HF - 03 - The Devil's Own (2 page)

'Touche,'
Jean gasped, falling to his right knee as he thrust. But Kit had already moved to one side, and his blade cut the air immediately above his friend's head.

'You'd be a dead man, now.'

'Perhaps.' Jean thrust his blade into the sandy soil, used it as a crutch, looked up and saw Susan. 'Madame.' He bowed. 'I have just been killed, it seems.'

Susan pretended to frown. 'And so will one of ye be, soon enough; swords arc for passes, not for thrusts and cuts after the fashion ye practise. Now away with ye, Jean, and tell your father and mother I have guests this evening, and should be obliged if they'd join me.'

'Of course, madame.' The French boy thrust his sword through his belt, bowed once again, and hurried round the house.

'Guests, Grandmama?' Kit Hilton came towards her. 'Colonel Warner, no less. He's a foremast needs shoring.

We're poor relations, boy. I'd have ye at your best.'

Poor relations, Kit thought. There could be no argument about that. He stood beside his grandmother and wore a cambric shirt, the white turned yellow with age, for it had belonged to his father. His breeches were his best, in pale plum, with only a single darned rent; they had decided against stockings, as he possessed none which were not in holes, but he had polished his leather shoes, and attempted to bring some gleam back to the buckles. And Susan was wearing her blue satin gown, edged with white lace, with a silk sash and a tiered lace-edged collar; her shoulders were bare and the tops of her breasts swelled as she breathed; her magnificent grey-red hair was gathered on the nape of her neck, to fall in a cluster of ringlets down her back. Globules of sweat clung to her neck and cheeks, but he hoped these were caused more by the afternoon sun than by apprehension.

And behind them, Monsieur D'Ogeron, small and dark and busy, even when standing still, and his wife, and Monsieur DuCasse and his wife, both tall, quiet people, with Jean behind them, were scarcely more elegant.

What then were they to make of the approaching party? The ship's officers wore plain blue coats, although there were no mended tears in their breeches; but the pair they escorted were dazzling. Colonel Warner was not a tall man; Kit could give him several inches. But he was well set up, broad without appearing stout, and he carried himself like a giant. His features were round and pugnacious, his brown eyes watchful; they darted from side to side like a startled humming bird. He wore a scarlet coat and matching breeches, with gold braid and gold buttons, and a lace edging to his cravat, and his sleeves, and no doubt his shirt waist as well. His stockings were also red, and his shoes were black, and he carried a pair of white gloves in his left hand. He looked into middle age, but it was impossible to be sure, for his own hair was concealed beneath a brown periwig which tumbled in curls on to his shoulders, while on top of the wig was a black tricorne. He wore a sword, suspended from a blue silk baldric, and prodded the ground with a gold-topped cane as he climbed. He looked hot, as well h
e might be, but he also looked
utterly contemptuous of his surroundings. Again, Kit thought ruefully, as well he might be. But his attention was already wandering from the resplendent figure of the Deputy Governor of Antigua to the lady who walked beside him.

There were no ladies on Tortuga. Grandmama, even when she had been the Governor's wife, had made no such claim, and neither had Madame D'Ogeron. But it never occurred to Kit to doubt that here he was regarding a superior being. Not merely from her looks, for she was obviously very young, certainly no older than himself, and was equally obviously related to Philip Warner; she had the same rounded features, regular enough, certainly, but hardly the sort of face one would look at twice if it had been carved in marble. The splendour came from her eyes, green, glinting with life, from the faint twist to her small mouth, from the widening of her nostrils as she breathed, the tilt of her chin as she observed, the flash of her white teeth as she smiled at a remark of her companion's. She exuded vitality, and that was a quality seldom found amongst West Indian women, nor could Kit doubt that she
was
West Indian; the sun had tanned her face, despite whatever precautions she might habitually take. And the vitality spread to her hair, long and deep brown and straight, separated into four strands, each tied with a blue velvet bow, the whole topped by a white lace head-dress at least as high again as her own head, which gave her a height to compare with any man's. And to her movements, which were tirelessly confident, even at the end of a stiff climb, suggesting that beneath her gown there would be the figure of an athlete. The gown itself was of white satin, pulled back from the waist to display her lace underskirt and secured by another dark-blue velvet bow. Her decolletage was far more extreme than Grandmama's, and plunged past the curve of the young breasts almost as to suggest a glimpse of pink nipple as she moved, but the promise of the flesh was obscured by the soft glow of the pearl necklace which lay against it; her earrings were also pearl, huge drops of seemingly translucent white which looked almost alive.

And now she was close, Kit could smell the musk of her perfume, drifting towards him on the faint breeze.

Grandmama had moved forward. 'Philip,' she said, her arms

outstretched. 'I had not thought ever to have this pleasure again.'

Colonel Warner stopped beyond her reach, and stared at her, and then made a leg and removed his hat with a flourish. 'The pleasure is mine, Mistress Hilton. Allow me to present my daughter, Miss Marguerite Warner.'

'But she is absolutely beautiful,' Susan said.

Marguerite Warner made a shallow curtsey.

'And a Warner to her toes, I'll warrant. I could be looking at your sister. You've news of Indian Tom?'

The crimson cheeks of the Deputy Governor darkened. 'Ah, no, madam. That misfortune has taken himself and his squaw mother back to Dominica, where indeed our father should have sent him many years ago.' His gaze was drifting beyond her shoulder, flickering down to the sitting mastiff and then up to the waiting people.

'I am forgetting my manners,' Susan agreed, without embarrassment. 'I so seldom have occasion to practise them, ye understand. Ye have met His Excellency, Monsieur D'Ogeron?'

'Indeed I have,' Philip Warner said. 'He was first on board, this morning, seeking to charge me for the privilege of dropping my anchor in this miserable apology for a port.'

D'Ogeron merely smiled. 'It is necessary for us to live, Colonel Warner. Even on Tortuga.'

'Faith, I have heard sufficient tales of how you go about that, monsieur. I do promise you that my cannon are all loaded, and the fires are lit. Madam?'

'Madame D'Ogeron, and Madame DuCasse, and Monsieur DuCasse,' Susan said. 'Monsieur DuCasse owns our warehouse.'

'A storekeeper?' Philip Warner looked scandalized. 'My ship's officers will have business with you, sir. Tomorrow. And these two pirates?'

'That is their ambition, to be sure,' Susan said. 'Jean DuCasse, and my grandson, Christopher Hilton.'

Philip Warner glanced at her. 'He also has a strong family likeness, madam.'

Susan continued to smile. 'Should he not, sir? Now, will ye come to the house and
take a glass of wine? And your
officers, and of course, your daughter. Or would she rather Kit and Jean showed her something of our island? From this hilltop most of it is well displayed.'

'By my faith, madam, I would appreciate such a tour myself. Is that not Hispaniola?'

'Indeed, sir,' D'Ogeron agreed.

'And how many cannon do you mount to command that

passage?'

The Governor of Tortuga shrugged. 'We have four cannon to command the entrance to the harbour. For the rest, that island is so large, and fertile, and prosperous, and this island is so small, and barren, and poor, I doubt they know of our existence.'

Philip Warner led the way towards the house, Susan at his side. 'You may be sure they do, monsieur. And however insignificant your little band of cut-throats may be, you are none the less nuisances to His Most Catholic Majesty. And now that we are once again at war ...'

The entire
party stopped.

'At war?' Albert DuCasse demanded,

'England is at war with Spain, sir,' Philip Warner said. 'Why else do you think I cut short my visit to London and came hurrying back before the storm season has run its course? My daughter is to be married, you understand, and so we sought her trousseau. But 'tis scarce complete.'

'Allow me to congratulate you, Marguerite,' Susan said. 'As for this war of which ye speak, Philip, be sure that the Spaniards will not waste their shot on Tortuga.'

'Indeed, madam, I would say you are right. Was it not for the fact that this island has always been their first target in the past.'

'War,' D'Ogeron mused. 'Pardon me for asking, Colonel Warner, but on which side is His Majesty?'

'His Majesty? Oh, you mean Louis. Why, sir, at the moment he supports King Charles, God bless him.'

'Now there is good news,' D'Ogeron said. 'Had it been otherwise, we should have been enemies, monsieur, and I should have had to place you under arrest.' He burst out laughing, and as Philip Warner dropped his hand to his sword, clapped him on the shoulder. 'A jest, monsieur. A jest. In Tortuga

English and French are as one. We need each other too much. We count Monsieur Hilton, madame's late husband, as our first governor, and if the administration now has a French flavour, why, that is merely because we are presently the more numerous. But Madame Hilton will assure you of our respect for her, and for all the English.'

Susan's turn to smile. 'He does speak the truth, Philip, although of course he mistakes the situation, as I have the honour to be Irish. Now, ye'll take a glass of wine before dinner.' She paused at the foot of the crumbling steps, and looked at Kit. 'I'm sure Miss Warner would appreciate a walk, Kit. Betrothed she may be, but politics and talk of war cannot help but be tiresome to one so young. And we are going to talk of war, are we not, gentlemen? As the subject has been broached.'

She led the way up the stairs, while Marguerite Warner stared after her. 'Faith,' she remarked, when they were out of earshot. 'But she gives herself airs, for a servant.'

'A servant?' Kit asked.

'Did you not know? She was shipped to these islands as an indentured labourer, and like so many of her sort, was auctioned off to the highest bidder as a wife.' She continued to gaze at the house as the women disappeared inside. 'But is that not how Monsieur D'Ogeron provided wives for his colonists here in Tortuga also? Save that they are reputed to have been gleaned from the street instead of the prison.'

The two boys exchanged glances.

'Indeed, that is so, mademoiselle,' Jean said. 'But my mother, and Kit's grandmother, were alike fortunate in those who bid for them.'

'A storekeeper and a pirate. Oh, yes, indeed, monsieur, it could have been far worse.'

'We could have had a half-breed for an uncle,' Kit remarked. 'Is not this Indian Tom Warner of whom my mother spoke a Carib? Pray tell me, what does he eat at table? Human steaks?'

Marguerite Warner turned her stare on him. 'Faith, sir, you'd not speak so were my father present. As for the breed, be sure my grandfather himself lived to regret ever taking a redskin to his bed. That unhappy calamity brought much misfortune on my family, and may do
so again, as your French ...'
her bitter gaze encompassed Jean, 'have seen fit to make the scoundrel Governor of Dominica. No doubt they sit naked around a council table and rattle bones to decide their policies. Believe me, sirs, I am not afraid to admit the black stains on my family.' She walked away from them, round the house. 'You are to show me your island. Or have I already seen it all?'

'Now she is angry,' Jean said. 'You were tactless, Kit.'

'And was she not tactless? Or downright rude, both to you and to me. As for Warner, I'd like to pull his ears as well. He'll have no friendship of a Hilton.'

'Then let the girl insult you to her heart's content, and forget about her tomorrow,' Jean advised. 'They are planters, we will be seamen. Come, let us entertain the young lady.'

For Marguerite had moved away to look at the rear slope of the hill, which tumbled in uneven rocks and gullies down to the beach and the still seething sea, two hundred feet below her. 'Although I wonder,' she mused aloud, 'if Madam Hilton indeed did so well. Faith, she'd have done better to remain in St Kitts than come to this barren islet. Poor woman, it was not for want of trying.'

'You'll explain that remark, if you please, Miss Warner,' Kit said. For by now his anger was difficult to control.

She turned to face him. 'You did not know that she attempted to secure one of my uncles as a husband? Why, it is well known she was Edward Warner's mistress, amongst others. Before and after she bound herself to the pirate, Hilton.'