HF - 04 - Black Dawn (28 page)

This time the murmurs became shouts of applause, and hands were clapped.

Tony waved for quiet. 'But that is for the next Session, as I say. Before then, ladies and gentlemen, a far more important, and a far more felicitous event is to take place. It is my great honour to tell you that Miss Ellen Taggart has consented to become my wife.'

This time the room rang to the cheers. Ellen smiled at them all.

'Think of it, gentlemen,' Tony said. 'It is near fifty years since Hilltop had a mistress. Since Hilltop was a home, gentlemen, instead of just a plantation. Ladies and gentlemen, that void is now filled. I ask you to rise with me and drink the health of the mistress of Hilltop. Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Ellen Taggart.'

They rose together, glasses held high. 'Ellen Taggart.' And then dissolved in a mass, to accumulate around the end of the table to congratulate the bride to be, to look for her smile and her kiss.

Tony used his napkin to wipe his lips and brow, gave Mrs Taggart a kiss on the cheek, and then followed Boscawen's gaze into the hall.

'Is Mr Reynolds, Mr Hilton, sir,' the butler said. 'He just come.'

'You'll excuse me, Mrs Taggart.' Tony left the table, seized the lawyer's hands. 'Reynolds. How good to see you. 'Tis a warm day for a long ride.'

'Mr Hilton.' The lawyer looked distinctly hot and bothered. 'Terrible news, sir. Terrible news.'

'Not here.' Tony ushered him along the hall, past the stairs and into the study. 'Bonaparte? I had heard. But he will make no progress this time.'

'Not Bonaparte, sir.' Reynolds sat down, mopped his brow. 'The
Green Knight
anchored two days ago, sir. You'll remember she cleared here but three days after the
Cormorant.
I had specifically asked Captain Morrison to obtain what information he could. I'd have come sooner, Mr Hilton, but the news of Bonaparte's return to France has had all Kingston in a tizzy, and I could not get away.'

'And Morrison has more news yet?'

'Of the very worst, sir.' Reynolds glanced out of the open door at the hall; the sounds of revelry could clearly be heard. 'The
Cormorant
never made Bristol. But Morrison put in at

Cap Haitien, on his way back here. The Negroes say wreckage came ashore. You'll remember there was that gale, two days after she left.'

'So we must presume the worst,' Tony said.

Reynolds sighed. 'Sad. Sad. You'll want to send those people home.'

Tony frowned at him. 'Why? They are celebrating my engagement, amongst other things.'

'But with Mr Richard very probably dead . . .' Reynolds' turn to frown. 'Your engagement, Mr Hilton?'

'To Miss Taggart.'

'To . . . Good God.'

'As I endeavoured to tell you just now, I have heard the news. All the news. I have maintained an agent in town these last few weeks, to bring me the first available word from England on the whereabouts of the
Cormorant.
I knew the night before last. Awakened I was, from a deep sleep, at two o'clock in the morning. But it was worth it. As you know, I have long supposed my brother to be dead. But of course I could not invite his fiancee to marry me until I was sure.'

Reynolds gazed at him for some seconds. Then he stood up. 'Your brother is not dead, Mr Hilton. Legally. He cannot be dead until his body is identified, or until seven years have elapsed.'

Tony smiled at him. 'Legally. Yet you will not deny it was his wish that I manage Hilltop in his
absence.' Reynolds chewed his li
p.

'And you can hardly suppose it would have b
een his wish that Miss Taggart li
nger for seven years, which is a lifetime in the consideration of a young woman, waiting to be sure, when we are both, in our hearts, sure.'

Reynolds sighed. 'I suspect you are very much of a scoundrel, Mr Hilton.'

'And I suspect that the next time you use such
words to me, Mr Reynolds, I will
have my drivers throw you off this plantation.'

'Your drivers? Aye, no doubt they are
your
drivers. 'Twas
your brother's wish, may God rest his soul. No doubt he was too good a man. I cannot interfere with your present prerogatives, Mr Hilton. But I am still the executor of your brother's estate. You'll do well to remember that. The plantation is Mr Richard Hilton's.'

'For seven years.' Tony got up. 'I am a patient man, Mr Reynolds. I have formed a philosophy, which I believe has been expressed before. Everything comes to he who waits. I'll bid you good day, sir. My guests, and my fiancee, are waiting.'

9

The Castaway

Judith's body moved against his, her arms tight round his neck. She squirmed, and seemed able to bounce, even under his weight. And she moved from side to side as well. Lying on her was like being on a ship at sea.

Dick Hilton rolled on to his back, stared at the deck beams immediately above his head, sweat breaking out on his face and shoulders as he realized that he was on a ship at sea.

He attempted to sit up, and banged his head. As if it had been a signal, waves of thudding pain were loosed, to go reverberating throu
gh his mind, to crash against hi
s ears, to seep down his neck into his stomach and bring green sickness back into his throat. His chin seemed one enormous bruise.

He discovered himself on his hands and knees, clutching the bunk on which he had lain, bracing himself against the roll of the vessel. And being suddenly bathed in a draught of cool air, seeping around his head.

'Praying, are you?'

He attempted to turn, lost his balance, and fell over. He looked at shoes, and somewhat dirty cotton stockings. The clothes above were hardly cleaner but the face, if unshaven and pockmarked, was not unpleasant.

'John Gibson, at your service.'

Dick licked his lips, slowly, closed his eyes to attempt to shut out the pain. 'What ship?' His voice seemed to come from very far away.

'The
Cormorant,
bound for Bristol, Mr Hilton.'

'Bristol?' Dick seized the bunk once again, pulled himself

to his feet.
^‘
I can't go to Bristol.'

'What you need is something to eat, Mr Hilton,' Gibson decided. 'You'll feel better after something to eat. Boy,' he shouted, sending fresh reverberations crashing into Dick's mind.

He sat on the bunk. 'How came I here?'

'Why, sir, you came out with my boatswain, last night. Insisted, you did. Said you had to get away. Food, boy. Food for the passenger.'

'Had to . . .' Dick scratched his head. Another painful operation. 'I was drunk. Christ, I was drunk.'

'You were that, Mr Hilton,' Gibson agreed. 'Mind you, sir, for a man that drunk, you were wonderfully possessed, you were. Wrote a steady hand and all.' He jerked his head. 'You'd best eat.'

'Eat?' Dick seized the captain's sleeve. 'Listen. You must put back. I was drunk.'

'You booked passage to England,' Gibson pointed out. 'Signed a note, you did.'

'You can keep it,' Dick said. 'I'll sign another. But put me back.'

The captain gazed at him for some seconds, then went into the main cabin and sat down. 'You'll want to think about that.' 'When you've worn ship.'

'Now, sir, that's not going to be easy. You won't believe this sir, but we've a stern wind. Due west, in the Caribbean, in November. There'a chance. Why, sir, do you know, I reckon we've done a hundred miles in the past twelve hours. There's speed for you. But she's a clean hull,
Cormorant.''

Dick staggered across the cabin, up the companionway, and into the waist of the ship. And was immediately thankful for the cooling breeze which swept over him, cleared some of the cobwebs from his mind. He stood at the starboard gunwale, looked at the mountains on the southern horizon.

'Hispaniola,' Capt ain Gibson said. 'What the niggers who infest it call Haiti. Like I said, damn near a hundred miles in twelve hours.'

Dick climbed the ladder, crossed the poop, grasped the taffrail to steady himself. But astern the sea was empty, save for the occasional whitecap. It was in fact a peculiar afternoon; the sky was almost yellow, rather than blue, and the wind was hot. And his brain continued to tumble. Memory. But he did not want memory. There were too many unthinkable thoughts banging on the edges of his consciousness. He only knew he must get home. And quickly.

'As a matter of fact,' Captain Gibson remarked, having followed him, 'the sooner we're through the Windward Passage the happier I'll be. There's wind about.'

'Then seek shelter,' Dick said. 'Set me ashore in Haiti.'

Gibson frowned at him. 'Now, I'll not be doing that, Mr Hilton. Why, you'd go to your death. We'd all go to our deaths. Those niggers don't take to strangers. They'd rather slaughter us than slaughter each other, and by all accounts they spend most of their time doing that.'

'Then put about,' Dick begged. 'So it's take a week to beat back to Jamaica. But it won't. The wind won't stay west.'

'A westerly is just what we need, for the Windward Passage,' Gibson explained. 'We'll be through this time tomorrow. Otherwise it's beating up the Florida Channel, and adding weeks to the voyage. As for putting back . . . it'll cost me all my profit.'

'I'll be your profit,' Dick said. 'I'll buy your ship.' 'Eh?'

'I'm Richard Hilton of Plantation Hilltop. Name your price. I'll sign a note, now. I didn't know what I was doing, last night. I must get back to Jamaica. Name your price, Gibson. Name your price.'

The captain stroked his chin. 'You don't know what you're doing now, either, Mr Hilton. You want to think about that for a while.'

'While you get us into the Atlantic? Now, Captain. Now. Put about now, and you have my note.'

Gibson stroked his chin some more. 'Well,' he said at last. 'If you're serious, Mr Hilton. There'll be witnesses, mind.'

'Assemble the whole crew,' Dick said. 'But do it now.'

'Aye. Well. . .' Gibson turned, to look forward, and checked, and looked up instead. With warning the wind had dropped right away, and the sails did no more than flap against then-stays.

'You'd best batten those hatches,' Captain Gibson stood at the rail and looked down on his ship. 'And strike those topsails. Quick, now.'

'It'll shift, Captain,' Dick said. 'You've no reason to hold on. And my offer stands.'

'Oh, aye, Mr Hilton,' Gibson sighed. 'You'll go back to Kingston. When we've weathered whatever's coming.' He pointed at the blackness which was spreading out of the south, overshadowing the distant mountains of Haiti, threatening the drooping sun. 'That's a late hurricane. And we're in narrow waters.'

Dick gazed at the sky. In the four years he had lived on Jamaica they had had sufficient warnings of a tropical storm, but never a full blow. 'What will you do?'

'What can I do, man?' Gibson asked. 'If it comes east, we'll run back. If it stays west, we'll run for the Passage and the open sea. I've no choice, Mr Hilton.'

'And if it is north or south?'

Again the captain sighed. 'North is Cuba, south is Haiti. We'll have to heave to and try not to drift.' He gave a short laugh. 'There's a problem, eh?'

Dick left him, went to the taff
frail. Hurricane winds always shifted, and through a hundred and eighty degrees, as the eye of the storm passed. He looked down at the slow bubble of wake. The ship still moved, drifting with the current, propelled by the almost unplaceable breeze, and eastward. He was sailing away from Jamaica. Christ, how memory came back to him. It seemed as if every mistake he had made, every crime he had committed, had suddenly rolled themselves up into a thundercloud as big as the approaching storm, and delivered themselves against his head. Harriet had been a gigantic dream.

He had known from the start that she could never be anything more than that. Had known too, that she was in many ways a nightmare. And yet had remained sucked into the warm sensuality of that embrace, long after he had ceased to love, or even to like, the woman herself.

And yet, was Ellen anything less of a mistake? Had she been anything less of a mistake from the very beginning? Was he doomed to know only women who would seek to dominate, to rule? Or was the fault entirely his, in being too submissive, too uncertain of his own temper, his own purpose, to oppose successfully?

And in any event, could marriage to Ellen, now, be anything less than a total disaster? The events of the last four years, and more particularly of the last two days, were there to be hurled in his face whenever they had the slightest difference of opinion.