Page 58 of A Fire in Their Hearts

N EWS HAS REACHED US THAT the ship bringing the new master is anchored in Carlisle Bay and there’s great excitement, dread and anticipation around the plantation because nobody knows what to expect.

I’m busy in the study when I see through the window the first of what should be several wagons loaded with supplies from the recently arrived vessel.

We’re due a huge array of items, from flour and spices to barrels of olive oil and spirit, rolls of cloth, rope, iron, copper and musket balls.

The men will unload the wagon but they won’t store anything away until I’ve checked the contents and given permission.

I don’t know what’s on this particular wagon so gather all my lists before leaving.

A few months before he died, Drummond had a large looking glass fitted to a wall along the corridor. It’s encased in a ridiculously ornate walnut frame. With no desire to see my reflection, I’ve always ignored it. I don’t know what makes me stop this morning. I stand for a very long time.

Dear God, Violet, what have you become?

Papers slip silently from my fingers and float gently to the floor like the dried petals of a flower. Slowly, I reach out a hand to the surface. It’s not the old woman who stares back at me that’s so disturbing, it’s that I’ve become as hard and cold as the glass. How did I let this happen?

If the wives of plantation owners don’t hear the screams of slaves as they’re branded with a red-hot iron upon arrival, then I am worse because I hide away.

I don’t want to know about their screams .

.?. not even the silent ones. Slaves don’t do what I tell them because they believe I’m wise, but because of my position.

They don’t treat me courteously out of respect, but out of fear.

Even Tamar has changed towards me as she’s become a young woman, perhaps realising that she’s been used.

The truth is I needed someone who needed me and she was simply too convenient.

I suddenly see everything as clearly as the image before me. Compassion and concern for others have been replaced by pride, a desire for comfort and, above all, my own safety. This place has corrupted me completely. Drummond said it; everything rots here, particularly people.

I eat, sleep, work and live in the big house, my education helping to run the plantation successfully but doing nothing to help those in need.

It’s not a decent, Christian, Scottish woman who looks back at me.

It’s someone who is such a stranger that I only know it’s me when I reach up to wipe away my tears . .?. and she does the same.

*?*?*

When I finally gather my lists and leave the house, I find Thomas sitting on the steps. He’s crying.

‘Thomas, what’s happened? Are you ill?’

‘King William .?.?.’

It’s all he manages to say before being so overcome that in the end I sit beside him and put an arm around his shoulder.

That William of Orange and his wife Mary are now king and queen of England, Ireland and Scotland was known on Barbados.

Such things generally have little meaning to people in a faraway country. Thomas makes a huge effort to speak.

‘William has proclaimed that the Church of Scotland is officially Presbyterian. Ministers thrown out in sixty-two can reclaim their parish. He doesn’t demand to be head of the Kirk.

We have our own General Assembly that’s free of control by the state or the monarch.

We’ve won, Violet. The Covenanters have won! ’

I let down my arm, too stunned to offer further comfort.

It’s simply unbelievable. That so many thousands of Scottish men and women have died and suffered terribly for a cause that is over with a few sentences spoken by one man arriving from Holland .

.?. one man. I should be elated. Thomas is a mess of mixed emotions, laughing and crying at the same time, yet I’m empty inside at this momentous news.

I’m forty-one years old and my whole life has been dominated by this struggle.

It’s cost me everything .?.?. all the people I’ve loved, my home, my freedom, the person I used to be.

Samuel and I could have grown old together.

Now I’m just old, hard and uncaring. For some reason I can’t explain, I feel more alone and lost than I’ve ever known.

*?*?*

Samuel would have told me it’s a terrible sin, yet compared to the sins of this island, mine is like a teardrop in the Clyde.

It’s strange to remember how broken I was by fear the day that Joseph was murdered, and now I’m about to put a noose around my neck with my own hands.

I don’t know why I’ve kept going. Better to end it than live this miserable life.

I said that to Samuel as the Crown of London was breaking up. Was I really ever that person? I knew such passion then .?.?. passion and love and loyalty and friendships borne out of shared hardships and danger. We had a great cause to fight for, the religious freedom of the Church of Scotland.

Thomas was wrong in what he said all those years ago about my destiny.

I’ve climbed up to the loft in the barn and tied a rope to a beam.

It’s the one that’s used. Abraham once showed me how to make a noose and position the knot so that death would be instant.

Slaves need to know such things and they pass on the knowledge to those who might also need it.

So many have ended their existence in this building.

I hesitate, not because of doubts but just to savour the moment, for in these last minutes on earth I’m free.

Everything is so intense .?.?. the smell of the earth, the sound of a mouse rustling the straw.

The motes of dust caught in the sunlight coming through the cracks in the walls explode in colour.

When I slip on the noose the tiny fibres tickle the skin of my neck as though it’s become unbelievably sensitive.

Samuel, my love, are you waiting for me?

I lean forward, not quite off balance, then lean a bit more. My body isn’t tipping over, not yet, but it’s reached a point of no return.

No going back, Violet.

Suddenly a figure appears in the entrance. He’s running and shouting. I’m falling and silent.

*?*?*

The sight of the ceiling .?.?. that ceiling .?.?. instantly fills my mind with terrifying images, lying in this bed while Drummond rapes me, so often it should be beyond my ability to count. I do know, though, every single detail of every single time. Have I gone to Hell?

‘I’ve prayed for your recovery.’

I don’t know the voice. A young man’s. Well educated. The owner appears by the side of the bed then he sits and takes hold of one of my hands. Even in my confused state I think it’s an extraordinary gesture.

‘To kill yourself is a terrible sin and I know that nothing other than unbelievable despair would have driven you to attempt such a thing. God guided me to that entrance in time to save you, although I must admit I would have appreciated a bit more warning. Seeing you jump as I entered that barn almost had me fainting in fright. I only just managed to break your fall and hold you up until people answered my cries for help. I’m afraid the skin around your neck was burnt by the rope, but it should heal in time. ’

He’s so handsome, with a kind face and a smile that makes me think he’s like a combination of Samuel and Calum.

‘My name is Mathew Drummond. I’m the nephew of the previous owner.’

He lets go of my hand, picks up a nearby glass and gently lifts my head to help me drink. My throat is dry and sore.

‘Don’t speak. You’ll be safe here. I’ve given instructions for one of the maids to look after you. I have much to find out, but in a few days we can talk. I want to hear your story.’

*?*?*

It’s four days later when I’m sitting opposite the new owner in the drawing room.

Tamar has brought me constant news about him and his shock as he’s gone around the plantation, speaking to slaves and the few remaining servants.

He’s certainly not his uncle. I feel an unexpected sympathy for him. He’ll not survive a month.

The only other person present is Tamar. She pours tea into a china cup and is about to give it to the young Drummond when he indicates that I should be served first. I stare at it for ages without moving.

‘Violet,’ she whispers eventually.

I take the saucer. She pours another. He thanks her then says she can leave and he will serve if more is needed. Tamar almost trips over the rug in surprise on her way out. Then we’re alone, drinking our tea while surrounded by ridiculous wealth.

‘How’s your neck?’

I instinctively reach up a hand, but let it drop slowly without feeling the ring of rough skin. ‘I’ll live.’

‘But do you want to live?’

I don’t know how to answer.

‘Perhaps I should ask, why did you want to die?’

We sit in silence for such a long time, yet he gives me the opportunity to think through my answer.

‘I’ve never told my story, but if you want to hear it, then I will tell it.’

He nods and I do. I tell him about falling in love with Samuel when we were six years old, how we grew up as a couple destined to be married, how his father was thrown out of the parish because he was a Covenanter.

I explain how all our lives were changed dramatically because of our wish to have religious freedom.

He hears of the battles and the deaths, of the captures, tortures and executions; of that fateful journey kept locked in the hold of the Crown of London and how that night was the last time I ever saw Samuel.

Young Drummond is particularly keen to hear what happened once I arrived at his uncle’s plantation, and he is the most appalled at these details.

When I tell him how his uncle raped me for so many months, in the very bed that I have lain in these last few days, he drops his delicate china cup.

The thickness of the rug prevents it from breaking.