'You,' Ellen shouted. 'Find her a horse, and set her on it. You can clear her room out later and send her belongings behind her.'
Boscawen gazed f
rom the woman on the floor to hi
s master in a mixture of bewilderment and dismay.
'Ellen,' begged Mrs Taggart. 'Now don't lose your temper. Behave like a lady.'
Dick supposed he must be dreaming.
Harriet slowly rose once again to her hands and knees, turning as she did so to present less of a target. To Dick's distress he saw that she was weeping, t
ears of pain and shame. 'Dick,'
she begged, 'You can't let her treat me so.' Oh God, he thought. Oh, my God. 'Well, Dick?' Ellen demanded.
Oh, my God, he thought. So Clarissa has her way after all. And her revenge. No doubt sweeter for the delay. And certainly rougher on Harriet.
'Have you lost your tongue, Mr Hilton?' Mrs Taggart inquired.
'Dick,' Harriet said.
Dick licked his lips. 'Perhaps . . . perhaps it would be better, Harriet, if. . .'
'If I was to go?' Her voice rose an octave, to a level he had not previously heard.
'Ah . . . well . . . just for the time. Until we can get things sorted out. Go to the Park Hotel. Yes, that is it. Tell them the charge is mine. I . . .' he glanced at Ellen, 'I will visit you shortly.'
Harriet had reached her feet. She looked at Dick, then at Ellen, and then, without a word, turned and limped out of the front door.
Ellen stooped and picked up the hat, handed it to Boscawen. 'She'll need this. We'd not have the creature catching sunstroke.'
'Yes'm,' Boscawen said. He glanced at Dick, rolled his eyes most expressively, and hurried behind Harriet.
'I'm sure you spoke for the best, Dick,' Ellen said, 'in order to avoid a scene . . .'
'A scene?' he said. 'My God.'
'But I must warn you that if you ever attempt to see that woman again I shall leave Jamaica. Mama, are you ready to return to town?'
'But . . . you are leaving now,' he protested.
'Of course. It would not be proper for me to stay until we are wed, and besides, that woman's presence, her scent, remains. As do her clothes. You will send them off, as you promised. I will expect you to call, Dick. Not today. I really am feeling quite faint after what has happened. But tomorrow. Mama and
I are staying with the Laidlaws.'
'The Laidlaws? But. . .' he grasped her hand. 'You haven't given me a chance to explain.'
She allowed him a smile. 'There is nothing to explain, Dick. I feel I know enough about humanity to understand that a man, a young man especially, like yourself, and innocent of the ways of the world, readily succumbs to female charms when those charms are made available, and when, perhaps, he is already subject to temptation . . .' she glanced around her. 'In his surroundings, in his position. You have my word, I shall say no more about it. Unless of course you give me reason. You may kiss me goodbye.'
He hesitated. A wild urge came seeping up from some recess of his mind to shout, balderdash, to bellow, I am Hilton, of Hilltop, and you are nothing, save as my bride, to say that, unless you stay now, I shall terminate our engagement. . . but would all of those things not mean he was indeed trying to ape Robert Hilton, riding roughshod over manners and morals and people's feelings in the gratification of his own desires? He had behaved abominably, and everyone knew it. Why, it was exceedingly generous of Ellen still to wish to marry him.
He l
eaned forward, and touched her li
ps with his, and waited, for the sudden thrust of passion he still remembered. But her mouth remained closed.
'Until tomorrow, Richard.' She withdrew her hand. 'Shall we go, Mama?'
'Good day, Mr Hilton,' Mrs Taggart said. 'I trust you will think very deeply about your past life, and endeavour to mend your ways.'
She followed her daughter into the hall, leaving Dick standing in the drawing room. Presumably he should go to the verandah to wave them off, but he felt incapable of movement. He listened to the sound of the hooves, the rumble of the wheels, gazed at Boscawen.
'They gone, Mr Richard.'
'Oh, thanks, Mr Boscawen. Is Josh around?'
'Well, no, sir, it gone eleven. Josh back to the village.'
'And Mr Hardy?'
'He gone to
t
he house, I should think, sir.'
Where he was looked after, in every possible sense, by a mulatto girl he had picked up in Kingston. How he would laugh, when he heard the story.
And they had been going to ring the bells, and celebrate Bonaparte's abdication.
'You going breakfast, Mr Richard?'
'Eh?' He doubted he could stomach a thing. If only Tony had been here. He'd have sorted them out. But
he
had just finished sorting Tony out, and been proud of it. For a moment. 'No, Mr Boscawen. I'll not breakfast today. But I wouldn't mind a drink.'
'Oh, yes, sir. I going mix some more sangaree.'
Dick shook his head. 'I think something a little stronger. A glass of rum. No, bring the bottle.' He sat down. He felt exhausted.
'Yes, sir, Mr Richard.' Boscawen was back in a moment, set the silver tray with the bottle and the glass in front of his master, straightened. 'Mr Richard, I can ask?'
'Of course. What?'
'That lady, Mr Richard. Is true she going marry you?'
Dick drank, felt the hot liquid scorch his mouth and burn its way down his chest. 'I'm afraid it is true, Mr Boscawen.' And wondered why he had used the word 'afraid'.
Boscawen rolled his eyes some more. 'Ayayay,' he remarked, and left the room.
Dick poured himself another glass. He supposed he should try to think. He had been humiliated. And Ellen was making sure he would be even more humiliated tomorrow, by forcing
him
to call upon the Laidlaws, who would this evening be regaled with the story of how she had quite literally kicked Harriet Gale off the plantation.
But if he did not go tomorrow, she might well refuse to marry him. And was he not betrothed? Had he not dreadfully deceived her these four years? And was not Ellen born to be mistress of a house like this? He could imagine her, sweeping through these great rooms, hostessing vast receptions, playing the piano . . . why, in the four years he had been here the piano had never once been played. Harriet had no such accomplishments.
But, to be out here, alone with Ellen, and Mrs Taggart? Good God. He had not thought of that. But Mrs Taggart would hardly have sailed all the way across the Atlantic just to turn round and sail back again. She must be planning to stay some time.
He poured himself another glass of rum, discovered that while the day had undoubtedly grown hotter, which was reasonable at noon, it had also become somewhat lighter in atmosphere. The room had taken on a pleasant glow, again caused by the noonday sun, no doubt, and he found that he could think more clearly.
And objectively. If he was going to have to live in a perpetual confrontation with the Taggarts, then he had to have support. And if he was going to have to eat humble pie in any event, at the Laidlaws, he might as well eat humble pie to his own brother. There was the answer. Tony had behaved badly, but was still the best support to be found anywhere. He could not imagine Tony putting up with Ellen's bullying and Mrs Tag-gart's snide remarks. And anyway, he had sent Tony packing because of Judith Gale. But if Judith and her mother were in any event leaving the plantation . . . Christalmighty, he thought. Judith Gale.
He raised his head. Because there she was.
'My God.' He attempted to stand, lost his balance, and sat down again.
'She deserved it,' Judith said. 'All of it. And then, riding off and forgetting about me.'
Harriet, forget her own daughter? That did not make sense. She had abandoned her deliberately. To be sure she retained a link with the plantation, a reason either for Dick to call on her, or for her to return.
'Uncle Dick,' Judith said, coming into the room. 'Are you really going to marry that woman?'
'Eh? Why, yes, I suppose I am. My God, if she learns about you
...
we must get you into town. I was going anyway.' Oh, indeed. Why should he wait until tomorrow, merely because Ellen had decided so? He had been taken by surprise. That was it. And he had been feeling at once exhilarated by the news of the peace, and excited by Judith's whipping. Judith's whipping. He regained his feet, peered at her. 'Can you ride?'
She rubbed her backside, carefully. 'I could put a blanket on the saddle. But Uncle Dick, it's the middle of the afternoon.'
'I'll show them,' Dick muttered. 'Middle of the afternoon? What does that matter?' He discovered himself in the hall, holding on to the bannisters. 'Mr Boscawen. Mr Boscawen. Saddle my horse. And one for Miss Gale.'
'You going now, Mr Richard?'
'Right now. Right this minute. Judith. Get yourself a coat and a hat. And put on boots, girl. You can't go into Kingston barefoot. Hurry, now.'
She hesitated. 'Are you sure you're all right, Uncle Dick?'
'All right? All right?'
'Don't you think you should have a nap, and then perhaps this evening . . .'
'Now,' he shouted. 'Hurry.'
She gazed at him for a moment, clearly uncertain. But he had held her wrists while her mother had flogged her. She ran up the stairs.
'Come on, come on,' Dick bawled, returning to the drawing room for another glass of rum, and discovering the bottle was empty. 'Mr Boscawen, another bottle. No, bring two.' He put one in each pocket. As the child had said, it was the middle of the afternoon. The sun would be at its hottest. He'd probably need a drink on the way. 'Come on, come on.' He went into the office, unlocked the safe, took out his bag of coin. He always kept at least twenty guineas in coin on the plantation, mainly for settling Tony's debts. This night they might serve to settle Harriet's anger. He put the bag in his coat pocket, beside a bottle of rum.
Judith hurried down the stairs, wearing boots and a hat, but no coat. 'What about my clothes?'
'We'll send them on later. If they are going on at all. We must sec about this. Yes, indeed,' Dick decided, negotiating the front stairs by holding on to the bannisters. 'We shall see about this. Ordering me about in my own house, indeed. Where the devil is the stirrup, man?'
Two of the grooms assisted him into the saddle, and he watched Judith mount. She rode as if part of a horse. But then, she had been born to it. And did he not also ride as if he were part of a horse? Was he not a Hilton? By God, was he not
the
Hilton? He drew rein to take a drink and discovered that they were at the boundary. There was a quick ride. He could look back over the whole sweep of the valley. There was a sight to give a man confidence.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, held out the bottle.
Judith shook her head. 'You will have a seizure, most like, Uncle Dick. Drinking in the sun is very bad for you.'
'Listen,' he said. 'I am done . . . done, do you hear, being told what I can do and what I can't do, what I must do and what I mustn't do. Done.'
He kicked his horse, and set it moving again, and she rode behind him. She really was a good child, and a brave one; sitting a horse must be agony in her condition. But they wouldn't be long now. And the sun was already drooping. On Hilltop he'd be going aback again, and he felt no discomfort. Siesta was all rubbish, when you came down to it. Perhaps he should make a change in the system. If the blacks worked all day instead of taking two hours off in the middle, surely they could produce more cane. Or could they? The cane grew, and there was an end to it. Standing there looking at it would not make it grow any faster. He must ask Hardy about that one.
Houses. Flags flying from every building. Bunting draped across Harbour Street. Masses of people, white and black, men and women, mostly drunk, filling the roadway, waving bottles and cheering, reaching up to stop their horses and squeeze their hands. Kingston, celebrating the end of the war.
'I doubt I'll ever sit again,' Judith remarked. 'I think I'm a big blister. What do we do now, Uncle Dick?'
'Hey,' Dick bawled. If only he wasn't so sleepy. And his head was banging away as if divided into two. But it would soon be cool. 'Where does Mr Laidlaw lodge?'
A black man stared at him. 'Eh-eh,' he said. 'But you is Mr Hilton.'
'You are God damned right I am Mr Hilton,' Dick said. 'Laidlaw, where is he?'