Theft of Life (28 page)

A regular ink-drinker indeed. ‘If you promise me you will take good care of it, Eustache, you may.’

Eustache thanked him with great solemnity then returned to his cubbyhole in the back office, and Francis gave his final instructions to Joshua.

Crowther’s attempts to think were cut short by the arrival of Mr Christopher. They shook hands.

‘I know I sent my best wishes with Mrs Westerman,’ Tobias said, making himself comfortable in the armchair, ‘but I am glad to see you myself.’

‘Guadeloupe is free?’

‘He is. Sally did well and looked the magistrate in the eye.’

‘From what Mrs Westerman told me, you and your daughter would have convinced any reasonable man.’

‘Ah, reasonable! A pure English word, I think. And now I have come here in all my courtroom finery to act as a messenger boy. Guadeloupe wishes you and Mrs Westerman to know, should you require his services, he can be found at my house.’ He smiled. ‘I hope you are grateful; to my knowledge it is the first time that boy has offered to be of help to anyone.’

Christopher’s hand brushed the snow-white of his cravat as he spoke and Crowther frowned. ‘Did you wear the mask frequently?’ he asked.

Christopher’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘I did.’ His hand lifted to his neck and Crowther’s eyes followed the movement.

‘You are scarred? Do I have your permission to examine your throat?’

Christopher was still for one moment, his eyes on Crowther. Finally he said: ‘Very well.’

‘Forgive me, Mr Christopher, my movements are still somewhat restricted. Might you come to me?’

Christopher stood and approached the sofa then crouched down in front of him. Crowther reached out and ran his finger over his skin just above the Adam’s apple. The African stayed absolutely still. Crowther nodded, and Christopher got to his feet and turned away.

‘Thank you, Mr Christopher. Will you take a glass of wine with me? There is a decanter and glasses on the sideboard there.’

Christopher did so in silence, and drained off his glass in a single swallow. ‘So what did my throat teach you, Mr Crowther?’

Crowther’s head had begun to ache again and there was a somewhat nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘You have a little scarring there. I imagine that however much you tried not to move when the mask was fastened, even the action of swallowing your own spit must have pressed your throat against the jagged edge of the plate which held the jaw shut. Many of Trimnell’s slaves must have had this mark, somewhere between a callus and a scar. Am I correct?’

‘You are.’

‘There is a similar marking on Trimnell’s own throat in much the same place. It had been puzzling me. Now it is explained. Do take another glass.’

Christopher returned to the decanter. ‘I shall.’ He poured his wine and sat down in the armchair again. ‘I do not wish to teach you your business, Mr Crowther, but such a mark would not appear in the time it takes to strike a man a few blows in the belly and deliver one whiplash across the back.’

His feeling of nausea was stronger. ‘No, it would not.’

‘You believe then that Trimnell wore that mask more than once?’ Tobias said slowly.

Crowther stared at the papers in front of him. ‘Yes – many times in all likelihood. And for extended periods.’

‘Good God. The man was mad,’ Christopher said and drained his glass again.

D
R DRAX GREETED HARRIET
with all proper civility and showed her into his consulting room. His monkey was chained to a stand behind his desk, designed so the little beast could have a fair amount of freedom to scamper, but in a carefully prescribed area. It clambered back onto its perch as Harriet came in, and stared at her.

‘Cleopatra, where are your manners?’ Drax said. The monkey stood up on its hind legs, sketched a bow, then hunkered back down again.

Harriet took the chair offered to her. ‘Your monkey does not like me, and has not been in town long enough to learn how to conceal the fact.’

The corner of Drax’s mouth twitched. ‘How may I serve you, Mrs Westerman? You appear to be in good health. Is it my medical opinion you seek?’

She looked up at him from under her eyelashes. ‘How did you make your money in Jamaica, Dr Drax? Did you trade sugar or people?’

He said nothing for some time, then opened his drawer and produced a walnut. The monkey uncurled itself and stared at it. Drax closed his fist over it and crushed it so the shell cracked, then lifted up his palm so the monkey could pick out the meat of the nut. Harriet did not flinch or look away, but kept the same polite smile on her face.

‘People, Mrs Westerman.’ He dusted the fragments of shell from his hands. ‘Many of the slaves arrive on the islands in a deplorable state. I bought all of those for whom I thought there was some hope, did my best to help them regain their health, and sold them.’

‘At great profit?’

‘At a reasonable profit. It seems you have become very curious about such matters of late, Mrs Westerman. I would advise you to listen to your friends and leave matters alone. The boy is in custody.’

‘No, Guadeloupe is to be released,’ she said gently. Drax turned and put up his hand. The monkey leaped onto his palm, then up onto his shoulder, its chain jingling. ‘Mr Crowther was set upon by a pair of thugs last night. We neither of us like bullies, Dr Drax, so we are all the more determined to find who ordered these assaults.’

She could not have sworn to it, but Harriet had the impression that both of these pieces of information were new to Drax. ‘Who did you tell about seeing Mr Trimnell trying to claim a mulatto girl as his daughter on Thursday?’

The man was rattled now. His shoulders tensed and the monkey scrabbled away from him back onto its perch. ‘Mrs Trimnell. Then Sawbridge and Sir Charles.’ He pointed his finger at her. ‘And
because
of what I saw, Sir Charles and I spent much of Friday night discussing how Trimnell might be safely and quietly put away in some home for the mentally incapable. The man was a danger to himself and others, borrowing money and giving it away. Preaching on street corners. We wished to help him, for his own good. Yes, even for the good of his bastard slave.’

Harriet stood very gracefully. ‘I am sure Miss Christopher would be grateful.’ Then with the scarcest nod, she left him.

Francis found the ring meant for him in Eliza’s jewel box when he returned from the bank. He remembered very clearly seeing her father wear it. A plain gold signet ring, with his initials
JS
marked on the metal. It had been too big for Eliza’s finger, but he would see her wear it from time to time on a chain around her neck. She liked to have it about her as she worked, she said. It felt then as if her father were there to advise her and guide her hand. He kissed it and slipped it onto his finger. It fitted perfectly, as if it had been made for him. From now on, he knew it would displace that battered volume of
Robinson Crusoe
as his own personal talisman. He was grateful for how much comfort it gave him, bringing Eliza close to him. He closed the box and set it aside, thinking.

Crowther listened to Harriet’s recital and told her about the scar on Mr Christopher’s neck. She felt her skin grow cold as he continued, thinking of that miserable room in Trimnell’s lodgings.

‘They were right to think of confining him, Mrs Westerman. I suspect he had contracted some sort of brain fever when he was ill. It would not be unlikely, given the condition his heart was in. The effects of an attack could give rise to the same manner of symptoms your husband suffered after he was knocked unconscious.’ Harriet thought of her husband as he had been when he came home. Full of strange passions and rages. She thought of Mrs Trimnell and the rooms on Cheapside. No wonder the woman had tried to escape, by whatever means she had open to her. Harriet began to feel she had been unjust.

‘She was trapped in a marriage to that man,’ she said. ‘It must have been hell.’

The weeks before and after her husband’s death had been the most difficult in Harriet’s life. She thought of that time again and of her life now. For a moment she could not even recall why she had been irritated by Rachel’s match-making attempts, or hurt at the criticisms made of the way she managed the estate James had left her. Remembering what had passed, her present seemed suddenly so easy and pleasant she could not understand why she had ever felt anything other than profound gratitude.

She decided at that moment that she would politely refuse Mr Babington, engage a steward and then live as she wished. Remembering that clinging and complete darkness of those tragic months in her life made the present light by comparison. She thought of William and Mr Christopher.

‘What are you thinking of, Harriet? You seemed dangerously miserable and now I think you are smiling.’

She turned towards him. ‘You know I will never marry again, don’t you, Gabriel? I cannot be subject to others. I cannot be bound. I loved James, but I cannot belong to someone else again. The risk is too great now I have had a little freedom. Does that make me an unnatural female?’

‘Possibly,’ he said after a long silence. ‘I do not think I have known enough females to be able to judge, my dear.’

She stood, the urge to move too great again. ‘It seems to me there are a great number of people who might wish to see Trimnell punished, but I cannot choose between them. What should we do, Crowther? Retreat? Return to Sussex and learn to be humble?’

‘That might be wise. But I was thinking of sending for Molloy.’

‘An excellent idea. How are your injuries, Crowther?’

‘Tolerably painful. Mrs Westerman, a package arrived for you from Caveley. It is waiting for you in your sitting room.’

The package was on Harriet’s desk as promised, neatly tied. She took her seat in front of it with a heavy heart before she noticed there was a folded sheet placed on top of the parcel, but not tied up with it. She lifted it carefully, for the paper seemed worn, and unfolded it. Her eyes stung. The form of words was familiar from the manumission certificate Tobias Christopher had shown them.

Know ye, that I, Captain James Frederick Westerman, for and in consideration of the sum of sixty pounds current money of this island to me paid in hand and to the intent that a negro man-slave, William Geddings, shall and may become free, have manumitted, emancipated, enfranchised, and set free, and by these presents do manumit, emancipate, enfranchise, and set free the aforesaid negro man-slave William Geddings forever; hereby giving, granting and releasing unto him, the said William Geddings, all right, title, dominion, sovereignty and property which as lord and master over the aforesaid William Geddings I have had, or which I now have.

And there at the end was the familiar and loved signature followed by the seal of the registrar in Kingston. She held the paper with great delicacy, then set it down as she started to feel the tears running down her face. She had so hoped that she would prove James innocent of ever having had a hand in the trade, but here was his own signature to condemn him.

After a few minutes she rang the bell, and it was answered by William himself. She handed the paper back to him and noted the particular care with which he took it from her and tucked it back into his coat pocket.

‘I do not think I have to open the package from Caveley, after all,’ she said. ‘Why did you not show it to me at once?’

He hesitated. ‘It costs me some pain to put it into the hands of any other person, Mrs Westerman. I was not sure at first what you might do on seeing it.’

She smiled very sadly. ‘Did you fear I might rip it up, have you kidnapped and sent back to Jamaica, William?’

‘No, madam. I cannot say quite what I thought. On reflection, I was sure Dido would prevent you from sending me away in chains.’ Harriet tried to smile, but did not quite manage it. ‘Mrs Westerman, I saw that the news came hard to you. I know it troubles you still, but let me say this. For all the Captain bought me, he was the nearest thing I knew to a friend among white men at that time. He was a good commander, and he had my loyalty and friendship before and after he returned me my freedom.’

‘You are generous,’ she said, almost too quietly for him to hear.

‘And I like my place,’ he added robustly. ‘I have grown used to Caveley and the people about me.’

‘I hope I shall never give you reason to leave us, William,’ Harriet said as she stood up and put out her hand. He shook it, then as if to make clear the moment was done with, bowed and withdrew from the room. Harriet wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to picture her husband buying William. Agreeing a price. The image was so foreign and sore to her it was like picturing him in the arms of another woman. She went in search of Mrs Service and found her with her mending basket by the fire in the Blue Salon.

‘Mrs Service, did Jonathan inherit any slaves with his grandfather’s fortune?’

She continued her sewing at an even pace. ‘Yes, dear. Quite a number and an estate on St Isaac’s.’

Harriet watched her as she worked; there was something soothing about the motion of her needle. ‘And what did you do?’

Mrs Service sighed and cut her thread. ‘It was a terrible fuss. Graves was worried that he could not in conscience sell, but keeping the place ate at him. In the end they managed to set free the slaves and make proper provision for them, then sell the land. His father-in-law, dear Mr Chase, was most helpful. He has some contacts in the West Indies but there was a great deal of unpleasantness, nevertheless. Letters mostly, and a number of paragraphs in the newspapers saying Graves was proving beyond doubt he was unfit to run the estate.’ She held her work up to the light and gave a small nod of satisfaction. ‘Some of the second cousins got terribly worked up, but Clode was able to prove that Graves was handling the business quite responsibly. Then the Duke of Devonshire took him riding in the park once or twice. That helped, though Graves felt an idiot being stared at. It also helped us that Jonathan’s father had often told his friends and neighbours about how he hated slavery. He held a little dance at the shop when Somersett was released in seventy-two.’ She looked into the distance. ‘Such a pleasant evening that was. Susan just born and her poor parents so happy. Joseph Codrington played a horn concerto. A fine player.’