He walked me back to the steps of the house and then excused himself. A new batch of slaves had been delivered the week before and needed seasoning in.
‘Get ’em used to the work. Used to the discipline. First of all we brand ’em with this.’ He took an implement from his pocket. The end was about as big as a shilling and bore initials surmounted by a fountain, like a seal. It was delicately wrought, more like a brooch than a branding iron. ‘We had to have a new one made to reflect the change of ownership.’ He turned the face for me to see.
N
and
K
reversed. ‘Silver, see? Silver makes a sharper scar. Got to rub a little oil on first.’ He moved thumb against forefinger. ‘To stop the skin sticking to the metal.’
My attention was fixed by the object he held between his fingers. I found it most shocking and hideous in the way it combined prettiness with an utter vileness of purpose. I looked at the initials. I’d assumed the
N
was for Ned, my father. But that would be
E ...
The sudden realisation made me light-headed. I felt as though I might faint.
‘Change of ownership?’ I parroted his words like an idiot. ‘Do you mean me?’
‘Who else?’ He looked at me, owl-eyed, peering close at my expression to see if I were mocking him. ‘All this is yours. I’ve been showing you your own property.’
‘I – I didn’t know.’ I tried to stop my voice from shaking. ‘I assure you that I did not know.’
‘I have it in a letter by your father’s own hand. It’s in his will. You are a very rich young lady.’ He looked up uneasily. Phillis and Minerva were standing at the top of the steps. ‘The old witch, and the young ’un.’ He leaned towards me, taking my arm. Another turn about the yard took us out of earshot. ‘You keep a close watch on those two. I’d have sold ’em both years ago, not kept ’em together, but your father would not allow it. Now,’ he tipped his greasy tricorn hat, ‘if you’ll excuse me.’
‘Should I expect you for dinner?’ I did not know if I should invite him to dine with me. I had no idea what the etiquette should be, or even if there was any.
He was clearly surprised by the invitation.
‘Very kind, I’m sure,’ he said after a moment. ‘But I have my own arrangements. Thank you, Miss Kington.’
That evening, I stood on the balcony outside my window, watching the sun go down: a great shimmering ball of red falling through bars of black cloud into the distant sea. The dark came more quickly than I had expected. Suddenly it was night. The air was hot, heavy with the perfume of flowers and full of the beat of wings and the sounds made by small unseen creatures. Birds or monkeys, I could not tell which, cried from the forest. The sound was almost human, jarring and sudden and utterly foreign. First one call, then another. Each made me start, and gooseflesh crept up my bare arms despite the heat. Below me, a myriad of tiny lights glimmered in spangling pinpoints, littering the earth as though the stars had fallen, so I could no longer tell the sky from the ground.
All this was mine, I told myself, and everything that went with it. These people. I owned them. Their flesh would be burnt with my initials. I went back inside, rubbing my arms as the full chill of it came upon me. How could I ever get used to the strangeness of that? And why had my brothers not told me? They were seeking some way to cheat me out of it, I knew them well enough to see that. I could have told them not to waste their energies, that such deviousness was unnecessary. If they’d asked me, I would have told them. They could have the plantation and welcome. I wanted no part of it.
Light wavered on the walls around me. Minerva had come in on silent feet bearing candles. She came over to the window.
‘What are those?’ I pointed to the little lights on the ground.
‘Fireflies,’ she replied. ‘You can collect them. Make a lantern. Close the shutters now, Miss.’ She reached up to unlatch them. ‘Moths and insects will fly in.’
She had brought a tray laden with food and a beautiful stem of papery purple flowers in a little earthen pot.
‘Phillis hopes you like your dinner.’
‘Am I to dine up here? I thought Mr Duke might dine with me, but I understand he makes other arrangements.’
‘Mr Duke don’t live here. He has a small house next door. He has his own woman prepare his food for him.’
‘I do not like to dine alone.’ I looked at her. ‘Perhaps you would join me? You and Phillis?’
At home, I would have dined with Cook and Susan if no one else was in the house.
‘Oh, no, Miss.’ Her eyes grew wide and the shake of her head was emphatic. ‘That would not be allowed. Will there be anything else?’
She stood looking straight ahead, her hands clasped behind her back. I had thought her older than me, now I could see that she was probably younger. She was a handsome-looking girl, with fine eyes, the colour somewhere between hazel and amber. A mix of races showed in her face, the best of both physiognomies combined in the shade of her eyes, her slanting cheekbones, her long straight nose, generous mouth and strong chin. The candlelight played across the planes of her face, bringing out rich tones in the bronze of her skin: ochre, umber and burnt sienna.
‘No, nothing else,’ I said. ‘You may go.’
She withdrew quickly, with her head down. My scrutiny had brought the colour up into her cheeks and made her uncomfortable. I felt sorry, even shamed by it. She had no way to protest, or show how she felt. I was the mistress. Anything I chose to do, she would have to endure it.
g
g
Chapter 11
So it went on. My first week seemed to stretch to eternity. I had no idea how to spend my time. Phillis and Minerva came and went on silent feet, heads bowed, never meeting my eyes. It was as though they weren’t really there, as if I were being served by sprites. My attempted friendliness came to nothing; if anything it made them even more wary. They saw us all as immensely dangerous, like monstrous children who were as likely to kill or discard, with the utmost hardness of heart, anything that ceased to please them, or that threatened to make them angry. They took care to meet every wish, every need. Every desire was anticipated and gratified, sometimes even before I had thought of it myself. It was as though they knew all about me instantly: what I liked, what I disliked, what I enjoyed, what would displease me; while I would never know a thing about them, even if we were to live a lifetime together in the same house.
I came to be lonely, pining for companionship. My loneliness drove me to find ways to break down their reserve.
I spent the days sleeping, reading, or just drifting round the house. My brother had not come back, so I had no company at all. I thought I would die of boredom. I needed to get outside. If I owned the land, I should at least view it. The best way to do that was on horseback. Duke had offered to show me, but I did not think I could stand a day in his company. I asked Minerva to come with me instead.
Duke didn’t object. ‘I dare say she can ride a mule,’ he said, when I told him my plan. ‘Most of the blacks can do that.’
I ordered horses to be brought round. My brother kept a tolerable stable and I would have us ride the best animals.
Minerva rode like a man, her long brown legs showing to the knees on either side of the saddle. I envied the control this gave her and determined to do the same when we were out of sight of the house. She sat a horse well, with strength, natural grace and balance. We were able to set up a good pace along the straight tracks that ran between the square stands of sugar. We came to where the last stands were being cut at a far corner pocket of the property.
Minerva dismounted, took a machete from one of the men and lopped off a growing stem. She chopped off a section and, with a few sweeps of the razor-sharp blade, she cut away the tough outer skin to expose the pithy inner core.
‘Here.’ She handed the peeled cane to me. ‘It tastes good. Refreshes the mouth after riding.’
I sucked at the oozing liquid. It was much less sweet than I had thought it might be, and did serve to quench the thirst. I nodded. It was good.
She smiled and cut a length for herself, then we rode on, turning from the endless fields of sugar up towards the mountains. The trees on the lower slopes would shade us from the sun’s fierce heat and it would be cooler once we reached higher ground. We left the plantation far below us. It was soon out of sight as we gained one ridge, then another. As we rode further into the wilderness, the distance between us seemed to narrow. Talk became easier, and there was even laughter as we followed a wide, shallow, fast-running river, riding sometimes in, sometimes out of the water, the cold spray arcing up and splashing our legs.
We rode on, the stream becoming ever shallower, until we came to a glade, a semi-circular clearing in the forest dominated by a sheer rock-face. Water gushed in a torrent from a fissure halfway up the towering cliff and fell in a white rush down to a limpid pool, wide and deep, clear right to the bottom. Bright green ferns extended feathery fronds, making shadows on the surface. Tiny silver fish darted and turned, catching the sun like silver coins.
Minerva pointed to the cascading water. ‘That is the fountain. The plantation is named after it.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘It is obeah. A place of spirit.’
A diamond fountain falling into a crystal pool set in an emerald forest. It was a truly magical place.
We were not the only people to think so. Minerva showed me a smooth black boulder with primitive carvings upon it in the shape of a man and a woman, god and goddess.
‘They were made by the people here before us.’
Across the water floated a garland of flowers made from the orchids that I’d seen growing in the forest. Minerva did not tell me who might have left it there.
She stepped into the water, cupping her hands to drink and splashing shining drops over her face and head. Then she stepped out of her shift and stood naked, as if she were about to step into a bathtub. She waded into the water, going deeper and deeper. I watched her in envy and wonder.
I
had never done such a thing in my life. At home it would have been unthinkable.
But I was not at home, was I? There was nobody there to see me. I slid off my horse and followed her lead.
I stepped in almost to my waist. The water was so cold it made me gasp for breath. Minerva waded back, smiling, splashing the water towards me. She shook her head and her wet hair fell in dark glistening coils about her naked shoulders.
Suddenly, I could not look at her. I saw her face change to dismay, as I turned away. Perhaps she thought that she’d embarrassed me, that I’d been overcome by sudden modesty, that she had presumed too far. But it had nothing to do with modesty, hers or mine. There was a mark on her shoulder, about the size of a shilling piece. The Fountainhead sign. I had seen it stencilled on the sacks of sugar coming into the warehouse in Bristol, burnt into barrels and packing cases, printed on documents, stamped on to leather-bound ledgers, carved above our door, but to see it branded on to the skin of another human being? I remembered what Duke had said about why they used silver and felt sick.
Her hand went to her shoulder.
‘It does not hurt.’
I shook my head, unable to explain what I was thinking, took a step back and faltered, taken by sudden dizziness and dazzled by the light shining off the water. A sharp stone cut into my instep and I slipped, missing my footing altogether, plunging headlong. I must have stumbled into a place where the water was deeper, for I went down. I struggled for the surface, puffing and blowing, only to find that I was still out of my depth. I felt for the bottom, or a ledge, but my feet encountered nothing. For a second time I sank down, and I began to panic. I was choking, my breath coming out in great bubbles. I could not take any air in and my lungs were emptying. I feared that I might drown. Then long brown arms were round me, pulling me up to the surface. Minerva hooked me under the arm and turned for the side of the pool, towing me behind her. I staggered from the water and she helped me to a flat sun-warmed rock, where I sat with my head between my knees, coughing and spitting and trying to recover.
Minerva was shocked that I could not swim.
‘Is there no sea where you live? No river?’
There was both sea and river, I explained, but no one learns to swim. Not even the sailors.
‘Sailors think that there is no point,’ I said. ‘They believe that you cannot cheat the sea.’
Minerva grimaced and shuddered, as if she found such reasoning hateful. Then she smoothed her features and smiled at me, as if she had forgotten herself momentarily in showing her feelings to such a degree.
‘We are not in the sea. I can teach you. It is easy.’
I did not find it easy, but the lesson was very pleasant. We were girls together and of an age, and that is how we behaved, laughing and playing in the water. As we lay on the smooth rocks, letting the sun dry our skin, she asked me about the ring that I wore on the gold chain about my neck. I found myself telling her all about William, things that I had never told anyone, not even Susan. We were not mistress and slave from that day on. We were more like friends. Like sisters.
The pool had done its magic.