Mistress of Darkness (43 page)

'I should wish you to.' His voice was indistinct.

Gislane looked down on the lank black hair. 'I shall love you, and I shall be your mistress, and I shall act every part you wish. And one day, Louis, I will kill you.'

Perhaps she had expected another reaction. But she merely felt his breath on her flesh as he smiled. 'That will be a pleasure,' he said. 'One day, sweetheart, when I am old and ill, I will ask you to place those magnificent breasts on my face and hold them there, until I expire.'

At last his hands caught her thighs, and she turned, to sit beside him. 'Must I wait that long, my sweet?'

He was. after all, no more than a man. His fingers moved upwards, from her hips to her breasts, and he was pleased at the responsive hardening of her nipples. Because he was at the least far more gentle than any man she had ever met. And now he kissed her on the lips. 'They would break you on the wheel,' he whispered. 'For murdering a Corbeau. Have you any conception of what it is like to be broken on a wheel?'

'They?' she asked.

'The authorities, of course. The government of St. Domingue.'

'Ah,' she said, and put her arms around his body to hold him close, and smile at the bulkhead beyond. Nothing had changed, except perhaps her comfort. It was still necessary to wait, for Damballah Oueddo to come to her. But then, it was
only
necessary, to wait that long.

And perhaps she had never known comfort. Certainly, she reflected, as she once again lay in bed beneath cambric sheets, and listened to the house awakening around her, and watched the shafts of brilliant sunlight playing along the verandah outside her bedchamber, had she not experienced this she would not have believed it to exist. Her first month on Rio Blanco was spent in a continual daze. She felt she needed signposts to tell here where to go and what to do, minute by minute, hour by hour. The house itself was quite unlike any she had ever known, and totally different to any English Great House, where however splendid the comforts within, the accent was always on possible defence. In St. Domingue this did not seem to be considered necessary, although Rio Blanco itself was situated on the coast, and indeed took its name from the pale-watered river which tumbled through the very heart of the plantation before losing itself in the white-sanded beach which fringed the shore; the house rambled, from a vast central hall, into wings and towers and conservatories; it was a ten-minute walk along oak-panelled corridors to reach the library from the main doorway. But then it took half an hour to walk round the library even if one never chose to stop and examine the title of a book.

As for her suite, it involved a carefully planned expedition, up a broad flight of grand stairs, lined with paintings of the Corbeaux, along a corridor wide enough for a regiment to march in column, down a short flight of steps and into another, somewhat narrower corridor, a right turn down yet another passage, a climb up another flight of stairs, another horizontal march, and then yet another descent. Then she passed through a pair of double doors in white wood decorated with the ice-pink motif which was as much the mark of the Corbeaux as the hawk's beak, and after traversing a lobby, in white and pink, entered her withdrawing-room, also in white and pink, and containing, amongst other magnificent pieces of furniture, a white and pink harpsichord. She had been almost afraid to touch it, so long was it since her fingers had been permitted such a luxury. But it was hers, as the three bedrooms of this apartment were hers, as the multitude of gowns which hung in the closet was hers, as the single gold chain with the golden hawk's head which was the only jewellery he had given her, was hers. Her only duty was to leave her doors always unlocked, and to be always smiling, and always passionate. And even this was no more than a routine, for Louis himself followed a careful routine. He rose at dawn, and went downstairs for his cup of coffee laced with rum, before going aback on his mule for his parade through the endless dams which separated the canefields. He returned to the house at ten, and sat down to breakfast, at which she was present. At this meal they were attended, like a king and his consort, by every one of the eighteen overseers, the three chemists, the nine bookkeepers, and the five engineers who formed the plantation's staff, and now it was that Louis dispensed his orders for the day. For this was no ordinary breakfast, but a seven-course meal which lasted for upwards of two hours and was accompanied by a variety of punches and wines.

Breakfast completed, usually by half past twelve, Louis retired to bed, in his own apartment, to which she had never been admitted. He rose again at three, and took his bath. By this time the midday heat was leaving the sun, and he once again visited the fields, and on this occasion she was usually invited to accompany him, riding side-saddle on the magnificent mare he had given to her on her first day here. This inspection was completed by five of the clock, because as the sun drooped towards the mountains which hid the western horizon, then the insects came buzzing from the ditches and water-courses to make themselves as intolerable as possible to the insolent humans who would share their world. Then it was time to retire behind the gauze netting which shrouded the parlour, itself a room as large as the entire Great House on Hodges, where there was a piano rather than a harpsichord, and where she either sang to him, or read to him, or played at cards with him, according to his mood. Supper was served at seven, and they were invariably abed by nine, nor was he inclined to remain awake after eleven. And as he was always gone when she awoke in the morning, it really meant that she was totally free from eleven of every night until ten of the following morning. For if she was euphemistically described as Monsieur Corbeau's housekeeper, there was never the slightest suggestion that she take any part in the management of the vast business which was Rio Blanco Great House. Truth to tell Francois-Pierre the majordomo would have been scandalized at the idea, even had she possessed the slightest idea of how to go about it.

So then, she thought, as she stretched and massaged her body up and down the sheets, and inhaled the musk of her perfume, only a total fool would have the slightest doubt about enjoying the life to which she had been so strangely translated. A fool, or one totally cursed. But then, she was totally cursed. Or was she not blessed, by having known the wonders of the Serpent?

To submit to Louis, to force herself to respond to him with the passion he desired, to moan with ecstasy and even on occasion to feel a suggestion of that ecstasy, for he was an accomplished lover, there was no hardship. She could even indulge her hatred by hurting him, and pretending it was sheer passion. She could draw her nails up his back and bring blood; she could lose control of herself and forget she had teeth, and know that the sharp pain would but make him desire her the more. But she could not shrug off the emptiness with which he left her, every time he got out of her bed, the feeling of unfulfilment, the knowledge that she lived no more than a sham, that indeed, her life had been more real when she had lived in fear of the whip and the cane, and when every time she had been forced it had been rape.

That was her physical problem. There were others, even more difficult to bear. She watched Therese, her personal maid, enter the room, softly, afraid to wake her mistress, watched her tiptoe around the room, drawing the drapes, carefully, afraid to damage or even to crush the rich material, watched her collecting the glasses used for their nightcap of iced rum punch and place them on the silver tray, carefully, afraid of breaking or even scratching a single surface. Afraid. Always afraid. Therese was representative of every black person on Rio Blanco. They feared. Well, did not slaves everywhere live in fear? Oh indeed, but not quite in such an intense atmosphere of fear, she thought. She had experienced slavery on board a slave ship, slavery on Hodges, which had been bad, and slavery up the Essequibo, which had been worse. She had seen men and women having their backs torn to shreds, their genitals deliberately smashed with wooden clubs; she herself knew the agonies of red pepper applied to her private parts, and she had watched other unfortunates staked out on red ant nests, as had been Mulder's favourite method of punishing recalcitrant females; in Essequibo she had even watched a black man being burned alive, slowly, for murdering his master. And yet she had not known such concentrated fear, as on Rio Blanco.

Without being able to decide why? Oh, there were floggings enough, but hardly more than on Hodges. And the petty treason of murdering a white man was apparently rewarded in St. Domingue by breaking on the wheel rather than by burning; it was difficult to see that one could be worse than the other. Yet Louise Corbeau moved in an atmosphere of fear, of which, remarkably, he seemed to be unaware. So then, there was a side to his character which he had so far concealed from her, and indeed, which he had apparently concealed from everyone during the months she had lived here. Yet everyone else on the plantation knew of its existence, and feared its reappearance. Saving her. So then, was she living in a fool's paradise?

But she was the master's woman, and thus classed with him. There was a disconcerting fact. They feared her as much as they feared Louis, because they did not know what she whispered in his ear at night. Because they could not see past her skin, and her skin was white. Because they did not understand her hatred was as great as their own, because she could not convey to them how much her desires followed

theirs, how she longed once again to find Damballah, in whatever guise he might assume.

The burden was hers. And the time was now, or it would be never. For a fortnight ago Louis had left, his sloop flying every pennant it possessed, to fetch his bride. Remarkably, he had never mentioned her name; Gislane knew no more than that she was from Jamaica. But she would be queen here; no more breakfasts for the housekeeper.

Something she welcomed. She would be left alone, to pursue her own path. She had in fact already made tentative advances to Therese, and been met by a stony stare. Yet she had no doubt. She had known Therese in a state of delayed ecstasy, which could have had only one cause. And by then she had had a sacrifice at hand. Corbeau had made her pregnant, as Mulder had so often made her pregnant. This time she had waited longer before having the miscarriage she had learned to induce so easily. She felt no pity; the unborn child would have been white, and thus guilty. Then she had wrapped the bloody mess in a cambric sheet, and had given it to Therese. 'For Damballah,' she had said. He would understand a message composed of blood.

Two days ago. She sat up, and Therese started, and hastily crossed the room to draw back the mosquito netting. ‘I didn't wake you, mistress,' she begged.

'I have been awake for hours.' Gislane thrust her feet to the floor and stood up. She slept naked, because Louis liked her that way, and because she enjoyed it. She was clean, all the time. After four years of being filthy, all the time. She could actually once again bear to smell herself. And she devoted an hour of every day to her bath. Now she walked to the huge glass doors leading to the verandah, and looked out at the plantation, and the rain-drenched mountains beyond; her apartment faced inland instead of towards the never-changing sea.

'I got your coffee hot so, mistress,' Therese said.

Gislane turned, and took the china cup in both hands. And stared at the Negress. But she could wait no longer. ‘I heard the drum last night,' she said.

Therese gazed at her.

'Do you not think I know of the drum?' Gislane asked.

'Do you think I have the heart of a white woman because my skin is the colour of a white woman's? I am one of you, Therese. I know the power of the drum. I know the power of the Serpent. And I am lonely for that power, Therese.' Therese licked her lips, slowly.

'You will take me, Therese,' Gislane said. 'You and me. There is a
mamaloi
in the slave village. There is a
mamaloi
and a
hougan.
I know these things. And I, too, am a
mamaloi:

Therese shook her head. 'I ain't knowing what you saying, mistress.'

'Don't lie to me, Therese. Don't you understand? I am a
mamaloi.
I have the power to see into your mind, into your heart. I have known Damballah Oueddo, and held him to my breast. Don't lie to me.'

'Mistress, I ain't know nothing about that.'

'I can have you flogged, Therese. I can tell the master that you have been rude to me.'

Once again the tongue circled the lips. But the head continued to shake, which was all the confirmation Gislane needed. There could only be one power in all the universe of which Therese would be more afraid than Louis Corbeau.

She smiled. 'But I will not do those things, Therese. Listen to me. This afternoon, when it is hot, I will go for a ride.'

Therese gaped at her. 'You can't go out midday so, mistress. White woman done get knocked down by the sun.'

'No doubt you are right, Therese. But I am not a white woman, and so I will not get sun stroke. I will prove to you, this afternoon. I will go riding, as soon as I have finished breakfast. This afternoon, Therese. Make what preparations you wish. I will let you go now. But come to me at one of the clock.'

Therese continued to stare at her.

'But first you will tell me his name,' Gislane said. 'Tell me how he is known to you.' Therese sweated.

'His name, Therese. Or I will be angry.'
Once again the tongue circled her lips. 'He does be called
Boukman, mistress.'

'Boukman. Boukman. Thank you, Therese. Now go!’ Gislane commanded. 'Be off with you. Tell Boukman I am coming. But tell no one else, Therese. Remember, I am a
mamaloi.
Remember the blood I gave you. I will reach you, wherever you are, should you seek to betray me. I will destroy you, Therese. I know all things, understand all things. And I will see this
hougan.
Today.'