Free HF - 05 - Sunset by Christopher Nicole Page B

children Percy had fathered, who played together down in the Negro village. They were a happy lot. Come to think of it, it would not have been at all bad to have had Percy for a father.
    Except that then she would not have fine clothes to wear, or a feather mattress on which to sleep, or the prospect of a visit to England.
    Supposing she wanted to go. In search of a husband ? The idea was nauseating. The fact was, Oriole was a relic from the past. It was her misfortune to have been born in 1853 instead of 1753; she would have loved flogging slaves to death. Or even better, 1653, about the same time as the first Meg Hilton. According to the history books, she on occasion had burned slaves alive for attempting to run away.
    And anyway, Meg reflected comfortingly, there would be time enough to play the Hilton when she was Mistress of Hilltop, and that was a very long time in the future. Meanwhile, she supposed she should thank Oriole for completing her education, for broadening her outlook in so many ways, for wanting so much for her. If only Oriole would be prepared to discuss the really important things. She was speaking of marriage for Meg as if it were just around the corner, and yet she would never tell her about her own marriage. Sex was a taboo subject, and when either Meg or herself was menstruating she kept to herself, and the daily lessons were left undone. It was really very odd, Meg thought; she regarded marriage as an essential, and yet the things that apparently went with marriage as beneath discussion. What a contrast to Prudence and Percy, who had lived together as man and wife - Meg was not at all sure whether or not they had ever been wed in a church for some ten years and still seemed to find as much enjoyment in each other as presumably the night they had first slept together. Meg could only hope that her own marriage would be as happy.
    In the meantime, she did her best to humour Oriole by being as distant as she could to the blacks, by deporting herself like a lady on all occasions, by reading the interminably boring books by people like George Eliot and Mrs Gaskell that Oriole produced for her edification, and by preparing herself for the proposed journey, which was intended for as soon as possible after her seventeenth birthday. Presuming Papa would actually agree to spend all that money.
    Still, even if she could not make up her mind whether or not she wanted to go, it was something to look forward to, as Hilltop went on its way, a frenzy of activity when the time came for grinding the sugar cane, but that was only once a year, and for the rest it wandered somnolently on: the book-keepers meeting Father every morning at dawn before the Great House; the work gangs filing aback with their machetes and their lunches tied up in little bags on the end of sticks, or singing as they picked the bananas; the weekly service in the church, when Oriole sang loudest of all; the daily piano lesson; the rides in the afternoon, for Oriole was devoting a lot of time to teaching her how to ride like a lady as well as walk like one, which meant side-saddle, something Meg found it very difficult to accustom herself to; the evenings when she was expected to read or recite to Oriole and Papa, following which she was packed off to bed while Oriole stayed up for a nightcap; and to talk, or at least, Oriole talked, and Father answered in monosyllables, a succession of days becoming weeks, and weeks becoming months, which had gone on ever since she could remember, and would no doubt go on for the rest of her life. For now even the occasional excitement provided by Alan was absent; Helen McAvoy never volunteered any information as to his whereabouts or progress, and she wouldn't ask.
    By the autumn of 1887 she was beginning to feel that only a visit to England would prevent her from going mad with boredom, when on a Saturday afternoon she returned from a ride on her mare, which she was in the habit of undertaking by herself while