The following morning, after breakfast, the family adjourned to the drawing room. Grainger and Charles Swanson were there, both men looking as exhausted as the family. Lucien stood by his large mahogany desk, his long fingers drumming its surface.
"Your findings, Grainger," he said, nodding to his overseer.
"I had a detail of a dozen men. We searched the area thoroughly. There was no one about, but then again, one couldn't expect a murderer to lurk nearby. Nor did we find anything helpful. The hemp rope --- it could have come from anywhere. Not at all uncommon."
Charles Swanson cleared his throat and gave his report. "I spent hours in the village, questioning the girl's family. There was a young black, name of Bob, but he was obviously distressed at the girl's death."
"Murder," Diana corrected.
"Well, yes, murder. I don't believe he had anything to do with it. There is no motive."
"Surely you don't believe him," Deborah cried. "They're all liars and now afraid. He killed her, there is no other way."
"Bob has an alibi," said Charles Swanson to Deborah Savarol. "He didn't leave his hut last night, not for a minute."
Discussions continued. Diana found herself looking at each face, studying each expression. She kept coming back to Deborah.
Dido came into the room, sidling toward Lucien.
"Yes?" he asked impatiently.
"A white man is here, massa. A Mr. Edward Bemis."
"Edward!" Charles Swanson cried out, then paled at his outburst. "He is a friend, of course. I had no idea he was coming here. I thought he would wait for his lordship to return to Tortola ---"
"Yes, certainly, Charles," said Lucien, cutting his bookkeeper off. "Show the gentleman in, Dido."
Edward Bemis indeed looked the gentleman, Lyon thought, studying the tall, lean-built, immaculately dressed man as he came into the drawing room. He wouldn't have looked at all out of place on St. James's. His hair was blond, his face tanned and a bit too wrinkled for his age, doubtless from years spent in the Caribbean sun. It seemed as though his eyes, a clear pale blue, had been faded by that same sun just as his skin had been darkened. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. What was the man doing here? And his appearance was so very timely.
Introductions were made. Lyon didn't like the way the man looked at Diana, but when Bemis offered his hand to Lyon, he shook it.
"My lord," Bemis said, and Lyon nodded. Bemis turned. "Ah, Daniel, a lovely prize you've captured."
So Bemis knew Daniel, did he? From where? St. Thomas? Did Daniel look a bit embarrassed? Lyon wasn't certain. When Daniel responded, it was with his usual slow, kind voice. "Yes, indeed, Mr. Bemis. You do remember Patricia, do you not?"
"How could I not?" He took Patricia's hand and gallantly kissed her wrist. "The loveliest young lady in all of Charlotte Amalie." He turned his eyes to Diana, but was careful in his manner. "A long time, my lady," he said.
"Yes," Diana said. "A very long time."
Finally, Lucien cleared his throat and motioned Edward Bemis to be seated. "We are all here, Bemis, because we've had a tragedy. One of our slaves, a girl named Moira, was strangled last night."
"Good God!"
"By her lover," said Patricia.
"Who is this lover?" asked Bemis.
"A slave by the name of Bob," Deborah said swiftly.
"That isn't true, at least according to Charles," said Lyon slowly. "It is a mystery," he added, his eyes on Edward Bemis. The man looked mildly interested, nothing more. After all, Lyon thought, what was one black life to him? Had he really just arrived on Savarol Island?
"Why are you here, Bemis?" Lucien said.
"To meet with his lordship," said Edward politely. "There are decisions to be made, and since he is here, in the West Indies, I didn't feel it appropriate for me to make them."
"What decisions?" Lyon asked.
"I, ah, feel that we should discuss them in private, my lord." A rich dandy, Edward Bemis was thinking. A man who would soon return to his soft life in England and leave him in control. Excellent, just excellent. He couldn't have planned it better had he been able to.
Unfortunately, he soon discovered that he'd misjudged his man.
It was an hour later. Diana, Lyon, and Edward Bemis were seated on the veranda, sipping cool lemonade.
Edward said in a nicely balanced voice, between condescension and flattery, "Perhaps I could speak with his lordship for a bit, my lady?"
"If it is about Mendenhall plantation, my wife is very much involved," Lyon said shortly. "What is it?"
Bemis cleared his throat. He didn't like it, but after all, Diana Savarol was the daughter of a planter. "As you know, my lord, England outlawed the buying of slaves some years ago."
"Yes, I know."
"Well, in any case, it has made things difficult for planters, English planters. Labor, abundant labor, is necessary to grow sugar profitably. I have discovered that I can buy slaves for Mendenhall from the Portuguese. They took over England's role. It will cost us more, but ---"
"I see," Lyon said, cutting him off. "You wish me to authorize you to break the law?"
Edward Bemis flushed. "Well, if you wish to put it that way ---"
"Is it not the way it is?"
"Yes, that's the way it is," Diana said. "Why would you think that Lord Saint Leven would go along with this, Mr. Bemis?"
"Profit," said Bemis succinctly. "Your now-dead relative, Oliver Mendenhall, would have approved it, my lord. Indeed, he did purchase some dozen slaves several years ago from the Portuguese. Why, I remember after the Hodge affair, he was infuriated, he ---"
Diana turned to Lyon and said quietly, "Back some years ago, in 1807, I believe, a planter on Tortola by the name of Arthur Hodge of Estate Bellevue, was actually tried for murdering one of his slaves. I'll never forget the slave's name --- Prosper --- like a character from Shakespeare."
"Good God," said Lyon. "What had the man done?"
Diana's voice rose in fury. "He had the gall to eat a mango that had fallen from a tree he was supposed to watch. Hodge beat him to death."
Edward Bemis said sharply, "It was a miscarriage of justice! Just because the English were writhing in guilt about slavery, while knowing nothing about the West Indian economy ---"
"Hodge was hung, just behind the jail in Road Town," Diana said.
"The whole point was that even though the slave was the planter's property, he was still, first and foremost, a man."
"Yes," Bemis agreed. "Nonsense, of course. The black beggars aren't really human, they have no feelings, they ---"
"I daresay that Moira didn't at all like being strangled," Lyon said smoothly. He raised his hand to cut Bemis off. "I will not authorize you to break English law and purchase more slaves from the Portuguese. I will come to Tortola to Mendenhall plantation next week. I wish to evaluate the workings of the plantation here on Savarol first."
Edward Bemis could only stare at the Earl of Saint Leven. In his vast experience, greed ruled, and absentee English owners gave him free rein to do just as he pleased, just so long as they received money. He said slowly, "There are now only ninety-seven slaves on the plantation, my lord. Some of them are old and quite useless. The women have bred too many females. They work, indeed they do, but not as quickly as the men, nor do they have the endurance men have. Without new blood, the plantation will not be able to compete. You will lose your inheritance. Planters are losing vast sums every year now."
"It seems excessively wise not to abuse any slaves, doesn't it, Mr. Bemis?" Lyon rose from his wicker chair. "Will you be staying here at Savarol, Mr. Bemis?"
"If it is all right with Mr. Savarol, yes, I should like to. I have no wish to put you out, my lady, or Mrs. Savarol. I shall stay with Charles Swanson."
Lyon looked at him with surprise, studying him more closely. Unlike Charles Swanson, he didn't seem at all effeminate. His imagination was running amok. Perhaps they were simply friends. He said easily, "Have you known Mr. Swanson long?"
>
"Oh, yes, Charles and I go back a long way. He grew up in England, then came out to St. Thomas. I met him there some years ago. I spoke to Mr. Savarol when he was in Tortola seeking a new bookkeeper. Thus Charles came here." He shrugged, gave a charming smile to Diana, nodded to Lyon, and took his leave.
"He is not a nice man," Diana said.
"No," Lyon said slowly, "I don't believe that he is. But he is straightforward, isn't he?"
"What do you mean?"
But Lyon merely shook his head.
Still, even realizing that Edward Bemis wasn't a nice man, it came as quite a shock to Diana, returning from her Trysting Cave the following afternoon, to hear furious shouting. She drew up Tanis at the edge of a small clearing, in the shade of a mahogany tree. She saw Edward Bemis arguing with Charles Swanson. Anger flowed between the two men. Whatever was going on? Why were they behaving in such a manner?
She heard Bemis say quite clearly, "I heard, damn you! Do you think I'm deaf? Even though you live on this backwater island, I know!"
Charles Swanson said something Diana couldn't hear, but whatever he did say enraged Bemis.
"You ungrateful bastard!"
She saw Bemis strike Charles. The bookkeeper tumbled to the ground, holding his jaw. Bemis shook his fist at him, muttered something Diana couldn't hear, then stalked away, back toward the great house.
For an instant, she considered showing herself. No, she thought, no. Charles Swanson was getting up now. He looked fine. Very quietly, she guided her mare back into the trees.
23
What is the use of running when we are not on the right road?
—GERMAN PROVERB
Lucien Savarol was tired and irritated, though his face didn't show these emotions. His weariness was from a night without sleep, his irritation from the damnable mess that swirled around him, a mess he didn't understand, a mess that was affecting every soul on his island. He felt helpless and didn't know which way to turn. At the moment, he was seated across the chess table from Lyon, seemingly concentrating on his next move. They were alone in Lucien's study, a branch of candles their only light.
Lucien finally moved his king's knight to the king bishop five square.
Lyon looked up at him, cocking his head in question.
"I fear your knight is not in defensible position there, sir."
Lucien merely shook his head, his voice rueful. "Forgive me, my boy, I suppose my mind is too many thoughts away from our game. You play well."
"My father taught me. He was a fine player, much better than I." Lyon looked up at the painting of the first Mrs. Savarol. "Diana has the look of her. A very beautiful woman, sir."
"Yes, she was. Her name was Lily. There has not been a day in my life that I haven't missed her. She died birthing my son. He died as well. Had she been in London, attended by a physician there, she would have lived. When will you return to England, with Diana?"
Lyon said slowly, "Does Diana have her build, sir?"
"I don't know. I am not her husband. My Lily was narrow, and I should have known she would need special care. I was a fool and I am still paying for it. She, of course, paid the highest price for my stupidity."
Lyon remembered again the awful scare with Frances. Her English physician wouldn't have saved her. No, it was Lucia who would be present when Diana birthed their babe. "To the best of my knowledge Diana is not yet with child. I am truly sorry for what happened."
"Get Diana away from here."
"There is the question of Mendenhall plantation. You know that I have a difficult time with slavery. Frankly, I still do not know what to do. There is one thing certain, though: I do not trust Edward Bemis." Nor anyone else on this bloody island, he added silently.
Lucien shrugged. "He is much the same as the other attorneys in the West Indies. They're a special breed, Lyon. They start out as overseers, and if they're smart and cunning and their masters leave, they can become attorneys. They're a necessary evil, since owners do go back to England. I expect he was delighted at your inheritance --- an English earl who wouldn't have interest in the plantation save for its profits. But you have thrown him. He fully expected you to be like the other English owners, as I said, greedy and uncaring about anything save the profits he sends them."
"I have no need of income from Mendenhall."
"And you despise me, I suppose, because I own slaves? Have owned slaves all my life?"
Lyon said slowly, thoughtfully, "I did, before I met you, despite Diana's assurances that you were the kindest man she'd ever known, myself included. Now, I have seen that there is no abuse, no cruelty. But the fact remains, sir, they are property. Human beings shouldn't be property."
Lucien picked up his doomed king's knight, fingering the smooth white carved marble between his fingers. "Lily played chess very well, as does Diana. But that isn't the point." He sighed, dropping the chess piece onto the board. "I have lived all my life in the West Indies. Irrevocable change is coming. How soon, I don't know. If slavery is abolished next year, even five years from now, I am not certain that Savarol plantation will continue to exist. In that, Bemis is correct. Already, planters throughout the Caribbean are losing everything. The sugar market is steadily dropping every year. But you see, Lyon, slavery is still an economic necessity. When it is not, then slavery will cease by itself. I have searched for answers, but I cannot find them. Nothing is simple, I fear."
Lyon was silent. He studied his father-in-law in the dim candlelight. He realized quite clearly that he wouldn't want to be in Lucien Savarol's place. No, nothing was simple.
"That is the main reason I forced Diana to go to London."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I forced Diana to go to Lucia. I knew that eventually everything would fail here. I wanted her to marry an Englishman who would keep her safe and away from the West Indies. I would swear on my last breath that no slave revolt would ever occur here." He gave a pained smile. "Of course, I have been severely wrong of late in my judgments. You will have to decide what you will do with Mendenhall, Lyon."
"I know. It is difficult to concentrate with all the trouble we're having here."
"Yes." Lucien added in a calm voice, "Deborah appeared to hate Moira. Oh, yes, don't look so surprised, my boy. I heard about the screaming match and the riding crop you took from my wife. There is little that happens here that doesn't come to my ears. Did she strangle Moira? I really don't know. I pray, of course, that she did not. I pray she is not capable of such a thing, but how much does one know about another? Really know?"
I know now that I would trust Diana with my life. "You're tired, sir."
"Indeed I am. Shall I get rid of Bemis for you?"
"No," Lyon said slowly. "I should like to watch him a bit. He and Charles Swanson seem to be on bad terms. Diana told me she came upon them quite by accident this afternoon in the throes of a vicious argument. Evidently Bemis struck Swanson."
Tell him about Patricia and Grainger. But he couldn't. At least not yet. "Surprising, I should say, given their years of supposed friendship."
"Well, there is one thing I didn't know about. Perhaps there are others. One of the government men on Tortola recommended Charles Swanson to me. My former bookkeeper was an incompetent, cruel imbecile. He was here for but a short time. His predecessor died of old age, competent to his last day. To date, Swanson seems like a gift from heaven. A fight between him and Bemis? I suppose I am not surprised, not really." Lucien Savarol rose from his chair. "I grant you the game, Lyon. Now I'd best find my bed before I fall asleep like a senile old man on the stairs."
Lyon thoughtfully followed his father-in-law up the stairs, watched him enter his bedchamber, then slowly walked to his own. He set the branch on a table beside the armoire. There was no movement from the bed. He stripped off his clothes and slipped between the sheets.
Diana was naked. Had she fallen asleep waiting for him? It was an exceedingly pleasant thought. The night was warm. He slowly pulled the sheet down until it
pooled at her feet. She was sprawled on her back, her legs slightly parted, one arm flung over her head. She looked incredibly beautiful to him. He felt the now-familiar surge of desire for her, deep, swirling feelings that seemed to grow stronger by the day. He'd assumed those feelings were rooted in honest, straightforward lust, but he was beginning to wonder. The feelings were growing more and more powerful.
She mumbled something in her sleep.
The candlelight sent a soft glow over her body.
He slowly eased to the foot of the bed. He grasped her ankles and gently eased her legs up, bending them at the knees. He then spread her legs wide and stared down at her. The candlelight was soft and gentle, but he knew if it were the harshest light, he would still find her exquisite. He eased himself between her widespread legs. Lightly, he touched his fingers to her, reveling in her soft woman's flesh, the delicate pink flush of her.
She moaned something unintelligible and moved slightly. He held her legs firm until she quieted. "Diana," he said very softly, "I have never seen a woman as beautiful as you." He explored her, his fingertips light as a butterfly's wings, and when he felt the dampness, the building heat, his need was so great he thought he would surely lose control. But he continued stroking her, caressing her, tangling his fingers in the soft dark-blond hair. When he eased his finger inside her, he knew she was ready for him, her body responding fully without her mind's awareness. He smiled painfully at his enthusiastic member. No, he wanted first to bring her to pleasure, to watch her eyes as she came awake racked with the sensation he would give her. He leaned down, his mouth coming over her. She was hot, her woman's flesh swelled.
Her hips moved upward in his hands.
He eased his arms beneath her thighs and lifted her.
She moaned and thrashed her head from side to side.
His mouth was deep and hot.
Wake up, Diana, wake up and feel what is happening to you.