Black Heart of Jamaica

  Instead, we were to pose as an innocent party of refugees. To this end, I had been donated a dress, slippers and petticoats stolen from a planter’s daughter on one of the rebel raids. It felt strange to be back in frothy skirts after the liberty of my pirating gear, but I quickly adapted, and even began to enjoy pretending an elegance I did not naturally possess. Riding side-saddle on a mule, a parasol twirling above my head, I wondered if I would convince anyone that I was a San Domingo lady. We were to find out at the first road block.

  ‘Excuse me, mademoiselle, but can you tell me who you are and where you are going?’ The soldier inspected my escort of two ‘slaves’ with a suspicious eye. ‘And why, do you mind me asking, do have you no chaperone?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ I rapped out curtly in my best Parisian French, trying to disguise my shaking fingers with an artful spin of the parasol. I drew on my experience of outraged aristocrats and decided that the demeanour of the Duchess of Avon would best suit my purposes: attack better than defence.

  ‘Do what, mademoiselle?’

  ‘I do mind you asking, monsieur.’ I pursed my lips, the picture of offended maidenhood. ‘I’m sure that it is not part of your duties to interrogate young ladies fleeing for safety. But I will tell you in any case: the rebels attacked my home –’

  ‘The blackguards,’ cursed the soldier, looking more sympathetic now.

  ‘Quite so. My father is sending me to my aunt in Le Cap. Having a plantation to salvage, he could not come himself so entrusted me into the care of his two most loyal slaves.’ I gestured imperiously to my friends.

  ‘And who is your father?’

  I said the first French name that came to mind. ‘Monsieur Jean-François Thiland. Have you heard of him?’ I felt a curl of concern in my belly, wondering if my subterfuge was about to unravel.

  The soldier shook his head. ‘No, mademoiselle, can’t say that I have, but I don’t know everyone in these parts.’

  That was a relief.

  ‘Do you have any more questions for me or will you allow me to reach safety before it gets dark?’ I cast a significant look up at the fading skies.

  The soldier took another glance at my escorts – one crippled, the other a boy – then at the mules burdened only with provisions for the journey, and dismissed us as posing no threat.

  ‘Hurry along then, mademoiselle. You won’t make Le Cap tonight but there’s a friendly welcome to be had at Widow Perigord’s three mile or so further on.’

  ‘Thank you, monsieur.’

  He lifted the barrier and Caesar tapped the mule train into motion, Pedro shuffling meekly along at the rear.

  Once out of sight, Pedro swung up on to the mule next to me.

  ‘That was very well done. You’d better get back to the stage as soon as possible: it’s clearly your destiny.’

  Caesar chuckled.

  ‘Thanks. It’s pleasant to hear I have one.’

  Pedro patted my shoulder. ‘Whatever you choose to do in the future, Cat, I know it will be a triumph.’

  But what, I wondered, was the point of a triumph when my brother would not be there to witness it?

  SCENE 2 – SWEET ENDING

  As the mules were staying on the mainland to await their load, we had to part with Caesar before taking a fishing boat to Tortuga. My kind friend gave me a hug by way of farewell.

  ‘You are one fine girl, Mademoiselle Cat. I’m pleased you’re getting out of this madhouse before the whole thing explodes.’

  ‘Is it going to be that nasty then?’ I wondered fleetingly if it would be possible to kidnap Pedro and take him to safety. But no, I’d already decided not to interfere.

  ‘I’m afraid it will be. Poor whites against rich whites, mulattos standing up for their rights, we black men wanting our freedom – it’s a cauldron full of trouble just waiting to boil over.’ Caesar grinned. ‘And if there’s trouble for the white man on so many fronts, then we have a chance.’

  ‘Will you look after Pedro for me?’

  ‘No need to worry about that. We won’t let anything happen to our musician.’

  Pedro tugged on my arm. ‘Are you coming, Cat? The boat’s ready to leave.’

  ‘I am.’

  Pedro tipped his hat to the mule-driver. ‘See you in a few days, Caesar.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting, son.’

  Pedro had promised me an experience in Tortuga and I wasn’t disappointed. Though he had prepared me for the wildlife of the taverns and lodging houses of the waterfront, it wasn’t the same as seeing it for myself. We arrived at midnight to find the drunken party had only just begun – the kind of celebration where Blackbeard and William Kidd would feel right at home. Sailors staggered down the waterfront arm in arm with strangers, fights broke out at random intervals, fortunes were won and lost in gambling. But the thing that made it different from all other ports I had visited was the prevailing sense that Tortuga was a ship sailing out of control: no man at the wheel, no one caring if they were headed for the rocks.

  ‘Is it always like this?’ I whispered, clutching Pedro’s arm as a man spun past and reeled into a puddle.

  ‘Only for the last hundred years or so. That’s why pirates used it as their base – there was no law to call them to order. But the pirates have more or less been driven out of business by the naval patrols – it’s much less dangerous now.’ He backed me into a doorway to avoid a gang of carousing seamen.

  ‘But it doesn’t appear to have grown any more respectable.’ I gave the sailors a pointed look.

  ‘No – and it’s got worse since the authorities have lost their grip on the mainland. Can’t expect Tortuga to behave if the master has his eye elsewhere.’

  All in all it did not look a very promising place to find a safe passage home.

  ‘And you think we’ll find a ship going to England from here?’ I asked incredulously. ‘I mean one I’d last five minutes on?’

  Pedro grinned. ‘You might not like the nightlife, Cat, but I assure you that many crews look forward to coming here as the high point in their voyage. Just trust me.’

  Taking my hand, he pulled me into the largest tavern on the waterfront. Tables, chairs and patrons spilled out on to the veranda. The noise was deafening as each drinker shouted louder than his neighbour to get his voice heard.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ I yelled into Pedro’s ear.

  ‘The captains of the vessels in port tend to gather over there.’ He gestured to the end of the bar where a few cleaner tables could be seen, less densely packed by customers. A couple of beefy men stood on guard, denying entry to this hallowed zone to any common sailor.

  ‘Will we be able to get in?’

  ‘That is why I brought my violin.’

  We slid through the tables, avoiding outstretched legs and barmaids bearing trays of drinks.

  ‘Here, darlin’, let me buy you a drink,’ called a sailor to me, patting the seat next to him.

  ‘Thank you, but no,’ I said politely, a little annoyed that he had mistaken me for the kind of girl who frequented these places.

  He hooked the hem of my skirt with a bunched fist. ‘Sure I can’t change your mind? I feel awful lonely.’

  ‘My heart aches for you, sir. Perhaps you should get yourself a parrot – I hear they make very good company.’

  The sailor’s mates laughed at my suggestion. There was a moment’s pause while my admirer decided if he felt offended, then he let go of me.

  ‘Don’t want no damn creature that answers back,’ he growled.

  ‘Then you certainly wouldn’t enjoy my company.’ I gave him a sweet smile.

  His mates howled with laughter at his expense and even my sailor smiled.

  Pedro tugged me away. ‘You took a risk there, Cat,’ he whispered.

  I shrugged. ‘Not really. He meant no harm – you can tell from their eyes if they’re going to turn on you. You can’t live round Drury Lane all your life without knowing a thing or two about drunks.’

  We rea
ched the captains’ corner with no further interruptions. The two guards, bronzed Hercules the pair of them, gave us a hard stare.

  ‘What do you want?’ one challenged us.

  Pedro produced his violin. ‘Just the chance to entertain.’

  While Pedro continued his negotiation, promising a cut to the guards if they let us in, I peeked round the nearest of the two muscle-mountains to survey the prospective audience. At a quick count there seemed to be around a dozen captains in port, hopefully at least one of them bound for Europe. And the back of one man looked somewhat familiar . . .

  Rage blew up inside me with all the force of a small hurricane, destroying self-control. I leapt over the bench separating the captains from the rest of humanity before any of the guards could stop me. I grabbed the tankard of ale out of the man’s hand to cast it in his face.

  ‘Captain Bonaventure, you are a foul wart on the derrière of French gallantry! You didn’t care what happened to me, did you? I could’ve been chucked overboard, had my throat slit, but all you thought about was swiping those guns!’

  The Frenchman wiped the ale from his eyes, momentarily robbed of speech to find a little redhaired fury berating him in front of his peers. Pedro tugged at my sleeve.

  ‘Er, Cat, this isn’t what I had planned to persuade someone to give you passage,’ he hissed.

  I shook him off, too busy prodding Bonaventure in the chest. ‘If J-F ever finds out what you did, you can bet that your business dealings with him are over!’

  Bonaventure frowned, picked up the remainder of his tankard and toasted me with the dregs. ‘He’d understand the provocation, mademoiselle.’ Splat! He threw the contents over me.

  Incensed, I raised my hand to slap his face but I found my wrist restrained from behind.

  ‘Cat, I really wouldn’t do that.’

  I spun round. ‘Billy! Are you still drinking with this blackguard after what he did to me?’

  Billy Shepherd shrugged and wiped the ale off my nose, still holding my wrist as a precaution.

  ‘It was business. I realized that when I cooled down. I’d’ve done the same in ’is position. No ’arm done.’

  ‘But . . . but I was almost thrown overboard. I’ve been shot at, walked my feet to bloody ruins, abandoned in a foreign country with no money, no way to get home –’

  Billy winked. ‘Sounds like you’ve been ’aving a fine old time – and you found Blackie.’

  ‘His name is Pedro as you well know.’ Pulling my wrist free, I folded my arms across my chest.

  Bonaventure rose, ale still soaking into his once spotless shirtfront. ‘Monsieur Shepherd, you will deal with the punishment for her insult to me?’

  ‘You deserved it, Bonaventure, and you know it.’ Billy didn’t take his eyes off me in case I did anything else rash.

  The Frenchman picked up his hat, twirling it on the end of one finger. ‘Perhaps. But if she’s going to make problems for me with my Parisian business contacts, maybe I should deal with her myself.’

  ‘Leave her be. She won’t – I’ll make sure of that.’

  ‘I’d like to see you try,’ I growled.

  Billy held my eye for a moment, a familiar hard glint making him seem far more dangerous than of late. But he couldn’t intimidate me any longer.

  ‘You won’t like it if I have to persuade you to keep your mouth shut,’ he warned.

  I hadn’t really meant to carry through my threat to tell J-F; the little King of the Palais Royal Thieves would probably not care enough about me to harm his business empire. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t gain something from this situation. Devil take me – I’d spent so much time in Billy’s company, I was now even thinking like him!

  ‘It’ll cost you, Billy.’

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘Jenny’s papers.’ I held out a hand, fingers waggling.

  ‘Blackmail?’

  ‘You should know all about that as you’re the past master.’

  With a snort, Billy felt in his jacket pocket and pulled out a sheet of parchment from a document wallet. ‘Your promise?’

  ‘I’ll forgive and forget Captain Bonaventure’s scandalous lack of chivalry to a female in his care.’ I shot the Frenchman a poisonous look.

  Billy turned to the captain. ‘Satisfied?’

  ‘Oui, monsieur. But don’t look to me for passage back to Europe. I will not let that little vixen on board my ship for any money.’

  ‘Then please unload my belongings. I will be escorting Miss Royal home.’ Billy placed the document in my palm. ‘Jenny’s waiting in the kitchens, in case you wondered.’

  With a grin, I pushed past the guards and made a dash for the rear of the tavern. I found Jenny seated at a long table, chatting companionably to some black women servants. She squealed with surprise on seeing me.

  ‘Cat! You be alive!’

  ‘Did you doubt it?’ I gave her a hug.

  ‘No, but me not expect to see you again. Mr Shepherd, he said we go back to London and wait for you to turn up dere, but me no want to go.’

  ‘Well, you don’t have to do anything now.’ I stuffed the parchment into her hand. ‘There you are.’

  Jenny unfolded it and gave me a questioning look. ‘What is it?’

  Of course, she couldn’t read. ‘Your papers.’

  She laughed. ‘Cat, me not need them.’

  ‘What?’ I was a little disappointed that her gratitude was so muted.

  ‘You tell me already – dey fit only for privy paper. You cannot give me my freedom – it always belonged to me.’

  What was I thinking? I clapped my hands. ‘In that case, into the fire with them.’

  ‘Yes, missis.’ With a roguish grin, Jenny tossed her papers into the kitchen hearth and, with great satisfaction, we both watched them blacken and burn.

  Pedro appeared at my shoulder. He’d witnessed the whole scene from the doorway.

  ‘I was wrong, Cat,’ he said in a low voice, giving me a congratulatory kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Wrong?’

  ‘You made a good mistress if that’s what you taught her. Will you introduce me?’

  ‘Jenny, this is Pedro Amakye. Pedro, Jenny.’

  Pedro bowed. ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Jenny.’

  ‘You be de boy dat give Cat so much grief?’ she asked, her indignation undermined by her twinkling eyes.

  ‘I’m afraid to say I am, miss.’

  She shook her finger at him. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’

  Pedro held up his hands. ‘I am, I am.’

  ‘But we’ve made up,’ I explained, smiling at the sight of my former slave coming to my defence.

  ‘And what now for you, Cat?’ Jenny asked. ‘You go back to England?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And your friend?’ Her eyes strayed to Pedro.

  What was this? Was she thinking what I thought she was thinking?

  ‘He’s staying,’ I replied innocently. ‘He’s got things to do here. What about you? Do you want to come with me to England?’

  Jenny shook her head. ‘What would me do in dat cold place? Me thought maybe . . .’ she bit her lip . . . ‘maybe me go with dat fool boy of yours and keep him out of trouble.’

  ‘But Jenny –’

  ‘Me want to be part of de rebellion. It be de one place me can be free.’

  Pedro gave her an understanding look and took a seat by her side. I remained standing, not wanting to give in so quickly.

  ‘And your father? What about Moses? What will he think?’

  ‘He understand. He join us if he could.’ Jenny waved to the place opposite her. ‘Sit down, Cat. Eat someting. You look hungry.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Me be free now, remember? You cannot do noting to stop me being a fool like your friend.’

  I sat down, feeling thoroughly deflated. I had no right to stand in their way – not that I could. Nor did I really want to.

  ‘I’ll shut up.’
/>
  Jenny passed me a hunk of bread and cheese. ‘Put dat in your mouth instead save you havin’ to bite your tongue.’

  I broke the roll apart and slapped on the dried-up piece of cheese. ‘Was that a joke at my expense?’

  ‘Me tink it was.’ Jenny appeared delighted by her own wit.

  ‘Proof you’re a free woman,’ laughed Pedro, taking her hand and kissing it gallantly. She did not pull away.

  TRIANGULAR TRADE

  Billy found us passage on a ship carrying cotton and sugar to England.

  ‘’Ere you go, Cat. My bunk’s next door,’ he explained, showing me the tiny cabin I’d been allocated. ‘I said we were brother and sister. Saved answering too many questions.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’ I shivered. I didn’t like this ship: it had an evil smell. Billy had promised me that it was not carrying slaves, but I guessed that it might have done in the recent past. The barrels of sugar and bales of cotton were now packed where people had been crammed. The crew looked no better than brutes. Give me Tivern’s honest dishonesty rather than this respectable cruelty any day. But at least with Billy Shepherd as my travelling companion, I knew that I had no need to worry for my safety – he knew the minds of such people, as under normal circumstances he was one himself. Slave owner and London crime lord – the perfect chaperone.

  Pedro and Jenny did not step on board (who could blame them?) but waited to say their farewells on the dock.

  ‘Look after each other, won’t you?’ I said in a choked voice.

  ‘We will,’ vowed Pedro. ‘You’re not going to cry on me, are you, Cat Royal?’

  I sniffed and shook my head. His eyes looked very bright too.

  ‘Good, because I want my last memory of Cat Royal to be of her smiling.’

  I tried to oblige but it was a terrible performance.

  ‘Give my regards to Frank and Syd. Tell Signor Angelini “thank you” for all his kindness towards me.’