Pirates! (8 page)

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Chapter 12

We went back as the shadows began to lengthen. We composed ourselves as we neared the plantation, but the length of time that we had been absent had not escaped Duke.

‘Where have you been?’ Duke greeted me, eyeing me closely. My hair was still wet and my dress was damp. He was very observant for a near-sighted man. ‘Thought the maroons had got you. I was about to send out a search party.’

‘Maroons?’

‘Live in the mountains. Escaped slaves and runaway servants, all sorts of rogues and runagate scum.’ He let down his whip, lashing it across the ground, making a cracking sound. ‘Should be hunted down with dogs and hung, every man and woman. There’s a nest of ’em, not too far from here, led by a black demon called Hero, but they’re devilish hard to find. I told Master Joseph, he should bring back bloodhounds. That Brazilian’s got ’em. I told him, we could do with some here. Train ’em up from pups to hunt down blacks. He was all for it. Thought it’d be marvellous sport.’ He gave me a look of enquiry. ‘Perhaps he had some with him?’

I shook my head.

‘Pity.’

Duke flicked the tip of his whip towards a nearby bush and a large creamy blossom exploded in a shower of scent and petals.

‘When will my brother be here? Has he sent word? Do you know?’

He would not be back for another week, Duke said. Delayed by business. I did not want Joseph to hurry back, fearing that his presence might curtail the freedom that I was just beginning to enjoy, although I thought he might bring news from home, maybe letters. Perhaps there might be one from William. My heart leaped at the thought of it. I spent a great deal of the time on my rides with Minerva wondering what his letter might say, wondering how I would reply to it. We visited the magical pool again and my swimming lessons continued. We rode by clear rivers and up into the high country. The air was cooler here and scented by pine trees. The forests were brilliant with birds, the air heavy with the smell of flowers. I began to see why Broom loved the islands so much.

My brother’s further week extended to a fortnight. He arrived in the back of the wagonette, stinking of rum. Thomas heaved him on to his shoulder and carried him into the house like a sack of sugar. I did not see him again until late the next day when he appeared, pale and clean shaven, for dinner.

‘Are there any letters for me?’ I asked when he came in.

‘No.’ He looked at me sharply, as if my question startled him. ‘Why should there be?’

‘No reason,’ I replied, as we sat down at opposite ends of the long table.

He hardly spoke to me after that, and ate little of the food that Phillis had prepared: chicken and rice, sweet potato and beans, complaining loudly that she had added too much spice. Instead he drank, pouring pale golden rum from the decanter he kept at his elbow. When I had finished, he left me, carrying decanter and glass on to the veranda. There he sat in a rocking chair, staring out, profiled against the glow from the boiling house and the billowing ghost-white clouds of smoke and steam. I followed him out on to the veranda. All around the frogs and cicadas played their overtures, and fireflies glowed, tiny specks of gold in the velvet blackness.

‘I think it’s beautiful here,’ I said.

‘You do?’ He seemed genuinely surprised. ‘I loathe it.’ He laughed and poured himself another glass. All the rum he’d drunk had failed to blunt the edge of his misery and self-pity. ‘You always did like the opposite.’ He motioned to the chair by his side. ‘Why don’t you join me? Thomas! This decanter’s near empty, and bring another glass!’

‘Oh, no,’ I began to protest, but he ignored me.

‘Yes! Thomas!’ he roared, half getting to his feet. ‘Where is he? He’s getting above himself. I’ll have him flogged. Thom—’

Thomas appeared, silent as a shadow, bearing a tray with a glass for me and a full decanter. He put the tray down and poured the rum. I took a sip of the golden liquid. It tasted of spice and caramel. It was fiery on the tongue, and warming to the throat and stomach. Not at all unpleasant.

‘To my darling sister!’ Joseph threw back his measure and poured another. ‘Come on! Drink up!’

‘Why did you not tell me that Father left this plantation to me?’

He paused, the glass halfway to his lips. ‘How did you know that?’

‘Duke told me.’

‘He had no right! He should keep his nose out of business that does not concern him.’ Joseph banged his glass down, causing the rum to spill. ‘There’s another needs taking down a peg or two.’

‘He thought I knew already. He was surprised that I did not. Don’t you think I have a right to know such a thing? What were you thinking of?’

‘Why should you? You are a child. Henry and I are your guardians. You cannot inherit before you are twenty-one. Even then ... ’

‘Even then ... ?’

‘Depends on your husband, don’t it?’

‘Husband?’ Despite the warmth of the rum, I felt a coldness spreading inside me. ‘What husband?’

‘Now that
would
be telling.’ Joseph gave an exaggerated wink and took another drink. Then he laughed. ‘We have plans. Men’s business.’ He wagged a finger at me. ‘Don’t you worry your pretty little head.’

He sank back into his chair, eyes closed. I sat for a while, sipping my rum, watching as moths fluttered out of the darkness, white and yellow, on wings as delicate as tissue paper. Some bumped against the shaded lamp; others fed on the pools of spilt rum. They flew off as I put down my glass and rose to go.

Joseph chuckled, laughter gargling from him, as if he dreamt something amusing. ‘’S good,’ he said. ‘’S good you like it. Going to be here long, long time.’

The words came out all in one mutter, slurred by the rum that he’d been drinking all night. I could not tell if he was sleeping, or waking, or somewhere between the two states. He jerked as a dog might when it is dreaming. The glass dangling from his fingers dropped and smashed on the floor.

Day by day, whatever constraints I might have felt in my former life dropped away. I drank rum and rode like a boy. I swam naked in pool, river, sea and fountain and felt no shame. I ate strange food: land crab and lobster, crawfish and mullet, young pig and goat dry-roasted on an open pit in a way called barbicue, all seasoned with peppers and spiced in the manner my brother found so distasteful.

Every morning, I went riding. Sometimes Minerva came with me, sometimes she did not. By noon, I had returned home and I stayed in my room in the hottest part of the day, or out on the veranda at the side of the house, staying there until the sun dipped towards the sea. My brother was either in Port Royal, or asleep in his room, and Duke was out in the fields, or in his hovel, so Minerva and Phillis often came to join me on those long afternoons.

Phillis would bring out the vegetables she was preparing, and we’d sit together, shelling beans and peas, peeling potatoes, stripping corn, and she would tell me about what had happened to her, and how her life was here.

The story began with her being taken from her home in Africa. When she spoke of it, she would stir, flexing and shifting in her seat, as though the memory brought on pains, like rheumatism in the rainy season. Minerva would watch, her eyes on her mother, attending to every word, although she had heard it all many times before.

‘It an old, old tale, nothing new about it. Happen to thousands every year. I was a young girl, younger than you two now ... ’

Phillis had been taken when she was twelve years old, from Abomey, the capital city of Dahomey. Her family had been high-born nobles. She herself was destined to become a woman warrior. One of an elite guard whose job it was to protect the king. She had been chosen because her father was one of the king’s most trusted commanders, but life at court was uncertain, full of intrigue. One day, her father was accused of plotting against the king. He was arrested and his whole family was sold into slavery, tied at the neck in coffles and forced to march a hundred miles or more through swamp and forest to the port of Whydah. They were bought by different traders and put on ships owned by different nations, destined for different places. She never saw any of her family again.

‘All that time, I never cried. Never dropped a tear. Not then. Not since. I am a Dahomey warrior woman. We show no fear.’

Minerva looked at her with pride. As I got to know her better, I came to realise how much she had learned from her mother about courage and fearlessness. I had cause to remember and be grateful that she came from a line of warriors.

Phillis was bought by a Portuguese trader. She spoke a little of the language, having been taught by her father. This made her passage easier, as she could act as interpreter. The ship was destined for Brazil, but was blown off course and landed at St Kitts. The captain sold his slaves there, eager to take a profit rather than risk losing more slaves in further storms and mishaps. She was sold to a man named Sharpe, who brought her to Jamaica with another parcel of slaves where she was bought by my father.

Phillis told her tale over many days. Her narrative led her to the plantation and ended with Minerva, although she said nothing of the circumstances of her daughter’s birth, or who her father might be.

I thought to add my own part, by telling her about Robert. Phillis had said that she and Robert had been part of the parcel of slaves brought from St Kitts and that he had been her man until my father had decided to take him to Bristol. I assumed that Robert was Minerva’s father and was anxious for them both to know that he did well. I told them that Robert had been granted his freedom, and had been given money in my father’s will and that, last I heard, he was thinking of starting a tobacco shop. I told them of the times we had spent together, of his care of me from when I was a young child. Phillis’s worn face softened as I spoke, and split into a rare smile.

‘Robert is a good man, and kind. He always loved children. He had a way with them. Your father too was a good man, a good master. We were all sorry to hear of his passing. He taught me English. Not just speaking, but writing and reading, and I taught Minerva. Now she can learn from you.’ Minerva looked up at her name and smiled. ‘She can read your books, learn to speak well. Not like a slave. Your father named me and her, too. He was good to me. To both of us.’ She stopped speaking for a moment. When she went on it was in a low voice, as if the words were hard to say. ‘We looked for him in the springtime, every year. His ships come, but he was not there. More’s the pity. It was a shame to leave Fountainhead in the hands of a man who don’t give a damn.’

She did not say if she meant my brother or Duke. One thing she did not have to tell me about was the cruelty with which the overseer ran the plantation. It sickened me so much that I felt I had to speak to him about it. I had ordered him to stop his savage treatment and the whippings for no reason, but he barely listened to my protests. Even when I threatened to go to my brother, he carried on just the same.

‘That man is like a cockroach,’ Phillis commented. ‘Stamp on him and he’ll just come out somewhere else.’

The description was apt. He even looked like a cockroach, especially from the back. His shiny cap of greased brown hair emerged from his long rusty coat which was split like a wing case and stuck out over his polished-booted legs. Her description made me laugh out loud.

Phillis did not laugh with me.

‘He hates me, always has done.’ She sighed as if he were an affliction that could not be avoided, like biting flies or scorpions. ‘He’s suspicious of everyone. He only eats food cooked by his woman, even then he makes her taste it. He worries about poison. I say, why worry? He’s already poison to the root. You smelt him?’ She waved a hand under her nose. ‘He can kill a snake with just one breath.’ This time she laughed with me, but then her face grew guarded. ‘That man makes a bad enemy. You be wary.’

‘What of? This is
my
plantation,’ I replied, haughty in the knowledge of ownership. ‘He can’t hurt
me
!’

Phillis excused herself, saying she had to start dinner. Minerva went with her. I sat on the veranda, secure in my superior position. It did not occur to me to think that my behaviour might be putting others in danger; I assumed that Phillis’s warning was for myself.

I decided to speak to my brother about Duke, despite what Phillis had said, and to suggest that we get rid of him. I chose noon, when he was breakfasting, before he’d had time to start drinking.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Yes. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this.’

My hopes rose. I thought that, for once, we agreed on something. I should have known that was not the case.

‘It’s, ah, it’s about ... ’ he cleared his throat, ‘... it’s about your attitude to the blacks.’

‘Oh.’ That was not what I had expected. ‘What about it?’

‘Well, it’s too familiar. A sight too familiar.’ He chopped the top off a boiled egg. ‘It won’t do, Nancy. It’s bad for them. They take advantage.’

‘Who says? Duke?’

‘Not just him.’ He spoke through a mouthful of egg. ‘I do. You haven’t been out here long enough, or you’d see the difficulty. Take Phillis and Minerva, you are too close to them. They ain’t our kind.’ He dabbed his lips with his napkin. ‘You can’t trust ’em, Nancy. You miss female company, I understand that. You used to have Mrs Kington and her friends in Bristol, and so on.’