The House on Hummingbird Island Read online

  There was silence for a while, Enoch looking at the floor and turning the tufted hat about in his hands.

  In the silence Sampson said, ‘Enoch got something to say, mistress.’

  Enoch looked at the floor still, and after a second or two Sampson said, ‘Maybe I say it for him.’

  Idie drew herself up, cold pins of fear pricking her skin. ‘Yes, Sampson, go ahead.’

  Sampson looked at the old man and Enoch nodded at him. ‘Mistress, Carlisle, he’s going to make trouble. He’s got the will and Enoch think he’s going to take that will to the bank.’

  ‘It is no matter,’ said Idie quietly.

  ‘But we don’t know what is on that will, mistress. Gladstone he witnessed it, and he sign it but he never knew what was in the thing that he signed. He signed it only because the mistress your mother told him to, but she were not in her right mind.’

  ‘She was not in her right mind?’ asked Idie quietly.

  There was silence and Idie asked, ‘Why didn’t Gladstone tell me about the will?’ She looked from Mayella to Sampson to Enoch. ‘Why did no one ever say anything to me?’ She bowed her head. No one had said anything about it of course, for Enoch was much loved and Carlisle his only son. Idie was a small thing caught up in the ties of family and marriage and blood that threaded the people here one to another.

  After a while Enoch said, ‘He was ashamed, mistress, same as I. Ashamed he cannot read.’

  Gladstone couldn’t read or write. Idie winced. She’d been so blind and had never thought. That was why Clement did the accounts and paperwork. All that Gladstone had achieved over the years he’d achieved without knowing how to read or write.

  She stood and looked at each of them again. ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me about the will?’

  ‘I was also afraid. I live here all my life; I never want go nowhere else and Carlisle is my son,’ said Enoch, his old head still bowed.

  Idie lowered her voice and said gently, ‘I would never make you leave, I promise.’ Then she asked, ‘Where is Quarterly?’

  ‘No one knows,’ answered Enoch. ‘He’s been seen roun’ here and he goin’ make trouble. He hiding maybe, but that will – is certain now he gon’ take it to the bank, for now that Gladstone is gone there is no one to say that Gladstone could not read and could not be a witness to that will. There were no one else there but Phibbah, and Carlisle knows Phibbah never gonna speak in all her days.’

  Phibbah chewed her pipe and stared into the middle distance. Sampson, Enoch and Mayella watched Idie, but she said, wearily, ‘It is no matter, let Carlisle Quarterly take all that he wants.’

  Enoch and Sampson then stepped back and Sampson said, ‘Is all, mistress. We sorry for your troubles. I glad you teach them writing. Mayella she say she gon’ write to me when I be gone.’

  ‘God bless you, Sampson, and keep you safe,’ said Idie. She sank on to a chair and dropped her head.

  Phibbah rose, and as she passed Idie she laid her hand on Idie’s shoulder, light and cool as the claw of a bird.

  60

  When news came later that day of the British disaster at Ypres, Idie took a sheet of writing paper from her desk.

  Myles,

  Your feet ARE very flat and I know that because I used to tie your laces. Lots of things change when you get older, but one’s feet do not get less flat with the passing years.

  Idie

  61

  Austin came and they sat together beneath the calabash tree but he was uneasy and distracted. It is as if I am an invalid or dying relative that he must do his duty by, Idie thought. His mind is elsewhere; he does not want to be with me. She turned from Austin and watched old Enoch go about the garden, then smiled and said, ‘It is as if I have a grandfather about the place. Enoch’s wife was my grandmother. Did you ever know that?’

  Austin nodded. ‘Mother told me that when you were ill.’

  Idie stretched out her arm in the sun and turned it up and then down and said, ‘Mayella says my father was not one thing nor the other. I should have seen that from his portrait but I never did.’

  ‘You don’t look for such things, Idie, because they’re not important to you. Mother says your mother never cared about those things either. She says no one else would have married your father in those days but her. It would have been hard for him, you know.’ He looked down at the skin of his own arm and said, ‘These things run deeply here.’

  As he rose to leave, Austin asked, ‘Has Carlisle been here at all?’

  ‘No one’s seen him, not since Gladstone died. Nor Aunt Celia.’

  Something slipped from Austin’s pocket, making a small metallic clatter across the floor. Idie snatched it up. She opened her palm flat. The badge of the Boy Scouts was there.

  ‘I see now what takes up your time,’ she said, very quiet.

  All the things she’d thought meant so much to them both were turned to dust by that badge, and she looked up at him and saw his face, the way it was more set, the bony adult shape of it showing. She flung the badge at him.

  ‘Go on, go back to them, go back to your scouts.’

  ‘Idie—’

  ‘Go, go to war if that is what you want.’

  Austin bent his head and paused, then rose and left and she was again alone, thinking of the times they’d roamed the creeks and gullies, the times when the ground had been firm beneath her feet and the sky blue above her head, when the rain had had sunshine in it because she’d known she’d had a mother who was strong and kind and capable; now the mother of her imaginings had been taken from her and another put in her place, Idie was scared and frightened of what was to come. She sat alone, all the sunshininess in her gone, and she ran her fingers through those times that were round and shining as marbles and knew that they would never come again.

  When Carlisle returned he would present the will and Bathsheba would go to him, but Idie no longer cared. She’d do what was right until Carlisle returned; she’d dedicate herself to the running of the place, plant cane and cacao, raise the wages, teach those who couldn’t to read and write and then one day Carlisle and Celia would come, and she would go.

  Austin had come but he’d not stayed for long, and in her loneliness Idie picked up a pen and wrote again to Myles.

  Bathsheba

  February 1916

  Dear Myles,

  I did get a fever like you said, but I didn’t die.

  I have got an overlook pea and a dragon’s blood bush because now I know that terrible things can happen in life, but the worst thing would be if you went to war.

  For so long I hoped you would visit me, and now even if you wanted to you can’t because of the war. When it is all over, I will still be somewhere here, with a mongoose and a monkey at my table, waiting for you, should you ever come.

  Love Idie

  62

  After what may have been a week or more, Celia reappeared at Bathsheba. Idie was at her window when she saw Celia drifting about the garden, a basket on her arm and scissors in her hand. Delilah skipped and skittered about at her heels, finding joy again in everything, but Celia’s movements were slow, and the broad and flopping sort of hat she wore added to the picture of melancholy she presented.

  She’s here because this is the only place she knows.

  Gladstone had said that, oh so long ago, when Idie’d been small and strong.

  Idie watched Celia gather a bunch of lilies and was overwhelmed with sadness for her. Because my mother was afraid of the light, Celia wanted to close the shutters. Because my mother loved the house to be full of flowers, her sister goes about the garden still with her scissors.

  Delilah trotted after Celia, and Idie saw Celia’s soft, sad smile as she caressed Delilah’s uplifted face.

  The thoughts in her head are like water – any man can give them the colour he wants, said Idie to herself, remembering Mayella’s words.

  She dressed and went down to the garden. Celia was bent over the lilies.

  ‘I’m g
lad you’re back, Aunt Celia,’ said Idie.

  Celia seemed hesitant to rise.

  ‘Celia –’ began Idie.

  Celia lifted her head and looked into Idie’s eyes.

  ‘Celia . . . ?’ whispered Idie, startled, for Celia had a black-and-purple bruise on the fine white skin of her temple and one eye was swollen and half shut.

  ‘Carlisle?’ asked Idie.

  Celia gave no answer and it was as if she’d never heard the name, for as she gazed at Idie, her eyes clouded and grew strange and remote. Very slowly, she stretched out a hand, the fingers of it hovering before Idie’s face, moved, trembling, to Idie’s hair, and Idie asked, ‘Am I very like her? Am I very like your sister?’

  Celia nodded and her eyes glimmered with tears.

  63

  London

  March 1916

  Dear Idie,

  A long time has gone by since I last wrote, and so much has changed. I have enlisted [despite the persistent flatness of my feet] and am bound for France. There was an order to evacuate Gallipole. They had a terrible time of it there and Benedict was not himself when he came home on leave. He’s posted now to Alexandria so we’ll be far apart.

  Love Myles

  PS I’m glad you didn’t die of your fever and glad you have a dragon’s blood bush and some overlook peas, and if your island hasn’t fallen into the sea I will visit when the war’s over.

  64

  Idie was very alone in the time that followed the fever. As she grew stronger she went sometimes with Phibbah or Mayella to the market in Carriacou. She heard the white women whispering that she went about only with the local people, that she had no visitors, that she kept the company only of animals, but she’d not been brought up by Grancat for nothing and knew better than to care what people said. Mostly she was at Bathsheba, knitting or teaching Mayella and Phibbah their letters and thinking of Myles who was in France, of Sampson who would soon leave Bathsheba.

  Mayella scowled at Idie’s knitting. ‘You think the soldiers will wear that? The cold going to come in through that hole . . . and that one . . . and this one . . .’

  Idie looked at the perfectly formed sleeve that hung from Mayella’s needles. She saw too the gaudy orange of it and doubted that any grown man would wear such a thing even if it did have no holes in it. Sighing, she put her own knitting down and gazed up into the improbable leaf-circles of the calabash. A wave of melancholy swept through her. She remembered how she’d once thought that they were so round and so green that Myles might have drawn them.

  The leaves stirred and whispered as if to tell of faraway events, and the jasmine shrugged her blossom to the grass. The outer world had crept in on moonshiny Bathsheba, the shadows of distant happenings fell now in jagged shapes across the lawn.

  Gypsy grasped Idie’s knitting and coiled it around her own little neck, thinking she looked mighty fine.

  ‘That for the soldiers. Why does that monkey think she needs a sleeve for round her neck?’ demanded Mayella. Gypsy looked up at the sky and into the calabash tree and at the guilty ground doves in it, who had surely put that knitting about her neck and not she.

  Four years had passed since Idie had first seen that calabash tree. Myles was now seventeen and had enlisted. Benedict, now an officer with pips on his sleeves, was in the desert fighting the straightforward Turk. She herself was sixteen, and all the sunshininess was gone from her and in its place lay the shadow of the insanity that would one day swoop down on her like a dark bird of prey and take away her reason.

  ‘The newspaper, mistress, come,’ said Mayella. Together they rose and walked to the kitchen. Idie would sit with Phibbah and Mayella and read aloud to them from the papers. Sometimes Celia would be there and she would sew and Mayella would knit and Phibbah would stare as if backwards through all the sorrow and all the grief of all the ages.

  The Greeks’ continued refusal to withdraw troops from Salonika . . .

  Phibbah’s mouth puckered and the lines down her cheeks hardened and deepened like ravines.

  The withdrawal of Allied forces from Macedonia . . .

  ‘Where’s that?’ Mayella’s eyes widened.

  Western Persia occupied by Russian forces . . .

  The West Indies Regiment serving on the Eastern Front . . .

  ‘Where’s that? Oh Lord, where’s that? Is my father there?’ Mayella cried.

  Phibbah chewed her pipe.

  Celia picked up her sewing and, watching her, Idie said, ‘Aunt Celia, I will buy you a machine, a sewing machine. Would you like that?’

  Celia looked up and smiled then at Idie, but Mayella snorted and rose and thrust some sheets of paper into Idie’s hand. ‘There more important things you must do,’ she commanded. ‘First you write to the lawyer man. You better now, mistress. Is time you stop feeling sorry and find some fight in you.’

  Idie stared at the sheet in her hand, at the pen Mayella placed before her. ‘You write, Miss Idie, or what’s gon’ happen to us all? Only you can stop what Carlisle plan to do.’

  ‘It is no matter what he plans or doesn’t plan to do,’ said Idie

  ‘It’s not for you, Miss Grace; it’s for us all as work here,’ retorted Mayella.

  Idie took the pen. She glanced briefly at Celia, but Celia’s head was still bent deeply over her stitching, so Idie then began to write.

  Bathsheba

  20th May 1916

  Dear Mr Webb,

  You may have been notified by Mr Pugsley of Barclays that a will has been lodged at the bank by Carlisle Quarterly.

  Satisfied, Mayella left the room.

  I am told this will is my mother’s and that it entails the estate to Mr Quarterly. I do not know where he is, but it is certain he intends to claim it.

  Idie looked out through the window to where the sun rained through the leaves of the candle trees on to the white stone forecourt and thought, What does it matter? I will not be able to look after these people. Perhaps Carlisle will do a better job. Still, she finished the letter then took a second sheet and wrote to Myles.

  Bathsheba

  l0th May 1916

  Dear Myles,,

  I am learning to knit. If you go to France you are in great danger of getting one of my jerseys. You’ll know it’s mine if it has big holes in it. I am afraid for you and for Benedict but I am glad he has at least left Gallipoli.

  We’ve raised the wages and done all we can, but still the people from here leave to serve YOUR king and fight YOUR wars. I pay them all I can, but still they go. Even Sampson has signed up and will soon leave.

  My foreman died. It may have been an accident or it may not, but Carlisle has gone into hiding. My foreman’s name was Gladstone. I was very fond of him and he was a pillar of the place.

  Aunt Celia has come back. She disappeared for a day or two and no one knows where she went but now she is back with Delilah and I am glad she’s here. I am so glad too that one day you will visit me. I shall count the MINUTES from here till then for I am so alone and Austin rarely comes to see me now.

  Love Idie

  65

  Pomeroy

  1st July 1916

  Dear Miss Grace,

  I am sorry you should have had this worry about Carlisle Quarterly. That and the death of old Gladstone must have been quite a blow.

  He took good care of things, ran a tight ship. So a loyal man is difficult to replace, but Pugsley tells me young Clement is capable and has his father’s spirit, and I am glad there is another Mayley to hold the reins.

  With regard to Carlisle Quarterly, I have made enquiries and have discovered that there is a search warrant out for him. He will be found sooner or later. Pugsley tells me that it was Miss Celia who went to the police. It appears Carlisle had promised to marry her and share the place with her. After Gladstone’s death he turned against her and beat her and she went then to the police.

  The war wears on and still I am unable to return to Bathsheba. We pray and hope that it will soon end. />
  Yours,

  Algernon Webb

  Poor Celia who thought Carlisle would marry her and had been dreaming of that all these years. Idie looked out into the garden and saw old Enoch there, clipping the hibiscus. Enoch.

  She rose and went out to him.

  ‘Enoch, there’s a warrant out for Carlisle’s arrest –’

  Enoch’s old eyes misted with fear. He looked at Idie and said, ‘Is God’s will maybe . . .’

  ‘No, he is your only son and he is my half-uncle and you must warn him, Enoch, about the warrant. Tell him to get away from here, perhaps go to another island where they will not find him.’

  66

  Idie saw the word Egypt in the dusty paper at her feet and bent to pick it up.

  Our Boys are Doing Splendidly

  in Egypt, Mesopotamia and France

  ANOTHER CONTINGENT OF THE

  BRITISH WEST INDIES REGIMENT

  WILL BE SAILING SOON

  ROLL UP, MEN, MAKE IT THE BEST

  GOD SAVE THE KING

  More men, dear God. Must they have more men? Myles had been in France a month or so, but there’d been no letter from him.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Mayella, scowling at the words on the poster.

  Idie screwed it up and put it in a bin.

  ‘Why you do that?’

  Idie turned away and ploughed on through the crowded market towards the post office. There was a letter waiting. She saw the handwriting on the envelope and she clutched Mayella.

  ‘Myles! Myles has written.’

  She turned away from the counter, tearing at it, and Mayella stepped forward in her place and said, ‘The mistress needs two stamps for England. She’s not thinking straight now she got a letter full of words.’

  Idie slipped outside and sat on the bench beneath the tamarind beside the woman who sold fresh coconut water, while Mayella went from stall to stall filling her straw basket.