Volume Two—Chapter Ten.
In Search of Justice.
The mutual spite between planter and penn-keeper was of old standing—dating, in fact, from their first acquaintance with each other. Some sharp practice between them, in the sale and purchase of slaves, had given origin to it; and circumstances were always occurring to hinder it from dying out. This was more especially the case since the Jew, by the purchase of the Happy Valley estate, had become the contiguous neighbour—and, in point of wealth, almost the rival—of the proprietor of Mount Welcome.
On the side of the Custos there had been for some time past another feeling mixed up with his antipathy to his Israelitish neighbour—a vague sense of fear. This was of modern origin—dating from a period subsequent to the execution of Chakra, the myal-man—and begotten of some remarks which, as reported to Mr Vaughan, the Jew had made in connection with that ugly incident.
If nothing had of late transpired to increase this fear on the part of the Custos, a circumstance had arisen to strengthen his hostility. The protection which had been given to his discarded nephew, and the parade which his neighbour was making of him, had proved to the Custos a scandal of the most irksome kind; and almost every day was he made aware of some unpleasant bit of gossip connected with the affair. So irritated had he become with rumours, constantly reaching him, that his hatred for the Jew had grown stronger than ever before; and he would have given a dozen hogsheads of his best muscovado to any one who would have provided him with the means of humiliating the detested penn-keeper.
Just at this crisis, chance or fortune stepped in to favour him, apparently offering the very opportunity he desired; and in a way that, instead of costing him a dozen hogsheads of sugar, was likely to put far more than that amount of property into his pocket.
It was the day before that on which Smythje had dropped into the dead-wood. The Custos was in his kiosk alone, smoking a plantation cigar, and conning over the statutes of the “black code”—a favourite study with him. Just at that moment Mr Trusty’s shadow was projected into the summer-house. “Well, Trusty, what is it?”
“There’s a man below wants to see your worship.”
“On what business, pray?”
“Don’t know,” answered the laconic overseer; “he won’t tell. Says it’s important, and can only communicate to yourself.”