HF - 05 - Sunset (16 page)

Oriole actually smiled. 'Oh, a Hilton, certainly. There was never a Hilton woman not surrounded by the breath of scandal. But few of them were as young as you.' To Meg's amazement, she picked up her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. 'So we shall be friends, you and I, and together you and I will plan a future for you which will make these past few days only an unpleasant interlude. First, I would have you forgive your father. You must understand that he has lived quite without female companionship, in a domestic sense, for seventeen years, since your mother died. Such behaviour is apt to make a man irrational. I had half hoped that my coming
...'
She sighed. 'Who can tell what goes on inside a man's heart? Anyway, that is over and done with, and you will not see him again until you are happily married.'

'But I don't wish to get married,' Meg said.

'What nonsense. Of course you wish to get married. Every young woman wishes to get married. I know what is bothering you. You are afraid to give up your position. But that will not happen. No, no. I have thought it over very carefully. Whoever marries you is not merely taking a wife. He is taking the whole responsibility, the power and the wealth, of Hilltop
...'

"The wealth?'

'It will come again. I have no doubt at all on that score. You and I will make it come again. And for the meanwhile
...'
She smiled, secretly. 'We must be sure no one knows the real state of affairs. Your father has promised me sufficient funds for that, at the least. Oh, he has some money stored away, you may depend upon it.'

'But
...'

'You really must give up this habit of interrupting,' Oriole said, with a bright smile. 'It is not very polite. As I was saying, the young man on whom you bestow your wealth and yourself will immediately step into a very responsible position, as the greatest planter in the West Indies. It will therefore be entirely seemly that he should change his name to Hilton.'

'What?' Meg shouted.

'Of course. It is not a difficult matter. And the name cannot be allowed to die. Why, do you realize that my sister Hermione, myself, and you are the only Hiltons left? I very much doubt whether your father will have any more children, at least, any more legitimate children, and my father is far too old. No, no. The name must be preserved.'

'Who on earth would agree to such a preposterous proposal ?' Meg said.

'It is not preposterous at all,' Oriole insisted, her smile beginning to wear a little thin. 'It is entirely customary amongst the aristocracy and the very rich, and what you have got to get through your head is that the Hiltons have always been at the very top of the West Indian aristocracy, and that you are very rich. At least in the eyes of the vulgar horde. No, no, there will be no difficulty at all. What we must find is a young man of good family, good character, and some decision. Not too much, of course. We must see to it that the future of the family, and of Hilltop, remains in the hands of those best suited to control it. Don't you agree ?'

Meg preferred to attempt a smile and say nothing. She supposed that sooner or later she would wake up and understand exactly what was happening, exactly what had happened over the past month, exactly what crime she had committed and what crime Papa had committed, and what exactly Oriole was intending.

Perhaps then, she thought, she would properly understand what she was, Hilton or confused young girl.

The road descended to Kingston. Years of financial stringency had begun to tell upon the city. The streets which had once bustled with planters and agents and their slaves were now pot-holed and half empty; goats browsed from the grass which was thrusting its stalks through the dusty soil, and ignored the dogs who fought and mated in the mud; the verandahed houses, behind whose jalousies great fortunes had been made and lost, sadly lacked paint, and the shingles on their roofs were cracked and obviously leaking; and the great harbour, where Morgan had sheltered his buccaneer fleet, and more recently, Rodney had brought his French captives after the Battle of the Saintes, was empty, save for a couple of trading schooners, and the steamer which was making ready to depart, and on which a cabin was booked for Mrs Paterson and her cousin.

'Desolate place,' Oriole commented, directing the Negro coachman to the docks. 'Oh, bother.'

Because they were not to escape entirely unscathed; it was now mid morning, and there were quite a few people on the dock, conspicuous amongst whom were Walter Reynolds and his son.

'Just give them a smile and board the launch,' Oriole commanded.

Meg arranged her features into what she hoped was a suitable expression and stepped down. To her dismay Billy hurried forward. 'Meg,' he cried.

'Good morning to you, Billy,' she said.

'Come along, Margaret,' Oriole said. 'The launch is waiting.'

'Meg,' Billy said, holding her arm. 'I must go.'

'Of course. Of course.' He flushed, stood on one foot and then the other, using her to balance on. She wondered if he would fall over were she to wrench herself free. 'Meg, 1 so wanted to see you.'

'Whatever for? Will you let me go?'

His fingers tightened. 'To say that
...
that whatever has happened, Meg, I shall always
...
well, Meg, I shall always love you.'

He stopped, aghast at what he had said, his face crimson. And Meg could not stop herself smiling, although she did manage to stifle the laugh which threatened to escape. 'Why, Billy,' she said. 'How kind of you.' She lowered her voice, and inclined her head towards his. 'But don't you realize, I've been raped by a nigger?'

CHAPTER SIX

THE DEBUTANTE

'WELL,' Oriole declared. 'I can't say I'm sorry to see the back of that. At least under present conditions.'

Meg clung to the rail and watched the great mountains towering above the ship. But already Kingston was fading into the mid-morning haze. Or was it a tear haze? She had never left Jamaica in her life before. She had never considered leaving Jamaica in her life.

But Oriole seemed delighted. If that was the right word. She was strangely agitated, could hardly keep still, constantly clenched and unclenched her gloved fingers. Perhaps she was afraid of the voyage ahead, Meg thought. Presumably
she
should also be afraid. The fact was, she was too miserable, and she had no idea what to expect. The ship seemed unusually large, and the sea was calm; the sails flapped against their yards, and only the steady puffs of black smoke from the runnel drove them through the water.

'Are you going to spend the day there ?' Oriole demanded.

'Well, I
...'

'It really isn't good for you,' Oriole said. 'You must put Jamaica from your mind. At least for the time being. You will love England. It is so huge, so civilized, so
...
elegant.'

'So frightening,' Meg suggested.

'What nonsense. You will have me to guide you. Come along now, let us give our cabin a more careful inspection. It wants another two hours to luncheon.'

She took Meg's hand, led her away from the rail, the wind whipping the frills to their gowns and threatening instant destruction to their hats and their coiffures, as the ship

gathered speed. They descended the ladder, one hand holding their skirts, the other cramming their hats on their heads, leaning against the rail, to the obvious amusement of two sailors on the deck below. But at least that was the only ladder they were required to negotiate; their cabin was on the main deck, and was clearly the best in the ship.

'This must be costing a fortune,' Meg had remarked when she had first seen it

'Money does not matter to a Hilton,' Oriole had pointed out. 'To
the
Hilton. Remember that.'

Now she opened the door, which was secured only on its safety latch, to discover a stewardess, plump and pale-faced, busying herself with sheets and blankets. 'That will do, thank you,' Oriole said. 'My cousin and I would like to rest a while before luncheon.'

'Of course, ma'am.' The girl gave a little curtsy and backed out of the room.

'Rest?' Meg inquired.

'This voyage will provide us with a very good rest,' Oriole said, locking the door. 'They say the
Roddam
is one of the fastest ships afloat, but even she will not make Southampton in under twelve days.'

'But I don't feel like a rest,' Meg protested. 'I really would like to have a last look at Jamaica.'

'Oh, what nonsense, girl. It will be there for hours. I would not be surprised if it is still in sight tomorrow morning. You will have ample time to see it again this afternoon.' Oriole removed her hat, laid it on the table with great care, began unbuttoning her gown. 'Do you know
...
this is the first time you and I have ever been alone together?'

Meg frowned, at once at the unusual hesitancy in her cousin's speech and because she could see her in the mirror; Oriole's cheeks were quite pink. Her whole expression reminded her of something she had seen before, but for the moment she could not think what it was.

'Oh, really, Oriole,' she said. 'We have spent most of every day alone together for two years.'

Oriole stepped out of her gown, began removing petticoats. 'On Hilltop? It's not possible to be alone on Hilltop. No ceilings, black people always underfoot
...
except in the Great House. But I never felt alone in the Great House. There are too many ghosts. Too many Hiltons walking those parquet floors, ever to be alone.'

Meg scratched her head, although Oriole had repeatedly told her what an unladylike thing it was to do. But never had she known Oriole in such an introspective mood. Or such a nervous condition. She was tearing at her petticoats, throwing them over her head and letting them he on the floor.

. 'Will you help me?'

Meg hurried forward, loosed the ties for the corset. To her utter astonishment, as the last tie was released Oriole turned, virtually in her arms, letting her corset also fall to the deck, forcing Meg's hands to slide under her armpits. Meg stepped back as if burned, but Oriole followed her, holding her shoulders. Her face was crimson. 'Do you hate me so much?'

'I
...'
Meg licked her li
ps, found she was against the bunk. She sat down. 'Of course not.'

Sitting, she was about the same height as her cousin. Oriole smiled, and took her face between her hands. 'I am glad. I am so glad. God knows, whatever I have done is for the best. You do understand that, Meg?'

Meg's head flopped up and down helplessly. She supposed the ship had struck a storm, she was so confused.

'Because I have loved you,' Oriole said. 'From the very moment we met. I loved you, and I knew I would always love you.' Again the quick smile. 'I think I even loved your wickedness. But I
...'
She released Meg's cheeks, turned away, to stare out of the porthole at the bubbling sea. 'God knows, I have fought with myself, and tortured myself, and hated myself, for two whole years. Two whole years, of holding you in my arms at night, darling Meg, of sharing a room with you, and of being afraid to
...
to tou
ch you.'

She turned again, cheeks scorching. 'Oh, I am a coward. Because is it wrong? Can it be wrong, when two people love each other? Does their sex come into it?'

Meg discovered her mouth was open and hastily closed it again. Oriole was taking off her shift.

'But when you wandered off, into the mountains, with those black people
...
you must tell me about that, Meg. All about that. Every single thing that happened. I won't ever repeat it.' She hesitated, gazing at the expression on Meg's face. 'In your own time, of course, my darling. In your own time. But it was that which made me realize I could wait no longer. And then, to see you bent across the bed while that foul brute made at you
...'

'He is not a foul brute,' Meg shouted. 'And having me whipped was your idea.'

'Of course it was.' Oriole hurried forward to seize Meg's hands; her nipples were the hardest Meg had ever seen; they seemed to possess a life of their own. 'I hate myself for it. I am a savage beast. But not so savage as your father. As any man. They are all foul. 'Tis a tragedy we need them at all. Oh, Meg, Meg, if you knew how sorry I am.'

Meg's hands were released and her head was seized instead. Before she could understand what was happening, she was pulled forward, still sitting, so that her face was against Oriole's breasts, smothered in hard pointed softness, her lungs lost in the magnificence of Oriole's scent, while the fingers dug into her hair to stroke her scalp.

'But I shall make amends, Meg. I swear it. I shall make you the happiest woman in the world, Meg. I will sew for you and I will suffer for you and I will protect you, dearest Meg. And more than anything else I will love you.'

The pressure relaxed, and Meg was able to raise her head. Now her own cheeks were on fire. But more than just her cheeks. For had she not, more than once, considered what a splendid body Oriole possessed, without ever supposing it could come into her possession. But here it was, being offered to her, it seemed. And was she not still a mass of excited desires, from that unforgettable night in the Blue Mountains?