And Father would die happy. His life had hardly contained less turmoil, and he had had to wait much longer to achieve his final triumph. He smiled at his mother, and then leaned back, watched Cartarette's firm hands on the rein as she guided the horse up the steep incline, allowed it to find its own way down into the damp, tree-shrouded valleys, and sat bolt upright as without warning she dragged on the brake, almost rising to her feet with the effort.
The horse pulled to a stop. They were down in a valley, trees to either side obscuring the hills which rose around them, isolated them from the rest of the world. And one of the trees had come down, immediately across the road.
'That's strange,' Suzanne remarked. 'It was not there when we came in yesterday.'
'And there was no wind, last night.' Cartarette climbed down, and Dick followed her. 'Can you move it?'
'I think so.' He parted the branches, bent to lift the trunk, and checked. There was no torn stalk here, but a clean severance.
He turned, heard Cartarette's breath whistle as she too looked round. For the little valley was filled with horsemen, six to either side of the phaeton, walking their horses from the trees. They wore black capes and flat black hats, and black domino masks. And every one carried a pistol.
'Oh, my God,' Cartarette whispered.
Dick stepped in front of her. 'Well, gentlemen,' he said, 'I have long looked forward to making your acquaintance.' For only confidence would pay here. And strangely, he felt no fear at all. Only a bubbling, angry exhilaration.
The horsemen came closer. They ignored the phaeton, Suzanne sitting rigid inside it, her face pale; on a sudden she looked even older than her seventy years.
'What, gentlemen, dumb? And perhaps deaf, as well,' Dick said. 'The law wishes to see you. The law will see you, gentlemen. You had best beware it does not hang you all.' He felt Cartarette's fingers on his arm. She at the least had no doubts of their danger.
'The law,' said one of the mounted men. He spoke in a hoarse whisper to disguise his voice, and certainly Dick did not recognize it. 'We are the law here, Richard Hilton. Those milksops in England may have chosen to release you, but we know you for what you are. And you will pay for it.'
Think, Dick told himself. Think. You will not make them angry. Can you bluff them into supposing there are mounted men behind you? But they would have overseen their approach. And there was no sound in this valley.
He watched ten of the men dismount. The other two remained in their saddles, their pistols pointing at him.
'Richard Hilton,' said the spokesman, one of the two still mounted. 'You are accused of inspiring all the ills that have overtaken this unhappy country, this past twenty years. You are accused of fomenting rebellion amongst the slaves, of serving the black savages of Haiti, of sowing dissension amongst the plantocracy. You have been tried by this court, in respect of these crimes, and have been found guilty. Have you anything to say before sentence is passed?'
The dismounted men stood close around him. Ten of them. No doubt he could survive an encounter with most of them, as they had holstered their pistols. But what of Cartarette, standing at his shoulder, scarce breathing? And what of Mama?
'Then so be it,' said the mounted man. 'Richard Hilton, you are condemned to death, the sentence to be carried out immediately.'
Before he could move, two of the men had seized his arms, throwing Cartarette to one side, and a third was binding his wrists together behind his back, leaving him helpless.
'No,' Cartarette screamed, running forward. 'No.'
One of the men caught her round the waist.
'Your turn is also here, Cartarette Hilton,' said the mounted man. 'You are accused of aiding and abetting the condemned man in all the crimes of which he is guilty. Therefore you are as guilty as he. Therefore will you suffer the same fate.'
Cartare
tte's arms had already been seized, and now they also were bound. Her hat was knocked off, to allow her hair slowly to cloud about her shoulders. She stared at the mounted men in total disbelief.
Two other of the men were taking ropes from their saddle horns.
'You are mad’
Dick said. 'Do you think you will get away with such a crime?'
'We will defend ourselves, if we need to, Richard Hilton,' said the mounted man.
'Then defend yourselves now,' Dick shouted. 'Like men, instead of animals. Give me a sword, a pistol, and take your places in front of me.'
'Condemned felons have no rights,' said the mounted man. 'We would not demean ourselves. And that you may better appreciate the depths of your iniquity, the consequences of your insensate folly, this court decrees that your wife shall die first. Now.'
Cartarette turned her head to look at Dick, her mouth faintly open. He thought for a moment she might faint, with sheer horror. For the first rope was already being looped over the tree, and now she was pulled back towards it.
'What?' asked the horseman. 'No words of farewell?'
'Dick,' Cartarette begged. 'Help me.'
The cords ate into his wrists. His brain seemed to be consumed with fire. But there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could say, save to utter futile threats of vengeance, and he was all through uttering threats. But allow him to be free, he thought, for one moment. He'd need no weapons. Not now.
The rope was looped around her neck. Her hair trailed on her shoulders, a blaze of colour against the brown and green of the tree, against the black of the cape of the man holding her. Cartarette Hilton. How much she had suffered for him.
'Hold.'
The voice was old, and quavered. And yet cut the morning like a lightning shaft.
Their heads turned, to look at the phaeton, and Suzanne Hilton, leaning slightly forward, a pistol in her hand.
'Release her,' Suzanne said. Her left hand also came up, and it too held a pistol.
The men stared at her in amazement. Then the mounted man gave a brief laugh. 'What, afraid of an old woman scarce able to stand? Beware, old lady, that we do not hoist you beside your son.'
'Drop your weapon,' Suzanne said. 'Or I will blow the teeth from your grinning mouth.' She spoke in an absolutely even tone.
'Why, you . .
'She'll do it, you fool,' shouted one of the men on the ground, and Dick's head jerked again. 'Tony?'
'Tony,' Suzanne said, with bitter satisfaction. 'As I supposed. I will do it, John Tresling. It will be a pleasure.'
Still Tresling hesitated, then made a convulsive movement with his right hand.
The explosion of Suzanne's pistol crashed through the valley. The powder smoke rose around her, but her face could still be seen, and the quick movement as she transferred the loaded second pistol to her right hand. But by now they were looking at Tresling, his mask destroyed along with his face, slowly turning as he fell forward, rested for a moment on the horse's neck, and then struck the ground with a thud.
'Pistol shooting,' Suzanne remarked with satisfaction, 'was for many years my favourite sport. Who will be next, you, Ellen?'
'Oh, my God.' Ellen Hilton ran forward, tearing off her mask as she did so, allowing her chestnut hair to float, pausing above Tresling. 'He is dead.'
The other mounted man threw down his weapon.
'How did you know us?' Tony's face was pale.
'I suspected for some time,' Suzanne said. 'And just now I identified one of you as a woman. That made it easy. If not acceptable. You are lower than the gutter to which you belong.'
Ellen continued to stare at the dead man.
'Release my daughter-in-law,' Suzanne said. 'And my son.'
Fingers tore at the ropes holding Dick's wrists. He stooped, picked up Tresling's pistol. Cartarette was also freed. She gained a weapon, turned to face her erstwhile captors. She breathed deeply, and her cheeks were pink, but her face was composed.
'Your prisoners, Dick,' Suzanne said.
'Aye,' Dick said. 'Well, Ellen, Tony, your night riding is over. Was it you, Tony, who savaged Judith?'
Tony hesitated, glancing at his companions. 'It was us.'
'Your own woman,' Dick said. 'I will see you hang.'
'No,' Suzanne said. 'Not a Hilton, Dick.'
'You'd have him crawl away?'
'No,' she said again. 'I find it hard to believe you are my son, Tony. I find it hard to accept that, but for my interference, in sending you with Dick, this could not have happened. You deserve to die. I would shoot you myself, had I the strength.' Her voice was brittle, at last. 'You'll leave Jamaica, tomorrow. Take that . . . that creature with you.'
'No,' Dick said. 'He would have hanged Cartarette. I'll not let him go, mother, I swear it, I will not let him go.'
'You cannot shoot him down in cold blood, Dick. That would be to lower yourself to his level.'
'Aye,' Dick agreed. 'Then give him a pistol. Cartarette, give him yours.'
Tony Hilton smiled. 'Aye,' he said. 'You'll die like the hero you are, little brother.'
Cartarette glanced from one to the other.
And Suzanne sighed. 'Give him a pistol, Cartarette. I suppose this could end no other way.'
Cartarette took a weapon from one of the saddle holsters, then slowly approached Tony, held it out. He snatched at it, brought it up. Dick watched his hand moving, levelling. How strange he felt. How long had he admired this man's skill, with people no less than with weapons. How long had he feared this man's anger.
And how detached he felt at this moment. Ellen had said her husband lacked determination. What then did he see in that handsome face?
'Dick,' Cartarette screamed, as she saw him accept the shot.
But Tony had already fired, and was staring at his brother in horror, as he realized he had missed.
'Too much haste, Tony,' Dick said. 'Too much haste.'
Tony licked his li
ps. His gaze seemed attached to the pistol in Dick's hand, as if connected by a string. The sounds of the shot slowly faded away, and the morning was silent, save for the restless movements of the horses.
Tony attempted a smile. 'What, little brother? No stomach for a murder?'
Dick gazed at him. Who was, after all,
the
Hilton? They had fought in the past, viciously, with
every
means at their disposal, to gain, and to hold. Tony had done no less, up to this very morning. So, then at the end, it was Richard Hilton who was the changeling.
He lowered his weapon. 'Take your woman, and go. Take these gutter rats with you.'
There was a moment's silence. Then Ellen swung round, her hand outflung. 'Now, now, now, Jim!'
Hardy's hands came out from beneath his cloak, a pistol in each. The first was levelled and exploded before anyone could even draw breath. Tony Hilton threw up his arms and fell over backwards without a sound, shot through the chest. Cartarette and Suzanne fired together, but Hardy had already leapt behind a tree, and from there returned his fire, at Dick. Dick was turning and dropping to one knee and also firing. His bullet smashed into the tree trunk.
The noise, the explosions, crashed through the morning. The glade became a smoke-filled hole, and a death-filled hole as well. Hardy darted away from the shelter and ran up the hill, while Dick hastily sought another pistol.
'Oh, my God,' Suzanne said, and half fell from the phaeton. 'Oh, my God.'
She knelt beside her son. Cartarette hastily secured two more pistols from the horses, but the rest of the Union was too shocked to move, just stood, gaping at their dying leader.
Who stared at his wife. 'Ellen?' he whispered. 'Ellen?'
Her lip curled. 'You never were much of a man, Tony Hilton. You could try to die like one.'
'But. . . you, and James? What you hinted was true?'
'Why else should I stay?' she asked. 'To listen to your vapourings? I stayed because James wished it. He wished to see both you and your brother into the grave. He wished to cuckold you to his heart's content.'
'James?' Tony whispered. 'But
...
he was my friend.'
'He hated you,' Ellen said. 'He hated the very name of Hilton. He made your plantation prosperous, while he brooded on how to destroy you, both. And in me he found his weapon. And he has destroyed you, Tony. He will destroy Dick as well. He has sworn it. And I will help him.'
Dick stood at her shoulder, looked down at his brother. Tony's mouth opened and closed, but he could no longer speak.