Cambridge

Many a minute stole away, and Cambridge (who had concealed himself in a cane-piece, bordering the road his intended victim must necessarily pass) kept his fatal stand. Not a sound was heard, save the evening breeze as it whistled among the long leaves of the sugar-cane, or the occasional croaking of some night reptile. At length, the tread of a horse's foot was near, and warned the murderer to be upon his guard. Unconscious of the dreadful fate hanging over him, the good Mr Brown rode slowly on, accompanied by a faithful black boy, when, as he was passing between two cane-pieces, just where the canes grew thick and high, with one bound the murderer was upon him. A heavy blow from the sharpened skimmer upon his head stunned him; and ere a prayer could rise to his lips, his soul flew to meet his God, and his murderer was left standing alone, with the stain of human blood upon him.*

* The negroes say that no grass has ever grown in the spot where the blood dropped since the time of the murder.

The boy who accompanied his unfortunate master fell from his donkey; but as he was unperceived by Cambridge, he was enabled to make his escape into the cane-field, where he remained an unknown observer of the dreadful event. As soon as the murderer had quitted the spot, the boy hastened to the overseer's house (not far distant) and related to all the fate of his master, and the name of his destroyer. An immediate alarm was given, and, guided by the boy, they quickly reached the scene of the murder, where they discovered the unfortunate overseer, bereft of life, and presenting an appearance too horrible for description. They then proceeded in quest of Cambridge, whom they found at his hut, with his blood-stained garments still upon him, and in the act of washing his unhallowed hands.

After a coroner's inquest upon the body, and a verdict (according to the circumstances of the case) returned, the Christian Cambridge was conveyed to the capital, where he took his trial for murder. He was found guilty and condemned to suffer death by hanging; and to make the punishment more impressive to others, he was ordered to be carried to _______ Pasture, in the vicinity of the spot where the murder was committed, and there to be hanged and gibbeted.

Long did his whitened bones glisten in the moonbeams; and as the wind shook the chains which held the body, many a little negro who has strayed that way in search of guavas, fled from the spot, for fear of the "dead man's jumby".'

EPILOGUE

The shallow basin of rose-coloured water stood between them. Emily watched as again Mr McDonald dipped his hands. He allowed the water to run like lace through his fingers. Then he dried his hands purposefully on the silently proffered towel.

"Thank you, Stella.'

The light from the kerosene lamp caught Stella's eyes. Emily could see that they were opaque and distant. For this black woman a terrible ordeal was reaching its conclusion. The man dabbed at his brow and then he was finished. Stella retrieved the sodden and crumpled towel and withdrew herself to a far corner of the room. Mr McDonald eyed her lumbering gait. Then he turned back to face Emily.

'And when will you be returning to our country?'

'Our country?'

'England, of course.'

England. Emily smiled to herself. The doctor delivered the phrase as though this England was a dependable garment that one simply slipped into or out of according to one's whim. Did he not understand that people grow and change? Did he not understand that one day a discovery might be made that this country-garb is no longer of a correct measure? And what then?

It had been a bright clear morning when the doctor arrived. Stella had summoned him. To be more accurate, one of Stella's people, under instruction from Stella, had hastily mounted a mule. He beat the poor exhausted animal the few miles into Baytown in order that he might inform Mr McDonald that Miss Emily's time had come. And so indeed it had, with contractions of monstrous proportions, and a fever that Stella tried to dowse with a dozen dampened cloths. But it was the heat that caused Emily the greatest suffering, the heat and the babbling voices of nature which saluted this day as any other. And then Mr McDonald broke into Emily's half-world of pain and numbness ('Please keep still and stop talking. Stop talking'), and his hands, his large clumsy hands, and Stella like a dark butterfly hovering, silently darting first this way and then that, obeying, concerned, and again Mr McDonald's hands.

It was a distraught Stella who carried the lifeless body of the child clear out of Hawthorn Cottage. It was Stella who rapidly committed the tiling to the ground. It was Stella. Darkness fell as she patted the last cake of earth onto the pitiful mound. Then she climbed to her weary legs. Through the unshuttered window Emily could discern the moonlit silhouette of her grief-stricken companion. How Stella had hoped for something they might share. Emily watched as the black woman dried her eyes on the hem of her flour-sack cloth skirt. Then she moved out of sight. Emily listened as Stella walked slowly to the stand-pipe and ran water into a shallow basin so that Mr McDonald, who had recently completed his auscultations and palpitations, might now wash and dry his hands. Emily dreamed of something that she might give Stella to replace that which had been lost. Something that the two of them might share. England?

'I expect I will soon return to England.' Emily paused. 'After all, it is my home.'

'Good, good. Of course.'

Mr McDonald seemed cheered by this news. He carefully pushed the shallow basin to one side with the outside of his polished boot. Then he draped himself about a rocker in the self-satisfied manner of one whose laborious task has come to a successful conclusion.

'I daresay we might even find ourselves as travelling companions.'

Emily changed positions. She hoisted herself upwards by a few degrees. She could now see that the sky held the full shield of the moon, clean and white and pure. And then Stella emerged from the darkness and spirited away the basin.

'Travelling companions?'

Mr McDonald seized his opportunity.

'Your father's decision to sell up means that I find myself well advised to take my leave. I'm afraid that his plantation provides the bulk of my income. Never mind, I'll establish a small country practice, or some such thing. Nasty business a bad crop, especially now. But he should get a fair price for the blacks. Should be a few years before this emancipation thing takes a grip, if it ever does that is.'

Stella re-emerged from the shadows with a fresh pitcher of cold water. She poured some into a glass, noisily ringing the two vessels together. Mr McDonald watched but said nothing further until Stella had once again withdrawn. Emily set down the now empty glass on the bedside table-top. She dabbed at her mouth with a lace handkerchief. She felt weak and empty. Literally empty. She disliked the patronizing tone in the voice of the doctor, as though he had cured her of some terrible ailment.

'I take it you're not an emancipationist.'

Emily ran an idle hand through her hair.

'You may take it that I am not sure of what I am.'

The doctor laughed nervously.

'Your wit reminds me a little of old Wilson. Poor devil's been outdone again. But it's said that he'll stay on as a merchant of some sort. It's doubtful that he'll ever leave these parts. Strange fish.'

Emily lowered her eyes. The silence was peaceful. She no longer cared for the presence of the doctor. Then, after some awkward creaking of the rocker, the doctor drew himself to his feet.

'I do hope my driver hasn't made off without me.'

Emily said nothing. Stella reappeared and handed the doctor his hat.

'I'm so terribly sorry, Miss Cartwright.'

Mr McDonald bowed sharply. Stella escorted him to the door and waited mere until neither she nor Emily could hear his carriage. The night was once more their own. Stella closed the door. Her tasks were complete. All that remained was for her to turn down the lamp and retire to her small room. This she would do, but not before placing her hand on the arm of Miss Emily and giving it a tender squeeze. Emily looked up at Stella. Goodnight my Stella. Goodnight Miss Emily.