Trade Wind (96 page)

“You mean he’s—the Colonel is going to let him get away? But why, Batty? I thought…It doesn’t matter. Are you going with him?”

“‘Oo else? Yes, it’s goodbye t’Zanzibar for Batty Potter. I’ll miss the old place. But after what we seen ‘ere lately I can’t say as I’ll be so sorry to leave. Not with Amrah gone. Though it’s going to be ‘ard to leave the ‘Ajji and the rest of ‘em—crool ‘ard. Ah well, that’s life, miss. ‘Ere today and gone tomorrow!’ You’ll be going ‘ome yourself, I fancy. If you wouldn’t mind gettin’ up off that ditty box, Jumah and me’ll be getting these ‘ere duds stowed. Thank you, miss.”

He stumped off down the verandah and Hero went slowly to her room and found Olivia there, also engaged in packing.

“Oh, there you are. Hero. Is this yours, or is it one Thérèse left behind? No, it’s Milly’s—I remember I borrowed it We have to leave, dear. George had another letter from the Cape this morning, and it seems that the
Cormorant
—”

“Yes,” said Hero. “I know. Batty told me.’ She sat down numbly on the bed and stared at Olivia, making no attempt to help her: “He says they are going to leave before the
Cormorant
gets here. That Colonel Edwards told them to go and that nothing would be…I don’t understand, Livvy. Why is George doing this?”

“Well it was really something that the Sultan said. Of course George says it is not an argument that would carry any weight in a court of law, but he thinks that there is enough on the credit side to make it balance—because he’s been going over Dan’s records and the official returns and things like that, and he says it adds up to quite an impressive total. In lives, I mean.”

“What lives? I don’t Oh, you mean the children?”

“Well, I didn’t, but now I come to think of it I suppose they would count too. No, George meant the slaves.”

“What slaves? What are you talking about, Olivia?”

“Captain Frost, of course. George said that he had no intention of going back on his word and meant to see that Rory Frost was taken away on the
Cormorant
—for of course he’d still have been here, because it seems that he once gave his word to George that he wouldn’t escape, and you know what men are. Too ridiculous! But then the other day the Sultan said something rather odd; about other slavers doing better once he’s gone even if the Navy didn’t, and when George asked him what he meant, he told him the whole story, and that’s how George found out.”

“Found out
what
?”

“That it was Rory Frost who was responsible. George says that a great many of the really bad slave ships that the
Daffodil
caught—the ones George calls ‘Hell ships’—were only caught because someone told on them. Where they were sailing from, and when, and things like that—so that Dan would know where to wait for them and be there at the right time and everything. So you see…”

“You mean—you mean that Rory told Dan?”

“Goodness, no! He only saw to it that he knew. Dan hadn’t any idea who was behind it, and I don’t think Captain Frost was at all pleased at being found out. In fact he was positively rude! He pretended not to know what George was talking about when he asked him straight out why he’d done it, but George had questioned Ralub and Mr Potter too, and they’d told the same story as Majid, so in the end he said any fool ought to know the answer to that: it was a plain matter of business, since it got rid of his rivals and improved his own prices. George became excessively cross and told him not to talk fustian, so then he laughed and said he had to admit it was only craven superstition. You don’t happen to know where I put my straw bonnet, do you Hero? The one with the bunches of daisies on it?”

“No, I don’t. What did he mean by ‘craven superstition’?”

“I quite thought I’d put it—Yes, here it is! Oh, he said he ‘made it a practice to keep something on the credit side of the ledger, so that he’d have a sop to throw to his conscience in the unlikely event of its ever giving him any trouble’; and besides, he didn’t like pointless brutality or brutal fools. Something like that. But George says that whatever his reasons were, the fact remains that he must have been responsible for freeing at
least
forty or fifty negroes—and probably far more!—for every one he sold himself, so that the balance is really in his favour. Which one can quite see—though Captain Frost said there was a flaw in that logic that was wide enough to sail the
Great Eastern
through. I can’t think what he meant, but George said he was well aware of it and he still felt justified in doing his own arithmetic. And he says he can make it all right with the authorities, which I own is a great relief. I could not have borne to think that it was George who had done it—after all that has happened. Had him hanged, I mean—if he mas hanged. And on our honeymoon, too! Well, I mean, a person one has come to like and have confidence in…It would have been too dreadful.”

“So—they are going,” said Hero numbly.

“Yes. I suppose they’ll hate leaving this house; and Zanzibar. Though I should think that the others will all be able to come back one day: his crew, I mean. But George says that Rory Frost will have to keep away and that he’ll be all right as long as he does, and that he’s really very lucky. They’re going to leave on the
Virago
tomorrow morning, so I said that you and I would stay here tonight and help with the packing. Men are never any good at it: they just throw things in and sit on the lid. And as they won’t be coming back, or not for years, there will be a great deal to do. It’s a pity they haven’t got a little more time, but George says that if the
Cormorant
…Here’s
another
of Milly’s petticoats! We’d better make a separate parcel. Will you be going back to your uncle’s house now?”

She had to repeat the question twice, for Hero did not seem to have heard it.

“What? Oh—oh, yes. He says I may go back whenever I wish.”

“Then you’ve made it up! Oh, Hero darling I’m
so
glad for you. And what about Clayton? You are going to marry him after all?”

“No. We decided that it would be better not to. I think he was relieved. I guess I’m not really his kind of woman, and he—he isn’t my kind of man.”

“Why not? I should have thought…Well, perhaps not No, I see what you mean.”

Olivia sighed, frowned, and presently said hopefully: “Oh well, you are sure to find the right one some day. Like I have.”

Rory, having visited Majid, had been down to the harbour, and returning some hours later to The Dolphins’ House he found Hero in the long upper room, kneeling on the floor to help Ifabi pack one of the carved camphor-wood chests.

She had not heard him, because the white cockatoo was flapping its wings and screeching and Ifabi was chattering, and he stood in die doorway for a moment, watching her and wishing that he was not so acutely aware of being in love with her and that it was possible to make some other decision than the one his emotions were forcing upon him.

Half an hour ago the matter had been cruelly simple, for there had been nothing to decide. But a brief conversation on the waterfront had changed all that, and walking back from the harbour he had fought a battle with himself, and lost it This was defeat; and if he needed proof, he had it, for although he had made no sound. Hero’s head jerked round almost instantly, and he knew that she had been aware of his presence as surely as he too would always be aware of hers.

For a long moment that had no measure in time they looked at each other, steadily and with something that was almost hostility. Then Rory said abruptly: “I’ve had a boat sent round to the water-steps at the bottom of the garden. Will you come out with me for an hour or so? There is something I want to show you, and this seems about the last chance I shall get.”

He came into the room and held out a hand to help her to her feet as though he were confident that she would not refuse, and Hero looked at it without making any attempt to take it or to disguise her reluctance to do so.

“What’s the matter? Are you afraid?” gibed Rory. “You needn’t be; Batty’s coming with us. And if you insist, we’ll take Olivia. Though I’d far rather not, for she tells me she’s a poor sailor and there’s a reasonable breeze blowing.”

Why not? thought Hero. This time tomorrow he would be gone. It would all be over and ended. The Dolphins’ House would be empty and Batty too would have gone—and Ralub and Jumah and Hadir and the
Virago
—sailing out into the wide blue wastes of the Indian Ocean and out of her life for ever. There was no reason why she should not go. It would be the last time…”

She would not take his proffered hand because she was afraid of touching him, but she rose and said composedly: “There is no need to trouble Olivia. If you will wait a moment, I will get a hat.”

It was mid-afternoon and the sun glittered blindingly on the dancing sea, sending nets of gold shivering down through the glass-clear water to entangle the fish and the branching coral. The wind that shrilled through the sheets and sang in the taut canvas no longer smelt of corruption, and Hero screwed up her eyes against the sun-glare and the flying spray and was silent.

She had not needed to ask where they were going, for once past the harbour, she knew. They were going to
Kivulimi
; though she did not know why Rory should wish her to see it again, unless it was to remind her of something he must know very well she would not forget He had told her that himself—“It’s nice to know that you are unlikely to forget me.’ Tomorrow he would be gone; and however long she lived and however hard she tried, she would not be able to forget him.

The tall, misshapen rocks of wind-worn coral came slowly into view, and beyond them the sheltered beach that she had first seen by starlight without knowing that this was her first sight of Zanzibar. The sun was lower now, and already there was an evening quality in the warm glow that shone on the ancient fortress wall and the tall Arab house that rose up behind it among a green foam of trees.

Behind them in the city, and in villages scattered all over the island, more than twenty thousand people had died since she had last been here. But looking at The House of Shade it was difficult to remember that, for here time appeared to have stood still. The garden was green and cool and smelled sweetly of jasmine and late roses, and once again there were pigeons cooing among the shadows. It was the same as the first time she had seen it—and the last.

Rory did not take her up to the house. He sent Batty there to speak to Daud, and led her instead along the narrow path that lay parallel to the outer wall, stopping in front of one of the stone cells that were half concealed by curtains of bougainvillæa, trumpet-flower and morning glory. He lifted aside the trails of creeper so that Hero could go in, and she obeyed him reluctantly. Mystified and a little apprehensive.

The place smelt of damp earth and mildew, and the light that filtered through the hanging curtain of leaves was green and aqueous. She felt the skin prickle on her arms and the back of her neck and was suddenly conscious of an acute feeling of disquiet: an animal awareness of evil, as though there was something dangerous lurking in the dimness of the small stone cell that she could sense but not see.

A lizard scuttled away across a drift of fallen leaves and she drew back with a sharp intake of breath, and saw for the first time that the thing Rory carried was not a stick but a short iron crowbar. She heard it clink against the stone, and said uncertainly: “Why have you brought me here? What is it you want me to see?”

“This,” said Rory briefly, thrusting the sharpened iron into a crack that he must have known was there, since he could not have seen it under the dust and the leaf mould. The stone came out with surprising ease and he laid the crowbar aside and took a candle and a box of matches out of his pocket.

The small flame leapt and wavered in the draught, striking sparks from the gleaming pile of yellow metal, and Hero forgot her fear of spiders and scorpions, and kneeling on the dank stone, touched the cold ingots with incredulous fingers.

“What is it?”

“Gold,” said Rory.

“But…but…It must be worth a fortune! How did it get here? Did you find it?”

“In a way,” said Rory laconically.

He blew out the candle and returned it to his pocket, and taking Hero’s arm lifted her to her feet and led her back into the sunlight:

“It belonged to Majid’s father—” began Rory. And told her the tale of Sultan Saïd’s hidden treasure and of how he had come by the gold.

He made no excuses and softened no details, and Hero listened and winced; watching his face as he told it and glancing from time to time at the crimson veil of bougainvillæa, as though it hid not only a fortune but the wrinkled, malevolent face of the witchdoctor from Pemba who had died because of it, and cursed it in dying.

“That’s all,” said Rory at last.

Hero shivered and said in a low voice: “Why did you tell me that?”

“I thought you ought to know.”

“Why? Why did you want me to see it?”

“You once told Batty that someone had said that you’d one day have a great fortune in gold. Well, there it is, if you want it. Shall we take it or leave it? We haven’t got much time in which to decide.”

“We?” said Hero.

“Who else? You didn’t think I’d leave you behind, did you?”

The sun slid down below the level of the outer wall and die garden was suddenly in shadow; and it was no longer afternoon but evening. The wind was blowing less strongly now and would die with the twilight, and already the birds were coming home to roost. Soon it would be night…

There will be a moon tonight
, thought Hero. The garden would be white with moonlight, as it had been on that other night. And on hundreds of other nights to come. Fireflies in the shadows and the scent of strange flowers; the sound of surf on a coral beach. ‘
Teach me to hear mermaids singing
’…She was not thinking clearly. She must say something. She must tell him at once that it was impossible and that she had no intention of going with him. That it was an insult and an impertinence to even suggest such a thing. That oil and water…