissed his cheek. 'You'll come again? Soon?'

'Whenever I can. Oh, Meg
...'
He held her close, massaged her bottom, cupped her breast, kissed her mouth. Hard as a rod, all over again. Oh, if only he could stay. She was sure of it, now. 'I love you,' he said.

'And I love you. I have never loved anyone but you. I am sure of it.'

'I'll be back.'

'Wait.' She held his arm again, unlocked the door, peered into the companionway. But it was empty. 'All right.'

He kissed her forehead, stepped outside, climbed the ladder. Meg closed the door again, locked it
...
she would have to establish that she a
lways did this, and then threw
herself on the bunk, clutching the pillows against her belly. And remembered that night, just before her fifteenth birthday, when she had first dreamed of Alan coming to her bed. Why, if only she had known then what she knew now, on their explorations of the Grandstand and the Racecourse, miles away from anyone, in the dry heat of a Jamaican afternoon, what magnificent adventures they would have had.

But looking over her shoulder was pointless. They would have so many magnificent adventures, with each other's bodies, in the future. Because she had found him again, in time.

She slept happily, and awoke in the small hours to the whine of the wind and the plunging of the ship, and the thudding of feet above her head. The breeze had freshened yet again, she thought drowsily, and hoped Captain Weston would not find it necessary to take shelter in some bay.

In fact, the wind was from the east, so that although by morning it had reached a gale, Captain Weston decided to take advantage of it as he steered west across the Atlantic

Which by morning Meg was prepared to regret. The motion was not so much violent as tremendous. As she was running, the
Wanderer
did not plunge and heave, but instead soared, up and up and up as she was picked up by the giant waves, until, on reaching the top, by which time Meg's stomach had descended into her pelvis, the ship careered downwards, gathering speed all the while until it seemed likely that she would be unable to stop herself and head straight for the bottom of the ocean. By the time she reached the bottom of the trough, and was prepared to turn for her upwards surge, Meg's stomach had risen into her throat.

She was not actually sea-sick, but she wished she could be. Eating, in such conditions, was a quite impossible thought. Even leaving her cabin was an impossible thought, and for three days she remained in her bunk, visited once by Captain Weston, who fled in alarm when he discovered she was naked beneath the blankets, and three times a day by the faithful and fascinated Bowman, who brought her dry salt biscuits and cups of water, well laced with brandy, emptied her pot, and would have assisted her to sit on it, she had no doubt at all, with the slightest encouragement. Of Alan she saw not a sign. He was far too busy, in any event, with the constant changing of sails, but she was happy that it should be so, as she did not really wish to see him while in this condition.

By the fourth day out, however, she began to feel better, assisted by the fact that at last the wind began to drop. By then she was utterly filthy, but once again Bowman came to her help, and arranged a small wooden tub in the centre of her cabin floor, which he filled with hot water. There was only room for her to sit - her legs had to be outside - and it was not until she was actually sitting that she discovered the water was salt. But the bath itself was a luxury, even if she felt sticky afterwards.

That done she could reappear at meals and on deck, and allow herself to be amazed at the way the sea had changed from green to the magnificent blue she remembered from the
Roddam,
only sparsely dotted with whitecaps now, while the movement of the ship had settled down to a regular plunge and a steady heave; she could not roll, as Meg remembered the steamship doing, because her sails were full. She found the motion, now she was used to it, much preferable.

'And we're making great time, Miss Hilton,' Captain Weston said, walking beside her on the quarterdeck. 'Oh, aye, two hundred and fifty miles a day for four days. That's a thousand miles, you'll understand. Why, we're a third of our journey. Nothing like an easterly wind to set a ship on her way.'

Meg watched Alan, standing by the helmsman, looking from the plunge of the distant bows aloft to the set of the still more distant topsails. He had greeted her most courteously at luncheon. But then, so had all the other officers. And he had had four days to think, and to remember, as had she. And perhaps realize the enormity of what he had done? Or perhaps, far worse, feel disappointed. Certainly she could not remember any great response on her part. Oriole had often enough criticized her for this. 'Oh,' she had said, 'you he there like a sack of coal'.

But she had never had to do more, with Oriole, or with Cleave. The exploration of her body, the feel of her growing passion beneath their hands, had been enough for them. Perhaps Alan wanted more. Perhaps he needed more. But how even to catch his eye ?

Yet it had to be done soon; as far as she could calculate, she was within a week of her menstrual period.

In fact she could not attract his attention at all that afternoon, and retired to her bunk in a fine frenzy of despair. Was he deliberately avoiding her? Not only avoiding her, but even avoiding meeting her eye? He had been disappointed. She
had
lain like a sack of coal, and he, after two years at sea, visiting strange ports, filled with the most delightful and experienced houris
...
what chance did a seventeen-year-old girl stand against such memories?

She discovered she was both angry and miserable, and cried herself to sleep, to awaken at that soft brushing of the knuckles against her door.

She left the bed in a single bound, not even properly awake, released the lock, pulled the door in, brought him with it.' It was just after six, she gathered from the huge brass chronometer by the companion ladder, and he was wearing deck clothes.

'Meg. I had to see you.'

'Oh, my sweet.' She locked the door. 'But
...
aren't you on watch? I heard but four bells just now.'

'These are dog watches,' he explained. 'From four until six in the afternoon and from six until eight the watches are only two hours instead of four. This is the only way we can change our times of duty, or we would have the same watches throughout the voyage.'

'Oh,' she said, but she didn't really understand. She wasn't sufficiently interested. Alan was here, and that was all that mattered. She led him to the bunk. 'I thought you would never come.'

'I had heard that you were unwell.'

'Sea-sick.' She sat down, drew him down beside her, kissed his mouth, his eyes, his ears, his nose, his chin, fumbled at his clothes. 'But I am well again now, and you are here. Nothing else matters.'

'Meg
...'
He caught her hands. 'I cannot stay. I dare not'

'No one saw you come in.'

'Yet at this hour of the afternoon anyone may come along, or may see me leave.'

'And does that matter, now?' She undid the buttons of his shirt, and thrust her hand inside to rub the mat of hair on his chest.

'Matter? My God
...'

She smiled, and leaned forward to kiss his nipples, and as he was protesting, gave one a little nip. 'Ow.'

'Nothing matters,' she said. 'Your captain will not put back now. Our next port of call is Jamaica.'

Once again he caught her hands, forced her upright. 'And what of my career?'

'Career?'

'I mean to be a master. I told you that, remember?'

She laughed, and kissed him on the chin. 'And I remember that you were very angry. Sea captain? Ship's master? Your future lies ashore. Planting Hilltop.'

'Hilltop? I told
you...'

'When you were angry,' she insisted. 'But now you have no reason. You felt you could never work for me. Well, then, I will work for you. All of Hilltop will work for you. When we are married, Papa will make you his heir, and in time you will own it all.'

He frowned at her. 'Hilltop?'

'And Green Grove. There is one small thing. You must change your name to Hilton. There must be a Hilton on Hilltop. It would sound too strange, McAvoy of Hilltop. You do see that?' She paused in sudden alarm, for his frown had deepened.

'You move too fast for me, Meg.'

'But
...
you do love me, Alan ?'

'More than anything in the world.'

'And you do want to marry me?'

'Of course I do. I was going to propose it, now. It occurred to me that if I proposed marriage, although Captain Weston would not permit any familiarity between us, until your father's consent has been given, I would at least be able to walk with you on deck.'

'Oh, what a magnificent idea,' she cried. 'Then I accept. Now. Yes, yes, yes.' Once again she checked her enthusiasm. He had stopped frowning, but he did not look as happy as he should. 'Do you not like the concept of calling yourself Hilton?'

'1 have nothing against any name, Meg, if it is what you want. But I'll not return to Hilltop.'

Her turn to frown, in bewilderment. 'Not return to Hilltop ? Were you so miserable there ?'

'I think I was,' he said seriously. 'Without understanding why. Or without even being aware of it, perhaps. I always knew something was wrong, and could never decide what it was. Now I know. This ship trades with Cuba, amongst other places. I have been ashore there. The Spaniards may just have freed their slaves,
but, my God, conditions are still
bad.'

Meg shook her head. 'You have become far too serious for me, Alan. What has that to do with Hilltop?'

'I have seen sugar plantations where every canestalk has been planted in human blood, Meg. I have seen men, and women, and even children, reduced to the very shreds of humanity, and indeed murdered at the whim of their masters. And that used to happen, within living memory, on that land which is so sacred to you.'

'Of course it did,' she cried. 'But
we
freed our slaves fifty years ago, remember.'

'Ssssh,' he said. 'Yet is every inch of your soil stained with blood. The very name of Hilton is stained in it. Hilltop is a cursed place, Meg. You can do no more than give it to the black people. And even then you would not be atoning for a tenth of your family's sins.'

She thrust both hands deep into her hair, in frustration, and in an attempt to control her bubbling temper. 'Of all the concentrated nonsense,' she said. 'I have never heard quite so much balderdash. You must have come under the influence of some of those ghastly missionary people.'

'I have used my eyes and my ears, nothing more.'

'Give Hilltop to the blacks? May I remind you that we were in the West Indies before the first black set foot there? We brought them in, my ancestors, to work for us. That's how they got there in the first place.'

'And they have stayed,' he pointed out. 'And grown, and become a nation, while you
...
the plantocracy, after fleecing the islands for every penny they could over two