Mistress of Darkness Page 12

  'She was eloping, like,' said the first man to his companion. 'Now what do you think, Jemmy, lad. She'll be no unpicked flower, not her.'

  'Barton said not to harm her,' Jem muttered.

  'Hold your tongue, you rascal,' the older man growled. 'No names. That were understood. As for the girl, one rod counts much like another, after the first. If we was to untie her legs we could take turn and turn alike, all the way to Bristol. Christ, I feel it coming over me.'

  Oh, God, she thought; the fear pain in her chest threatened to choke her. Barton. Barton. The name meant nothing to her. But it had to be remembered. 'Please,' she said again. 'You must know the Hiltons. If they'll reward you for taking me back, be sure they'll punish you for kidnapping me. You can't go against the Hiltons. Please.'

  Her voice cracked with fear, and for a moment she thought she might have made some progress. The older man continued to gaze at her for a while. Then he sighed.

  'Maybe you're right, Jem. He did say we wasn't to touch the darling. But it's a shame. Now you listen, nigger girl. He didn't say nothing about not having to a stick to your arse if you caused trouble. You'll be getting that soon enough, anyway. We've a long way to go. So you just lie there and keep quiet, or I'll give you something to bawl about.'

  Relief seemed to shroud her entire body, and for a little while clouded her brain. She lay against the side of the wagon, bumping and rattling to every hole in the road, her teeth chattering together while her mouth remained filled with the taste of her captor's saliva and the spilled wine settled into a soggy mess on her bodice. In time she fell over, and bumped her head on the boards, but this was more comfortable than sitting up, and she made no effort to move. The night settled into a long misery, nor was the day greatly better. The wagon stopped once, apparently for a change of horses; the boy, Jem, for he Was hardly older than she, came into the wagon and sat by her side, a knife in his hand, while the ostlers moved around them. She wondered if he would stab her should she call out, but she was too tired and numb with pain and utterly miserable to consider attempting it.

  So then, she thought, you are nothing more than a coward. Oh, God, she thought, what can I do? But Matt... surely he will have recovered by now. They might have risked assaulting him, but they would never risk kidnapping a Hilton. Then they might have killed him. But to murder a Hilton ... why, Robert would track them down if it took him the rest of his life. No, no, Matt had been rendered no more than unconscious. Then he would have regained consciousness by now, and already be mounting a search. No doubt horses were pounding down the road behind them, driven onward by the Hilton energy and the Hilton wealth. A horse could travel several times as fast as this old wagon. They'd be overtaken at any moment, and he would hold her in his arms.

  Oh, God, by now she should have been lying in his arms. Had she really thought what that would mean? How could she, when she had no idea. It had all happened too quickly for understanding or for thought. She had known only that here was a man who would end her fears and sweep her into a future of prosperity and safety and even, perhaps position. So she plunged selfishly and blindly and excitedly forward, not even knowing, or caring, whether or not she loved him. No doubt she was being punished for that presumption.

  But he loved her. No one could be that consummate an actor. He loved her, and he would follow and find her, no matter what happened. There was the only important fact at this moment.

  Perhaps she even slept. The wagon was moving again, with endless discomfort. It was still daylight, and her tormentor was shaking her into wakefulness, pouring more red wine down her throat to make her head spin, and feeding her lumps of cheese and scraps of bread. She was so hungry that even this stale food tasted delicious, but digestion was difficult. All the time she chewed he sat and stared at her, and at last his desire proved too much for him and he raised her skirts, tugging them up to her knees and beyond to gaze at her legs, while she tried to hold her breath and the half-masticated food turned to lead in her throat.

  But he did no more than shake his head, and return to his seat by the driver. He wanted, but he was afraid to touch her. Because of the Hiltons? There could be no one else. She swallowed the last of the food and felt a little confidence returning. They were afraid of what they were doing, and she must keep them afraid.

  But soon nature interfered with her courage, and she was forced to beg them to stop the wagon and allow her down. 'God save us from a weak-bladdered whore,' growled her captor, but he was delighted, and slapped Jem on the shoulder. The boy untied the rope holding her legs together, and they jerked her towards the back of the wagon. Now to her horror she found that she could not support herself; thrust through the flap at the rear, she sank to her knees. Nor would they assist her again, but stood on either side of her, laughing and making coarse comments.

  How strange, she thought, that this time yesterday I would have preferred to die rather than relieve myself in front of two strange men. But this time yesterday the idea that I would ever spend twenty-four hours bound and gagged in the back of a dirty wagon would also have been inconceivable.

  Yet the unfortunate interlude brought with it one blessing; they did not bother to retie her ankles, and she even managed to get some feeling back into her toes by the time they rumbled into another town, just at dusk. But now they returned with ropes and even the gag.

  'Please,' she begged. ‘I won't cry out. I am likely to suffocate.'

  'Then you'd best breathe quietly,' suggested her captor, and to make matters worse a hood was dropped over her head, imprisoning her in a darkness even more noisome than the interior of the wagon.

  'Now you'll walk,' the voice said, and she was once again thrust over the side of the vehicle. But there could be no doubt that she was by the sea; even through the foul-smelling sackcloth she gained a wisp of the salt air, and the October wind was fresh enough to cut into her crumpled cloak and chill her flesh.

  She stumbled forward, tripping over the uneven cobbles, but unable to fall as the men each held one of her arms. One of her shoes fell off, but she could make no sound and her captors either were unaware of what had happened or were not prepared to go back for it. Within a moment she had stepped in a puddle and her stockings were wet through. Yet she could neither weep nor give way to her growing terror; she was too busy keeping her breathing as even as possible and endeavouring not to swallow any of the wool.

  Her bare foot touched wood, set at an angle from the ground, and she was forced upwards. Now she heard other voices, booming down from above her. 'By Christ, Tom Malley, what have you there?'

  'A passenger for you, Captain,' said a voice she recognized as the elder of her captors, the man holding her right arm. 'And I'll thank you not to use my name again in her hearing.'

  'A passenger, you say? Are you daft, man?'

  Gislane's feet struck the gunwale, and she half fell; in the same moment her arms were released, and she found herself on her hands and knees, while the wind still played about her head and the wood she knelt on moved, and she gathered that she was on a ship.

  'Up, nigger girl,' Malley said, kicking her in the thigh and gripping her arm again. 'We'll go below, Mr. Runner, and I'll explain our business.'

  'Nigger girl?' inquired Captain Runner. 'By Christ, Thomas, indeed you'll explain your business.'

  Gislane was thrust forward and again tripped over a lip of wood; but now to her horror as she fell forward she felt herself flying through the air, to strike the deck, obviously of a cabin some five feet below where she had tripped, with a jolt which knocked all the breath from her body. But immediately there were hands tearing at her hair; no doubt it had occurred even to Malley that she might well suffocate after her fall.

  The hood was pulled off and the wool taken from her mouth, and now her wrists were released as well, although so far had all feeling receded from her numbed arms that save for their weight they might have been amputated at the shoulder. She gasped for breath and moaned with pain as she opened her eyes, bli
nking at the smoky light which seeped from a swaying lantern which hung above the plain wooden table. On either side of the table there were bunks, on which waited uncovered mattresses, and there was a third bunk beneath the grimy stern windows, but that apart, the cabin was bare of furniture or comfort, and the men standing around her were all stooping, so low was the ceiling.

  'By Christ,' said Captain Runner. 'What's this?'

  Gislane turned her head, and discovered a remarkably thin man, not tall, but seeming so because of his narrow shoulders and slender thighs. His face was a match to his body, his nose long and protruding, as were his yellow teeth, while his mouth was so small it seemed hardly more than an afterthought. He possessed little chin and less forehead, concealed as the latter was beneath a cloud of lanky red hair. His eyes were surprisingly lively, however, although she wondered if it was she causing this effect. After nearly two days in the company of Tom Malley, she was almost relieved; he did not look a particularly evil man.

  'She's to while away the weary hours on watch,' Malley said grinning.

  'Now there's a treat.' Runner stooped beside her, smoothed hair from her face. 'You know I'm bound for the Guinea coast, first. She'll likely not survive.'

  'You'd best be sure she does,' Malley said. 'She's for Nevis, and Hodges.'

  Runner continued to peer at her. 'Indenture?'

  'God's blood,' Malley said. 'You deal in niggers and can't recognize one? She's got tar in her veins, Harry lad. She's a runaway.'

  'By Christ,' Runner said. 'Hodges, you say. He's expecting her?'

  'He'll be glad enough to get her, wouldn't you say, Harry?' Malley asked. 'But just in case he ain't, here's her passage money.' He dug into the recesses of his coat and brought out a canvas bag, which jingled in a suitably interesting fashion. 'She's a runaway, name of Gislane. You tell him that, and he'll likely add another bag of coins.'

  'By Christ,' Runner said. ‘You must want the girl out of England something terrible, Thomas. What do you think, Penny?'

  This question was addressed to the fourth man in the crowded cabin, a burly fellow with a short black beard, and with clothes which stank even at a distance. He wore a woollen cap on his head, and chewed tobacco with stained teeth. His features, like the rest of him, were large and rounded, dominated by a purple nose, but his eyes, in strong contrast, were small, and darted from place to place like imprisoned humming birds. 'I think we should do old Tom his favour, skipper,' he said. 'As he says, it can be mighty tedious working down the Guinea coast.'

  Oh, God, Gislane thought. Oh God. This cannot be happening. Please God, let me awake

  'So it's done then.' Malley said. 'We'll be off. Now mind, my principal wants the girl taken home, boys. We'd not have a murder on our hands.' He grinned at them.

  'Oh, aye,' Runner agreed. 'To murder this creature would be a total waste. But she's a slave, you say? There's no doubt about that?'

  Malley still grinned. 'I'll wager if you look, Captain, you'll find her mark. I'll wish you a happy voyage.' He jerked his head at the boy, Jem, and they climbed the companion ladder.

  Captain Runner sat down at the table, immediately above Gislane's head. 'You'll close that hatch, Penny. We've an hour before the tide is right, wouldn't you say?'

  'Aye.' Penny closed the door, then turned and also regarded her, leaning against the steps.

  But at last some feeling was returning to her arms, accompanied by a most painful attack of pins and needles, which but encouraged her to be more desperate in her appeal. She got to her knees. 'Please,' she said. 'Listen to me.

  ‘I am betrothed to be married, to Matthew Hilton. You'll have heard the name, Captain Runner, if you trade with the Indies. He is the heir to the Hilton estates. I'm to marry him. I was to many him tonight. Listen to me, Captain. Take me back to him and I'll see you are rewarded. I'll see you get a new ship, Captain. Please.'

  Runner smiled at her. 'I'm not a hard man, nigger girl. I'll not confine you for the whole voyage. You'll work for us. You can cook for us and keep the place clean, like. What do you think of that, Penny?'

  'Brilliant Captain,' Penny said. 'It'll be a voyage to remember.'

  'It will be that. See the door by the companion, girl? That's your galley. There's a bunk in there too. Just made for a chit like you. We had a boy, but he died. There's a pity, but he wasn't half so pretty as you.' He leaned forward and stroked her hair again. 'Not half so pretty.'

  'Please,' she begged. 'The Hiltons are looking for me. They cannot be more than a couple of hours behind me now. If they think you refused to help me, they'll ... they are terrible people.'

  'Oh, they are that,' Captain Runner agreed, nodding his head most solemnly. 'But they'll not come here, girl. Now, when you are not cooking or cleaning for us, or darning for us, too, by God, you'll keep us company. You understand me?'

  'Starting now,' Penny said. 'As we've an hour to kill.'

  She stared at him, unable to believe herself that she was actually kneeling on the floor of a slaver, about to be raped.

  'Aye,' Runner said. 'But you'll not forget who's captain of this ship.'

  Fear, despair, welled up into Gislane's chest, now accompanied by an emotion she had never really experienced before, anger. For the first time in her life, that she could remember, she actually wanted to hurt another human being. She wanted to slap and scratch and bite and kick, the nameless man who had caused this to happen, Malley and his friend Jem, and now these two leering faces in front of her. She wanted to hurt them so badly that they would kill her in their rage.

  She scrambled to her feet and swung her right hand. Captain Runner caught her wrist without difficulty, an expression of mild surprise crossing his features. She struck at him with her left hand, and this too was caught, so she attempted to get her foot up to kick him. but was hampered by her gown.

  'By Christ,' Runner cried. 'But she's got spirit after all. You'll help me, Penny.'

  The air was so still it seemed the entire universe was holding its breath. Not a leaf stirred in the endless forest which clustered down to the very water's edge, fading imperceptibly from tall sunlight seeking trees into mangrove swamp and courida bush, the whole shrouded in an impenetrable green and brown miasma which did not even end at the white sand of the narrow beach, above which the heat shimmered like a gauze netting. The Antelope rode to her anchor as if she were planted in a pale green field; her sails loosely furled, hung from her yards, and on her deck the tar melted in the seams, so that wherever a seaman walked he left dirty black marks behind him, while the wood itself was hot to the touch.

  Yet Gislane Nicholson, leaning on the gunwale and staring at the distant shore, listening to the silence which was so clear she could hear the faint 'crack' of a falling: rotted tree trunk, was barefoot. She was, in fact, naked save for her shift, and that garment was torn in several places. It was really too hot for clothes at all; the crew wore hardly more than drawers, and they had shaved their heads and tied them up in brightly coloured kerchiefs as they lounged on the foredeck. She retained her shift, because it was part of her plan for retaining sanity. Shoes were a waste of time, even supposing she possessed more than one. Her stockings had long melted into nothing. Her petticoats and her gown she kept, attempting to preserve them from the prevailing filth, the constant sweat which soon rendered any garment stiff as a board and noisome as a side of badly dried beef. Her shift was like that, but then, it hardly smelt any higher than her body. She combed her hair with her fingers, idly, but that too had not come into contact with fresh water, except when it rained, since leaving England; it clung in a greasy mass which lay heavily on her neck and shoulders. But it would certainly rain today. She had come to count on it, and would strip off her shift and run on deck to stand beneath the teeming, soup-warm drops, feeling them sting her face and body, thud on to her head, suggest a cleanliness she could no longer clearly remember, before the clouds swept away and without hesitation the sweat started again.

  The crew enjoyed the rain
as much as she; they gathered by the mast to watch her antics. As if they mattered. And of course they dared not touch her, for she belonged to the mate and the captain.

  Belonged, she thought, was an inadequate description of her situation. Sometimes she fancied she was part of them. They had now been out of Bristol nearly two months, and in all that time she had been granted but six days of rest from their questing fingers, their hungry lips, their demanding tools. Nor had her respite been anything to do with menstrual bleeding; it had been during the storm which had all but sunk them soon after they had left the Spanish coast. For a whole week the wind had howled and the brig had run before it, at first under storm canvas, but when that had been ripped to shreds, under bare poles. For six long days the crew-had worked the pumps and taken turns, three at a time, on the helm. In their fortitude, their energy, their courage, they had been almost admirable, even as Runner himself had been almost admirable in the way, when the wind finally abated and left them tossing on an empty foam-filled ocean, he had produced his sextant and decided where they were, and judging by the manner in which they had made their landfall, had been right.

  And for six long days she had been allowed to lie in her bunk, alone and untroubled. She had gazed at the deckheads as she had rolled from side to side, and listened to the waves slashing at the hull only inches from her ear, and to the heavy pounding of the greybeards coming on board, and she had laughed. Because when the ship sank, they would all go down together.

  This was perverse of her, because she did not really want to die. In the beginning, whenever she had gone on deck, they had tied a rope round her waist in case she would throw herself over the side. Now they no longer bothered, although now, in fact, she would gladly have gone over the side, had she known how to swim, just to get cool. But they had lain in this bay for four days, filling their water casks, obtaining fresh meat, and waiting, for the Prince, and there was not a moment when a dark fin was not in sight.