Mistress of Darkness (6 page)

'Somerset,' Georgiana said. 'James Somerset.'

'There was the blackguard. Can there ever have been more open invitation to absconders? The only saving grace is that they have to find some other blackguard to carry them across three thousand miles of open water in the first place, and few of them can command such a price. But the fact remains that whatever the combination of colour in her veins, this Gislane Nicholson is free merely by living in England. By God, we'd soon have her on her back were she to set foot in Jamaica.'

'Sir, you nauseate me,' Matt said. 'In fact, I am one with the Nicholsons on that. And with Mr. Sharpe. The very concept that a girl like Gislane could be made into a ... a whore because of the colour of her skin makes me wish to vomit. I refuse to consider the matter further. She is very obviously as white as any of us, and will remain so until she is proved otherwise, at least in my eyes.'

The carriage had arrived at the house, and he got down without giving Robert time to reply. Richards the butler held the great door ajar, and Matt threw his hat and cane in the corner. But Robert was immediately behind him.

'You'll listen to me, by God,' he declared. 'I am not finished yet. In here.' He stamped into the withdrawing-room, and Matt, after a moment's hesitation and a glance at Georgiana, who stuck out her tongue at him, followed. It really made no sense to quarrel with Robert.

'Proof, you say,' Robert declared, taking up his stance before the empty grate. 'Again, sir, your years in England have taught you to be less observant than you should. Tell me this, sir. Have you ever kissed the lady's hand?'

'Why, no,' Matt said. 'It did not seem appropriate on the one occasion we met before.'

'Well, I suggest that should you, by any mischance, meet her again, you do so. And as you bend your head, study her fingernails.'

'Oh, really, Robert, what am I to tell from that?'

'Well, sir, study your own. Observe the colour. Rest them on that table, sir. You will discover pinkness close to the white edge, and pinkness close to the cuticle, while the centre of the nail, unless pressed on the table, will be almost white. Now sir, with your Gislane, the pigmentation is altogether darker, especially close to the cuticle. You will find it very nearly purple.'

'And that is proof of colour? Rather is it proof that she has somewhat richer blood in her veins than I.'

'Scoff if you like. It is based upon years of observation of the Negro. I could add to that the unnatural whiteness of her skin. No doubt you will argue that but proves she is altogether more delicate than you or I, or Georgiana here. But can you argue against her hair? Surely you have observed that, boy. It is one of her most striking features. And when first you met the girl, as I recall, it was on a cricket field, when surely there was a slight breeze blowing. Now I have but to go poof...' and he did so, 'to set Georgiana's wisps trembling. But did even a fair breeze disturb your Gislane's hair? Does it not strike you as being of an altogether different texture to yours or mine? Each strand of it, you would find were you to examine it closer, is somewhat thicker man ours, and tends to stay against its neighbour. There again is the mark of colour.'

'Oh, what nonsense,' Matt said, but he could not stop himself frowning. The unnatural neatness of Gislane's hair had struck him from the first; he had put it down as resulting from the unnatural calm of her character.

'Then what ails you, boy?'

'Robert, I am sorry I lost my temper. I understand that you consider you are doing the best for me in attempting to turn me against Gislane. And who knows, you may very well be right, and she has some West African prince as a distant ancestor. Where you are wrong is in supposing that it matters to me one jot. She is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. She is the most desirable creature I have ever seen. I love her with every part of my body. I shall always love her. Sometimes I feel that I have always loved her. I shall pursue and many her, no matter what it costs.'

Robert stared at him. 'You will do no such thing, sir, if you wish to remain my heir.'

'But even if she is a mustee, as you claim, it lies within our power to set her free, and remove the taint of slavery forever. In any event, you yourself have pointed out that her children will be free, no matter who the father, providing he is white.'

'God give me patience,' Robert shouted, making the chandelier tremble. 'That I should be crippled by such a fool in my family. Do you suppose I care aught for her being a slave or a free woman? It is her colour I care about, boy. Her
colour.
White people do not marry niggers if they wish to retain their position in the community, and you are a Hilton. By Christ, boy, what do you suppose Great-aunt Rebecca would say? She's past a hundred. She's Kit's own daughter, and she has more than a little of Meg Warner in her. You'd likely drive her to her grave.'

'I doubt that, sir. And if as you say she is past a hundred, then no doubt she will soon be in her grave in any event.'

'Matt,' Georgiana protested. 'That were an unkind thing to say.'

'Then I am sorry for it. But I cannot obstruct my own life with others' considerations. And now you have finally destroyed your own argument, Robert. So we are Hiltons. We are also descended from the Warners, are we not, and is that not the name we hold most proud? As we are Meg Warner's great-grandchildren, so are we old Sir Thomas's descendants. Was there a greater man in all the history of the West Indies? Would we be there at all, enjoying this wealth and this power of which you are so proud, had he not dared to plant the first English colony in St. Kitts? And how did he do that, pray tell me? By the love of the Princess Yarico. By his love for her, and hers for him. Now then, where would wc be if some cousin of his had held up his hand and said no, no, Tom Warner, put that woman aside, she is an Indian. And by God there was no question of sixteenths and thirty-seconds there. She was a pure-blooded Carib.'

'Aye,' Robert said. 'So she was. But he at the least had the good sense not to marry her, but to keep her solely for the comfort of his bed. And that were disastrous enough. If you know so much about the family history you'll recall some of the blood that was spilt, some of the enmity that was created, some of the ruin that was brought upon us before the last of that hellish spawn was put in his grave. If there was no stigma attached to colour at all, that one experience should be sufficient to put any Warner, or any Hilton, from the idea of ever tainting his family's blood again. No, no, Matt. As your elder I command you, as your friend I ask you, and in the name of your unborn descendants I beg you, forget this girl. Let her go her own way to damnation. You have more to do with your life than waste it in miscegenation.'

'My God.' Georgiana slowly lowered the handkerchief she had been waving, as the carriage disappeared from sight round the corner of the street. 'There goes the bane of my existence. I feel as if I have just been released from prison.'

Matt had been waving his hat. Now he replaced it on his head. 'You'll get no peculiar ideas, young lady. You'll not forget that you have been left in my care. And to say truth, this is a responsibility I'd have done better without.'

Georgiana pouted at him, and led the way back into the house. ‘I think the conception is admirable. Are you going to whip me every day?'

'Don't be ridiculous.'

'But Robert insisted upon it.'

'Robert left you in my care, at the least until term starts...'

'There is another matter I'd discuss,' Georgiana interrupted. 'You cannot really mean to leave me at the mercy of Mrs. Partridge. Why you might as well shut me up in that convent he was prating about.'

'Mrs. Partridge is a good and honest woman, recommended by the vicar himself, and will keep you from mischief. But as I was saying, as Robert has left our affairs in my care, so he must trust my judgement. And it is my opinion that the sole cause of your misfortune, and the sad decline I have observed in your character, is due to your having grown up on Hilltop, as you yourself have said, with naught but blacks for company, with naught but your own will to be observed.'

'My God,' she said again. 'You have spent too long with your parson friend, dear Matthew. You could almost be standing in a pulpit. Well?'

This last was addressed to Richards, who hovered anxiously.

'Luncheon is served, Mr. Hilton.'

They sat opposite each other, at each end of the long table, their voices echoing in the empty vastness of the panelled dining-room. They ate apple tarts and roast dumplings, carved at a leg of mutton and a ham of pork, while Richards himself served them mugs of ale and goblets of claret.

'I think,' Georgiana said, 'that I will take a stroll after luncheon. It is the only time of the day which even approximates a Jamaican evening.'

'You'll do no such thing,' Matt declared. 'A young lady does not go strolling by herself. You want to remember that the people you will meet here are not your slaves. I suppose you could take one of the maids.'

'I have not the least intention of taking one of the maids,' she declared. 'Whatever would we talk about? Why don't you escort me, Matthew dear? If you are to play my gaoler, should you not keep me constantly in your sight? I expect you to move into my bedroom. The bed is big enough.'

'Then you had better retire there,' he said tartly. 'If you will not walk with a maid, you'll not walk at all. I am to Mr. Broughton's establishment to train.'

'The boxing place? Oh, Matt, darling ...' she sprang up from her seat and ran round the table, to throw both her arms about his neck before he could defend himself. 'Let me come with you? I should so love to watch all those handsome men ... is it true they strip to their breeches, or less?'

'To your room, wretched girl,' he shouted, doing his best to imitate Robert's tone. 'In this country women know their place, and ladies know theirs better than anyone. At least try to act the part.'

But in fact, he reflected sorrowfully, as John Broughton for the third time gently poked him on the nose with a long left hand, he might as well have gone walking with his cousin, for all the concentrating he was able to do. For all the concentration he had mustered in the entire Week since Robert's visit to the Nicholsons.

'Enough for today.' Broughton dropped his fists and stripped off the light gloves he wore for sparring, intended more to save his knuckles from splitting than his opponent's face. 'If you are that disinterested, Mr. Ffilton, I could well do you a serious injury.' But he smiled as he spoke, and robbed the words of their sting. John Broughton was a strikingly handsome man, not tall but with features which could easily have been inherited from some Greek hero, for all the years during which he had dominated the English prize ring, and with a body as hard-muscled and trim as when he had been in his prime.

Matt picked up his towel, sat on the bench which ran round the whole room, while all the other gentlemen who were sparring or lifting weights or conversing in the heated atmosphere of sweaty endeavour, which was inescapable in the gymnasium, paused in their activities in the hopes that they might be the next one selected for personal lessons by the great man. Now this was where he should have brought Robert, it occurred to Matt. This would have taught him what an Englishman really thinks of wealth and position; for in the room at that moment there was an earl and several other members of the lesser nobility, all waiting the pleasure of a onetime stable boy whose only talent was his artistry with his fists.

'You're not ill, Matt?' Broughton spoke softly, as he addressed few of his clients by their first names.

‘I suppose I never felt better in my life.' Matt pulled on his shirt.

'And I have heard how but a week gone you trounced Dick Nyren's men to the tune of forty-seven runs, and were not out at the end of it. Well, then, surely it is not debts? I am told you could call all the riches of the West Indies to your assistance, if need be? But if I can help you...'

Matt clapped his friend on the shoulder. 'No debts. And I suppose I
can
call all the riches of the West Indies to my aid, if my need is great enough. And if I do as my family sees fit.'

'Ah.' Broughton sat on the bench beside him. 'A young lady, of whom your father disapproves. I had forgot, your father is dead. Your guardian, then.'

Matt nodded.

Broughton pulled his nose. 'Mr. Robert Hilton, of course. He just paid a brief visit to our town. If the tales one hears have the very least accuracy, that is a sizeable fortune you stand to inherit. I can sympathize with your reluctance to forego it.'

'Yet you suppose I shall?'

Broughton smiled. ‘I but considered the matter from my own point of view. As my fortune has ever lain entirely in my fists rather than my pockets, the choice has really never entered my experience. So beware of my advice, Matt. You will undoubtedly regret taking it.'

'I
would hear it, none the less, John.'

'Ah, well, in my opinion there can be no money in the world to be compared with pursuing, and gaining, the love of a beautiful woman. She is beautiful, this charmer of yours?'

The most marvellous creature you ever saw, John. But surely, by the same token, there can be no misery in the world compared with pursuing a beautiful woman, and
failing
to gain her love.'

'Were that a deterrent, our species had died out long ago, Matt. What, will you be frightened by a frown? No woman was ever pursued and not captured, unless she already belongs to another, and even that is not always an insurmountable obstacle. But your charmer is not married?'

'Good heavens no.'

'Neither is she betrothed?'

'Not to my knowledge.'

'Yet, if she is as beautiful as you say, the event cannot be long delayed. Every moment you waste sitting here and talking to me increases the danger.'