He leaned back in his chair, sucked the stem of his pen. He'd be writing novels, next. There could be no more accomplished literary liar in the world. But a lie, to be palatable, and to be convincing, must be spiced with more than a segment of truth. He dipped his nib once again into the ink.
'In such conditions, in such surroundings, as I stated above, my path is difficult. I will, in so far as I am able, follow my father's precepts and attempt to deal with the blacks as if they were Christians, which indeed they are not, in the main. But this has naturally diminished my popularity with my fellow planters, who consider me at best a weakling, and at worst a positive incendiary. So to the dangers of our position, is added a total social ostracism by the white folk. I am indeed fortunate in having T
ony with me,
and in having procured the services of a most remarkable man, by name James Hardy, whose entire life seems to be bound up in the business of growing and grinding sugar. Thanks entirely to him, both my crops so far have been exceptional, and we may hope, as this dreadful war draws to a close, to see our prices also regain their former level, and thus embark upon a new period of prosperity which will serve to grace the beauty and the company of the future Mistress of Hilltop. And in this regard I tell you frankly, my dearest Ellen, that I am inclined
to
wait for affairs in Europe to settle down, as there can be no doubt that French privateers do abound, and truly I shudder to think of the dangers to which I might be exposing you during the long weeks of an Atlantic crossing. But now that Bonaparte seems to have failed in his Russian design, why surely even he will seek peace, or France will seek peace without him.'
He leaned back again, and laid down his pen. T
ruly, a noveli
st. And yet, a labour of love, as well. He could envisage her, sitting opposite him. This was not the least difficult, as her portrait smiled at him from the wall over his desk. And it was certainly Ellen. The artist indeed had captured less of her true likeness than her essential expression. It was an utterly entrancing thought, that one day, one day soon, in fact, that look of conscious superiority, that promising body, which could only have grown in the last few years, that so firm mouth and those so steady eyes, would have to surrender to him. To all that he now knew, of woman, and of love.
Just as it was a nightmare occasionally, that she might not surrender, or might do so only once. But these were his earliest fears, looming out of the recesses of his mind only to be dismissed again. How could she not surrender, here on Hilltop, alone with him and his belongings. He was master here. And the Ellen he remembered had not been backward in offering to surrender. As if she had known, as if she could possibly have known, what indeed she was offering to give into his keeping. Certainly he had not suspected.
He inhaled musk, and waited. What would happen when Ellen discovered about Harriet? But then, why should she ever discover about Harriet? Oh, in Jamaica she certainly would. There would be tears, perhaps. But the marriage would already have been consummated, and she would learn that he was no different from any other planter, by repute at least. It was the character of Harriet herself which offended the Jamaican society. Well, then . . . but it would also offend Ellen. And yet, to give up Harriet, to order her from the plantation
...
he really did not see himself doing that. The very thought of her, even after two years in her bed, brought him up hard and anxious. She seemed to have accumulated all the experience possible within her one eager body, and still retained the ability to project it forth as a wondrous introduction. Nor did she appear to possess any other interest. Save perhaps drink. Indeed, she drank with a determined enjoyment he had not supposed possible, and often remained sitting up in bed, intent on finishing her bottle, long after he was asleep. And yet, she kept herself so clean and sweet-smelling, it was impossible to take offence, especially as the drunker she became the happier she became. But for the rest, she neither read nor sewed, and her supervision of the house was of the briefest description. Even as regards her daughter she seemed perfectly uninterested. Judith's education, or lack of it, was a source of considerable worry to him, as the girl appeared visibly to grow, day by day. But his instincts warned him not to interfere, and indeed, not even to make a friend of the child, who seemed contented enough in pursuing solitary habits, turning the pages of the books in the library, occasionally romping with Boscawen's children, or sitting on the verandah staring into space with an expression of deep concentration in her eyes.
He felt fingers on his shoulders, leaned back to rest his head against her breast, look down on the hand, long and strong. It was her fingers, the thought of her fingers, in connection with Uncle Robert, that had first created the desire for her within him. And now he knew Uncle Robert had died happy. And guilty? Not Uncle Robert, by all accounts. Then why Richard? He was
the
Hilton. He repeated this to himself, constantly, to remind himself of his position. Hiltons took. Then, guilty about Ellen? That was stupid. Ellen had herself indicated that she would perfer a man to a boy. When he was ready for her, she would have a man.
'They have returned,' Harriet said.
'Ah.' His belly filled with lead. His first runaways, after two years. The fingers left his shoulders, and he stood up. 'Will you come out?'
She shook her head.
‘I
will watch from the house. But Dick . . .' the fingers were back, closing on his arm. 'They must be punished. You know that.'
'Aye.' He sighed. 'I had
supposed we had put that behind
us, on Hilltop. If only I knew why.'
She glanced at him, frowning. 'T
here is talk, in the servants..’
'Talk? About what?'
Her frown faded into that marvellous smile. 'It is no matter.
Certainly not beside the fact of their absconding. You'd best go out.'
He went down the hallway, past the staircase. Talk, amongst the servants? He must find out about that.
He stood on the verandah, watched the procession coming slowly up the hill. Hardy came first, followed by Absolom and two other drivers. These were mounted and Absolom held the leashes of the two giant mastiffs. They had been Hardy's first purchases, and were called Robinson and Crusoe. Dick did not like them; he suspected they were Hardy's pets, not his. But apparently a plantation had to have dogs, and this day at the least they had proved their worth. The runaways walked behind, or occasionally fell, and were dragged; they were secured by their wrists to the saddles of two of the horses, but the ropes were sufficiently long to allow them to lag by some ten feet.
And perhaps they had been punished enough, he thought. Their flesh was torn and bleeding, and they were clearly in the last stages of exhaustion, while presumably they had had little enough food or drink during the past two days.
He glanced to the left, at the drive leading past the town, and frowned again. Here came another horseman, swaying in the saddle, hatless, although he had certainly worn one last night when he had set out. Here was the lie to his letters to Mama, which repeated constantly what a tower of strength Tony was, how well he was behaving. The fact was, Tony enjoyed planting, there was no doubt about that. It was in the Hilton blood no less than in the Hardy. But this apart, his promises had been as worthless as any other promise he had ever made. He drank, and he gambled, losing a fortune on every occasion, and he continued to see Joan Lanken. Their affair, indeed, was the scandal of Kingston, only overshadowed by the far greater scandal of his brother and Harriet Gale. So how could he criticize? Well, he did not criticize.
'What do you think, Josh?'
Merriman sighed. 'Well, sir, Mr Richard, they got for be flogged. I ain't seeing no other way.'
The procession stopped at the foot of the steps, and Hardy dismounted. 'Making for the Cockpit Country, Mr Richard. They're not the most intelligent of niggers.'
Dick walked down the steps, heart pounding. Both the runaways were naked, both were young, both were well-formed, the girl especially so. He found them remarkably attractive people, as a whole, in the grace of their movements, the humour which seemed their principal characteristic, even the dishonesty which marred their attitudes to life. And he had often wondered what sort of a lover one would make, and then rejected the thought immediately, and been the more grateful to Harriet for making such rejection a possibility.
'Do you know why they ran away, James?'
Hardy shifted from foot to foot. 'Well, sir, Mr Richard . . .'
'It ain't mattering, Mr Richard,' Merriman said. 'They just got to be punished.'
Dick glanced at him with a surprise almost equal to Hardy's. Josh had never advocated flogging before. If Dick had so far given in to Hardy's demands as to allow him, and the drivers, to carry whips in the field, and use them wherever necessary, Josh had been his most staunch support that the plantation would work and prosper without descending to a formal flogging, but rather in punishments such as confinement on slave holidays, or curtailment of the rum ration.
'Why, Merriman is right, Mr Richard,' Hardy said. 'An example must be made. It is possible that the slaves have been waiting to take advantage of you. Your generosity of spirit is well known.'
Dick frowned at him; Hardy was given to sarcasm.
'So it were best to nip their tendencies in the bud by an example. A severe example.'
'Such as?'
'Well, sir, on most
plantations the penalty for runn
ing away would be two hundred lashes.'
'Two hundred . . . they'd not survive.'
'Well, sir, Mr Richard, down to a few years ago they'd have been hanged without argument. And a few years before that they'd have been burned alive.'
'This is 1813, Mr Hardy. Not 1713.
1
am happy to say.' Dick walked closer to the two prisoners. The man saw his boots, and attempted to rise, but could only reach his knees. 'What have you to say for yourself?'
The Negro's tongue came out and slowly circled his lips. 'Water, massa. Water.'
'You'd best. . .'
'After they've been flogged, Mr Richard,' Hardy said.
'It would be best, sir,' Merriman agreed.
Once again Dick glanced at them. Never before had he known them in such total agreement; indeed Merriman usually and obviously disliked Hardy as much as the white man objected to having a black colleague.
'Hullo, hullo, hullo.' Tony fell from his saddle, kept his feet by hanging on to his horse's bridle. 'Court day?'
'Where on earth have you been?' Dick demanded.
'Aye, well, it was a long game. There are notes . . .'
'Give them to me later. 'Tis a crisis.'
'Runaways?' Tony blinked at the prisoners, and the girl raised her head to stare at him. 'Good God.'
'Aye,' Dick said. ' 'Tis bad. They will have to be flogged. Twenty lashes apiece.'
'Twenty lashes?' Hardy cried. ' 'Tis no punishment at all. Their skin is like leather.'
'Twenty lashes,' Dick insisted. 'I'll not murder them. And they have been punished already.'
'Mercy,' screamed the girl. 'Mercy, massa. Massa Tony . . .'
Dick's head swung, and Tony flushed.
'Aye, well, I'm for a bath. Christ, it's hot work.'
Dick caught his sleeve. 'What is hot work?'
Tony looked down at the hand. 'Why, riding from town. And let go my coat, little brother, or I'll break your head.'
Dick let go before he really intended to. But when Tony spoke in that very low and even tone he generally meant what he said, and they could not afford to fight in front of the slaves. But my God, what had Harriet said? There is talk, amongst the servants. So perhaps he did not waste his time in visiting Joan Lanken, having known her for two years. Or perhaps a white skin alone was not enough for him.
He looked at Merriman, who kept his expression blank, and then at Hardy.
' 'Tis not a crime, Mr Richard. Not compared with running away.'
'And suppose it was the cause of the runaway? This girl and this boy, maybe they love each other. Was she forced? I must get to the bottom of this.'
'Oh, come now, sir,' Hardy remonstrated. 'How can a nigger girl be forced? And indeed, sir, how can she know love? They are animals, sir, and copulate as the urge takes them. Let us compromise, sir, on twenty-five lashes apiece. I will see to it personally. But they must be punished, sir, and in your name. You must rule, sir, and you must be seen to rule. You are
the
Hilton, Mr Richard. You are the master here.'
The master here. How the phrase haunted him, where once it had rolled around his head like a euphoric cloud. He walked his horse between the rows of cane, and received the nods of the bookkeepers, the obeisances of the weeding gangs. His cane, tall and proud and filled with sugar, approaching his fourth grmding, and every one a record. His drivers. His slaves. His bookkeepers every one recruited by Hardy, by the promise of the revival of Hilltop into the bubbling work cauldron of fifty years before, and the salaries commensurate with such success.