For a while, after he’d said his piece, they sat across from one another, neither of them speaking. Some children had gathered nearby to inspect him and were giggling and pointing.
‘In our religion, we believe that when someone dies, their spirit returns to their homeland. But you see, we’ve been away from Africa too long now.’ She spoke, Pyke was surprised to find out, without even the slightest trace of an accent.
‘So you already knew your daughter was dead?’ Pyke waited. He had been told by one of the village elders that she was a renowned myalist and hence was to be treated with the utmost reverence.
Bertha nodded. ‘Mary’s spirit has come home to me.’
‘Do you know how she died?’
‘I know men killed her.’
‘Men? As in plural?’
She shrugged, as though the distinction wasn’t an important one.
‘She was strangled.’ Pyke studied her wrinkled, beatific face and felt an irrational anger swelling within him. ‘Her eyeballs were cut from her head.’
This time Bertha’s expression did register dismay, and for a moment Pyke was pleased that he had been able to puncture her seemingly implacable facade. But then he remembered who he was talking to and felt a sharp rush of shame; this was the woman who had brought Mary into the world and he had knowingly rubbed her face in the horror of her daughter’s death.
Finally the old woman shuffled forward in the rocking chair, her legs dangling down like a child’s. ‘Why did you come all this way?’
‘To Jamaica or Accompong?’
‘Both.’
‘I came to Jamaica because I thought your daughter’s killer had fled here from London.’
‘And were you right?’
‘No.’ Pyke hesitated.
‘Go on.’
‘Charles Malvern is now dead; so are his attorney, Pemberton, and a sugar trader from England called Alefounder. I believe it was part of a plot organised by a newspaperman, John Harper, and Mary’s former lover, a man called Isaac Webb, to take control of the Ginger Hill estate. I found one of Malvern’s servants, a woman called Josephine, weeping over his dead body. I think Malvern was murdered and his death blamed on the violent storms that passed across the island a few nights ago. When I asked her for an explanation, she just told me to come here and talk to you.’ Pyke looked up at the old woman. ‘Why would she say a thing like that?’
But the woman didn’t seem unduly surprised by anything Pyke had said. ‘Josephine always did love that boy too much,’ she said, as though this were a mistake.
‘You know her?’
Until this point Pyke hadn’t taken seriously the idea that there might have been some communication between Falmouth, Ginger Hill and Accompong — the distances were too vast and the arduous travelling conditions necessarily precluded Bertha’s involvement in the affairs at Ginger Hill — but suddenly he had to reassess this view; and as such, he wondered how safe he really was.
Bertha nodded. ‘A long time ago, I used to work up at the great house at Ginger Hill as well. It’s how I learned to speak the King’s English.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘That’s right; there was a king on the throne at the time.’
‘What made you leave?’
Bertha sat back in her rocking chair and closed her eyes. ‘You’re a very impatient man. Impatient and troubled.’
‘I’ve been shot at, chased, betrayed and almost killed again. I think I’ve earned the right to be impatient.’
‘Very well. Since you’ve come all this way, and since you’re trying to find the man or men who murdered my daughter, and since I sense you’re a good man, I’ll do my best to answer your questions.’
Pyke smiled, pleased by this sudden change of attitude. ‘What made you leave?’
She nodded politely. ‘Perhaps it would be better, or rather easier for me, if you weren’t so blunt.’
Pyke acknowledged her point with a nod. ‘Did you know Charles’s father, Silas.’
She nodded and smiled. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘And did you like him?’
‘Did I like him?’ She seemed amused by the question. ‘That’s rather like asking a mouse whether he likes the eagle that’s eating him.’
‘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.’