HF - 04 - Black Dawn (50 page)

'Will he beat you?'

Her eyes gloomed at him. 'I would like you to leave.' 'But you know who I am?'

‘I
recognize your face, by what I have heard of it.' 'Is it as hideous as they say?'

She hesitated, and then nodded. 'It is as hideous as they say.'

'But you know who I really am, Judith.'

Once again the long stare. 'What am I supposed to remember about you, sir? Your penis? It was dark, in that room.'

The words seemed strange, coming from those perfect hps. He took a step forward. 'But you know it is I, Judith.'

She did not move, allowed him to take her hand. 'If it is not you, Mr Hilton, then it is a total fool, to chal
lenge the planto
cracy. To challenge a man like Tony.'

'But it is me, Judith.'

Her head turned, her fingers tightened. 'Oh, my God,' she whispered. 'Dick. Dick Hilton.' Her whole body turned, and she was in his arms. 'Oh, Dick. Why did you leave? Why did you run away?'

He kissed the top of her head. 'Did I not have cause, Judith?'

'Because of me? Don't you
think
I wanted it?'

'It made you what you are.'

'Tony's mistress,' she said. 'I would have been yours.' 'But I ran away.'

'And now you have come back,' she said. 'You have stopped running.'

'Oh, aye.' He held her away from him, smiled at her. 'No more running. But it seems I need help.'

There were tears in her eyes, starting slowly to dribble down her cheeks.

'Will you, Judith?'

‘I
will need help, Dick.'

'My right arm, until I am re-established. And any money you may require. After I am again
the
Hilton, you have but to ask.'

Her eyes were enormous, even through the tears. 'They say you have a wife.' 'Whom I love.' 'Ah,' she said.

'Will that make a difference?'

She hesitated, then shook her head. 'I would wish to be loved like that. What must I do?'

'Make a deposition, to begin with. But you cannot stay here.'

'Oh, nonsense,' she said. 'This house is all I possess.' She kissed him on the chin. 'Anyway, who's to know?'

'This is Kingston, Judith. Everyone will know, the very moment you sign the paper.'

She smiled. 'Very well then, Dick. I will move out, and into your protection, the moment I sign the paper. But you must at least give me time to pack.'

'You'll have that. I've just remembered I still have to find someone to draw up the affidavit.' He kissed her forehead. 'But that is a detail. You have just guaranteed the success of my claim. I'll be back this afternoon, with my attorney.'

Her fingers released him, reluctantly. 'Does your wife know of me?'

'No. Not as you mean. But in any event, she is for me, for us, totally. You have nothing to fear from her.'

She smiled, but it was a sad smile. 'I am under your protection Dick. Until this afternoon.'

He closed the door behind him, stood on the verandah, breathing the still midday air. Clouds were gathering above the Blue Mountains, and it would rain this afternoon. He was back in Jamaica. But it would be good rain. His instincts had not let him down.

He went down the steps, checked at the sound of movement, turned. From the side of the house a man emerged. He was a white man, but roughly dressed, and surprisingly, was armed, with a hanger as well as a cudgel.

Or was it so surprising? For now a second man emerged, from the other side of the house, also armed. Dick turned, to look at the street. At the gate there was a third man, and he too was armed. And the curtains on the houses to either side remained drawn; the cul de sac of Judith's garden was isolated, in the middle of a Jamaican morning.

Judith's garden. Presumably he could run up the steps and into her house. But they would follow him, and that might involve her in the coming fight. Presumably he could also shout for help, supposing anyone passing on the street would dare go to the assistance of the man who would oppose the plantocracy.

But why do any of those things? They were the instinctive reaction of Dick Hilton, because he was once again in Kingston, and Kingston, and Jamaica, had always been too much for him. For
that
Richard Hilton. Not for Christophe's general. Presumably Tony was making the same mistake, in assuming that the Richard Hilton he remembered would not survive a beating.

He was not even angry, merely happy that, after so many long months, he was going to be fighting again. He smiled at them, and the sight of that ghastly face breaking into a grin made even the three hired thugs pause, within feet of him, cudgels already swinging to and fro.

'Gentlemen,' he said, and stepped forward. They did not lack courage. One swung his club, and Dick had to throw up his left hand to take the blow, feel the pain shooting up his arm and into his shoulder. To awake the anger.

'Aieeeeee,' he screamed, as if his eleven hundred dragoons were at his back. He turned, suddenly, reached for the man. Another club struck him on the shoulder, but he was beyond feeling pain. The spirit of the
mamaloi
was rising inside him, sending vicious strength bubbling through his muscles. He swept the first club to one side, seized the man by the front of his shirt and the slack of his trousers, swept him from the ground while his victim gave a startled squawk of fear, swung him round, and used his body to send the other two tumbling. The first man he dropped at his own feet, stooped to drag the hanger from his belt, straightened, uttered another terrifying whoop of excited joy, and ran through the belly of the second clubman as he regained his balance and attempted to use his weapon.

The man dropped to his knees, blood bubbling around his hands as they closed on the blade. But the blade was already being withdrawn, leaving its victim dead before he ever hit the ground, to come up and sweep sideways and sever the third man's right arm at the wrist, crashing through flesh and bone and blood to slice into the thigh beyond. The club struck the ground with a dull thud, and the man looked down at his still quivering hand, bleeding into the grass.

The first man, remaining on the ground, held his head in his hands and screamed his fear.

'You'd best get up,' Dick recommended, his anger fading into compassion. 'You, give me your wrist.'

The stricken man was slowly sinking to his knees. Now he held out the shattered arm, and Dick whipped out his own kerchief to make a tourniquet. 'Tell the surgeon it is Richard Hilton's charge. And you.' He stooped, seized the unharmed man by the collar, dragged him to his feet. 'See to your friend. And tell my brother, next time to come himself.'

'Oh, my God.' Cartarette stood up as Dick entered the lobby
of the hote
l. 'Oh, my God.'

'You are bleeding, Mr Hilton. Bleeding.' Mortlake hurried forward. His side was taken, or it had been taken for him, as Ellen Hilton's last words before leaving the hotel the previous week had been to the effect that she would never demean herself by entering these doors again. From Mortlake's point of view, either Richard Hilton proved his claim, or the Park Hotel went bankrupt.

'Not my own, Mortlake.' Dick put his arm round Cartarette's waist. 'Three men attempted to discourage me.'

'Oh, my God,' she said again. 'Your brother?'

'I have no idea. Either him or someone interested in his support. Mr Mortlake, I have killed a man.'

'Killed . . .' Mortlake swabbed his brow.

'And grievously wounded another. The wounded man I have sent to a surgeon. The dead man must be removed from Miss Gale's garden, and the Governor must be informed. It was self defence. I have ample witnesses to the fact that I do not carry weapons. I had to remove the fellow's sword before running him through.'

'Oh, my God,' Cartarette said. 'Will they arrest you?'

'Not if the facts are true, Mistress Hilton,' said a deep, slow voice, and Dick turned in surprise to look at the mulatto, dark-skinned but well dressed in coat and breeches who stood at the side of the room.

'Oh, Mr Harris,' she said. 'Mr Hilton, this is Mr Harris.'

'Indeed?' Dick shook hands.

'Attorney-at-law, Mr Hilton,' Harris said.

'But . . .' Dick frowned at him.

'Oh, indeed, sir.' Harris smiled. 'My father sent me to England to school, and later to the Inns.'

'Well, then, Mr Harris. Welcome. How did you know of my problem?'

Harris lowered his voice. 'A message from Mr Reynolds, sir. But he would rather the matter were kept private. He does not usually send me business.' Again the quick smile. 'Nor is the business always happy to come.'

'I shall be happy, Mr Harris. You know the facts?'

'Some. We must have a talk.'

'This afternoon. I must wash this blood and change my clothes. Then I would like you to accompany me back to Miss Gale's house, to take a sworn statement.'

'She will identify you?' Cartarette squeezed his arm.

'She will. And now I have an attorney as well. The cards are starting to turn in our favour at last.'

'I'll see to that other matter, Mr Hilton,' Harris said. 'And meet you at Miss Gale's in an hour.'

'Good man.' Dick slapped him on the shoulder. 'Mr Mortlake, will you send some luncheon up to our room? There will be gossip.'

'Oh, aye, I'll see to it right away.' Mortlake scurried for the kitchen.

Dick left his arm round Cartarette's waist, slowly escorted her up the stairs. Her head rested on his shoulder.

'Are you really unhurt?' she whispered.

'I have a couple of bruises about my shoulders, which are painful. But there is nothing broken. I did not mean to kill that fellow, Cartarette. I lost my temper.'

'And thought yourself back alongside Christophe. Perhaps it was necessary, to teach these people you will not be frightened away.'

'Aye, well, it will do that. It will also give them something more to hang me with, should my claim fail. Where are the children?'

'They have already eaten. I have sent them into the garden. Thank God they did not see you like this.'

She closed the bedroom door, eased his coat from his shoulders—his arm was becoming slowly more and more stiff and difficult to move—then unbuttoned his shirt, her face creased with concentration.

'You are not beginning to have doubts?' She pulled his shirt free. 'Oh, my God. You have turned blue.'

He looked over his shoulder at himself in the mirror. 'Better it comes out. No doubts. Save that I fear to involve you in violence.'

She ki
ssed his flesh. 'You took me, w
ith violence, and I have known little else since. You'd not expect me to be bored in my old age, would you? There is a letter for you.'

'A letter? From my mother?'

Cartarette shook her head, began making wet compresses from her linen and pressing them to the shoulder. 'A local letter. Not paid for, but delivered by hand.'

He saw the envelope lying on the table, reached for it with his free hand. It was sealed, but he tore it with his teeth, extracted the sheet of paper.

'If the claimant to Hilltop is truly Richard Hilton, he will find it to his advantage to talk with the Reverend Joseph Strong. A boy will call for your answer.'

There was no signature.

'When did this come?' How good her fingers felt, pressing gently into the tortured flesh. And how tired he was, on a sudden.

'Within minutes of your leaving. The boy said he would return this afternoon.'

'Joseph Strong. I have never heard of that fellow. Well, I see no harm in it. He may have some information of value. I must get up and dress sweetheart. There is Judith's statement to be taken, and . . .'

'You lie there and rest,' she said firmly. 'There is our luncheon, in any event. Come,' she called.

The door opened, to admit Harvey the waiter with a laden tray, which he placed on the table. 'There is also the coloured gentleman,' he said. 'Wishing to see you.'

'Harris?' Dick rolled over and sat up. 'Come in. That was quick.'

'The body had already been removed, Mr Hilton.' Harris held his hat in his hands. 'Quite a crowd had gathered. They are calling it the Massacre of King Street.'