PLANTATION

The domestic scene at the plantation house is for ever turned upside down - in the aftermath of war and in the tragedy of shattered lives.

ACT I

It is a hot sultry afternoon, when the crickets are busy, chattering away. Down the long avenue of cypress trees a buggy, drawn by a black horse, glistening with sweat, is driven at breakneck speed as if to meet a crisis head-on. The driver, dressed in his waistcoat and pin-striped suit, is trying to mop his brow while urging on the team to an even faster pace. The man seems out of place in the countryside.

He sees in the distance an imposing mansion with two colonnades, either side of a main entrance, by which what looks like a footman is waiting for his arrival. The footman is likewise dressed immaculately, and wearing white gloves. He has an anxious look on his weathered face.

The buggy curls round the well, situated in front of the building, and then comes to a sudden halt. A man, holding a black bag, jumps out and rushes into the building, as he follows the footman, who tells him that the baby has been expected any day now, but that the mistress is really poorly and screaming the house down. The master cannot take any more of this. He is in the library, drunk as the proverbial lord. Last time the footman looked in, the master was barely conscious but he decided to leave him be, since there was a more urgent matter to deal with - the birth of his child.

Hector is the name of the footman, and the doctor asks to be called by his surname - Brooks. They move quickly up the wide flight of stairs, which lead up to a balcony, overlooking the entrance hall. If they had time, they would notice the drapes and paintings which adorn the place. It is a sumptuous feast of colour which reflects the place in society in which the gentleman in the library and the lady about to give birth have reached in their search for recognition and acceptance among the local squirearchy.

Today, however, they are just human beings, caught up in the maelstrom of life which can so easily drive them down to despair and grief for a lost loved one. The footman and doctor reach the lady’s bedroom. The former gently knocks on the door, and from inside there is a faint response, calling the two to enter.

What they find are two women, one of whom  lies on a bed exhausted from the struggle of trying to mitigate the agony but unable to ease the pain. The other woman is diminutive and seems to be in her early twenties or late teens. She is frantically holding a cloth before her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She is distracted with worry, and seems unable to act in any coherent way. The doctor gestures Hector to leave the room and demands that Lizzie, the maid, for this is the other woman, to fetch some water in a basin and a towel.

She is relieved that she doesn’t have to make any of the decisions now. She rushes out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen.

Hector knows that he has a job for the master - which is to saddle up his white stallion - even though in his opinion he shouldn’t be going out at a time like this, but it is not his place to say anything to his employer, who at this moment is drowning his anxieties with drink - the worst kind in Hector’s teetotal mind!

He goes to the stables, where Lightning is kept in the first stall. He is a magnificent beast among others of almost equal worth. Anyone who owned him would be a proud man, and deservedly so. He begins to brush his main and talk softly to the fellow, telling him to look after the master wherever he goes today, especially if he is caught out in the rain and late at night. Hector can almost sense that this night is not going to be a good one. He wants to try and stop his master from putting himself in danger, but he knows that he has no chance of changing the latter’s mind.

He finishes getting Lightning ready for the journey. He then steps back and takes an admiring and scrutinizing look at his handiwork. The horse is quiet and relaxed. He will have to wait a while longer before the master has sobered up, and taken the reins.

Hector goes back into the house and walks down the corridor across the hall to the library. He opens the door to find his master now sprawled over his armchair and snoring like a rumble of thunder. His master is in fact one of the unemployed generals of a defeated army, who has been prematurely retired at a young age with one arm shot away from him and one eye blinded by shrapnel,. He is also a bitter and angry man who holds a grudge against the victors who have metaphorically wiped the faces of their enemy in the dirt by imposing their strict rule of law and turning upside down all the traditions and customs to which he and his kind had been used for many generations.

Let us call him Mr Smith, even though that is not his real name. Hector has been, is and always will be a faithful servant to him, even when he knows he is wrong. Hector almost has a love for this misguided man, for Hector is a good Christian and knows right from wrong.

He shakes his master by the shoulder several times before the latter groggily answers anything but with a grunt. Eventually he yawns and opens his eyes. He looks at his fob watch to check the time. Suddenly without further ado he staggers to his feet. “Hector, my good man, fetch me some black coffee. Lots of it. And quickly. Is Lightning saddled? Good, I must be gone very soon. I have an important engagement to fulfil.” He waves Hector away. No further explanation necessary nor for that matter is there time and place for objections on the part of Hector, as if he would dare.

Hector rushes back to the kitchen and heats up some coffee. He is there to serve his master, and he does it willingly, despite the new situation. Their respective positions have been irrevocably changed in a way with which neither can easily cope. At least that is the case with Hector., He is not sure if his master is in the same situation as he. They are both traditionalists. Hector cannot understand what freedom means, except that it is frightening. He hears a lot of talk about it more and more, and he cannot fathom what all the fuss is about. He is happy in his work, and his master is always pleased with him. They get along just fine.

While he is musing on these thoughts, the water has been boiling in the kettle and he suddenly remembers the coffee. He pours the water into the coffee-pot, which he carefully fills with beans. He lets it percolate for a few minutes, hoping the master hasn’t noticed he has been a while in completing his task. He gets a tray from a cupboard just below the sink and places coffee cup, saucer and pot with spoon and sugar bowl.

Then he strides purposefully back to the library. The door is open, so he enters without knocking. The sight before him indicates that he is going to need all his strength and diplomatic skills to first awaken his master from his enforced slumber and then to prepare him to be alert and vigilant for the night ahead.

Again, the footman shakes the man’s shoulder - at first gently, but gradually with more pressure, until the latter again startles him by sitting bolt upright and looking blankly at the window, overlooking the avenue of cypress trees. He seems to suddenly become aware of what he needs to do and where he needs to go. Hector counsels him to take his coffee first as a stimulant for the journey ahead. The master obliges him, probably because he is not fully in control of his faculties.

After about twenty minutes, Mr Smith looks at his fob watch and replaces it back in his breast-pocket. Advising Hector not to wait up for him, since he will not be back until near dawn, he and his footman stride out to the stables, where Lightning is waiting in anticipation, as though in the starting blocks for a race. Hector helps his master up onto his saddle and gives him his crop. He then shakes Mr Smith’s hand in a peculiar gesture, almost indicating that this will be the last time he will see him, although Mr Smith is not aware of the supposed finality of this action. Hector smiles, because of some secret knowledge he possesses, but has not revealed to anyone.

Hector has discovered the reason for Mr Smith’s frenetic departure. He is going to a special meeting. It is at the county courthouse at an hour when any law-abiding citizen would expect to be at home and in bed. Mr Smith is an exceptional man of courage, Hector admits, but he also knows that Mr Smith is very foolish and misguided, when it comes to getting involved with the wrong sort of people.

Tonight Hector has made up his mind that Mr Smith will not be allowed to make himself an idiot.

His master rides like the devil himself through the forest along well-worn tracks, as the gathering darkness closes in upon him. He does not want to feel frightened by the night, but there is a slight frisson in his manner which seems to creep over him in an unwarranted way. He has been in many battles and fought bravely under an intense barrage of concentrated fire. This however is different. It is as though he is being watched by an unseen enemy who knows him - who in fact has known him all his life.

He finds himself in the thickest part of the forest and in unfamiliar surroundings. He is not sure but he thinks he can hear voices. They seem to be coming from all around him. At first he dismisses them as just a figment of his imagination, until he hears his name being called out. His own special name with which few actually are acquainted. Not even his wife knows this name, because he has made sure she is never told this dark secret.

ACT II

A few days after Mr Smith’s ride into the forest, a body was discovered hidden in some undergrowth near the county courthouse, where the meeting, which he was due to attend, was to be held. No-one knew for sure the purpose of the meeting, but rumours spread like wildfire about the contents and the participants. It was fairly certain that former combatants from the defeated army were the main characters in a plot to overthrow the authorities, which had been set up by the victors from the North. They were organizing themselves in a secret society, which would wear distinctive clothing, designed to terrorize one section of the population who needed “putting in their place”. They also rode on white horses, and would arrive at a homestead to bring out the men and hang them from the nearest tree, as crosses burned in the dark shadows of violence and death.

Mr Smith could have been associated with these evil men, but was saved by an act of kindness. He lay in the forest with a pistol shot in his brain. He had lain there undiscovered for a few days, even though a frantic search had been made from the time he was missing that night. Mr Smith didn’t realize that his wife had miscarried their baby as a result of the distress to which she was subjected. So he would never have an heir to his fortune, although that would disappear in the changing times after the war. Hector had taken on the role of temporary master, so that the machinery of the place could continue to work as normal or near to that state as possible, until the body was found and service could then be resumed.

Mrs Smith had been confined to her bed, and was deathly pale. Hector had instructed Lizzie to give her a special broth he had prepared for the poor lady. He told Lizzie that this would help her mistress get over her grief at the loss of both her husband and baby. As time went on, Lizzie noticed that rather than getting better, her mistress was deteriorating rapidly. She suggested to Hector that they call the doctor. He advised her that in some cases when this broth was taken there would be a crisis, but that the patient would invariably rally and be back to their usual self soon after. So it would be best not to trouble the doctor until it was absolutely necessary. Lizzie wanted to believe him. She was a simple girl, who didn’t have a wicked thought in her mind. She was always trusting.

Hector sent out a search party to locate the body of Mr Smith. The forest was so dense that it was hard-going for the party. They needed machetes to hack through the undergrowth. Hour after hour they needed to cover a lot of ground. After a few days of fruitless investigation, they were about to give up their task, when they were approached by a backwoodsman - a strange-looking fellow, who seemed to some a bit familiar. His voice was slurred but not from drink. He did not speak but tugged at the hem of the front-man’s jacket, pointing to a clearing further down the track.

Eventually it wasn’t long before they found the body of Mr Smith. It had been badly mutilated after being shot. Inside his breast-pocket, they found his fob watch, broken in a thousand pieces, and a short note, scrawled on a scrap of paper. “This is my revenge for all the years of service.”

The group were so engrossed in the body they had found that they failed to notice the backwoodsman disappear into the forest. He had done his job and now it was time for him to leave. The searchers lifted Mr Smith’s body from his shallow grave and walked to the nearest highway. Having achieved that first step, they waited until a farmer and his cart came by.

He was of course willing to be of service to them, and so they were able to take the body back to the mansion. When they arrived, they found that one of the servants was missing and the lady of the house was dead in her bed. She had been poisoned.