Читать книгу A Respectable Trade - Philippa Gregory - Страница 12

‘We have to rise,’ Josiah said to Sarah, Stephen Waring’s note in his hand. ‘We have to move in the circles where capital is available. The little men are growing wary of risk and the bigger men want only large investments. You are right, the Trade is in a temporary decline. It will boom again – we have seen it come and go – and we have to ride out these doldrums. There are great chances in this city if we can but grasp them. We have to move in the circles of those that know.’

Sarah was pale with anxiety. ‘We had only three partners for Rose,’ she said. ‘And she will not be home until late next year. Daisy will not be in until this December. We cannot overextend ourselves, Josiah. Mr Waring’s price is far too high for that house. We are carrying too great a risk on the Rose, and too much of our capital is tied up in her. We cannot buy a new house as well.’

‘Then we must borrow,’ Josiah said determinedly. ‘Another house might not come vacant for months, even years. You know how sought-after that address is, Sarah. I have been waiting for a house for nearly a year. We have to buy it now, we dare not wait. We have to borrow.’

Sarah shook her head. She feared debt more than anything in the world. ‘Is there nothing left from her dowry?’ She nodded to the room above the parlour where Frances was lying down, sick with a headache, her curtains drawn against the noise of the streets near her window and the smell from the middens in the backyards.

‘No, it was all invested in Daisy.’

‘Please God that she comes in safe with them and we see a profit.’

Josiah bowed his head. ‘Please God,’ he said.

The Vessle Daisy, at St Kitts.

15th August 1788

Dear Mr Cole,

I send this Letter to you by the Bristol ship Adventure which is leaving Port tomorrow, to Announce that I have arrived Safely in St Kitts, Praise God.

Tomorrow I shall arrange for the Sale of the majority of the Slaves who are generally Good in health and Well in appearance. Prices seem to be Lower than at my Last Visit but you can be Assured I shall do my Best.

According to your Instruction I have reserved Twenty slaves for your use. Three men, Five women, Four infants, Four girls and Four boys. I will bring them Home as you Instructed and will indeed take Care that they have Blankets as they may be Weakened by Cold.

I will Seek other Cargo tomorrow but I Fear we may be Disappointed this Late in the Season. Be Assured however That I will do my best as Per your Instructions.

With God’s Will I shall Complete my business here within the Month and set sail for Bristol as Soon as may be Possible. I hope to convey my respects to you in person in the month of December 1788.

Your obdt servant,

Capt. William Lisle.

Josiah placed the letter before Sarah. She threw her needlework to one side and snatched it up.

‘Where did you have this?’

‘From the master of the Adventurer. He had a good crossing. The letter is dated August, it has taken him only six weeks to get home. He does not speak well of the trade in St Kitts.’

‘What does it say about the slaves?’ Sarah scanned the letter quickly and then looked up. ‘Twenty,’ she said. ‘And as I ordered, children, and he has even brought infants.’

‘Infants?’ Frances was at the table, making entries into the household ledger. A pile of bills was under a paperweight, and she was ticking them off as she entered the petty sums.

‘If I could have bought babes in arms I would have done,’ Sarah declared. ‘They are bound to learn the quickest, and you have the more work from them.’

‘Oh,’ Frances said. ‘When will they arrive?’

‘January at the latest,’ Josiah replied. ‘It takes more than a month to load the ship in the West Indies, and then he will have to come home through the autumn storms. Please God they will make safe landfall by Christmas.’

‘We will be in the new house by then,’ Frances said. The end of the summer had brought an end to the dreadful smell of the dock and the continual fear of cholera and typhoid in the old town; but autumn wind and rain meant that Frances was confined even more to the little parlour. She suffered painful claustrophobia from the small rooms and low ceilings of the little house. It would never be anything more than a warehouse with rooms tacked on the side; the fireplaces were inadequate and the constant smoke made Frances cough and cough. The rainy weather made driving a rare pleasure, and she could not walk out among the dockside workers. She spent every day in the cramped parlour with Sarah, unless she chose to sit alone in her unheated bedroom. Nobody called at the little house on the quayside. No-one invited them to any parties. Nothing would breach the Coles’ loneliness and isolation until they moved into Queens Square. ‘Surely we should be in the new house by then!’

Josiah glanced at her. ‘I am sorry for this delay,’ he said. ‘It is all the fault of Mr Waring. I have paid the deposit we agreed but his builder is taking longer than he promised and Mr Waring’s new house is not yet ready. He has been delayed by the weather. We are all waiting on each other.’

‘We would have been hard pressed to pay the whole in any case,’ Sarah pointed out. ‘If we do not move until after Daisy comes in, we will have her profits to go towards the final payment.’

‘Another two or three months!’ Frances exclaimed involuntarily.

Sarah looked at her sharply. ‘This house was a palace to my mother. I have always been proud to live here.’

Frances bit her lip. In the four months of her marriage she had learned that Sarah was defensive about their home. ‘I did not mean to be impolite,’ she said carefully. ‘But I should like to be able to walk out of doors, and the noise from the quay is very disturbing. We will have no society until we move.’ She glanced at Josiah. ‘It was part of the agreement,’ she reminded them. ‘When Josiah first wrote to me, he promised that we would live in Queens Square.’

‘She is right,’ Josiah said fairly. ‘And Queens Square is our side of the bargain. We will move as soon as we can and, if need be, I can find the money, with or without the Daisy.’

‘You mean borrowing,’ Sarah snapped.

‘I mean forward selling,’ Josiah said steadily. ‘I can sell Daisy’s cargo while she is still at sea and complete the payment for the Queens Square house with the money.’

‘It is a risk,’ Sarah said. She glanced at Frances, hoping for support. ‘If the ship sinks then we have to carry the loss and repay the buyers of the cargo. I am sure Frances would not want us to take such a risk just for her benefit.’

Frances gave Josiah a demure smile. ‘If you think it is worth the risk, Husband, then I must follow your judgement. And if it ensures that we get the house …’

‘Very wifely,’ Sarah commented acidly.

‘As soon as Mr Waring is ready to leave I will complete the sale and we shall move to Queens Square,’ Josiah declared, closing the subject. ‘But I am glad to have heard that Captain Lisle is well. The Daisy always was a lucky ship. God speed to her as she sets sail!’

When the Daisy was ready to leave, the little shelter that they had made on her deck was dismantled, and the slaves returned to the hold. Mehuru was not strong enough to stand, he lay on the dirty straw and watched the others hold out their hands for manacles and their feet for leg-irons.

The sun shimmered on the blue water, the quayside of St Kitts wavered before his dazed eyes. The dark green terraced hills melted slowly into the low beautiful grasslands of his home. Mehuru thought that soon his body would release its tenacious grip on life. Soon the pain would be over. Soon he would be home. If the gods were kind to him, if his ancestors sought his soul, he would be home and lying on the breast of the kindly fertile earth of Africa once more.

The captain, watching them as they were chained and sent below, noticed for the first time that Mehuru’s skin and muscles were wasting away.

‘What the devil is ailing him?’ he demanded. ‘Is he sick?’

They watched him when the food came and saw that he lay, his face turned away. Then they came and bolted an iron mask around his head with a funnel going into his mouth. Twice a day they poured scalding soup down his throat. The first day Mehuru felt nothing, he was floating and gliding down the sweet river of his home. But that night he was tortured with pain as his shrunken stomach griped on the food. Next day he felt the spiteful heat of the soup, burning his throat and his mouth. The third day he fought them, but they got it down despite his struggles. The fourth day they took the mask off and he knew he was hungry. He came back from his journey into darkness and he heard Snake’s voice counselling patience and wisdom. He knew himself to be wiser for having risked everything. He tried to find within himself some power as a survivor, as a living ghost, since all his power as a man, even as a human being, had been stolen from him.

The ship set sail. Mehuru felt himself rolling on his shelf again and wondered if he was to spend the rest of his life in half-darkness with the wash of waves pouring through the grating, longing for his home and forever in exile. He would not fast again, he could not bear the grip of the white men and the sharp evil pain as the boiling soup threatened to drown him. Instead he ate his share of the common pot of food.

It grew bitter, colder than any weather Mehuru had known before. When they were ordered on deck to dance Mehuru could not recognise the sea, could not recognise the sun. The waters were a deep sullen grey, the wind had a smell behind it which was icy cold. He could not comprehend where the sun had gone, it seemed to be walking farther and farther away and it was losing its heat and strength. Every day it grew smaller and paler. Mehuru thought that the ship was sailing into permanent night. When the shadow of the grating moved across the floor of the hold the squares of sunlight were insipid and pale. Through the grille he could see the sky veiled, slurred with clouds. He had never seen a sky so thick. Even in the rainy season at home the storm clouds would suddenly part and the sun would burn through. He and one of the other men lay close together for warmth. Mehuru missed the others who had gone. They seemed very few in the echoing hold, and they were fearful and could not comfort each other.

One of the infants became sick. They thought she was dying of the cold. Mehuru saw that as the sun sickened and grew weaker the child sickened too. There was nothing they could do for her. She cried a little, very pitifully, and then died while a woman held her and rocked her. When Mehuru brought the little body up on deck for burial they took her roughly from him and tossed her over the side. Her arms and legs flew up as she went over and Mehuru had a heart-stopping moment when he thought she cried out. But the ship plunged down into the deep grey waves and her little black head bobbing in the water was hidden from him.

Days stretched beyond counting, weeks, and then months. They took the flux – dysentery – and one of the men died and another of the infants. The weather was too stormy for them to dance on deck, and besides they were all growing weaker. Mehuru wondered if they would sail on and on until they were all dead. When they were called up to empty the waste pail, two of the boys slipped through the nets hung around the rigging to keep them on board and flung themselves into the sea. Mehuru felt shame at their loss. He should have given them hope, he should have given them a reason to live. But there was no hope and there was no reason to live.

The bucket of food grew more and more stale but it did not rot. Unbelievably it was too cold for that to happen. Then in the night Mehuru felt the rhythm of the heaving ship steady and change. He heard the yell of the men dropping the sails. There was a long time of rocking gently as if they were anchored, and then a new jerky movement as the ship was taken into tow.

Mehuru waited in the darkness of the hold, listening for any clues which might tell him what was happening on deck. Once again he heard the urgency of the ship nearing port and the growing noise of a quayside. The others woke, the women clutching each other in fear, the children whimpering. There was a foul sour smell of dirt, like an old midden. It penetrated even to the fetid hold of the slave ship. There was a dreadful noise of people shouting, and a screech of machinery working. Mehuru gathered his blanket around his shoulders and trembled a little with cold and fear. Then the grating was lifted off, they were ordered on deck, and they climbed out unsteadily and stood, shivering in the cold, looking around them.

They could see little for it was not yet dawn and there were only a few lanterns lashed to the rigging and to the side of the ship. A chain was passed along their line, linking one neck collar with another, and they were ordered to walk down a ridged bridge of wood to the quayside. Mehuru, his insteps flinching from the cold hard cobbles, touched ground for the first time in six months. He had never felt freezing stone before, he could not believe the ache of coldness in the high arched bones of his feet. They whipped him and the others with light biting blows on his shoulders and his back, and they shouted at him, as men shout when they herd cattle. The cold air in his face and the cold hardness beneath his feet told Mehuru that he had arrived into some dreadful exile in the land where all the men were dead men; and Snake alone knew what they wanted of him.

Mehuru breathed deep, three, four times, of the icy dirty air, and tried to hold down his panic. Before him was a high building with no lights showing and arched doorways like gaping mouths leading to storerooms. A small door at the side of the building opened at their approach and they were ordered into a hallway, through another door into a kitchen. The warmth and the smell of cooking gave him a sharp pang of homesickness, but then a blow on his back forced him forward and they were through the kitchen before he had time to look around.

At the far end of the kitchen there was a stout wooden door standing open and four steps cut downward into rock. Mehuru and the others stumbled down, their chains jerking at each other’s necks as they were pushed roughly into line around the walls of the room. It was part cellar, part cave. Mehuru saw a couple of old barrels of wine, and a rack which had once held bottles. Hammered into the soft red sandstone of the walls were new iron rings to hold their neck chains, and anchor points for their shackles. A new man, a stranger, whose clothes smelled of the land and not of the sea, came along the line, bolting each of them against the wall, and kicking clean straw around their cold feet. He took up the lantern and surveyed them carefully, like a good groom checks a stable before he leaves it for the night, and then he walked from the cave, taking the lantern with him. They heard the door at the head of the steps slam on the light and warmth of the kitchen, and they were left alone, buried alive in the damp cave, in the dark.

Then Snake spoke softly to Mehuru, and said one word to him:

‘Despair.’

Frances learned that the Daisy had docked at dawn when Sarah sent a message with her breakfast tray asking her to come to the parlour as soon as she was dressed. The long anxious wait for the ship was over, and Frances’s work was about to start. She dressed in a plain grey gown and wore her plainest cap, but she did not resent the slide back into governess work. The winter days in the little house on the quayside were very long, it was dark by four o’clock and too cold to drive out. The sides of the dock were lined with ice every morning and the smoke from the glass furnaces hung like a fog over the house. There was no birdsong, only the cry of seagulls, and only the frozen cold cobbles of the quay to watch. There were none of the amusements that Lady Scott and the Whiteleaze ladies took for granted, no walks in the winter shrubbery, no afternoons in the glasshouses.

Frances could remember an annual competition with her father to see the first snowdrops in the hedge at the bottom of the rectory garden. She could hardly bear a winter with no prospect of flowers, nor trees coming slowly into bud. She had read more novels than she could remember, she had sketched the view from the parlour window a dozen times: the shelf of the Coles’ quay in the foreground, the gibbet profile of the Merchant Venturers’ crane on the opposite side of the dirty river, the forest of masts, and the blank square face of the warehouse opposite. She had completed more darning and hemming than she would have believed necessary; and still there were hours to fill in every day.

The move to Queens Square would have diverted her, but Mr Waring still had not vacated the house. To Josiah’s mounting anger he found that he had agreed to a high price for a house in a square where other properties were now coming on the market, and he was not even in possession of it.

Frances straightened her cap and went down the stairs to the parlour. Brother and sister were waiting for her.

‘Daisy has docked with a good cargo of sugar and rum and the first consignment of your slaves,’ Josiah beamed at her. ‘I have a list here of them.’

‘My slaves!’ Frances exclaimed.

‘They were bought with your dowry and will be trained and named by you,’ Josiah said. ‘They should certainly be your slaves and indeed, my dear, Sarah is right in thinking that they will command a better price if they are known to be your own.’

‘We hoped to have twenty,’ Sarah said. ‘The losses have been very bad, I shall have words to say to Captain Lisle. He has delivered only thirteen.’

Josiah handed her the list. Frances read:

‘Two healthy men Four healthy women Two boys aged seven and sixteen years Three girls aged between seven and fourteen years Two infant boys aged two and five years.’

‘I did not expect them all to survive,’ Josiah said. ‘Remember, Sarah, that although we lose twenty in a hundred crossing the Atlantic, another twenty-five in a hundred die in the first year on the plantations. We must prepare ourselves to lose even more during the first year here.’

‘Still, it is an excellent mix,’ Sarah said. ‘I particularly wanted young children. They are easier to train and the fashion is for very young black pages.’ Her eyes were shining, she was smiling. Frances had never seen her look so animated.

‘How long will it take you to teach them to speak English?’ Josiah asked Frances. ‘They know none as yet. But that is all to the good, isn’t it? They will have no rough accents, they have not learned the patois of the Islands. They will speak pure English if they are so taught, won’t they?’

Frances laughed, catching their enthusiasm. ‘I believe so. But I know nothing about niggers. And whether they can learn quickly or slowly I will not know until I have seen them. Where are they now?’

‘The ship docked in the night and I had them unloaded and stored in the cellar,’ Josiah said. ‘I had it cleared out and some straw put down on the floor. I thought it best that they be kept there until they are trained to stay in the house without chains. It is safe, there is only one stout door that leads into the kitchen. Will you teach them here, in the parlour?’

‘Yes,’ Frances said. She looked around the room. ‘But there are too many of them. I cannot teach them all at once. I will have just six for my first lesson and then the others in the afternoon.’

Sarah looked displeased. ‘Speed is essential,’ she said. ‘The sooner they are trained the sooner they can be sold.’

‘I have to have some time to get used to them,’ Frances said.

‘She is right,’ Josiah agreed kindly. ‘She needs to become accustomed. I have taken on a good man, my dear, who has handled slaves on the Sugar Islands. He is an experienced driver. His name is John Bates and he will feed them and clean them, and muck them out and beat them for you.’

‘We can go and look at them now,’ Sarah said eagerly. She was animated, her pale cheeks had two spots of red.

Josiah smiled. ‘I saw them when they were unloaded, so I shall leave you to inspect them on your own. I have to go to my work, but I look forward to hearing your progress this evening.’ He nodded to Sarah but he took Frances’s hand and bowed low over it. ‘If you can accomplish this I will be obliged to you,’ he said formally. ‘Our fortune depends on it.’

Frances shifted uneasily. ‘I will do my best, Josiah,’ she promised.

‘I ask nothing more,’ he said, and left the room.

Frances stood by the window and looked down, watching Josiah’s dark three-cornered hat moving among the labourers on the dockside unloading the Daisy.

‘What a long way they have come,’ she said. ‘And what a terrifying voyage it must have been. All the way from Africa to the West Indies, and then all the way to England, in rough seas and sometimes becalmed, in heat and in cold weather. How frightened they must have been.’

‘Oh, I doubt it,’ Sarah Cole said. ‘They do not feel as we feel, you know. And they do not understand things as we do. Even now they probably do not realise that they are far from home, and never going home again.’