Mistress of Darkness (25 page)

So she had understood. 'But when, Eunice?' she begged. 'When again?'

‘I ain't got no power over your dreams, child,' Eunice said. 'Maybe you got for wait until you hear the drum in your head. Then is the time for dreaming.'

When, when, when? And why, why, why? Not just release, surely. Not just animal passion. There had to be more to it than that, else was she damned forever. But it was the animal passion that she craved, the touch of Charlie's hand, the thrust of Charlie's weapon. Charlie? Her head jerked, and gazed at him as he passed her. He was probably the ugliest man she had ever seen, entirely lacking in nobility or youth or even muscular development. But last night he had been young and noble and enormously strong. Last night, like her, he had been dreaming.

To what end? This was what she must discover. Because surely, where more than a hundred people, all of whom must carry the bitterest of sentiments in their hearts, assembled to share a dream, the dream must have to do with revenge, with the blood which had flown around their faces, with the determination to achieve their own salvation, here on earth.

The slash of the riding-crop across her shoulders made her shriek with mingled anger and pain, and she turned, on her knees, wet cloth clutched in her fist like a stone.

'Dreaming, girl?' Janet Hodge demanded. 'You'll be telling me next you followed the sound of the drum.'

Gislane stared at her in horror, and her mouth fell open. But she stared past her mistress at Eunice, and the expression on Eunice's face, and hastily closed her mouth again and began to scrub. No dream. No dream. Janet Hodge had also awakened to the drumbeat. And gone back to sleep? But then, surely, every white person on Nevis had heard that drumbeat. And turned over, pillow pressed across their ears.

'I spoke to you, girl,' Janet Hodge said, her voice brittle. 'Did you follow the drum?'

‘I heard no drum, mistress,' Gislane muttered.

'Wretch,' Janet Hodge screamed. 'Foul whore. Nigger bitch.' She seized Gislane by the hair and dragged her across the verandah. 'You heard the drum. You followed it. You prostituted yourself before it. You drank blood and swore death to all white people. Tell me, or I'll tear your heart out.'

Gislane gasped for breath; she felt as if her entire scalp was being ripped from her head. ‘I heard no drum,' she screamed. 'I heard no drum.'

'Manton,' shouted Janet Hodge. 'Brenner. Take this nigger bitch and string her up. She followed the drum, and she'll not speak of it. Flog her until she confesses. Flog her until the flesh leaves her bones. Make her howl.'

The fingers left Gislane's hair, and her face bumped on the floor; she tasted blood. But now she was surrounded by the booted feet of the overseers, and hands were seizing her arms to drag her to her feet. Yet Manton was prepared to protest. 'We all heard the drum, Mistress Hodge. And maybe she did follow it. But she'll not say so. You know that, Mistress Hodge. The niggers would tear her into pieces if she said so. She'd no doubt rather die.'

'Then let her die,' Janet Hodge yelled. 'Flog her to death, by God. I want to sec her bones. I want to hear her scream. I want to hear her beg, for my mercy. I want to see her heart, by Christ. Lay it bare for me.'

Gislane's mouth sagged open. 'Oh, God,' she gasped. 'Oh, God.' She twisted her head to look at Eunice, and Eunice looked back, her face expressionless. Instead she found herself staring at Manton, his unshaven chin the picture of irresolution. But his companion, Brenner, was already dragging her towards the steps. 'Oh, God,' she gasped. 'Oh, God,' she screamed. 'Please. You cannot, mistress. I'll beg you, mistress. You cannot. Please.'

The overseers stopped, their fingers biting into her arms, and Janet Hodge came closer, smiling, thin lips drawn back from the white teeth. 'Then tell me, child. You heard the drum. You followed the drum. Tell me where. Show me the place. Show me who was there with you, child. I'll protect you from them.'

Gislane stared at her, and past her at Eunice. And beside Eunice, as if materialized from nowhere but undoubtedly summoned by her screams, Charlie, ugly face expressionless, staring at her. 'Oh, God,' she whispered, and felt her knees give way. 'I heard no drum.'

Janet Hodge's hand slashed across her face, and her head jerked. Again she tasted blood, licked it from her lips. 'Flog her,' Janet said. 'I want her skin hung out in strips to dry in the sun.'

Gislane closed her eyes. She could only think, Oh, God.

Oh, God. But then she thought, Oh, Damballah Oueddo. Oh, mighty serpent, rise up from the ground and strike these people down. Allow me to live. Oh, God, allow me to live, until the Hiltons come for me.

She felt the sun on her back, and knew that they had removed her gown. Now she was between the uprights, and her arms were being extended above her head, and tied to the wood. And for a moment she stood there, in the heat and quiet, her eyes shut tight, her whole being filled with the pounding of her heart. 'Oh, God', she whispered. 'Just let me stay here, oh, God. Let me stay here.'

Hooves, and voices. 'You'll not flog her, Janet,' Hodge said.

'The bitch will not admit she followed the drum,' Janet Hodge declared.

'And would any of them do that?' asked another voice, a voice she had heard before, although on but one occasion of her life. But now surely she was dreaming. She would not dare open her eyes.

'No doubt, sir,' Janet Hodge said. 'But she is not a full-blooded nigger. She will not be able to withstand the lash. She'll tell us what we wish to know.'

'And what will you do then, Mistress Hodge? "Will you attempt to surround the place, to capture the drum, to shoot down the dancers? We all know these things go on. We all know they must go on. We all know they must be allowed to go on. Even the slaves need the outlet of an emotional release. It would be dangerous of us ever to attempt to put an end to it.'

Slowly Gislane opened her eyes. The glare brought tears leaping from her tortured pupils. But not only the glare. Oh, God, it had to be. Oh, Damballah Oueddo, there could be no doubt, even if he stood behind her. The Serpent had indeed come to her rescue.

'You
do not know this girl, Mr. Hilton,' Janet Hodge declared. 'She's an absconder, who got away to England. Aye, she's a villain. She should have been flogged when she first returned, but Jamie would have his way with her first. Well, he's done that. Now I'll have the skin from her back. And there's no man alive will stop me. It's no business of yours. You have no business on Nevis at all.'

'Be sure I have, Mistress Hodge,' Robert Hilton said. 'And be sure I know this girl. She is indeed my business.'

Pie walked in front of Gislane, and she stared at him, watched his eyes move up and down her body. 'By God,' he said. 'But there is not a part of you less than magnificent. Do you remember me, girl?'

'Oh, God,' she whispered. 'Mr. Hilton. You have come for me. Matt has sent you. Oh, God, Mr. Hilton.' She could hardly see him for weeping.

But Robert Hilton was frowning. 'You aim too high, Miss Nicholson,' he said. 'Too high.' He turned to James Hodge. 'I want the girl removed from Nevis.'

Hodge's turn to frown. 'You wish to buy her, Mr. Hilton?' Then that thin face broke into a smile. 'Aye, well, she's easy on the eye, you can swear to that. And easy on the body too. She's born to be someone's housekeeper, Mr. Hilton. I'd be sorry to lose her and there's a fact, but you'll see she's upsetting to Janet here. Now a man like yourself, lacking a wife ...'

'Would find her comforting, no doubt,' Robert Hilton agreed. 'But she's not for my bed, Hodge, much as I'd like her. I want her sold, by you. I want her taken away from Nevis, away from the British Islands. I'll not have her harmed. Christ knows she is innocent of anything save her beauty and her white skin, and there was no reason for punishment. Yet she must be removed. You'll sell her to a Dutchman. Someone from the Main, will be best. Place her on a sloop for Demerara.'

Hodge scratched his head. 'I am totally confused, Mr. Hilton. You have travelled from Jamaica to Nevis, in time of war, merely to endeavour to have me sell a slave?'

'You're impertinent, sir,' Janet Hodge cried.

Robert Hilton looked at her for some seconds and she flushed, and lowered her eyes. 'You'll do as I ask, mistress,' he said. 'You'll lose nothing. Here is an order against my agent for five hundred pounds. There's no slave in the world worth that. You'll be the gainer, because you can also keep whatever you make from the auction. But she's to go where she cannot return, ever. Demerara or Essequibo or Berbice.'

'And you think a Dutchman will spare that white flesh?'

Janet Hodge demanded contemptuously. There's no slave would not rather die than belong to a Hollander.'

'Oh, God, Gislane whispered. 'Mr. Hilton, please take me away from here. Please take me to Matt. I only want to be with him, Mr. Hilton. I'll be his servant. I'll be his slave. Just take me with you, Mr. Hilton.'

Robert Hilton gazed at her in turn. Then his hand left his side, slowly, as if impelled by some force he could not resist. It gripped her chin, moved on the line of her jaw, stroked her cheek. 'By God,' he said. 'You would be a prize, girl. But you're not for us. You'd split my family from one end to the next, and God knows, it clings too precariously to itself as it is. Demerara, Mr. Hodge. You'll not gainsay me, or I'll have every hogshead you produce refused here and in England. I'll be away now. I'm for Antigua and Green Grove. But she'll be gone before I stop here on my way back, or by God I'll see to you.'

He walked round Gislane, and she listened to the sound of his boots scuffing the earth. Oh, God, she thought. Oh, God, she wanted to shout, to shriek. No, no, no. You cannot play such a trick on me. Dear God, you cannot send him and then take him away.

'God damned arrogant bastard,' Janet Hodge remarked. 'You'd think he was descended from royalty, you would, the way he gives himself airs. Well, let him flash his ugly self. We'll see him in hell, eh, Jamie?'

Hodge licked his lips. 'We'd best do as he says, Janet. God knows we've trouble enough selling our sugar with this damnable war dragging on, without having the Hiltons as enemies. And he's paid well. You'll get a new gown out of this.'

'A new gown?' she demanded. 'God damn you for a snivelling cur, Jamie Hodge. You're afraid of the man.'

'I'm a sensible man, you mean,' Hodge insisted. 'And the girl will only cause trouble between us, darling. 'Tis best she goes.'

'She'll go when I'm done with her, what's left of her,' Janet Hodge said.

'You'll not flog her, Janet. She'll command no price at all after she's been flogged, this one. She hasn't the hide for it. And Hilton will be sure to find out.'

There was a moment's hesitation on the part of the woman, while Gislane held her breath, held back the tears which were hammering at her consciousness, demanding to be released. Then the white woman smiled. 'You're right, of course, Jamie. I'll not flog her and ruin a good carcass. I'll make her know herself better, that's all.' She stared into Gislane's eyes. 'Eunice. You've red peppers in the kitchen. Bring them to me. Maybe, given time, the bitch will beg me for the whip.'

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE SEAMAN

F
OREVER
. If only there could be such a word, such an existence. Two months, four months, eight months, time had no meaning, existence became as unchanging as the very tropical seasons, with Suzanne to lie in his arms. There was more to it than physical possession, for indeed, he did not possess her at all. It was she who owned, who commanded, and who disbursed, and he who received, anxiously and passionately. The very sight of her was sufficient to bring him up hard and wanting, and he saw her every day. He remembered every second of their first embrace, the promise of her body as she had slowly removed her clothes, never once ceasing to gaze at him, as if she would mesmerize him to insure that he did not, that he could not, change his mind; the magnificent contrast of heavy, slightly sagging breasts and utterly slender thighs, the perfect symmetry of the strangely dark 'V of her groin, of the muscular legs, the tempting, fine-spun gold of the hair which lay so lightly on her shoulders, separating into invisible strands whenever she moved, and yet always presenting a gauze-like curtain of magnificent colour around her head. Georgiana had made him think of silk, but here was finest damask and about to be his.

This indeed had been a terrifying thought. Where he was a virgin she had known three years of marriage, and whatever his faults no one could doubt that Dirk Huys knew how to play the man in bed. And his terror had been justified. The compelling mixture of desire and fear had left him unable even to fill her hand. Yet had she been not the least disturbed, as perhaps she had anticipated such a possibility.

She had put her arms around him and kissed him, slowly and for several seconds, sdll gazing into his eyes, saying not a word but leaving no doubt that she was repeating her terms, that if he took her now he must take her forever. And he could still remember the heaven induced by that first touch, the velvet-like quality of the tight drawn flesh which encased her ribs, the sudden swell of the breasts, so soft and yet so firm, which had left him trembling like a babe, the gentle smile with which she had retreated to the bed, drawing him to her as she had drawn him into the room.

After eight months he could still remember the feeling that he would burst when he had felt himself against her belly, the desire to scream with joy as her hands had in turn slipped down his thighs to seize him, to caress him to her satisfaction, to guide him. Then memory failed, but it returned to his feelings only a few seconds later, when he had known the bitter thought that no doubt, each night, she did a similar service for Dirk. But Dirk possessed
her,
and
she
possessed him. For he would have heard the suddenly loud gasp of pleasure, had there been pleasure, the tumultuous creaking of the bed, even above the rain which had filled his ears. And from thence forward there had been no failing of memory. He had wanted again and again and again, until she had been forced to escape him, leaving the bed and pouring water into the china basin to wash her face, while her hair drooped on each side of her cheeks; the sight had yet again drawn him from the bed to hold her round the waist, feel the magnificence of her buttocks against his belly, bring his mouth nuzzling into her shoulders.