Andrew Pepper - Kill-Devil and Water

‘Was he a good master?’

‘I thought so — for a while.’

‘What changed your mind?’

She looked at him, chewing her lips. ‘I assume you already know something about the family’s history. For example, that Silas’s wife, Bonella, apparently fell to her death down the staircase at Ginger Hill.’

This made him sit up. ‘Are you saying she didn’t fall?’

‘That’s precisely what I’m saying.’ She smiled at his reaction. ‘More than that, I’m saying he had something to do with it.’

‘Malvern killed his wife?’

‘He wasn’t a bad man, as slave-owners go. There were, still are, many far worse planters on the island. But he was a jealous man and he had a temper. He was especially jealous of his brother, Phillip. You see, Phillip was everything he wasn’t: funny, warm, attractive. Phillip was also their father’s favourite. So Silas’s resentment towards his brother had been nurtured since childhood. But Silas was a complicated man; he wanted to do the right thing by his brother; he wanted to treat him well; and even though Silas took over the estate when their daddy passed away, he made sure there was always a place for Phillip at the great house.’

She paused, to clear her throat, and Pyke waited for her to continue.

‘I could see what was going to happen. It was all so predictable. Silas neglected Bonella terribly. During planting and harvesting, he would spend most of his time out on the estate. He was very active in that respect; he liked to get his hands dirty. Meanwhile Phillip would spend time with Bonella. So during the day, when Silas was away from the house, you could hear the two of them laughing; it was a joyful, happy sound, and when I think about those days now, they still lift my heart. But Phillip was also a terrible philanderer, just like his father, and his interest in Bonella was never innocent. She was a beautiful woman and he wanted to bed her. The fact that she was his brother’s wife only made her more attractive in his eyes. I don’t think he loved her; I don’t think he loved anyone, not really. But I think, in the end, she loved him. I also think if Silas had merely caught the two of them in bed, he mightn’t have reacted in the way he did; if it had just been the one time and hadn’t meant anything. But it went on for years, or at least two years, and finally Bonella went to Silas and told him about the affair; she told him she loved Phillip and wanted to be with him. I don’t know if Phillip knew she was going to do this. I don’t think he did. He hated confrontations and he feared and worshipped his brother in equal measures.’

‘And that’s when Silas killed her?’

‘To this day, I don’t know whether Silas meant to kill her or not. We were downstairs in the kitchen. We could hear them arguing and then we heard a terrible crash. I ran to the hall and saw her, Bonella, there on the floor. Then I looked up and saw him. I’ll never forget his face: the fury, the terror and the sadness. Like I said, even then, I didn’t think he was a bad man.’

‘So what changed your mind?’

‘After the funeral we were all sent away. No one knew why. Everyone, that is, except for Phillip.’ She paused and bit her lip. ‘But Phillip didn’t want to face his brother on his own; he didn’t know how much Bonella had told Silas before she died. So he asked me to stay. I think you can probably guess why he asked me, rather than anyone else.’

‘You were in love with him?’

This time she laughed. ‘ Love? How can a poor black slave ever hope to love a wealthy white man?’

‘I thought Silas was the wealthy one.’

Bertha smiled. ‘I suppose I did love Phillip, in a way.’ Her smiled faded. ‘But that night put an end to everything. I don’t even know why Phillip didn’t just leave; I think he wanted the chance to explain himself to Silas, to beg for his brother’s forgiveness. From the veranda, I watched him walk across the lawn to the counting house. That’s where Silas was waiting for him. I could hear them talking and for a while I thought everything might go back to how it was. Then the screaming started. Phillip’s screams. I’d never heard a sound like it and I hope I never do again. I couldn’t sit and do nothing, so I crept over there and I climbed those stone steps and I peered into that room through the open door.’ Bertha paused; her eyes had suddenly filled with tears and her hands were trembling. She looked at Pyke and offered a brave smile. ‘This is hard for me. I’ve tried not to think about it for a very long time.’

Pyke returned the smile. He hated himself for putting her through this but he had to know. He’d come too far not to know.

‘Silas was standing there in front of Phillip. He’d bound his brother’s wrists and ankles to a chair.’

Pyke just nodded; his mouth was dry.

‘Silas had these enormous hands, twice the size of yours. I remember looking at them, looking at his thumbs, wondering why they were dripping with blood. At first, I thought he’d cut himself.’ She hesitated and then closed and opened her eyes. ‘Then Silas stepped aside and I saw Phillip’s face. I think I must have gasped because he looked around and he saw me. Silas, that is. All I could look at were those two thumbs, wet with Phillip’s blood. Of course, Phillip couldn’t see me. Where his eyes had been there were just two bloody slits.’

Queasy at the thought of what she’d described, Pyke waited until he thought she might be ready then asked, ‘What did you do?’

‘What did I do? What could I do? I turned and ran. I went back to my hut and gathered everything I could carry and I left Ginger Hill for the mountains. Later, I heard that Silas had offered a reward of ten pounds for my capture. After all, I was a runaway slave and in the eyes of the law I was his property. I walked for many, many days; I ate what I could find and I slept under the stars. Oddly enough it was the first time I’d ever felt free. I’d heard about this place and eventually I found it. I don’t know if Silas knew I’d made it this far or that I’ve been here for the past twenty years. In recent years I’ve tried to stop thinking about him.’

Pyke nodded but didn’t speak for a moment. ‘And did you ever see Phillip again?’

Bertha looked exhausted. ‘No. That was the last time I saw him; his eyes gouged out, tied to a chair in the counting house.’

‘And you never heard what became of him?’

Her expression hardened. ‘He’s dead,’ she said emphatically. ‘I’m guessing he died shortly after Silas blinded him.’

‘But do you know this for a fact?’

‘I know it in here.’ She tapped her chest and then her head. ‘Just like Mary, his spirit has come back home as well.’ She stared at him proudly as though expecting to be challenged.

‘But this was never his home,’ Pyke said, trying to determine whether she really believed what she was saying. ‘And Phillip was a white man.’

That seemed to amuse her. ‘Phillip was white because his daddy said so; likewise Mary was black because I was black. But he was darker than some black folk and she could pass as white. Black and white doesn’t mean a thing apart from what those with money and power want them to mean.’

Pyke smiled at the truth of what she’d just said. Suddenly he knew what she’d perhaps been hinting at. ‘Phillip was Mary’s father, wasn’t he?’

‘How did you know that?’ Her voice was tense.

‘I didn’t,’ he said, trying to keep any trace of gloating from his voice. ‘At least, not until just now.’

‘You’re a clever man,’ she said, rocking back and forth in the chair. ‘Clever and arrogant. I imagine it brings its own rewards, and its hardships.’

‘Did Phillip know he was Mary’s father?’