She paused, to catch her breath. There was a moment of utter silence in the room.
Then Colonel Waite said, 'My God.'
'Now,' Meg said,
‘I
have managed to make my escape with the help of some friends. That these friends happen to be black is neither here nor there. They are my friends. My husband followed me, with five Hilltop drivers, and having caught up with me as I was being escorted into town by one of these friends, shot him dead. I therefore accuse William Hilton of murder.'
'My dear Meg,' Waite protested. 'Think what you are saying.'
'Mad,' Walter Reynolds declared. 'Quite mad. She will have to be locked up.'
'She cannot be mad, legally,' John Phillips said. 'She has
not
been certified.'
'But
...'
Meg said.
'No one can be certified,' Phillips said, 'by a single doctor. I think Roberts has acted very irregularly if he has had her confined for seven years without a second opinion.'
Roberts flushed. 'Well, we wished to avoid a scandal.'
'But why did no one come out to see me ?' Meg asked.
Phillips flushed. 'Well, we did, from time to time. But Mrs Paterson merely said you did not wish to see anyone. We thought it was odd, but then
...
well, there were all those rumours about what had happened to you in Cuba.' His flush deepened. 'What were we to
do,
Meg, short of breaking in?'
Meg drew a deep breath.
‘I
also accuse William Hilton, and Oriole Paterson, and Peter Roberts of having, feloniously confined me to my bedroom over a period of seven years,' she said, 'and of spreading a rumour that I had lost my senses. And in defence of my claim never to have been the madwoman they claim, I am willing to submit to any examination or test that any doctor in Jamaica or anywhere else in the world can devise, providing only that the test is carried out in the presence of impartial witnesses.' She turned to John Phillips.
‘I
place myself in your hands, John.' Then she sat down again. Her legs would no longer support her.
'What shall we do today?' asked Anna Phillips brightly. She asked this every day, with increasing desperation. A small, dark, busy woman, in the strongest possible contrast to her husband, she clearly, found the waiting, the uncertainty, an even greater trial than Meg herself. 'I know, we shall take a drive into the country.' Meg finished her afternoon tea.
'Wouldn't you like a drive in the country, my dear?' Anna asked.
Meg forced a smile. It was necessary, all the while, to act as normally as possible. At least until the case was decided. 'It sounds delightful. Are there an awful lot of people out there?'
Anna Phillips got up, peered through the gauze curtains at the window. 'Not more than a dozen, today.'
The unemployed blacks had clustered outside the Phillips' house from the day she had brought Cleave and her husband into town. That had been two weeks ago now, and still the arguments had gone on. Cleave had been buried, Dr and Mrs Phillips, Washington, Colonel Waite and herself his only official mourners, but even then they had been accompanied to and from the cemetery by a vast crowd of blacks, and the Reverand Keslop had shifted his feet uneasily, sure he had been burying a heathen. Well, of course he had been burying a heathen.
But what were Cleave's friends and brothers and sisters up in the mountains thinking ? They must hate her more than ever before, for being the cause of his death. Once she had driven herself mad supposing she had caused Alan's death. And she had been mistaken. Now she
had
caused the death of a man who had loved her. And she felt no madness, now. Only a burning determination to be avenged.
But even that must wait upon the courts.
And what did Oriole think of it all ? John Phillips, having been given custody of Meg while the question of her sanity was debated, had sent out to Hilltop for her clothes, and these had been delivered. But the coachman had apparently not seen Mrs Paterson, who had retired to bed with a headache. Nor had he seen
Mr
Hilton, freed pending further investigations as Colonel Waite had decided.
It came down to one single point. The presence of Washington, the testimony of Massie and the other four drivers, meant absolutely nothing beside hers. And hers was not to be accepted if she was mad.
'Well, then,' Anna Phillips said brightly. 'Shall we get our hats?'
This afternoon she was more nervous than ever before. Yesterday Meg had undergone her very last examination. Today the decision would be taken, one way or the other. And in the meanwhile the telegraph wires had been busy, flashing the news of the latest Hilton scandal to England
and
America and all over the world. So, she thought, what did Lord Claymond think of it all ? What a lucky escape he had had ? Or that none of this need have happened had he married her?
And what did Captain Alan McAvoy think of it
all?
Surely he would have heard by now. Surely he should have been here by now. Or had he decided that Kingston was not the place to be right this minute?
'Hats,' Anna said, a touch of firmness coming into her voice. She professed to be sure, because her husband was sure, that there was
nothing at all the matter with Meg. But she also knew just how introspective was her charge, just how subject to fits of depression, just how she had to be jollied along as much as possible.
'Oh, I'm sorry, Anna.' Meg got up, and faced the door, her mouth open. John Phillips stood there. And he was smiling.
'John?' Her heart gave a leap, it seemed into her throat.
'It is the verdict of the court, in the first place, that Margaret Hilton is sane,' he said.
'Oh, John.' She sat down again. The tears were beginning to hammer against her eyes.
'It is the verdict of the court, in the second place, that for the past seven years she has been wrongfully kept in custody by her husband and her cousin, and wrongfully excluded from her rightful place as Mistress of Hilltop Plantation.'
Now the tears did come, slowly welling into her eyes and then trickling down her cheeks. She felt Anna's hand on her shoulder.
'And it is the verdict of the court, in the third place, that there has been presented sufficient evidence to warrant the arrest of William Hilton on a charge of wilful murder. The police are on their way to Hilltop now.'
Meg's mouth clamped shut. Somehow she had never really expected that to happen.
'And,' John Phillips added, his smile widening, 'there is a young man out here wishing to see you. A sea captain, I believe.'
Meg leapt from the chair, ran to the door, hesitated. Alan had not changed at
all;
he was tall and broad and sunburned, and his moustache was carefully trimmed. He wore blue shore-going clothes and carried his cap in his hands.
'Meg,' he said. 'Oh, Meg, my darling.'
His arms were wide, and she was in them, her own arms going round his back, hugging him close while he in turn squeezed her so that she lost her breath.
'Alan,' she whispered. 'Oh, my dearest, dearest Alan. But, my sweet, when
...'
'Over a week ago,' he said.
She released him, stepped back to stare at him.
'But John thought it best for me not to call until this business was settled.' He drew her close again. 'Had it been settled any other way, I'd have pulled Kingston apart to get you away from those leeches.'
'Oh, my sweet.' Her eyes were closed, and still the tears came welling out. Nothing else mattered. She was free, and he was here. Everything that had afflicted her in the past, every torment she had undergone, was really as nothing.
'Ahem,' John Phillips said.
'Oh
...'
Meg stepped away, hugged him in turn. 'I am so happy, John. There is so much I want to do. Hilltop
...'
She hesitated, glancing at Alan.
He smiled. 'If you wish to go out to Hilltop, Meg, then I shall accompany you.'
'I knew you would.' But she hadn't been sure. And yet, why go jumping at those fences until they were actually immediately in front of her. 'Can we borrow the trap, John?'
'Of course.'
'And the children. I'll be able to have the children back?' They are your children, Meg. To be done with as you see fit.'
As she saw fit. She remembered how she had felt when she had learned of her inheritance. But how long ago was that simple girl who had wanted only to be Mistress of Hilltop. Well, then, what did this woman want, if not that? But she wanted so much more.
'I have your hat,' Anna said, holding it out.
She gave Alan a shy smile. 'Are you sure?'
'I am sure, at this moment, that I wish to do whatever you want to do.'
Then
...'
She held his hand, turned to the door, and checked. 'Roberts?'
'Is giving up his practice and returning to England. He will have no more patients here, anyhow. And there will certainly have to be an inquiry by the British Medical Association.'
Was she glad, or was she sorry? Was she going to be vindictive, or was she going to be magnanimous ? Was she going to be Meg Hilton, or Marguerite Hilton's descendant?
'We'd best be on our way,' Alan said. 'We'll hardly make the plantation before dusk, anyway.'
'Oh, dear,' Anna said, flushing scarlet. 'Will you
...
well, will you be back tonight?'
Meg gave her a happy smile. 'No, Anna. We shall not be back tonight. Or tomorrow either.'
'But
...
what about clothes?'
'Who needs clothes. I'll be in touch.' She hurried down the steps, Alan at her side; John Phillips' yardboy already had the trap waiting, and at the sight of Meg the little crowd by the gate gave a cheer; the news had already spread.
Alan helped her up, took the reins, and the crowd parted to let them through. He flicked the whip and the pony increased its speed, to go trotting up King Street, while the motor cars pulled into the side to allow them through while their drivers smiled and waved at Meg. What hypocrites, she thought, happy enough to believe her insane when told to believe that, over-anxious to greet her now she was again Mistress of Hilltop.
'Mistress of Hilltop,' she breathed, leaning back and allowing the breeze to fan her face.
'Aye,' he said. 'I know how important it is to you.'
She sat up again. 'Not so important any more. It's just that I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. I had to have a dream, an aim in life, or I'd never have challenged them at all.'
'Aye,' he said again. 'I have to explain.' 'No,' she said. 'Oriole told me.'
'Why I didn't break down the door and force my way in?'
She squeezed his arm. 'To rescue a madwoman?'
'To rescue the woman I love. The woman I so carelessly exposed to such torment. Meg
...'
'I exposed myself, Alan. And I thought I had caused you to be killed. I don't really understand why I wasn't executed.'
'Because of me,' he said. 'They knew I had escaped. They didn't really want you. But they were using you as a bait to bring me in. They offered your freedom in exchange for my surrender. Can you imagine how guilty I feel?'
'But
'Oh, aye, I never even knew. My friends smuggled me out of the country, so wounded
‘
was out of my mind. Then they told me you had gone down with the schooner. I nearly went wild. Instead I did the only thing I knew, went back to sea, and got as far away from Jamaica and Cuba, and the entire West Indies as I could. There was cowardice for you, Meg. If only I had stayed. I would have learned about you, I would have
...'
'Surrendered and been hanged,' she said, squeezing his arm again. 'Whereas now we are both alive and well, and we are going to be happy.'
'Can you be happy again, Meg? After nine years of such torment?'
'Yes,' she said fiercely. 'I can be happy. I shall be happy. Perhaps
...
perhaps it needed something like that to make me realize what constitutes happiness.'
'Hilltop?' he asked, but he smiled gently as he said it.
'Hilltop is Richard's. It is my responsibility to see that he inherits. Happiness for me is standing on the deck of a ship, with you at my side. I know that now. I knew that the night we crossed to Cuba.'
'Meg,' he said, leaning across to squeeze her. 'Are you sure?'
'If you are sure you still want me on your ship.' 'Want you?' he cried. 'Why
..
.
’
'You'll no doubt have heard Billy's reasons for shooting Cleave.'
'The black fellow ? Well
...'
He gazed at the road, stretching into the mountains ahead of them.
'He was my lover, Alan,' she said, quietly.
'You're Meg Hilton,' he said. 'I don't think any man will ever have the right to be your master.'
'And you?'