Free HF - 04 - Black Dawn by Christopher Nicole Page B

massa? Me massa got mules, easy for ride.'
    'You'll want to spend the night, gentlemen. Mistress Easy's is the place for you. Good food. Hot water. No bugs. You come with me.'
     
    'Man, you ain't want to listen to he. You got for . . .' 'Hold on,' Tony bellowed, waving them back for their breaths were as acrid as their bodies. 'We seek Mr Robert
     
    Hilton. Of Hilltop.' His words acted like a pistol shot.
     
    'Hilton?' asked one of the white men. 'Of Hilltop?'
    'We are his nephews,' Tony said, importantly. 'And would acquaint him of our arrival.'
    'Hilton?' cried a fresh voice, and the crowd parted to admit a sallow young man, dressed in a caricature of a London clerk, although sweat had sadly soiled his cravat, and his trousers were thick with dust. 'Not Mr Richard Hilton?'
    'I am Richard Hilton,' Dick said.
    'Ah, thank God, sir. Thank God. I have met every arrival this past month, hoping to find you, sir. You'll come with me, Mr Hilton. Oh, bring your friend. You, there . . .' He snapped his fingers at one of the Negroes. 'Fetch that bag. Quickly now.'
    'Are you my uncle's man?' Dick fell into place beside the young man, already hurrying up the street.
    'Oh, no,' he replied. 'I am Reynolds' clerk. Reynolds the lawyer, you know. Oh, no, no. We act for Mr Robert Hilton. Or I should say, we did.'
    'Eh?' Tony demanded.
    'Why, sir, didn't you know? How silly of me. How could you know, being at sea these last weeks. Why, sir, Mr Hilton, Mr Hilton died, but ten days ago.'
     
     
     
    4
     
    The Inheritance
     

    Dick stopped as if he had walked into a brick wall. 'Dead? Oh, my God.'
    'There's a problem,' Tony said. 'We are stony broke.' The clerk smiled. 'Ah, you have nothing to worry about on that score, sir, if you are travelling with Mr Hilton.'
    'Travelling with him?' Tony demanded. 'I am Mr Hilton.' 'Eh?'
    'Mr Anthony Hilton,' Dick explained. 'My older brother.'
     
    'Good heavens,' remarked the clerk. 'What a to-do. Oh, indeed, what a to-do. This is Reynolds and Son, gentlemen.'
    The house appeared no different from any of the others lining the street; verandahs on both floors, sun-peeled warm paint, swing doors to some sort of an emporium at ground level. But the clerk was leading them up a flight of wooden steps at the side of the building.
    'Oh, indeed,' he muttered. 'There will be a to-do. What Mr Reynolds will say . . .' He opened a jalousied door at the top. 'Mr Reynolds, sir. Mr Hilton, and why, Mr Hilton.'
    The lawyer was not very much older than themselves, Dick decided, a tall, thin fellow with sandy hair and sandy moustaches to go with his complexion; he wore an enormous gold watchchain, and a worried frown. 'Mr Hilton.' He came round his desk, glancing from one to the other, hand outstretched. 'And Mr Hilton?'
    'I am Richard Hilton,' Dick explained. 'This is my brother, Anthony.'
     
    'Good heavens. Welcom e, gentlemen, welcome. You have heard the sad news?'
     
    'Your man just broke it to us,' Tony said. 'Uncle Robert dead? Why, it seems impossible.'
    'Believe me, sir, all Jamaica is still holding its breath. But sit down, gentlemen, please. Charles, chairs. Look smart, man.'
    The clerk hastily provided straight chairs for the two brothers, and Mr Reynolds resumed his seat behind his desk. 'You'll take a glass?'
    'At five in the afternoon?' Dick asked.
    'It might be an idea,' Tony said.
    'Best madeira, I do assure you.' Reynolds nodded to Charles, and then placed his fingertips together, elbows on his desk, and gazed at the two men in front of him. 'Well, well, well. It was my father, you know, in this very office, who negotiated the sale of land to your mother and father, on which they built their church. The one Mr Robert Hilton burned down.'
    'How did he die?' Dick asked.
    'A fit. Oh, very sudden it was.' Reynolds filled three glasses, raised his own. 'I'm assured he felt no pain. Just collapsed and died. He was old. Old.' He peered into the liquid, then raised the glass again. 'We may drink to his soul. A