'But it'll be done proper,' the captain decided. 'Daybreak. Aye, there's an hour or two, for tempers to cool. Daybreak. Back to your bunks. Everyone settle. Daybreak. Captain Lanken, you'll practise no violence, upon either this young man or your wife. You'll have your satisfaction at dawn. Understood?'

Lanken glared at Dick. 'Oh, aye. I can wait. But you'll accompany me, madam.'

Joan hesitated, then crawled out of the boat. 'You heard the captain.'

'I'll not lay a finger on your flesh, in anger,' he promised. 'Not until we're to land, anyway.'

'Here's a problem.' Tony leaned against the boat.

'A problem?' Dick cried. 'Where the devil were you?'

'Well, I slipped off for a pee, to say truth,' Tony confessed. 'And when I turned round, there the rascal was.'

'And you could not engage him in conversation? Anything?'

'He'd not have moved. He was already sure where you were, and what you were up to.'

'I wasn't up to anything,' Dick said.

'True? There's ill luck. You'll not even have the memory. But what's to be done, eh? Mama didn't send me along to have you killed.'

'Killed?' Dick looked at his hands. They were dripping wet. And his heart had stopped pounding, seemed to have sunk down to rest on his belly. My God, he thought. I am frightened. It had never occurred to him before. He had never been frightened before. Even the time he had been set upon by footpads, he had not been afraid. He had reacted instinctively, swung his stick and his fists, defended himself so well that they had taken to their heels.

'There's always the possibility,' Tony said. 'On a ship, especially. A lurch of the deck, and zing, you've a blade in your gut.'

'Do you think he's any good?'

'He's a soldier. He'll have been trained.'

'Oh, my God,' Dick said.

'Aye,' Tony said, thoughtfully. 'But He helps those that help themselves, they say. Listen. You sit down quietly for the next hour. It only wants that for daylight. And you may need all your strength.'

Dick blinked at him. He could not stop his mind repeating, over and over again: I'm going to be killed. My God. I'm going to be killed.

Tony had turned away. Now he checked. 'Oh, by the way, do you have any money?' 'Money?'

'Mama gave you sufficient coin to see us the voyage,' Tony said patiently. 'Any left?' 'Of course. But what . . .' 'Don't argue. Give me a guinea of it.' 'A guinea? Whatever for?'

'Mind your own business. It's in a very good cause.'

'It will leave us short.' Dick unbuckled his belt; the coin was carried in a pouch on the inside, next to his skin.

'We'll be shorter yet if you're chucked over the side in a hammock,' Tony pointed out. He held the coin to the light, nodded. 'Now do as I say. Sit there, and rest.'

Dick watched him disappear into the companionway, then sat down on the deck, his back against the gunwale. Oh, my God, he thought. But clearly he was suffering immediate and absolute punishment from that very source, for breaking his word to Ellen. Well, for attempting to break his word. If they hadn't been interrupted, he would certainly ... he could still feel the touch of her, the hardness of her nipples. God Almighty, how he had wanted. He had been closing his eyes and imagining it was Ellen. And now . . .

'Well, young fellow. Ready?'

His head jerked. Captain Morrison stood above him, and it was already growing light. He must have dozed. Certainly some of his desire, as well as his fear, had receded. Although he could feel the fear at least, bubbling away in his belly. Would his hand tremble when he held the sword?

He got up. 'As ready as I'll ever be, Mr Morrison.'

The captain nodded. 'Aye, well, 'tis an unfortunate affair, I'll swear to that. Having a woman on board, at least when she's young and pretty, and willing, always leads to trouble. But a duel, now . . . why the old devil couldn't have just thrashed you . . . now mind, Mr Hilton, if he nicks you, go down, sir. Go down. If you lose your head, you're done.'

Dick nodded, wearily. 'Aye, Captain, I'll remember.'

'Come along then.' Morrison led him aft, to the space between the mainmast and the poop, where there was most room. The watch was already assembled, and now the watch below also arrived, whispering and grinning to each other. The passengers were gathered above, at the rail; but where was Tony?

'There's the scoundrel,' Lanken shouted. 'Let us to it, sir.'

'We'll do the thing properly, Mr Lanken,' Morrison insisted.

'And you, madam,' Lanken bawled at Mistress Marjoribanks, who stood next to Joan Lanken. 'Keep her there. Keep her watching. The lesson is as much for her as for this villain.'

Oh, how I wish you had attempted to thrash me, Dick thought. By God . . . but he was getting angry, and that was the one thing Captain Morrison had told him not to do.

Where was Tony?

'Now gentlemen,' Morrison said. 'Mr Ratchet?' The mate stepped forward, with two cutlasses. 'What's this?' demanded Lanken. 'Cutlasses? I'm no sailor. I've a sword of my own.'

'Do you have a sword, Mr Hilton?' Morrison inquired. 'Why, no,' Dick said. 'I've never owned such a thing.' 'Ha,' Lanken announced.

'You must both have the same weapons, Captain Lanken,' Ratchet explained.

'Ha,' Lanken said again. He took one of the cutlasses, swished it to and fro, extended his arm, the weapon held lightly in his fingers. 'It will do.'

'Mr Hilton?'

Dick tried to copy the movements, watched Lanken smile. ‘It seems to be all right.'

'Well, then, gentlemen,' Captain Morrison said. 'First blood. No more than that. Mr Ratchet?'

The mate presented a pistol.

'I'll drop the man who continues when I have called stop,' Morrison said. 'Now, gentlemen . . .'

'You'll wait a moment, Captain Morrison.'

'Eh?' They turned to face the companionway, and Collie, now emerging from the hatchway, with Tony Hilton at his heels. 'Wait for what, doctor?'

'You'll not permit a duel without a medical examination,' Collie said.

'Medical examination? Why, six . . .'

'Never heard of such a thing,' Lanken declared.

'Then, sir,' Collie remarked, with quite unusual aggressiveness, 'you are clearly unused to fighting gentlemen. I'll begin with you, sir.'

'Eh? Eh?'

'Mouth wide.' Collie peered inside, blinked. 'Hm. Your wrist, sir.' He held Lanken's pulse, consulted his watch. 'Hm.' He placed two fingers on Lanken's chest, commenced tapping. 'Hm. You'll bend, sir, forward from the waist.'

'Of all the damned nonsense,' Lanken grumbled, but he did as he was told.

'Hm,' Collie said. 'I've known men in better condition, Mr Lanken, but you'll do.'

'Gad, sir,' shouted the captain. 'Of course I'll do.'

'Now, you, Mr Hilton,' Collie said, his face severely composed. 'Mouth wide.'

Dick obeyed, feeling the fear starting to rise. Five minutes ago, he had been prepared to have at his opponent, vigorously, and take his chance. But this delay . . . whatever was Tony playing at? Because that Tony was behind this he could not doubt.

'Hm,' Collie said. 'Hm.' He was frowning. 'Your wrist, sir.'

The fingers closed on Dick's wrist, and Collie peered at his watch.

'Hm. Lower your head, sir.' Dick bowed, and Collie felt behind his ears. 'Hm. Dear me. Oh, dear, dear me. I am afraid this duel cannot take place, Captain Morrison.' 'Eh?'

'What? What?' Lanken cried, swishing his cutlass. 'Mr Hilton has a fever,' Collie pronounced.

'A fever?' bawled Lanken. 'Fright, doctor. Fright.'

'Indeed, sir,' Collie said, 'the same thought occurred to me when I first observed the symptoms. They are similar to your own.'

'What, sir? What?'

'So I investigated further. Indeed, Captain Morrison, I recommend that this young man be placed in a blanket, and separated from the other passengers. He has malaria.'

'Malaria?' the captain cried. 'Here? How did he get malaria on my ship?'

'Who can say, sir? Who can say? First we must be sure what causes the dread disease. But informed medical opinion, sir, suggests it arises from noxious airs, filling the lungs and thence impregnating the system. Oh, it is highly dangerous.'

'And contagious?'

'That is certainly possible. Rest, and cool, and isolation, that is the ticket.'

'Balderdash,' Lanken declared.

Dick felt like sitting down. He certainly felt very weak, and quite cold, on a sudden.

'There,' Collie said. 'He is shivering. A blanket. Mistress Marjoribanks. And quickly.'

'I am here to fight a duel,' Lanken insisted. 'Not to receive a lecture on medicine.'

'You cannot fight a sick man, Captain Lanken,' Morrison pointed out. 'Perhaps, indeed, it was the onset of the fever drove him to his act of madness. No doubt he will apologize.'

'Oh, willingly,' Dick said. He wanted to shout for joy. And sheer relief.

'And I do not accept your apology, sir,' Lanken said. 'Malaria, by God. You'll be well again, sir, and be sure I'll be waiting.'

'But. . .' Collie wrapped the blanket around Dick's shoulders.

'Well, then, sir, it would be a shame to disappoint your ardour,' Tony said. 'Will you not accept a substitute? I am a Hilton, sir. I am a man, sir. And if you will have it, I have also sampled your wife's charms, sir.'

There was a moment of utterly scandalized silence.

'Wretch,' cried Joan Lanken from the poop.

'My dear lady,' Tony said, smiling at them all, 'your husband is determined to have his duel. Why should we disappoint him?'

'Gad, sir,' shrieked Lanken, catching his breath. 'I'll have you, sir. I'll. . .' He waved his cutlass, and they all had to leap back to avoid injury.

'Captain Lanken, sir,' Morrison protested. 'You cannot behave so.'

'Give me that,' Tony snapped, and wrenched the cutlass from Dick's fingers. 'Ha, sir,' he called, facing Lanken.

'Gad, sir, Gad,' Lanken bellowed, charging across the deck, blade carving the air in front of him. And to Dick's horror, Tony scarce moved, remained directly in front of the whistling cutlass, brought up his own weapon. There was a clash of steel which sent sparks arcing through the air and raised a scream from Mistress Marjoribanks, then the rasp seemed to become a scream itself, and Tony jumped back, his own weapon still presented, while Lanken's clattered to the deck at Morrison's feet, leaving the captain staring at his empty fingers in consternation.

'Gad, sir,' he muttered.

'Will you continue, sir?' Tony inquired. 'Pick it up, man. Pick it up.'

'Gad, sir.' Lanken gazed at Morrison, then up at the poop, where his wife looked down, a peculiar expression in her face.

'Enough,' Morrison declared. 'I am sure honour has been satisfied. You have crossed swords, and there is all that is needed. Mr Ratchet, stow these weapons.'

'And now, sir, bed,' Collie said, putting his arm around Dick's shoulders.

'Aye,' said one of the crew, standing close enough to be overheard. 'Best place for him.'

'But the other one had some guts, though, eh?' remarked another.

Dick looked up at Joan Lanken; her expression had now definitely settled into a sneer.

'I think the poor chap can get up now,' Tony said, leaning on the bulkhead and looking down at his brother. 'Don't you, doctor?'

'Oh, indeed,' Collie agreed. 'He is looking much better. A total recovery, I would say. Besides Jamaica is in sight.' He smiled at Dick. 'That'll complete the cure, eh?' He left the tiny cabin originally occupied by Mr Ratchet, but utilized as a sickroom for the past week.

'Jamaica?' Dick sat up.

'We sighted it last evening,' Tony said. 'But I did not wish to excite you. We are entering Port Royal at this moment.'

Dick threw back the covers, peered through the port; the cabin looked aft, and he could see nothing but water. Yet the sea itself had changed, the great rolling waves had disappeared, and this ocean was so quiet it might almost have been painted into place.

'And I'll be right glad to get off this tub, I'll tell you that.' Tony said. 'And to get off in one piece.'

'I don't see how I'll dare leave.' Dick sat down again. He had been confined to the cabin s^;nce the duel, and had been happy to stay here, for all that it had been at once hot and boring, with only Tony and the doctor, and occasionally Mrs Collie, for company. At least he had finished his book on sugar. Not that he understood a great deal of it.

'Ah, bah. The whole thing was a nine day's wonder,' Tony declared. 'Why, I'd wager even Joan has forgiven you by now. She'd be ready for another tumble, if you'd take the risk.'

'I'd need my head examined for bumps,' Dick said. 'If only you'd told me what you planned.'

Tony sighed patiently. They had been through this almost every day. 'Then you wouldn't have acted so surprised. And you were obviously totally surprised. Everyone could see that.'

'But to bribe Collie Do you not think he will put it about?'

'He'll not. if he has any sense. I've told him he'll answer to me. Do get on with it.'

Dick pulled on his clothes. 'Yet will they all know that I was afraid to face him.'

Tony smiled at his brother. 'And weren't you?'

'Well. . .' Dick sighed. 'I was more afraid of making a total fool of myself, by sheer ineptitude. Would you believe that?'

'I would,' Tony said, gently. 'But then, I know you.'

'And you,' Dick said miserably. 'I was afraid for you. I never had any idea you could handle a sword like that.'

Tony winked. 'You think I spend all my time gambling and whoring? I practise with the best, Dickie boy. But how was I to tell the old lady? Or even more the old man?'

'But if you intended to fight Lanken anyway, and admit to bedding Mistress Lanken anyway,' Dick said in bewilderment, 'why did you not just do it from the start?'

'Ah, but it was necessary to gain the sympathy of Morrison first, and of the crew. Don't you see?'

‘I suppose so,' Dick said. But he didn't.

'And it worked like a charm,' Tony said. 'And you think I'm good with a sword? You should see me with a pistol.'

'Aye,' Dick said. 'Maybe you should teach me. Although what Uncle Robert will say . . .'

'From what I've heard of that devil, he'll approve. I'll teach you, Dickie lad. And we'll keep quiet about the voyage, eh?' He cocked his head. 'There's the anchor.'

Jamaica. The very name sent Dick's blood pounding through his veins. He had heard so much about this island, differing opinions, from both Mama and Father. He had read so much about it. And it was his birthplace, on top of everything else. He ran into the main cabin, and up the ladder, for the moment forgetting his circumstances, clung to the rail, and stared at the low curve of beach which half enclosed the magnificent natural harbour; this was lined with bending coconut trees, but the mainland which formed the northern arm of the bay rose very rapidly from a house-fringed shore into splendid mountains, higher than any he had seen, save for the glimpse of the peaks of the Negro-held island of Haiti they had passed a few days before.

But the scenery, at once green and lush and brown and dramatic, suggestive of a wet heat—which already had his shirt sticking to his chest, for all that the sun was drooping towards the western horizon—was not half so exciting as the myriad ships which rode to their anchors in the translucent green water, or as the bumboats, manned by black men, which were already swarming around the Green Knight, or indeed as their clothing, which was scanty in the extreme, scarcely more than drawers for the blacks, while the whites who came on board, if they added a shirt and occasionally a handkerchief knotted around the neck to absorb the sweat, wore the same calico, and were in the main unarmed, although several carried heavy whips dangling from their equally formidable leather belts. And above all there rose into the still afternoon air a babble of what was mainly English, but spoken with such a variety of accents, such a failure of punctuation, and such a delightful brogue, it was impossible to catch more than a word or two.

'Ah, it's a place, Jamaica,' remarked Captain Morrison, at his elbow. 'You'll want to be ashore, Mr Hilton.'

Dick turned in surprise. 'The other passengers . . .'

'Can wait. I'm to apologize. Until your brother spoke up yesterday none of us had any idea who you really were. Robert Hilton's nephews. God, sir, there's a compliment to my ship. I'm right sorry about that set-to the other day, Mr Hilton. But between you, you and your brother emerged with credit. Oh, indeed.'

'You mean Tony emerged with credit,' Dick said.

Morrison flushed. 'Ah, well, Mr Hilton, 'tis a fact that not any of us knows how he'll react to a given situation. Your brother tells me you'd no knowledge of weapons. You'd have been a fool not to be scared. And he acted the right part in stepping in, even if he had to practise a subterfuge. Now sir, here's your gear, and the boat is waiting.'

Dick hesitated, glanced at Tony, who had returned to the deck, carrying their bags. Then he thrust out his hand. 'You're a friend, Captain. If I can ever assist you . . .'

Morrison winked. 'I'll call, Mr Hilton. Indeed I will.'

Dick went down the ladder into the waist, gazed at the assembled passengers, who flushed, and averted their eyes. Except for Joan Lanken, who stuck out her tongue at him, and moved it round and round, in a most suggestive fashion, before hastily tucking it away again as her husband noticed her.

'He should beat her more often,' Tony said, and joined him in the boat, where the sailors waited to thread their way through the bumboats towards the wooden dock. 'Quite a place, eh? Christ, what heat. I'd forgotten the heat.'

'And 'tis cooling now, Mr Hilton,' said the coxswain. 'Come noon, why, a man can't hardly breathe.'

The boat nosed into the dock, and Tony jumped ashore, turned to assist his brother. They stood on the somewhat shaky timber, waved to the boat as it returned to the ship, and then gazed up a dusty street, lined on either side by what appeared to be shops of various descriptions, all fronted by wide verandahs beyond which doors and windows stood open. The noise and the bustle was intensified here, as they were surrounded by a crowd of men, white and black, offering them assistance.

'Park Hotel, massa, best in town.'

'You come with me, sir: I have girls. Good clean blacks, fresh from Africa. Make your hair curl.'

'You going up country, massa? Me massa got mules, easy for ride.'

'You'll want to spend the night, gentlemen. Mistress Easy's is the place for you. Good food. Hot water. No bugs. You come with me.'

'Man, you ain't want to listen to he. You got for . . .' 'Hold on,' Tony bellowed, waving them back for their breaths were as acrid as their bodies. 'We seek Mr Robert

Hilton. Of Hilltop.' His words acted like a pistol shot.

'Hilton?' asked one of the white men. 'Of Hilltop?'

'We are his nephews,' Tony said, importantly. 'And would acquaint him of our arrival.'

'Hilton?' cried a fresh voice, and the crowd parted to admit a sallow young man, dressed in a caricature of a London clerk, although sweat had sadly soiled his cravat, and his trousers were thick with dust. 'Not Mr Richard Hilton?'

'I am Richard Hilton,' Dick said.

'Ah, thank God, sir. Thank God. I have met every arrival this past month, hoping to find you, sir. You'll come with me, Mr Hilton. Oh, bring your friend. You, there . . .' He snapped his fingers at one of the Negroes. 'Fetch that bag. Quickly now.'

'Are you my uncle's man?' Dick fell into place beside the young man, already hurrying up the street.

'Oh, no,' he replied. 'I am Reynolds' clerk. Reynolds the lawyer, you know. Oh, no, no. We act for Mr Robert Hilton. Or I should say, we did.'

'Eh?' Tony demanded.

'Why, sir, didn't you know? How silly of me. How could you know, being at sea these last weeks. Why, sir, Mr Hilton, Mr Hilton died, but ten days ago.'

4

The Inheritance

Dick stopped as if he had walked into a brick wall. 'Dead? Oh, my God.'

'There's a problem,' Tony said. 'We are stony broke.' The clerk smiled. 'Ah, you have nothing to worry about on that score, sir, if you are travelling with Mr Hilton.'

'Travelling with him?' Tony demanded. 'I am Mr Hilton.' 'Eh?'

'Mr Anthony Hilton,' Dick explained. 'My older brother.'

'Good heavens,' remarked the clerk. 'What a to-do. Oh, indeed, what a to-do. This is Reynolds and Son, gentlemen.'

The house appeared no different from any of the others lining the street; verandahs on both floors, sun-peeled warm paint, swing doors to some sort of an emporium at ground level. But the clerk was leading them up a flight of wooden steps at the side of the building.

'Oh, indeed,' he muttered. 'There will be a to-do. What Mr Reynolds will say . . .' He opened a jalousied door at the top. 'Mr Reynolds, sir. Mr Hilton, and why, Mr Hilton.'

The lawyer was not very much older than themselves, Dick decided, a tall, thin fellow with sandy hair and sandy moustaches to go with his complexion; he wore an enormous gold watchchain, and a worried frown. 'Mr Hilton.' He came round his desk, glancing from one to the other, hand outstretched. 'And Mr Hilton?'

'I am Richard Hilton,' Dick explained. 'This is my brother, Anthony.'

'Good heavens. Welcome, gentlemen, welcome. You have heard the sad news?'

'Your man just broke it to us,' Tony said. 'Uncle Robert dead? Why, it seems impossible.'

'Believe me, sir, all Jamaica is still holding its breath. But sit down, gentlemen, please. Charles, chairs. Look smart, man.'

The clerk hastily provided straight chairs for the two brothers, and Mr Reynolds resumed his seat behind his desk. 'You'll take a glass?'

'At five in the afternoon?' Dick asked.

'It might be an idea,' Tony said.

'Best madeira, I do assure you.' Reynolds nodded to Charles, and then placed his fingertips together, elbows on his desk, and gazed at the two men in front of him. 'Well, well, well. It was my father, you know, in this very office, who negotiated the sale of land to your mother and father, on which they built their church. The one Mr Robert Hilton burned down.'

'How did he die?' Dick asked.

'A fit. Oh, very sudden it was.' Reynolds filled three glasses, raised his own. 'I'm assured he felt no pain. Just collapsed and died. He was old. Old.' He peered into the liquid, then raised the glass again. 'We may drink to his soul. A fine man, Mr Hilton, a fine man. We could do with more of him.'

'Oh, indeed.' Tony sipped, glanced at his brother. 'He had invited us, that is, my brother, to join him on Hilltop.'

'Of course, of course. You were to learn the planting business, Mr Hilton. Ah, well, now is not the time to worry about that. Laidlaw is a good man. He'll show you the ropes.'

'Laidlaw?'

'Your late uncle's manager. You'll want to continue with the same staff, I imagine.'

'Continue with the same staff?' Dick asked. 'I don't understand.'

Reynolds frowned at him. 'You'll not sell the place?' 'You mean we could, if we wished?' Tony asked. 'Well. . . your brother could. Did your uncle not make it plain that you were his heir, Mr Hilton?'

'Why, no, not in so many words,' Dick said. 'His heir? Good Lord.'

'It is all here, in the will, Charles. Charles.'

'Here it is, Mr Reynolds.' Charles placed the folder in front of his employer.

'Ah.' Reynolds turned back the cardboard. 'Yes, indeed, a most straightforward document. But then, Mr Robert was like that. He knew what he wanted, and he never wasted time on words. Everything he owned, Hilltop, Green Grove, and every article on them, is bequeathed to Mr Richard Hilton.'

'Eh?' Tony cried.

Dick stared at the lawyer in consternation.

'That is all?' Tony demanded. 'He had other relatives.'

'Oh, indeed, sir,' Reynolds agreed. 'And some, ah . . . very good friends. But not one of them has been left a thing. Mr Robert had strong views on keeping wealth all in one hand. And then, no doubt he felt that Mr Richard Hilton would wish to make his own arrangements.'

Dick continued to stare at the lawyer. His brain seemed frozen. The owning of the plantations, the position of being the Hilton, had been a magnificent dream, something to linger over, a promise of the future. To have it happen, without any warning, was more than he had been prepared for.

'But that is outrageous,' Tony shouted. 'The will must be contested. Obviously Uncle Robert was not in his right mind.'

Reynolds' face became cold. 'I do assure you, sir, Mr Hilton was in full possession of all his faculties, up to the moment of his death.'

'Yet is it an act of insanity,' Tony insisted. 'Oh, we shall contest it.'

'You may do as you choose, sir,' Reynolds said. 'It will make no difference. This is Jamaica, sir, not England. A man can do what he likes with his possessions, sir, here. And no one could argue that both Hilltop and Green Grove were Mr Robert Hilton's possessions.'

'Why . . .' Tony's face was suffused with blood.

Dick had at last gathered his wits. Here was something he could cope with. 'Easy, Tony,' he said. 'We knew already that Uncle Robert was an odd fellow. But it can make no difference now that he is dead. We shall split the inheritance down the middle.'

'Well. . .' Tony seemed to recover some of his composure. 'I had really not supposed I would ever have to accept your charity, Dick. But of course it is the most equitable arrangement.'

'No doubt you can draw up a suitable document, Mr Reynolds,' Dick said.

'Ah, well, sir,' Reynolds said, looking distinctly disapproving. 'I'm afraid that will not be possible. I have told you that Mr Robert Hilton was against any tendency to split the estates. And indeed it is specifically stated in the will that the Hilton estates are not to be divided . . .'

'But we are brothers,' Dick protested. 'The property will remain Hilton.'

'Even between brothers, sir. It goes back a long time, but was the decision of Captain Christopher Hilton, who founded the Hilton wealth, you may remember, sir. Captain Hilton married twice, and had a son by each marriage, but yet left the plantations entirely to his son by his first wife, Marguerite, although with instructions that that son, whose name, as I recall, was also Anthony, was to employ and take care of his half-brother. That tradition has existed to this day, and you may recall, Mr Hilton, that your father, Mr Matthew Hilton, was employed as a manager by Mr Robert before their quarrel, but, belonging as he did to the junior branch of the family, he had no share in the plantations themselves.'

'Are you trying to say that while the plantations are mine, they are not mine to dispose of, should I wish?'

'Let me see the will,' Tony said.

Reynolds handed over the document, and smiled at Dick. 'They are yours, sir. And you may dispose of them. But by the provisions of Mr Robert Hilton's will, should you decide to sell them, you must discover a purchaser who will take the entire estate; i.e. both plantations together. Similarly, you may bequeath them to whomsoever you choose, on your death, but they must be passed on in their entirety, as well.'

'That is what it says,' Tony agreed. 'Well, I seem to be destitute.' His voice was quiet enough, but there could be no doubting his anger.

'Oh, fiddlesticks,' Dick declared. 'So legally I cannot make you my equal partner. Be sure that you will be my equal partner. You cannot prevent that, Mr Reynolds.'

'Indeed not, sir. You and your brother can come to whatever private arrangement you choose, providing you remember that any business transactions made with regard to the plantations must be conducted in your name and yours alone.'

'Which is mere legal fiddle-faddle, eh Tony?'

Tony gazed at his brother for some seconds. 'So, it comes down to charity, after all.'

'Oh, really . . .'

'But beggars cannot be choosers. I shall be your assistant, then.' He gave a short laugh. 'Why, Mama will be delighted.'

'Well, then,' Dick said. 'There is everything solved. Now, all we wish to do is get out to Hilltop.'

'This evening?' Reynolds inquired. 'Why, sir, Mr Hilton, it is already gone six. And Hilltop is some distance.'

'That decides it then,' Tony said. 'We'll find a bed in town. If you can assist us with some money, Mr Reynolds.'

'Of course, sir. If Mr Richard Hilton will sign a note . . .'

'Ye gods,' Tony said.

Dick sighed. 'Of course I will sign a note for you. But I really would like to get out there tonight, Mr Reynolds. If you could assist me, with a horse, and perhaps a guide?'

'I shall attend to it immediately.'

'Thank you very much. Will you not accompany me, Tony?'

His brother shook his head. 'I'm for an early bed, here in Kingston.' He got up, grinned at the expression on Dick's face, slapped him on the shoulder. 'I will be out in the morning.

You have my promise. Anyway, I'd not interfere with your pleasure at seeing your plantation for the first time.'

Having climbed the hill, the horse stopped of its own accord. But Dick was glad of the opportunity to relax his knees, pull out his kerchief and wipe sweat from his brow. It was several hours past dusk, and the sun had disappeared, huge and round and glowing into the Caribbean Sea. Now the mountains which loomed on either side were nothing more than vast shadows. Yet it remained still and almost stifling; he had discarded his coat, and carried it across the saddle in front of him. Apart from the climate, he was not very used to lengthy rides; the occasional Sunday outing to Hammersmith with Mama, on hired nags, was the limit of his previous experience.

But this was a well-chosen, quiet mount. He twisted in the saddle to look back at the steep incline; at the top of the last rise he had looked down on the twinkling lights of the houses in Kingston, the ships riding to their anchors in Port Royal Bay. Now there was nothing but the darkness, black where the trees gathered in the dips between the hills. It was a strange blackness, fragrant as he had never suspected the night could be, the scent of oleander, of jasmine, of the very grass, rising sweetly to his nostrils; and it was a noisy darkness as well, for from every bush there came the disturbing grunt of the bull-frogs, the slither of the crickets, the buzz of mosquitoes, while amidst it all there flitted the glowing fireflies.

He wondered he was not afraid at this world he had only previously read of, or experienced in his mother's stories. He wondered he was not afraid of his companion, who waited, patiently, on the mule immediately in front of him. His name was Joshua Merriman, Reynolds had said, and he was one of the lawyer's slaves. A huge black man, with a ready smile and a soft voice, to be sure, but none the less, the operative thought in connection with his presence was the word black, combined with the word slave. And here he was, some fifteen miles from civilization, alone with one of the hated white people. That was how Mama would have put it, anyway. And from his belt there hung one of those very long, very sharp, and very dangerous-looking knives known as machetes, while Dick did not even possess a pistol.

'We best be getting on,' Merriman said. 'There's another three hours to Hilltop.'

Dick kicked his horse, got the animal moving again. 'You have been there before?'

'A couple of times, Mr Hilton. I did carry documents for Mr Robert Hilton to sign.'

'With Mr Reynolds?'

The black man allowed his mule to pick its way down the next incline: it was too dark to see where the animals were placing their hooves.

'By myself, Mr Hilton. I is Mr Reynolds' best boy. I can read, man, and write.' He glanced at his companion. 'Maybe you ain't believing me, sir.'

'Oh, I believe you,' Dick said, hastily. 'I was merely surprised, that a . . . well, that a Negro should . . . well. . .'

'That I should be trusted, Mr Hilton? I ain't no Negro.'

'Eh? But. . .'

'They's Congo people. Is the name what the masters give us all, no matter what. I's Ibo.'

'That is your real name, you mean?'

'No, sir, Mr Hilton. I am of the Ibo people. It is a nation, sir, like the Negroes. To call me a Negro is like if I was to call all white men English, whether they is French or Spanish or Dutch, or what.'

Dick removed his hat to scratch his head. 'Oh,' he said. 'Then I apologize. I never knew that before.'

But what a remarkable thing, for a white man to be apologizing to a Negro. Oh, dear, he thought: A black man. On the other hand, Merriman also seemed surprised, as he lapsed into silence.

They proceeded up and down, along tracks cut into the side of cliffs, with empty darkness to their left, through wooded copses, loud with rustling sound. Dick could not help but begin to wonder, eventually, if he was not being led astray, to his murder.

He urged his horse forward, beside the mule. 'But even Ibos do not all read and write,' he said conversationally. 'No, sir, Mr Hilton. But I's even more Jamaican than Ibo.'

'Would you explain that?'

'Is me great grandpappy what made the middle passage, Mr Hilton. That is back a hundred year.'

'Ah. Are there many slaves in Jamaica who were born here?'

'The most. All, from now, with the slave trade finish.'

'And are they all as well educated as yourself?'

'They ain't got no well educated field slave, Mr Hilton. It is all depending on what you train for. I did be a field slave, one time. Man, I did be a driver. But then they see how's I got brains like them, and they sell me too good. Now, I am a clerk, so I got for be educated.'

'I see. And are you happy, to be educated?'

At last the big man's head turned. 'Slave can be happy, Mr Hilton?'

'Ah. No, I suppose it is difficult. Yet there is not much trouble in Jamaica, I have been told.' 'Trouble, sir?'

'Well, when you think of what has happened in St Domingue

'Them boys had more cause, maybe,' Merriman said thoughtfully. 'And there weren't no government, that time, what with the revolution in France. Jamaica got plenty government. And anyway, where would they go? The Cockpit Country ain't no good now.'

'The Cockpit Country?'

'Well, sir, Mr Hilton, is a bad place in the north, all hill and ravine and bog and river. And is where all the runaway slaves did go, oh, since the Spaniards held Jamaica. So they become a nation, like, and the white folk call them Maroons. And they fighting, fighting, with the white folk all them years, but they getting push back, and back. And you know what, when they know what is happening in St Domingue, they start fighting again. That is only fifteen years gone. But they get beat again, and they sign treaty with the Governor. He ain't going trouble them no more, providing there ain't no murder up there, and they ain't going trouble the white folk no more. And they going send back any runaways what join them. That is the thing.' He urged his mule a little faster, came to the top of a rise, and pointed. 'Hilltop, Mr Hilton.'

And as if he had given a magic signal, the moon, enormous and round and yellow, and so low it might have been a lantern held by a giant, topped the mountains to send cold yellow light across the valley beneath them. Less a valley, Dick thought, than a large amphitheatre, almost oval in shape, mainly an endless series of canefields, but cleared in the centre, perhaps three miles away; there the moonlight showed up the sloping roofs and white walls of a little town, dominated by its chapel, silent in the darkness; farther off he could make out the bulk of the boiling house, also suggestive of a church because of its enormous chimney pointing skywards — and was it not a church, he thought, the religion of an entire economy—and then the equally orderly rows of logies in the slave village. He swung his gaze round, Mama's descriptions returning to him, and found the stables and the kitchens and the slight, man-made rise on which stood the Great House, four-square and two-storied, the white-painted verandahs shimmering in the half light, the rest of the house in darkness save for a slight glow from one of the downstairs rooms. Hilltop! The name, given to a protected valley, somehow epitomized all the Hilton philosophy. Or was it the Hilton arrogance?

'I can ask, sir?' Merriman suggested.

'Anything you like.'

'Is what it is feeling like, Mr Hilton, sir, to own all this?'

Dick glanced at the man. 'Feel like. It is terrifying, if you really want to know, Joshua. Come on.'

He kicked his horse, sent it galloping down the slope, dust flying from its heels. Up the beaten earth road he raced, the tall cane stalks waving gently beside him, hooves setting up an echo. Past the white village, where a dog commenced to bark, and was soon joined by another, and up the slope to the house, head spinning now, breath panting to match that of his horse, aware only of a consuming excitement, which made him feel almost sick, bubbling up from his belly.

'Hold there.'

He dragged on his rein, and the horse gasped to a halt before the steps of the Great House. 'You got business here, mister?'

Two black men, carrying sticks and knives, and whips.

'And who may you be?' Suddenly he was utterly grateful for the presence of Joshua.

'We is watchman, mister. And we ain't told to expect nobody this night.'

'Man, you stupid?' Joshua dismounted, held Dick's bridle. 'This is Mr Richard Hilton. This your new massa, and you had best watch out.'

'Eh? Eh?' The black men moved closer together.

'A natural mistake,' Dick assured them. 'I only landed this evening. Is the house open?'

'Oh, yes, massa. Oh, yes,' said the spokesman for the two watchmen. 'Jeremiah, you had best hustle down to town and wake up Mr Laidlaw.'

'Oh, I am sure that can wait.' Dick was already mounting the steps, hearing his boots clumping on the wood. His wood. He looked up at the bulk of the house, towering above him. His house.

'Man, massa, Mr Laidlaw would take the skin from we back if we didn't tell him you here,' said the spokesman. 'I is Absolom, massa.'

'Oh, indeed? How are you, Absolom?' He found that he had stuck out his hand without meaning to, and Absolom was regarding it with a perplexed expression. But clearly he couldn't continue apologizing every time he made a faux pas. 'Well,' he said. 'Shake it, Absolom. It won't contaminate you.'

Absolom glanced at Joshua, then took the fingers, very carefully.

'Thank you,' Dick said, and continued up the steps. From the verandah he looked through opened jalousies, which in turn rested against huge, thick mahogany doors, ready to be closed in the event that trouble, which Joshua said could not occur, did ever occur; and into an enormous hallway, with parquet floor and high ceiling, dominated by a great wide right-angled staircase which led to the gallery surrounding the upper floor, and by a series of portraits, both up the stairs and along the opposite wall. The whole was illuminated by a gigantic chandelier in which the candles still burned brightly.

He decided this must have been the glow he had seen from the hillside, for the light in the room to his right where the door also stood wide, had burned to nothing more than a glimmer. He stepped inside, gazed in amazement at the apparently endless sweep of parquet flooring reaching into the darkness at the back, at the upholstered chairs, at the occasional tables, laden with beaten brass trays filled with ornaments representing a variety of animals and birds, fabulous as well as actual, at the grand piano and the billiards table, and then in horror at the woman who lay, on her face, in the very centre of the floor, not six feet from where he stood.

'My God.' He ran forward, Joshua at his heels, turned her over, gazed at pale features, somewhat too big for beauty, but undeniably handsome in their regularity, and perfectly fitted to the mass of straight dark brown hair, which flowed over from his fingers to brush the floor. 'My God,' he said again. 'Is . . . is she dead?'

Joshua was kneeling beside him, peering at the woman. 'No, sir, Mr Hilton,' he said at last. 'She ain't dead. But she is dead drunk.'

Dick realized that there was, indeed, a strong smell of alcohol, and that in fact the woman was breathing, and most disturbingly; she wore an undressing robe, and nothing else that he could discover; the robe itself was flopping open, and it was easy to decide that her figure was a match to her face, at once large and well-shaped.

'That is Mistress Gale,' Absolom remarked.

'And who is she?' Dick asked.

'She does be Mr Hilton housekeeper. She is always this way.' 'Eh?'

'Drunk, Mr Hilton,' Joshua explained. 'It is well known in Kingston.'

'Good Lord. But we cannot just leave her here.' 'I going to fetch Boscawen. Oh, there he is,' Absolom announced.

Dick raised his head, gaped at the black man, who wore a brilliant red jacket over black and white striped calico drawers, no stockings or shoes, but was hastily fitting a white peruke over his black curls. 'What is this?' he demanded.

'Man, hush up your mouth,' Absolom recommended. 'This is Mr Richard Hilton.'

'Eh-eh?' The butler hastened forward, ignoring the unconscious woman so far as to step over her. 'Man, Mr Hilton, sir, let me welcome you to Hilltop.'

'Glad to be here, Mr Boscawen,' Dick agreed, and straightened to shake hands. Boscawen looked at Absolom, received a quick nod, and seized Dick's fingers. 'Now, this lady, Mistress Gale? She must be put to bed.'

'Oh, you can leave she there, Mr Hilton,' Boscawen said. 'She going to wake up, soon enough.'

'She cannot stay there,' Dick decided. 'If you chaps would care to lift. . .' He frowned. She really was very scantily clad. 'No, I will lift her. If you would be good enough to show me her bedchamber, Mr Boscawen.'

Again it took some seconds for the butler to understand he was being addressed; no doubt, Dick decided, he was still half asleep. Dick stopped, got one hand under Harriet Gale's shoulders and the other under her knees, and struggled to his feet, watching with complete dismay the front of her undressing robe once again flopping open to expose one absolutely perfect breast.

'Joshua,' he suggested.

Joshua folded the material back into place, and scratched his head. 'I going be back to town, then, Mr Hilton.'

'Of course not,' Dick said. 'You must be exhausted. Mr Boscawen will find you a bed. I have no doubt at all. As soon as we have taken care of Mistress Gale. Will you lead on, Mr Boscawen?'

The butler lit a candle and climbed the stairs, and Dick followed, the woman in his arms. Her breathing was less stentorous by now, but she was still unconscious. At the gallery he paused for breath, and also because he had become aware of noise below him; in the doorway to the left of the hall there had suddenly accumulated at least a dozen black people, women as well as men, peering at their new master.

'Good day to you,' he said. 'I will see you all in a moment.'

They stared at him, and Boscawen was waiting farther along the gallery. He now opened a bedroom door, and Dick entered, to find himself in a chamber on a scale similar to the rest of the house, some twenty-five feet square, he reckoned, containing a large tent bed as well as a variety of dressing tables. The bed had not been slept in, and he laid Harriet Gale on top of the coverlet; the night remained warm.

'Thank you, Mr Boscawen,' he said. 'Poor woman, she must be grieving for my uncle.'

'Oh, she doing that, Mr Hilton,' Boscawen agreed.

'Well, we'd best let her sleep it off, I suppose.' He backed to the door; Boscawen continued to hold the candle. She made a quite entrancing sight, he thought, and tried to estimate her age. Certainly she was not a girl, but equally certainly she was nowhere as old as Mama. And she was his housekeeper, now, presumably. What a delightful thought.

He closed the door, followed Boscawen back along the gallery, and discovered yet another two additions downstairs, a tall, spare white man, and an equally tall, thin white woman, both with red hair, and freckled rather than sunburned complexions, and both fully dressed, despite the hour; it was just beginning to grow light outside.

'Mr Hilton?' The woman stood at the foot of the stairs; she spoke with a pronounced brogue. 'I'm Clarissa Laidlaw. Charlie is your manager.'

'Mistress Laidlaw,' Dick said, and hurried down the stairs. 'I really am sorry to have awakened you at this hour, but the watchman insisted.'

'Hoots, man,' Laidlaw said, squeezing his hand.' 'Tis dawn, and time we were adoing.'

'Oh. Yes, of course.' He glanced around the suddenly empty hallway. 'But where is everyone?'

'The house servants, you mean?' Clarissa Laidlaw inquired. 'I have sent them packing. They are the laziest swine, who only wish to stand and stare. Your coffee is being prepared.'

'At this hour?'

' 'Tis the normal time, man. The normal time,' Laidlaw said. 'Well, Boscawen, you black devil, get on with it. And send that other scoundrel back to town.'

'Yes sir, Mr Laidlaw,' Boscawen said.

'Wait a moment,' Dick said. 'That other, ah, person, is Mr Merriman. Am I correct?'

'Mr Merriman?' Laidlaw looked at him in amazement.

'Reynolds' clerk,' Dick explained. 'A very good fellow, who accompanied me out here despite the inconvenience. He certainly needs a good rest and a square meal before he can return, and I would like to thank him personally. Will you attend to that, Mr Boscawen?'

'Oh, yes, sir, Mr Hilton,' Boscawen agreed, and hurried off.

'Mr Boscawen?' Laidlaw remarked at large.

Clarissa Laidlaw cleared her throat. 'I'm sure you are also very tired, Mr Hilton.'

'And quite overwhelmed by my circumstances, Mrs Laidlaw,' Dick agreed. 'I had no idea my uncle had died, or that I had inherited, until yesterday afternoon.'

'Oh, good Lord, you poor boy,' she cried. 'We just did not realize.' She hesitated, her hand on his arm, frowning at him. 'I am told you have already encountered the Gale woman.'

'Mistress Gale? Oh, yes. She seemed a little unwell, so I put her to bed. 'Tis not correct, I know, but hardly so incorrect as leaving her on the floor.'

'Unwell?' Laidlaw demanded. 'The woman was drunk.'

'Well, yes, I suppose she was.'

'Incorrect? You'd not find it easy to be incorrect with that woman, Mr Hilton,' Clarissa Laidlaw said. 'But now you've arrived, we'll be seeing the last of her, and thanking the Lord for that.'

'Seeing the last. . Dick scratched his head. 'I'm told she was my uncle's housekeeper. Will she not perform the same duty for me?'

'Land's sakes,' cried Mrs Laidlaw.

'The lad does not understand,' her husband said. 'Housekeeper, Mr Hilton, why, 'tis just a word used in Jamaica, for . . . well

'The wretched girl was Mr Robert's mistress,' Clarissa Laidlaw declared. 'Why, she is nothing more than a prostitute. But you'll be sending her packing this morning, Mr Hilton. Oh, yes.'

'His mistress?' Dick exclaimed. 'Good Lord. But you mean, she has been living here . . .'

'As openly as you could wish,' Clarissa Laidlaw said. 'Disgusting. And then, when Mr Robert died, she just refused to move out, if you please. Said she'd wait to discover what the new owner would be like.'

'Good heavens,' Dick said. 'No wonder she was nervous.'

'But now you are here, why, you will see to it.'

'Oh, of course,' Dick agreed. 'I mean, she can't possibly

stay. I could settle some sort of an income on her, I suppose ..’

'On that woman?'

'Well, I rather feel this is what Uncle Robert had in mind,' Dick said. 'You may leave it to me, Mrs Laidlaw. Now . . ." 'Coffee,' she said.

'The bookkeepers are waiting,' said Laidlaw, who had stepped outside for a moment.

'Bookkeepers?' Dick asked. 'I'm sure that can wait until I have seen something of the plantation.'

'Bookkeepers are overseers, really,' Mrs Laidlaw explained. 'It is a local terminology. They assemble every morning for their orders.'

'We, that is, you and I, Mr Hilton, must decide which fields need the most weeding, and where we shall employ our work gangs,' Laidlaw explained. 'When we are grinding, of course, it is simpler, in a sense. But we are still some weeks away from that, thank the Lord.'

'Coffee,' Mrs Laidlaw decided, very firmly. 'Mr Hilton has been up all night.' She smiled at Dick. 'I'm sure you'll permit Mr Laidlaw to give the necessary orders, Mr Hilton. He has been doing it for years.'

'Why, yes, if you would,' Dick said. 'I wish to meet my overseers ... I mean, my bookkeepers, as soon as possible. Perhaps later on this morning.'

Laidlaw gave a brief smile. 'These men are going four, five miles aback, Mr Hilton. They'll not return before eleven, and then it will be time for siesta.'

'Aback?' Dick asked. 'Siesta? I can see I have a great deal to learn. When would you suggest?'

'Perhaps this evening,' Laidlaw suggested. 'You'll have had a rest by then. Will you excuse me?'

Dick allowed himself to be led into the archway to the left of the stairs, found himself in a dining room hardly smaller than the huge withdrawing room, containing a mahogany table which would seat sixty without discomfort, he estimated, and lined with equally large mahogany sideboards, laden with silver and crystal, while the walls were once again covered with the paintings of previous Hiltons. In the midst of this splendour the single cover looked distinctly lonely.

'But are you not going to eat with me, Mrs Laidlaw?'

'I have already had my coffee,' she explained. 'We rise early on Hilltop. Do sit down, Mr Hilton.' She rang a brass bell from the sideboard, and immediately a parade of black girls entered, each dressed in white and with a white cap on her head, each bearing a large silver dish from which arose a most delicious aroma of fried eggs and bacon and bread.

Dick sat down, had his plate loaded, and suddenly remembered Joshua. 'The man, Merriman,' he said.

Clarissa Laidlaw's smile was a trifle less warm. 'He will be fed in the kitchen, Mr Hilton. You did not really expect him to sit with you?'

'Well, no, I suppose not.' He chewed. How good it tasted.

Mrs Laidlaw poured coffee. 'You were born in Jamaica, I understand?' 'Oh, yes.'

'But left as a child. I wonder ... do you mind if I call you Richard, Mr Hilton? It would be so much simpler. And of course I would be most obliged if you would call me Clarissa.'

'Well, of course, Mrs Laidlaw. I mean, Clarissa.'

She sat next to him, placed the mug of steaming black liquid beside his plate. 'Because the sooner you learn something of the manners and, er, morals, of the country the better.' She gave him one of her bright, paper-thin smiles. 'Not all of our morals are as loose, as, well, one hates to speak ill of the dead, and Mr Robert Hilton was a good friend, oh a very good friend, but of course towards the end of his life, he had troubles, you know, oh yes, he had troubles.' She stopped, perhaps because she needed breath, perhaps because of the clipclop of hooves outside the window. 'We are busy today.'

She got up, walked to the door, and was almost bowled over by Tony. 'Eggs,' he shouted. 'By God, there's a meal. Eggs.' He sat at the table. 'Shove some over, there's a good lad. Christ, what a place. Have you seen it, Dickie lad? Have you taken a good look? Christ what a place.'

'Who is this person?' demanded Clarissa Laidlaw.

'My brother. Mrs Laidlaw, Tony Hilton.'

'Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am,' Tony said, through a mouthful of egg.

'Your brother?' Clarissa Laidlaw frowned at Tony. 'Of course, he has the Hilton nose. But I would have supposed he was the elder.'

'He is,' Dick said.

'But . . .'

Tony swallowed, drank some coffee, hastily placed at his elbow by one of the servants. 'It's a rum world, Mrs Laidlaw. Yes, indeed. Now, Dickie boy, you'll not credit it, but at the hotel I put up for the night there was a school of cards. And my luck was simply abominable.'

Dick sighed, also drank some coffee. 'How much?'

'I suspect they were sharpers. Before I knew what hit me, it was up to fifteen guineas. That is why I did not stay. Galloped all the way, I did, with an old nigger to guide me.'

'Where is he?'

'Oh, I sent him packing when we reached the valley. But the point is, my friends were reluctant to let me go until I signed a note. They were happy when I told them I was Robert Hilton's nephew.'

'I can imagine,' Dick said.

'Trouble is, I told them to fetch out here today and it would be settled. So if you'd be so kind, old son . . .'

'Fifteen guineas?' Dick cried. 'I have not fifteen shillings in the world in cash. Mrs Laidlaw, Clarissa, what am I to do?'

'Send them packing,' she said. 'Give them an order on your agent, and tell them to clear off or you'll set the dogs on them. We don't have any dogs now, more's the pity; Robert had them put down when he found he was dying. But you can have Absolom chase them with his stick.'

'Good Lord,' Dick said. 'Won't they have the law on me?'

'You are the law on Hilltop, Richard,' she said severely.

'Good Lord,' he said again.

'Sounds good, eh?' Tony said.

'But if I am the law, then I can't break it, can I?' Dick asked. 'This order on my agent, will he pay it?'

'From the proceeds of the crop, when it is ground,' Clarissa explained.

'But your husband says that is some weeks off.'

'So they'll have to wait. They'll be glad to, for an order on the Hilton crop. Now, then, if you are finished . . . oh, what is it, Boscawen?'

The butler cleared his throat. 'Is Mistress Gale, Mistress Laidlaw. She has woke up, and is calling for Mr Hilton.' 'Calling for him, indeed,' remarked Mrs Laidlaw. 'Ah,' Dick said. 'I suppose . . .'

'Who is Mistress Gale?' Tony asked, helping himself to more eggs. 'A lady,' Dick began.

'A lady, indeed,' snorted Mrs Laidlaw.

'I suppose we'd better see her,' Dick said, getting up.

'We'd?'

'Well, I. . .'

' Tis a time to show your authority, Richard,' Clarissa declared. 'A time to be a Hilton. A time to be the Hilton.' 'But. . .’

'Besides, she has a most foul tongue. She'd likely slander herself if she saw me. But you, now, she'll listen to the Hilton.'

Dick glanced at Tony, who winked; his mouth was too full to speak.

'Well,' he decided, 'I'm sure Uncle Robert intended to see her all right.'

'Friend of Uncle Robert's, was she?' Tony inquired, having swallowed.

'His kept woman,' Clarissa explained, in a huge whisper.

'I say, what fun. Good luck, Dickie old boy. Better hope she's not like him, eh?'

Dick sighed, and followed Boscawen into the hall. 'Where is she?'

'Oh, she in bed, Mr Hilton. Where you put she last night.'

Dick hesitated, then climbed the stairs, knocked on the door. After all, it was simply a matter of being firm. Courteous, but firm. And anyway, she would be so pleased to receive money she'd go without argument. The question was, how much should he give her?

He found himself staring at a young girl, and being stared at in turn. The child was definitely a relation of Harriet Gale's, with the same bold features, the same potential breadth of shoulder and therefore voluptuousness of figure; he estimated she was not more than ten.

'Who're you?' she inquired.

'My name is Richard Hilton,' he said. 'I believe Mistress Gale wishes to have a word.'

The girl stared at him for some seconds longer, her mouth forming a disturbing O. Then she turned and ran into the room. ' 'Tis Mr Hilton, Mama. Oooh, but he's young.'

'Mr Hilton. Oh, please come in, Mr Hilton.' Her voice was low, and had a delightful brogue. Dick stepped round the door and realized his worst fears; Harriet Gale had undressed and got beneath the covers, and was now sitting up, naked from the waist up, and, he could not doubt, from the waist down as well; her left hand held the sheet imperfectly across her chest, her right hand held a handkerchief obviously containing ice, which she was pressing to her temple.

'Are you all right, Mistress Gale?' he asked.

'Save for me head,' she said. 'Christ, it bangs.'

'Ain't he young, Mama,' screamed the child. 'Ain't he young.'

'Ah, shut up,' bawled her mother. 'And get out. Close the door.'

The girl pouted, then gave Dick a quick smile as she sidled past. The door closed.

'Her name is Judith, Mr Hilton, and she's naught but a pack of trouble. You'll sit down?'

There was a chair in the room, but the legs beneath the sheet had moved to one side. Cautiously he lowered himself on to the bed, and inhaled her scent, which was a compelling mixture of woman and musk and stale gin.

'Perhaps you'd rather rest a little while longer.' His resolution was oozing away.

'Ah.' She tossed the handkerchief over her shoulder, and it settled on the floor. 'It does me no good at all. But I'm to apologize, Mr Hilton, indeed I am.' She peered at him; she had splendid eyes, in keeping with the rest of her, large and dark and fathomless. 'I've had that difficult a time since your dear uncle died. You are young.'

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I hadn't expected to be in charge quite so soon, you know. As for apologizing, please don't. I do understand. Mrs Laidlaw has explained . . .'

'That bitch? She's been here already?'

'Well

'Demanding me departure, I reckon.'

'Well. . .' Dick got up, walked around the bed. The legs promptly moved again, to allow a space on the other side. But he remained standing. 'I mean, I doubt you'd want to stay,' he said. 'In view of your, ah, relationship with my uncle. Not now I'm here. Oh, please, I understand about the money. I'm prepared to make you an offer. I mean, a settlement.' He could feel his cheeks burning. 'What do you think would be right?'

Little creases appeared on that high forehead. Then she patted the bed, with the hand which had been holding the sheet; a pink nipple peeped at him. 'Sit down, Mr Hilton.'

'Oh, I . . .' But he obeyed, waited for the hand to return to its duty. It didn't.

'She'll have told you all she thinks you need know,' Harriet Gale said. 'Bitch. They're all bitches. Jealous bitches, while my Bob lived. Vengeful bitches, now. There's nothing worse.'

'Well, of course, I suppose it was reasonable of them to be jealous . . .'

'Do you remember your uncle?'

He shook his head. 'I suppose he may have patted me on the head as a child, but I don't remember him at all.'

'He was a fine man, Mr Hilton. A fine man. But he had that accident. You've heard of that.'

'My mother has mentioned it.'

'Aye,' she said. 'But think of it, man. He'd just inherited the plantation. Why, just like you, Mr Hilton, and no older I'll swear.' She smiled at him. 'Not that I was born then, you'll understand. But he told me himself. His horse threw him, and then kicked him. You'll know where?'

'Well. . .'

'If it'd been his worst enemy it couldn't have aimed better. They say he nearly died, from the pain of it. One ball was gone altogether, and his tool was bent like a branch.'

'Oh. I say, do . . .'

'So you'll understand what it did to him. The most eligible bachelor in all the West Indies, and he was afraid to lower his breeches for fear of being laughed at. So first of all they rumoured about him, and then, when the truth was out, they laughed behind their fans. Women can be a cruel lot, Mr Hilton.

I should know. Christ, how me head hurts. You'd not pour me some of that water?'

Hastily he filled a glass from the earthenware pitcher on the window sill, and held it to her lips.

'So he turned in on himself,' she said. 'He couldn't even take a nigger girl, because they laugh louder than anyone, and a white man must have authority. He was just shrivelling away.'

'I can understand how bitter he was,' Dick said. 'But I don't see . . .'

'Harry was a bookkeeper, right here on Hilltop. Oh, he was a miserable little lout. If me father hadn't left me destitute I'd never have looked at him twice. But it was Harry Gale or starve. And so you know what he did? He filled me belly with that terror out there, and then died of a colic'

'Oh, dear,' Dick said. 'I am sorry to hear that.'

'Well, I had to go. So I came up here to say goodbye, all swollen belly, and there was me Bob staring through the window of the study, and you know, Mr Hilton, we didn't hardly say a word? Maybe he'd been looking at me during the year I'd lived here. And I had to be looking at him, because he was the master. And we looked at each other for five minutes, then he said, why not stay a while, Mistress Gale. Oh, he was nervous. I'd never have believed it, in a man like Robert Hilton. And would you believe it, Mr Hilton, all he wanted was the company, then. He figured with me belly full there couldn't be anything else. But I knew what he really wanted.'

Dick scratched his head. He was interested, despite his embarrassment. 'I don't quite understand, if he was as crippled as you say . . .'

'I used me hands, Mr Hilton. He could still feel.'

'Oh. I . . .' Hastily he got up again.

'I made him happy, Mr Hilton. His last nine years were the happiest he'd ever known.' 'I'm sure they were.'

'But of course, you can imagine the gossip,' she said. 'They used to make up lampoons about what we did in bed. And they'd whisper behind me back. But with Mr Robert Hilton protecting me, there wasn't anyone dare say nothing to me face. And then he died. Would you believe it, Mr Hilton, he wasn't buried, wasn't even cold, when those bitches from down the hill, led by that Laidlaw, came marching up here demanding that I leave, immediately.' 'But you refused?'

'I locked Judith and meself in here and told them to break down the door. Well, they've no belly for it, have they? We'll not soil our hands with her, they said, loud enough for me to hear. When the new owner arrives, he'll see to her. Mr Hilton . . .' She rose out of the bed rather like Venus rising from the waves, and as the sheet fell down to her thighs it occurred to Dick that she was indeed Venus. He had never actually seen a naked woman before, and these were the most flawless breasts he had ever imagined, large and firm, white-skinned and blue-veined, with hardened pink nipples and a wondrous damp valley between.

'Mistress Gale,' he gasped. 'For heaven's sake.'

She subsided, and regained the sheet. 'Mr Hilton, if you turn me out of here, they'll have tar and feathers to me arse before I reach the end of the drive. And what they'd do in town . . .'

'Surely you're exaggerating.'

'I'm not, Mr Hilton. Truly, I'm not. It's not the money, Mr Hilton. I'm in fear of me life. I made him happy, Mr Hilton. I swear I made him happy.'

Dick scratched his head some more. How he wanted just to lie down and go to sleep. But how the idea of lying down and going to sleep, or not as the case might be, was associated with that magnificent sight of a moment ago, and the even more magnificent sight he had just avoided. 'Well, of course,' he said. 'We'll have to make arrangements for your safety. Perhaps if you were to leave Jamaica . . .'

'Leave Jamaica?' she cried. 'I was born here, Mr Hilton. I've never been nowhere else.'

^‘Ah. Well. .

'Just let me stay a while, Mr Hilton. I'll not be in your way. Just 'til the gossip dies down. It won't be long.'

'Hm. Yes, I suppose that would be the simplest thing. All right, Mistress Gale, you can stay, until you think it is safe to leave.'

'Oh, thank God. And thank you, Mr Hilton.' She started to move again, and he hastily backed to the door.

'I think you want to have a good rest,' he said. 'But perhaps you'd join my brother and me for lunch.'

'Your brother? Well, land's sakes. But it'll be a pleasure, Mr Hilton. I don't know how to thank you, Mr Hilton, really I don't.'

He gave her a smile, backed through the door, closed it behind him, and found himself sweating. And more than sweating. The sight of her, the sound of her, the smell of her, the very idea of her, and Uncle Robert, had him remembering Joan Lanken, and quite forgetting poor Ellen.

'Well, Mr Hilton? Does she leave now?'

He looked down the stairs. Clarissa Laidlaw waited there, and she had been joined by half a dozen other white women, some giving him a nervous smile, others attempting to look suitably severe.

'Ah,' he said, and began his descent. He could hear the clatter of a knife and fork from the dining room to suggest that Tony was still eating. 'Well, you see, Mrs Laidlaw, Clarissa, ladies, she has explained her circumstances, and I am inclined to agree that it would be heartless of me to set her in the street so to speak . . .'

'She's not going?' Clarissa Laidlaw's voice rose an octave.

'Well, not immediately. When she has got over her grief, and . . .'

'She's flashed her tits at you,' Clarissa Laidlaw shouted. 'That's what she's done.'

'Please, Clarissa.' He reached the bottom step. 'Well, of course . . .'

'I'll not stand for it,' Clarissa declared. 'We'll not stand for it. You must make up your mind, Mr Hilton. It's us or her. If she stays, we go. All of us. And we'll take our husbands with us.'

5

The Planter

Dick scratched his head. 'Now, really, ladies, please do not take on so. It will only be a short while, and then Mistress Gale will be gone.'

'A short while?' cried Clarissa Laidlaw.

'She'll be here forever,' said another voice.

'We know her like, Mr Hilton,' said a third.

'We'll get rid of her for you, Mr Hilton,' said a fourth. 'But tell us to do so.'

'Ah,' Dick said. 'That is exactly what she is afraid of. No, no, ladies. I have told her that she may stay for a while, and given her my promise that she will not be molested.'

Clarissa Laidlaw glared at him. 'And that is your last word on the matter?'

'Why, yes, I suppose it is, for the time being. Now, Clarissa, if you'd be good enough to introduce me . . .'

'That's it, then,' she declared. 'We leave. The moment our men come in from aback.'

'Leave?' Dick cried. 'You're not serious.'

'They say they're going,' Tony observed, from the dining room archway. 'Well, then, Mrs Laidlaw, I suggest you get on with it.'

She glanced at him, and flushed. 'There's the notice . . .' 'Just clear out,' Tony said. 'We'll forget the notice.' 'You can't speak to me like that,' she declared. 'You're not Mr Hilton.'

'What they are trying to do, Dickie boy,' Tony explained continuing to smile at the women, 'is to establish who really is the master here. You surrender to them now, and they'll have you waiting on table.'

'Really,' said one of the other women. Mrs Laidlaw appeared to have lost the power of speech.

It occurred to Dick that Tony, as usual, was absolutely right, that in fact Clarissa Laidlaw had been treating him like a slightly backward younger brother all morning.

Tony could read his expression. 'And it is always better to dismiss people than have them dismiss you,' he said. 'Ladies as of this moment, you are under twenty-four hours' notice to quit Hilltop. Oh, and take your husbands with you.'

'You . . . you . . . you'll not permit this, Richard,' Clarissa shouted.

'I'm afraid you have brought it on yourself,' Dick said. 'Of course, I'm perfectly willing to forget the whole business . . .'

'Never,' she cried. 'Not while that woman stays.'

She was looking up the stairs, and Dick turned his head; Harriet Gale, wearing the same crimson undressing robe as when he had first seen her and with her feet bare, was standing on the gallery above him.

'Christalmighty,' Tony remarked. 'Well, then, ladies, you'd best be off.'

'Mr Hilton,' began one of the other women.

'Out,' Tony commanded, advancing on them. 'What are the magic words, Mrs Laidlaw? I'll set the dogs on you. Or is it Absolom?'

The other women were already backing towards the door. But still Clarissa hesitated. 'You won't get away with this,' she said. 'You think you'll find other overseers? None like my Charlie. Your cane will rot. You'll go bankrupt. Hiltons. You think . . .'

'Boscawen,' Tony said, for the butler, and the other domestics, were hovering behind him in the pantry, listening to the row. 'Would you find this chap Absolom. Tell him to bring his stick.'

'Oh, you . . .' Clarissa Laidlaw turned and fled behind her companions.

'You were magnificent. Magnificent.' Harriet Gale descended the stairs, her undressing robe threatening to disintegrate at every movement.

'I wonder if we weren't a little hard,' Dick mused.

'Strength, boy, that's all any of these people understand,' Tony declared. 'Aren't you going to introduce us?'

'I do apologize. Harriet Gale, Anthony Hilton. Mr Hilton is my brother, Mistress Gale.'

'Me pleasure, Mr Hilton.' She gave Tony her hand, but withdrew it immediately to grasp Dick's arm. 'But your brother is right, you know. You must be strong. With those people no less than with the blacks.'

'Oh, no doubt,' he agreed. 'But supposing they carry out their threat. . .'

'Carry out their threat?' Tony demanded. 'You have dismissed them, Dickie boy. You can't change your mind now.'

'Oh, indeed, your brother is right, Mr Hilton,' Harriet said.

'Aye, well, when they have gone, who is going to manage the plantation?'

Harriet gave his arm a squeeze. 'Why, you are, Mr Hilton. It'll be in your blood. And besides, I'll show you.'

Laidlaw looked uncomfortable, shifted from foot to foot. 'I'm right sorry it had to come to this. That woman is a troublemaker. Oh, indeed, yes.'

'I'm afraid I don't agree with you at all,' Dick said. 'She is an extremely unfortunate woman. It would be betraying my inheritance were I to turn her into the street.' He spoke as evenly as he could, for all the churning misery that had been swelling in his belly throughout the day. What a beginning to his career as a planter. Whatever would Mama say? Or Ellen? He had a terrible suspicion that Ellen might well take the side of Clarissa Laidlaw. He couldn't be sure about Mama.

And even that became quite irrelevant beside the question of how the plantation was to be operated.

'Aye, well, if that's your attitude, there's naught more to be said.' Laidlaw looked down the drive at the town. The scene reminded Dick of a Biblical exodus. Although he had not intended to press the matter, the white staff were leaving this very evening. The men had been informed of the situation when they had returned from the fields at eleven o'clock, and the packing had commenced immediately. Now each house was faced by a wagon, into which the domestic slaves were piling furniture and clothes, while children wailed and dogs barked and dust eddied. Laidlaw sighed. "Tis not a sight I'd ever expected to see on Hilltop. Man, this place was our home.'

'There is really no need to leave in such haste,' Dick pointed out. 'You're welcome to stay until you find accommodation, or new posts, elsewhere in the island.'

'Aye, well, 'tis the women, you understand, Mr Hilton. When they get their tails up, if you'll pardon the expression. Maybe if we could delay their departure, give them time to cool off. . .' He turned back, and checked, and Dick also turned to look at the stairs. Harriet Gale had rested, and now was dressed. She wore a pink riding habit and carried a pink tricorne in her hand; her cravat was white lace, bubbling under her throat, and her long dark hair lay straight down her back. She looked absolutely magnificent, and save for the shadows under her eyes there was no trace of discomfort from her drinking. Laidlaw sighed. 'They'll not, if she goes out like that.'

'I am going to show Mr Hilton his plantation,' she announced. 'Boscawen. Boscawen. Are the horses ready?'

'They's waiting, Mistress Gale.'

'I'll take my leave, Mr Hilton,' Laidlaw said. He glanced at Harriet. 'Your day, Mistress Gale. Your day. But wheels turn. Indeed they do.'

He clumped down the steps to his waiting mule. Dick took a step forward, and had his arm seized. 'You'll not weaken now, Mr Hilton,' she whispered. 'Then 'tis you would have to leave.'

He was shrouded in the scent of musk. He dared not look at her. 'I'm shivering like a jelly.' 'Ah, but no one would know it.'

'So they're off then.' Tony had also donned riding gear, and slapped his boots with his crop. 'Damned good riddance. Now then . ..'

'Aye,' Dick said. 'Now then. What do we do?' 'Well, as the heat is leaving the sun,' Harriet said, 'the gangs would normally be resuming work.' 'Supervised by bookkeepers.'

'Oh, indeed. They are lazy scoundrels, and will not work unless driven to it.'

'I'm sure you are too hard on them,' Dick said. 'And anyway, we have no bookkeepers to drive them.'

'But you have the drivers,' Tony said. 'I have been talking to that chap Merriman.'

'Merriman,' Dick exclaimed. 'By God. Joshua, are you there?'

'Well, here I am, Mr Hilton.' Merriman wore his hat and also carried a crop. ‘I’s best be getting back to town, or Mr Reynolds going have the Custos out after me.' He grinned at Dick. 'You's the master now, Mr Hilton. You's just got to show them boys, and they going obey you all right.' His right hand started to move, and then hastily dropped back to his side.

But Dick was gazing at him in delight, an idea forming in his mind. 'Joshua. You'll stay.' 'Eh? Mr Reynolds. . .'

'I'll send to Mr Reynolds. Make him an offer. Stay and be my overseer.' 'Mr, Mr Hilton?'

'A black man?' Harriet demanded. 'That is not possible.' 'Why not?'

'Well. . . I'm sure it's not legal.'

'Mistress Laidlaw told me I am the law, on Hilltop. You know planting, Joshua. You told me so.'

'Well, that is a fact, Mr Hilton.'

'You'll head the drivers,' Dick decided.

'I wonder if you are not being a little premature,' Tony said. 'Will the niggers follow one of their own people?'

'Or will they follow him too well?' Harriet suggested.

'They will follow us,' Dick said. 'Joshua will act for us. Now, Joshua, go down the hill and tell them I will address them in half an hour.'

'Yes, sir, Mr Hilton.' Joshua ran for his mule.

'Address them?' Tony inquired.

'You do not speak with those creatures, Mr Hilton,' Harriet said. 'They understand the whip, and nothing less.'

'Couldn't that be because they have never known anything different?' Dick asked. 'And in any event, surely they are entitled at least to see their new owner.'

'There's a point,' Tony agreed. 'Whips. We'll need whips. You have whips, Boscawen?'

'There's Mr Robert's big whip, sir.'

'Fetch it.'

'I'm not going to whip anyone,' Dick said. 'I'm going to speak with them.'

'Can't be too careful, old boy,' Tony said. 'Besides, the whip is the symbol of authority in these parts, eh? I've read all about it.'

'Your brother is right,' Harriet said. 'No white man should go amidst the blacks without a whip.'

'Oh, very well,' Dick said. 'You can carry the whip, Tony. Shall we go?'

He led them down the stairs, climbed into the saddle; the waiting grooms held the stirrup and made a back for Harriet, and she settled herself side saddle, right knee high, pulling gloves over her fingers. It occurred to Dick that she was the loveliest sight he had ever seen. But what an amazing thought. He had only left Ellen and Mama five weeks before. And yet, it was a thought quite in keeping with his surroundings, the heat and the dust and the glaring sun, and his position, sitting on a horse in front of a magnificent house, also his, having dismissed with a wave of his hand some thirty employees, and now about to face up to ... he had no idea how many more. Surely he was dreaming all of this. Or he had dreamed all of his previous existence. But there was the truth of the matter. The old cliche that the West Indies were a different world was absolutely true.

'Well?' Tony was also mounted, the huge bull whip resting in front of him on his horse's neck.

Dick kicked his mount, moved slowly down the hill. First the town had to be passed, and the bookkeepers stopped in their work to watch him. He expected more than just looks, but they offered no comments. Again, this was not England, where one man was as good as the next, at least in physical matters. As Clarissa Laidlaw had truly said, he was the master, the law itself, within the valley of Hilltop, and no one would risk his anger. He felt almost sick with excitement.

The town was behind him, and he faced the village, and the largest crowd he had ever seen, or so it seemed. He drew rein, and watched Joshua spurring up the rise towards him.

'They's waiting, Mr Hilton.'

'Good man. How many are there?'

Joshua rolled his eyes. 'A good number, sir. A good number.' 'There are one thousand and fifty-three slaves on Hilltop, at the last count,' Harriet said. 'Good Lord. How do you know?'

'Your uncle kept a very careful tally,' she said. 'Now, there were three women due to deliver, last week. But I do not know if they have, and if the piccaninnies were born alive.'

Dick frowned at her; she might have been speaking of a herd of cattle.

She returned a smile. 'That is something you have to deal with as well. But I will help you. I love watching the births.'

'Eh? Oh. Good Lord.' Watch a birth? He walked his horse down the hill, Joshua failing in at his rear, and checked again. 'What on earth are they guilty of?'

He pointed at the four triangles, each filled with a naked black man, suspended by the wrists, feet dragging in the dust.

'Well, I ain't knowing that, Mr Hilton,' Joshua confessed. 'You got for ask Absolom.'

The drivers waited in a group in front of the slaves, dominated by the bulk of Absolom. Dick turned his horse towards them.

'Why are those fellows suspended?'

'They're waiting for the lash, Mr Hilton, sir,' Absolom said. 'I does beat them, but a bookkeeper got for be present.' 'And their crime?'

'Well, sir, they does be insolent and lazy fellows. Mr Laidlaw done say so.'

'Ah. Well, cut them down.' 'Sir?'

'Cut them down. This is my first day on Hilltop, and there'll be no whipping today. Haste, man.'

'They should be whipped,' Harriet said. 'A flogging does them good.'

'Let's call it an amnesty,' he said. 'My aim is to win the affection, the hearts, if you like, of these people.'

'My God,' Tony said, apparently to himself.

Harriet was frowning. 'They have no hearts, no affection,' she declared. 'They are ruled by fear. I quote your uncle, Mr Hilton. The sentiments are not me own.'

'We shall see.' Dick watched the four naked men, having been released from the triangles, coming towards him. 'Cover them up,' he bawled, flushing with embarrassment, wondering if being tied up to await a whipping would have the same effect on him.

Absolom hastily marched the men round the back of the crowd, and Dick moved closer. He regarded, by Harriet's figures, a thousand and more people, men and women and children, gathered in a huge dark group, black faces remarkably contrasting with the white cotton drawers and chemises which were all any of them wore; while the children were naked. But as he approached he realized that they were not all of the same colour, while their faces were noticeably varied, from the broad, friendly features of the darker Congolese Negroes to the aquiline reservedness of the Mandingoes.

'Will they all understand English?' he asked Joshua.

'I think so, Mr Hilton. They all must be living in Jamaica these two years at the least.'

He drew a long breath. The crowd seemed absolutely still, save for the restless movements of the children. But they gazed at him, expectantly. And with what in their hearts, he wondered. Hatred? Respect? Fear? Or merely apathy?

‘I am Richard Hilton,' he shouted. 'I shall live here from now on. I shall take the place of my uncle, Robert Hilton. But I am not Robert Hilton. You will discover who I am, as the days go by. I am here to grow sugar, to make this plantation prosperous. You will help me to do that. You will work hard, and please me, and none of you will be punished. And I will work beside you, as hard as any of you. So will my brother here, and in all things you will regard him as me. With mine, his word is law on Hilltop. Should you not work hard, be sure that you will be punished. But why be punished? See, I have taken down your four comrades who were to be whipped, because I will have no man suffer for a crime committed before I came to Hilltop. And I have dismissed my bookkeepers, because they would rule by the whip. Now then, this afternoon there will be no more work. Tomorrow morning you will go aback as usual, and recommence your labour. You will be commanded by Absolom here, and his drivers, and the inspection will be carried out by this gentleman, Joshua Merriman, who you will regard as my deputy in all things. Very good. You are dismissed to your houses.' He turned to Joshua. 'Go amongst them, and make sure they understand me.'

'Oh, I going do that, Mr Hilton. They going follow you, sir. They going follow you.'

He rode down the hill towards the silent crowd.

'What do you think?'

'A very good speech,' Harriet said. 'I doubt they'll know what to make of it. Let's get back to the house. The stench of their bodies afflicts me nostrils.'

'You said something about an inspection.'

'Tomorrow will do,' she said. 'Christ, how me throat is dry.'

'Me too,' Tony said. 'When I saw all those black faces, why, I doubted not our last moment had come.'

'Rubbish,' Dick declared. 'They are but people, who require to be treated as people, and we shall have no trouble.' He wheeled his horse, saw Laidlaw seated on his mount only a few feet away; the first of the wagons had already begun its journey down the drive.

'You speak well, Mr Hilton,' the manager said. 'You should be a politician, like your father. But these people need the whip, not words.'

'They'll work, Mr Laidlaw. They'll work.'

'Aye,' Laidlaw said. 'We'll see how they work, when it comes to grinding.'

'A toast.' Tony Hilton stood, and raised his glass. 'To the Hiltons of Hilltop. Long may they prosper.'

He slurred, very slightly, and swayed. At the opposite side of the table Harriet Gale gave a giggle of tipsy laughter. They had both drunk far too much.

But then, Dick wondered, had he not also drunk far too much? Without achieving the blessings of inebriation. He kept thinking how absurd they looked, the three of them, he and Tony in their black jackets and white socks. Harriet in a splendid evening gown in dark blue taffeta which seemed to hang from her breasts as if attached there, leaving shoulders and arms exposed; they were milky-white shoulders and arms, with a dusting of freckles, and plumper than he had first observed.

Now she tossed her head, scattering that long, straight dark mane, so that some fell behind and odd strands descended most entrancingly in front, trickling across the white swell of flesh, and raised her own glass, to squint through it at the light. 'Empty, by God. Vernon, you black devil, fill it up. Fill it up.'

Dick sighed, and watched the footman hastily reaching for the decanter. It apparently had been his uncle's humour to name all of his house servants after British admirals. But he also felt like another drink. It was a form of hysterical release, he decided. The bookkeepers, and their wives, and their children, and their dogs, had gone. The town stood derelict. No doubt it would soon fill again, as Reynolds advertised, as they obtained the right people. But what a remarkable day it had been. No, indeed, what a remarkable two days; he had not slept a wink last night. Now he could hardly keep his eyes open, and his head swung, at once with exhaustion and alcohol, and his brain seemed filled with nothing but the presence of Harriet Gale. He thought he could sit here the entire night, just staring at the freckled flesh, just dreaming.

The decanter crashed past his ear, struck the parquet and shattered into a hundred pieces of crystal.

'Ow me God,' cried Vernon, staring at the liquid spreading across the floor.

'Oh, Christ,' Harriet screamed, sitting up.

'God damn you for a bastard,' Tony bawled.

Dick rubbed his ears, watched Boscawen pounding in from the pantry.

'What is this?' cried the butler.

'It slip, man, it slip.' Vernon was on his knees, his napkin turning red as he swabbed at the wine.

'Ah, well, fetch another,' Tony commanded.

'Crystal,' Dick said. 'My God. What did that thing cost? Mistress Gale?'

'Ah, what does it matter. 'Tis a waste of good wine,' she said. 'There's the problem. They are crazy swine, these people, careless as devils from hell. ' 'Tis break this and smash that, all the while.'

'Crystal,' he muttered. 'There's pounds and pounds. My God.' His money. Supposing he had any. He hadn't seen a single entry in a book, so far, to prove he wasn't bankrupt. If they threw crystal around like snowballs ... he sat upright at the sound of hooves. 'What's that?'