68 The Magic of Love Page 10

  He would understand.

  He knew these people and loved them and, while he had spoken of the Gods dwelling on the mountains of Martinique, he would be well aware that there were many strange Gods in the forests.

  The slaves, while they gave lip service to the religion and the God of their owners, instinctively worshipped those Gods they had brought with them from their own land.

  Voodoo!

  Even the name seemed frightening.

  Then Melita asked herself sternly,

  ‘What harm can such ceremonies do to anyone?’

  It was better to believe in any God rather than none – her father had said so often enough – and Voodoo made those poor servile people happy who had little else in their lives.

  Perhaps it was only fair that possessing so little they should be compensated by experiencing spiritual comfort and power greater than their physical subjugation.

  Yet even that, Melita thought, did not explain how she had heard a young girl’s voice come from between Léonore’s withered old lips.

  “Save Étienne! Save him!”

  The sound was still echoing in her ears and because she was frightened she began to pray prayers that had been familiar to her since her childhood.

  While they gradually comforted her, the question still remained.

  Why must Étienne be saved – and from whom or what?

  Chapter Five

  Eugénie woke Melita up by coming into her room and saying urgently,

  “M’mselle! M’mselle!”

  She started and realised that she had dropped off to sleep again.

  It was not until long after dawn that she had fallen into a fitful slumber as she found herself dreaming of Léonore and the drum.

  Now, heavy-eyed, she stared at Eugénie and asked in a drowsy voice,

  “What is the – time?”

  Before Eugénie could answer, she sat up quickly, saying,

  “I have overslept! Oh, I am sorry! I must get up at once!”

  “Trouble, m’mselle. Bad trouble!” Eugénie said.

  “What has happened?” Melita asked.

  Eugénie burst into a flood of explanation in her broken French which was difficult to understand, until finally in horror Melita realised what had occurred.

  Rose-Marie had awakened very early to go into the schoolroom in her nightgown in search of her doll.

  Eugénie had found her. Because she would not go back to bed, Eugénie had dressed her and given her some breakfast.

  Then, because she had the household to supervise, she had told Rose-Marie to play quietly with her toys and had left her alone.

  She had no sooner gone downstairs than she found a tremendous commotion taking place.

  An Overseer had insisted on seeing Madame Boisset to report that one of the gamecocks was missing.

  Melita interrupted Eugénie at this point to ask,

  “What are gamecocks?”

  “They are the birds Madame keeps especially for cockfighting,” Eugénie explained.

  “Madame keeps fighting cocks?” Melita asked incredulously.

  She was well aware that cockfighting was the national sport of Martinique.

  She had learnt that fights were held from November to June throughout the countryside in specially prepared ‘pits’.

  They created great excitement and involved high betting.

  The ship’s Officer who had told her about it on the voyage from England had said,

  “The fighting cocks are coddled by their owners, carefully fed and it is always believed that they are given drugs which are kept a secret.”

  He smiled as he added,

  “No one can prove this, but certainly their spurs are sharpened and their feathers trimmed and they look very ferocious before the start of a fight.”

  Melita had made up her mind there and then that one thing she had no wish to see or hear about in Martinique was cockfighting! She could not understand a cultured Frenchwoman like Madame Boisset wishing to take part in a sport so abominably cruel.

  She knew, of course, at once what had happened to Madame’s precious cock, but said nothing.

  The Overseer, according to Eugénie, had also said that during the night he had heard the Voodoo drum, but had been too frightened to investigate, but, now that the cock was missing, he was certain that a Voodoo ceremony had taken place in the forest.

  It was then, Melita learnt, that Madame Boisset had flown into a temper.

  She ordered that Léonore, who was the known Mambo of the slaves, be whipped.

  Melita gasped when she heard this, for her father had explained to her how cruel and barbaric the whipping of slaves was.

  It had a ritual all its own. The slave, stripped naked, was spread-eagled and tied at the wrists and ankles by leather thongs to a heavy wooden platform.

  The platform was then elevated to an angle of twenty-five degrees, which made it easier for the man using the whip to flog his victim.

  “It is always done in public,’’ Sir Edward had said, “because then it is not only a punishment for the wrong-doer but also a deterrent for others!”

  The idea of whipping an old woman filled Melita with horror.

  “If she have twenty lashes,” Eugénie said. “She will die!”

  “How can such a thing be permitted?” Melita said almost beneath her breath.

  “That not all, m’mselle.”

  “More? What worse can have happened?” Melita asked, getting out of bed.

  She ran to the wash handstand, but as she reached it she heard Eugénie say,

  “The slaves have taken la petite m’mselle prisoner!”

  Melita stopped dead and turned round.

  “What did you say?”

  Eugénie repeated her words, speaking so quickly that it was hard at first to follow.

  Apparently, when she had left Rose-Marie alone, the child had decided to find Philippe and ask him to make her another doll.

  She had gone to the slave quarters and, while she was there, the slaves had learnt that Léonore, their Mambo, was to be whipped.

  They had surged out of the sugar distillery and those who had been leaving in a gang for the plantations came back despite the Overseers’ efforts to stop them.

  Then, before they could be prevented, they had cut down trees and made a barricade across each entrance to the slave quarters.

  It all happened so quickly and they had acted, Eugénie said, in a frenzied manner like men possessed. The Overseers had run to find Madame Boisset, not knowing what action they should take.

  By the time she had been alerted and had gone down onto the mound where she prayed with the slaves in the evenings, the barricades were up and the men behind them were refusing to give up Léonore.

  Protected by their barricades, they were out of reach of the Overseers’ whips and the only way they could be dislodged was with firearms.

  According to Eugénie, Madame Boisset was about to give the order to shoot when she learnt that Rose-Marie was with them.

  The slaves also realised that they had a most valuable hostage in their hands and they now refused to let Rose-Marie return to the house unless it was agreed that no punishment would be inflicted on Léonore.

  When she finally understood what was happening, Melita said quickly,

  “Monsieur le Comte must be informed.”

  “Monsieur leave early, m’mselle!”

  “Then we must send for him!” Melita said. “Is there anyone in the stables who can ride?”

  “Yes, m’mselle, Jacques. He exercise horses when Monsieur not here.”

  “Then tell him to ride immediately, as quickly as he can, to Ajoupa Bouillon,” Melita said. “He will find the Comte there. Ask him to return here as speedily as possible.”

  “I do that!” Eugénie replied.

  She left the room and Melita heard her running down the passage.

  She finished dressing and, picking up her sunshade, walked out of the house and down the roadway t
hat led towards the mound.

  On it she could see the red dress of Madame Boisset, who was talking with four of the Overseers.

  She was obviously still in a rage because, although Melita could not at first understand what she was saying, she could hear her high-pitched voice rising higher with every word she spoke.

  In the centre of the mound was a white pillar on which there was a cross.

  Melita could not help wondering if Madame Boisset, who was so fond of preaching to the slaves, had ever read them the story of how Christ had been whipped by the Romans.

  She reached the mound, but she did not climb up it. Instead she went round it and walked directly towards the rough barricade that stood in front of the slave quarters.

  She had nearly reached it when Madame Boisset became aware of her.

  “Where are you going, mademoiselle!” she asked.

  Melita did not answer and Madame Boisset screamed,

  “Mademoiselle – I spoke to you! Come here immediately!”

  Melita had, however, reached the barricade and she could see dark eyes peeping at her from between the trunks of the trees.

  The men were crouching down, but, as she stood there, one rose and she recognised him as an older man she had seen in the sugar distillery.

  “Go ’way, m’mselle,” he said. “You not come here.”

  “If la petite m’mselle is your prisoner,” Melita answered, “or perhaps I should say your hostage, then as I must be with her and I am also your hostage.”

  The man stared at her in astonishment.

  Now she realised that she had also seen him the night before, sitting with closed eyes beside Philippe in the forest.

  “Let me in,” Melita demanded.

  Then, in a low voice that was impossible for anyone else to hear, she said,

  “I have sent someone to fetch Monsieur le Comte. Don’t surrender until he returns.”

  There was a flash of white teeth, as the man understood what she was saying.

  Then he held out his hand. Taking it, Melita put one foot on the lowest of the piled tree trunks and he helped her over the others.

  As she stood for a moment on top of the barricade supported by the black man’s hand, she heard Madame Boisset yelling at her in a frenzy of anger.

  “Come back, mademoiselle! How dare you behave in such a manner! If you are shot, as these slaves will be shot, you will have only yourself to blame.”

  Melita did not answer or even turn her head.

  She was well aware that Madame Boisset would not dare risk shooting anyone while Rose-Marie was in their midst.

  She was helped onto the ground and, as she reached it, Rose-Marie came running towards her from Philippe’s hut.

  “Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!”

  She flung herself into Melita’s arms and, as she bent down to kiss the child, Melita asked,

  “You are not frightened?”

  “No, I am not frightened,” Rose-Marie said proudly. “Cousin Josephine is very angry, but it is wrong and wicked to beat poor Léonore. She is too old.”

  “Much too old,” Melita agreed firmly.

  “Come and see Philippe,” Rose-Marie begged. “He is making another doll, a very pretty one.”

  Melita wondered what had happened to the doll in the red dress that had been used in the Voodoo ceremony last night. Then she told herself that her most important duty at the moment was to keep Rose-Marie happy and unafraid.

  She was certain that violence was out of the question and, as if in answer to her thoughts, she heard one of the Overseers shout, obviously at Madame Boisset’s instigation,

  “You will be given no food or water until you behave yourselves. When you are hungry, you will come out like cowed dogs. Then we will see who is Master.”

  She felt Rose-Marie’s hand tighten in hers.

  “Shall we be very hungry, mademoiselle?”

  “Not for very long,” Melita said soothingly. “Your Papa will be here soon and I know he will think it wrong to hurt Léonore.”

  “Cousin Josephine is very angry,” Rose-Marie sighed, “and she will be angry with Papa if he interferes.”

  “He will know exactly what to do,” Melita said confidently.

  She knew that the slaves would be waiting for his return as eagerly as she was.

  Philippe was sitting in the doorway of his hut with a bundle of leaves beside him and behind him inside the desolate empty building was Léonore.

  Melita stepped over the threshold.

  “Everything will be all right, Léonore,” she said. “When Monsieur le Comte hears what has happened, he will come back and I know he will not allow you to be punished.”

  Léonore looked at Melita with her penetrating black eyes, which still seemed young despite the lines of age on her face.

  After a moment she said quietly,

  “You saw!”

  Melita made no pretence of not understanding what she meant.

  “Yes, I saw,” she answered. “The drum called me and I followed the sound.”

  There was silence.

  Then Léonore said,

  “You find happiness.”

  She turned away as she spoke, as if she had nothing more to say.

  Melita stared after her wondering how it was possible for the old woman to know so much. Yet she did not doubt for a moment that she knew she had been present at the ritual last night and that she knew also what she and the Comte felt for each other.

  It would have somehow been wrong to ask questions.

  Melita sat down beside Rose-Marie while Philippe carved away at the coconut, which was to be the body of her new doll.

  She told them both stories that she had known and loved as a child, the story of Cinderella and of Hansel and Gretel. Every time she finished a tale, Rose-Marie clapped her hands and asked for more.

  The two children seemed utterly absorbed in her storytelling.

  Only Melita was vividly aware of the slaves crouching behind the barricades, of Madame Boisset and the Overseers watching them from the mound.

  It grew very hot and now Melita began to understand what it would be like if they had to go without water for long and it had to be brought from the gully that ran beneath the waterwheel.

  One by one the male slaves came back from the barricades to go into the houses and drink the last dregs of what was left in the huge stone jars that their wives had carried home on their heads the night before.

  “I wonder when they last ate,” she said, speaking her thoughts aloud, forgetting for the moment that Philippe was dumb.

  It was Léonore who answered her and at the sound of her voice Melita started because she had thought the old woman was in the shadows at the far end of the hut instead of behind her.

  “We eat at noon and when work over,” Léonore said.

  “Then nobody will be very hungry as yet.”

  “Always hungry,” Léonore answered. “Madame give too little food. Enough working men only.”

  Melita’s lips tightened.

  It seemed incredible that Madame Boisset, with Cécile’s large fortune to draw on, should deliberately cut the food given to the slaves and their families.

  ‘But it is what I might have expected,’ she reflected.

  The small children she had seen on her first visit to the slave quarters playing about on the grass had all been kept in their huts by their mothers in case they should be hurt by what was happening.

  But now they began to emerge one after another into the sunshine and, looking at them, Melita realised that they were in most cases too thin for their age and height.

  If she had disliked Madame Boisset before, she hated her now.

  ‘Nothing could be so cruel,’ she thought, ‘as deliberately to deprive small children of food, especially when there is absolutely no necessity for it.’

  Although Léonore said nothing, Melita had the feeling that the old woman could read her thoughts and knew what was going on in her mind.

&nbs
p; After some minutes Melita asked,

  “What do you eat?”

  “Salt fish.”

  “Not fish from the sea?”

  “No. Salt fish come from America.”

  Melita was sure it was cheaper than fresh fish although these could be caught locally.

  “Monsieur used to give us crab, stew with pork, coconut and hot peppers – but no more!”

  Melita heard the hunger and need in the old voice.

  Then, because she did not wish to upset Rose-Marie in any way, she continued with her storytelling, reciting nursery rhymes, looking back into her own childhood to recall tales and jingles that had entertained her when she was the same age.

  It was about half an hour after noon when Rose-Marie, pushing back her hair from her forehead, said plaintively,

  “I am thirsty mademoiselle, I want a drink.”

  Melita thought that she could have echoed the same words.

  Trees surrounded the slave quarters, but if there was any breeze coming from the sea it did not reach them.

  Her lips were dry and she was finding it increasingly difficult to go on talking.

  “Your Papa will be here soon, dearest,” she said consolingly.

  At that moment her heart leapt in her breast as she saw a cloud of dust in the distance!

  Then she saw, riding up the drive at a tremendous pace, a horse and its rider.

  The Comte rode straight up to the mound and pulled his mount to a standstill.

  Madame Boisset had been away for about an hour and she had in fact just returned.

  While Melita had said nothing to the children, she had seen, even though she was some distance away, that Madame Boisset held something in her hand and she suspected that it was a pistol.

  “What is going on here?” the Comte asked in a voice that could be heard not only by Madame Boisset but also by the slaves behind the barricade.

  “So you have returned, Étienne,” Madame Boisset replied coldly. “Perhaps you will be able to exert your authority to extricate your daughter from the hands of these criminals who are holding her prisoner.”

  “Why should they be doing that?” the Comte enquired.

  “Because we have a rebellion on our hands,” Madame Boisset replied, “and make no mistake, the rebels will be punished and punished severely, while the ringleaders will be executed. I shall make sure of that!”