'Mr Duke don't live here. He has a small house next door. He has his own woman prepare his food for him.'
'I do not like to dine alone.' I looked at her. 'Perhaps you would join me? You and Phillis?'
At home, I would have dined with Cook and Susan if no one else was in the house.
'Oh, no, Miss.' Her eyes grew wide and the shake of her head was emphatic. 'That would not be allowed. Will there be anything else?'
She stood looking straight ahead, her hands clasped behind her back. I had thought her older than me, now I could see that she was probably younger. She was a handsome-looking girl, with fine eyes, the colour somewhere between hazel and amber. A mix of races showed in her face, the best of both physiognomies combined in the shade of her eyes, her slanting cheekbones, her long straight nose, generous mouth and strong chin. The candlelight played across the planes of her face, bringing out rich tones in the bronze of her skin: ochre, umber and burnt sienna.
'No, nothing else,' I said. 'You may go.'
She withdrew quickly, with her head down. My scrutiny had brought the colour up into her cheeks and made her uncomfortable. I felt sorry, even shamed by it. She had no way to protest, or show how she felt. I was the mistress. Anything I chose to do, she would have to endure it.
11
So it went on. My first week seemed to stretch to eternity. I had no idea how to spend my time. Phillis and Minerva came and went on silent feet, heads bowed, never meeting my eyes. It was as though they weren't really there, as if I were being served by sprites. My attempted friendliness came to nothing; if anything it made them even more wary. They saw us all as immensely dangerous, like monstrous children who were as likely to kill or discard, with the utmost hardness of heart, anything that ceased to please them, or that threatened to make them angry. They took care to meet every wish, every need. Every desire was anticipated and gratified, sometimes even before I had thought of it myself. It was as though they knew all about me instantly: what I liked, what I disliked, what I enjoyed, what wrould displease me; while I would never know a thing about them, even if we were to live a lifetime together in the same house.
I came to be lonely, pining for companionship. My loneliness drove me to find ways to break down their reserve.
I spent the days sleeping, reading, or just drifting round the house. My brother had not come back, so I had no company at all. I thought I would die of boredom. I needed to get outside. If I owned the land, I should at least view it. The best way to do that was on horseback. Duke had offered to show me, but I did not think I could stand a day in his company. I asked Minerva to come with me instead.
Duke didn't object. 'I dare say she can ride a mule,' he said, when I told him my plan. 'Most of the blacks can do that.'
I ordered horses to be brought round. My brother kept a tolerable stable and I would have us ride the best animals.
Minerva rode like a man, her long brown legs showing to the knees on either side of the saddle. I envied the control this gave her and determined to do the same when we were out of sight of the house. She sat a horse well, with strength, natural grace and balance. We were able to set up a good pace along the straight tracks that ran between the square stands of sugar. We came to where the last stands were being cut at a far corner pocket of the property.
Minerva dismounted, took a machete from one of the men and lopped off a growing stem. She chopped off a section and, with a few sweeps of the razor-sharp blade, she cut away the tough outer skin to expose the pithy inner core.
'Here.' She handed the peeled cane to me. 'It tastes good. Refreshes the mouth after riding.'
I sucked at the oozing liquid. It was much less sweet than I had thought it might be, and did serve to quench the thirst. I nodded. It was good.
She smiled and cut a length for herself, then we rode on, turning from the endless fields of sugar up towards the mountains. The trees on the lower slopes would shade us from the sun's fierce heat and it would be cooler once we reached higher ground. We left the plantation far below us. It was soon out of sight as we gained one ridge, then another. As we rode further into the wilderness, the distance between us seemed to narrow. Talk became easier, and there was even laughter as we followed a wide, shallow, fast-running river, riding sometimes in, sometimes out of the water, the cold spray arcing up and splashing our legs.
We rode on, the stream becoming ever shallower, until we came to a glade, a semi-circular clearing in the forest dominated by a sheer rock-face. Water gushed in a torrent from a fissure halfway up the towering cliff and fell in a white rush down to a limpid pool, wide and deep, clear right to the bottom. Bright green ferns extended feathery fronds, making shadows on the surface. Tiny silver fish darted and turned, catching the sun like silver coins.
Minerva pointed to the cascading water. 'That is the fountain. The plantation is named after it.' Her voice dropped to a whisper. 'It is obeah. A place of spirit.'
A diamond fountain falling into a crystal pool set in an emerald forest. It was a truly magical place.
We were not the only people to think so. Minerva showed me a smooth black boulder with primitive carvings upon it in the shape of a man and a woman, god and goddess.
'They were made by the people here before us.'
Across the water floated a garland of flowers made from the orchids that I'd seen growing in the forest. Minerva did not tell me who might have left it there.
She stepped into the wrater, cupping her hands to drink and splashing shining drops over her face and head. Then she stepped out of her shift and stood naked, as if she were about to step into a bathtub. She waded into the water, going deeper and deeper. I watched her in envy and wonder. I had never done such a thing in my life. At home it would have been unthinkable.
But I was not at home, was I? There was nobody there to see me. I slid off my horse and followed her lead.
I stepped in almost to my waist. The water was so cold it made me gasp for breath. Minerva waded back, smiling, splashing the water towards me. She shook her head and her wet hair fell in dark glistening coils about her naked shoulders.
Suddenly, I could not look at her. I saw her face change to dismay, as I turned away. Perhaps she thought that she'd embarrassed me, that I'd been overcome by sudden modesty, that she had presumed too far. But it had nothing to do with modesty, hers or mine. There was a mark on her shoulder, about the size of a shilling piece. The Fountainhead sign. I had seen it stencilled on the sacks of sugar coming into the warehouse in Bristol, burnt into barrels and packing cases, printed on documents, stamped on to leather-bound ledgers, carved above our door, but to see it branded on to the skin of another human being? I remembered what Duke had said about why they used silver and felt sick.
Her hand went to her shoulder.
'It does not hurt.'
I shook my head, unable to explain what I was thinking, took a step back and faltered, taken by sudden dizziness and dazzled by the light shining off the water. A sharp stone cut into my instep and I slipped, missing my footing altogether, plunging headlong. I must have stumbled into a place where the water was deeper, for I went down. I struggled for the surface, puffing and blowing, only to find that I was still out of my depth. I felt for the bottom, or a ledge, but my feet encountered nothing. For a second time I sank down, and I began to panic. I was choking, my breath coming out in great bubbles. I could not take any air in and my lungs were emptying. I feared that I might drown. Then long brown arms were round me, pulling me up to the surface. Minerva hooked me under the arm and turned for the side of the pool, towing me behind her. I staggered from the water and she helped me to a flat sun-warmed rock, where I sat with my head between my knees, coughing and spitting and trying to recover.
Minerva was shocked that I could not swim.
'Is there no sea where you live? No river?'
There was both sea and river, I explained, but no one learns to swim. Not even the sailors.
'Sailors think that there is no point,' I said. 'They believe that y
ou cannot cheat the sea.'
Minerva grimaced and shuddered, as if she found such reasoning hateful. Then she smoothed her features and smiled at me, as if she had forgotten herself momentarily in showing her feelings to such a degree.
'We are not in the sea. I can teach you. It is easy.'
I did not find it easy, but the lesson was very pleasant. We were girls together and of an age, and that is how we behaved, laughing and playing in the water. As we lay on the smooth rocks, letting the sun dry our skin, she asked me about the ring that I wore on the gold chain about my neck. I found myself telling her all about William, things that I had never told anyone, not even Susan. We were not mistress and slave from that day on. We were more like friends. Like sisters.
The pool had done its magic.
12
We went back as the shadows began to lengthen. We composed ourselves as we neared the plantation, but the length of time that we had been absent had not escaped Duke.
'Where have you been?' Duke greeted me, eyeing me closely. My hair was still wet and my dress was damp. He was very observant for a near-sighted man. 'Thought the maroons had got you. I was about to send out a search party.'
'Maroons?'
'Live in the mountains. Escaped slaves and runaway servants, all sorts of rogues and runagate scum.' Fie let down his whip, lashing it across the ground, making a cracking sound. 'Should be hunted down with dogs and hung, every man and woman. There's a nest of 'em, not too far from here, led by a black demon called Hero, but they're devilish hard to find. I told Master Joseph, he should bring back bloodhounds. That Brazilian's got 'em. I told him, we could do with some here. Train 'em up from pups to hunt down blacks. He was all for it. Thought it'd be marvellous sport.' He gave me a look of enquiry. 'Perhaps he had some with him?'
I shook my head.
'Pity.'
Duke flicked the tip of his whip towards a nearby bush and a large creamy blossom exploded in a shower of scent and petals.
'When will my brother be here? Has he sent word? Do you know?'
He would not be back for another week, Duke said. Delayed by business. I did not want Joseph to hurry back, fearing that his presence might curtail the freedom that I was just beginning to enjoy, although I thought he might bring news from home, maybe letters. Perhaps there might be one from William. My heart leaped at the thought of it. I spent a great deal of the time on my rides with Minerva wondering what his letter might say, wondering how I would reply to it. We visited the magical pool again and my swimming lessons continued. We rode by clear rivers and up into the high country. The air was cooler here and scented by pine trees. The forests were brilliant with birds, the air heavy with the smell of flowers. I began to see why Broom loved the islands so much.
My brother's further week extended to a fortnight. He arrived in the back of the wagonette, stinking of rum. Thomas heaved him on to his shoulder and carried him into the house like a sack of sugar. I did not see him again until late the next day when he appeared, pale and clean shaven, for dinner.
'Are there any letters for me?' I asked when he came in.
'No.' He looked at me sharply, as if my question startled him. 'Why should there be?'
'No reason,' I replied, as we sat down at opposite ends of the long table.
He hardly spoke to me after that, and ate little of the food that Phillis had prepared: chicken and rice, sweet potato and beans, complaining loudly that she had added too much spice. Instead he drank, pouring pale golden rum from the decanter he kept at his elbow. When I had finished, he left me, carrying decanter and glass on to the veranda. There he sat in a rocking chair, staring out, profiled against the glow from the boiling house and the billowing ghost-white clouds of smoke and steam. I followed him out on to the veranda. All around the frogs and cicadas played their overtures, and fireflies glowed, tiny specks of gold in the velvet blackness.
'I think it's beautiful here,' I said.
'You do?' He seemed genuinely surprised. 'I loathe it.' He laughed and poured himself another glass. All the rum he'd drunk had failed to blunt the edge of his misery and self-pity. 'You always did like the opposite.' He motioned to the chair by his side. 'Why don't you join me? Thomas! This decanter's near empty, and bring another glass!'
'Oh, no,' I began to protest, but he ignored me.
'Yes! Thomas!' he roared, half getting to his feet. 'Where is he? He's getting above himself. I'll have him flogged. Thorn—'
Thomas appeared, silent as a shadow, bearing a tray with a glass for me and a full decanter. He put the tray down and poured the rum. I took a sip of the golden liquid. It tasted of spice and caramel. It was fiery on the tongue, and warming to the throat and stomach. Not at all unpleasant.
'To my darling sister!' Joseph threw back his measure and poured another. 'Come on! Drink up!'
'Why did you not tell me that Father left this plantation to me?'
He paused, the glass halfway to his lips. 'How did you know that?'
'Duke told me.'
'He had no right! He should keep his nose out of business that does not concern him.' Joseph banged his glass down, causing the rum to spill. 'There's another needs taking down a peg or two.'
'He thought I knew already. He was surprised that I did not. Don't you think I have a right to know such a thing? What were you thinking of?'
'Why should you? You are a child. Henry and I are your guardians. You cannot inherit before you are twenty-one. Even then ... '
'Even then ... ?'
'Depends on your husband, don't it?'
'Husband?' Despite the warmth of the rum, I felt a coldness spreading inside me. 'What husband?'
'Now that would be telling.' Joseph gave an exaggerated wink and took another drink. Then he laughed. 'We have plans. Men's business.' He wagged a finger at me. 'Don't you worry your pretty little head.'
He sank back into his chair, eyes closed. I sat for a while, sipping my rum, watching as moths fluttered out of the darkness, white and yellow, on wings as delicate as tissue paper. Some bumped against the shaded lamp; others fed on the pools of spilt rum. They flew off as I put down my glass and rose to go.
Joseph chuckled, laughter gargling from him, as if he dreamt something amusing. "S good,' he said. "S good you like it. Going to be here long, long time.'
The words came out all in one mutter, slurred by the rum that he'd been drinking all night. I could not tell if he was sleeping, or waking, or somewhere between the two states. He jerked as a dog might when it is dreaming. The glass dangling from his fingers dropped and smashed on the floor.
Day by day, whatever constraints I might have felt in my former life dropped away. I drank ruin and rode like a boy. I swam naked in pool, river, sea and fountain and felt no shame. I ate strange food: land crab and lobster, crawfish and mullet, young pig and goat dry-roasted on an open pit in a way called barbicue, all seasoned with peppers and spiced in the manner my brother found so distasteful.
Every morning, I went riding. Sometimes Minerva came with me, sometimes she did not. By noon, I had returned home and I stayed in my room in the hottest part of the day, or out on the veranda at the side of the house, staying there until the sun dipped towards the sea. My brother was either in Port Royal, or asleep in his room, and Duke was out in the fields, or in his hovel, so Minerva and Phillis often came to join me on those long afternoons.
Phillis would bring out the vegetables she was preparing, and we'd sit together, shelling beans and peas, peeling potatoes, stripping corn, and she would tell me about wrhat had happened to her, and how her life was here.
The story began with her being taken from her home in Africa. When she spoke of it, she would stir, flexing and shifting in her seat, as though the memory brought on pains, like rheumatism in the rainy season. Minerva would watch, her eyes on her mother, attending to every word, although she had heard it all many times before.
'It an old, old tale, nothing new about it. Happen to thousands every year. I was a young girl, younge
r than you two now ... '
Phillis had been taken when she was twelve years old, from Abomey, the capital city of Dahomey. Her family had been high-born nobles. She herself was destined to become a woman warrior. One of an elite guard whose job it was to protect the king. She had been chosen because her father was one of the king's most trusted commanders, but life at court was uncertain, full of intrigue. One day, her father was accused of plotting against the king. He was arrested and his whole family was sold into slavery, tied at the neck in coffles and forced to march a hundred miles or more through swamp and forest to the port ot Whydah. They were bought by different traders and put on ships owned by different nations, destined for different places. She never saw any of her family again.
'All that time, I never cried. Never dropped a tear. Not then. Not since, i am a Dahomey warrior woman. We show no fear."
Minerva looked at her with pride. As I got to know her better, I came to realise how much she had learned from her mother about courage and fearlessness. I had cause to remember and be grateful that she came from a line of warriors.
Phillis was bought by a Portuguese trader. She spoke a little of the language, having been taught by her father. This made her passage easier, as she could act as interpreter. The ship was destined for Brazil, but was blown off course and landed at St Kitts. The captain sold his slaves there, eager to take a profit rather than risk losing more slaves in further storms and mishaps. She was sold to a man named Sharpe, who brought her to Jamaica with another parcel of slaves where she was bought by my father.
Phillis told her tale over many days. Her narrative led her to the plantation and ended with Minerva, although she said nothing of the circumstances of her daughter's birth, or who her father might be.
I thought to add my own part, by telling her about Robert. Phillis had said that she and Robert had been part of the parcel of slaves brought from St Kitts and that he had been her man until my father had decided to take him to Bristol. I assumed that Robert was Minerva's father and was anxious for them both to know that he did well. I told them that Robert had been granted his freedom, and had been given money in my father's will and that, last I heard, he was thinking of starting a tobacco shop. I told them of the times we had spent together, of his care of me from when I was a young child. Phillis's worn face softened as I spoke, and split into a rare smile.