‘Nowhere to go, eh, Hengrave?’ said Richmond, sauntering up to me, his face alight with malice. Away from his plantation, he must have missed having someone to persecute and was making up for lost time. ‘Now hand over whatever it was you were looking at.’
Blank windows looked down on the blind alley I had turned into. No friendly face from Clough’s appeared above to come to my rescue. There seemed no point in resisting. It was only a piece of pottery after all. I unclenched my fist and held it out on my palm. Richmond bent down to take a closer look and let out a howl of laughter.
‘“Am I not a man and a brother?” – well, not you, Hengrave, you nan boy.’ He slapped my hand away and turned to his followers. ‘Gentlemen, we have an abolitionist in our midst. And what do we think of that crew?’
‘Dirty thieves!’ grunted one.
‘And do you know what this thief called me on Sunday? A name so foul I’d blush to repeat it.’ Richmond raised his eyes heavenwards in mock piety. ‘What do we do to foul-mouthed little boys in our school, just as we do to runaway slaves at home?’
‘Teach them a lesson. Make them eat dirt!’ said a freckle-faced boy twice my height.
‘That’s right.’ ‘Let him have what’s coming to him!’ The chorus of voices swelled around me.
My heart was racing. I couldn’t take them all on. Even Syd’s emergency manoeuvre would not help me.
‘Kneel, Hengrave,’ commanded Richmond.
‘W-what?’ I stammered, fearing my legs would give way at any moment in any case.
‘Like the negro on this piece of rubbish. Kneel to your masters.’
That stiffened my sinews if nothing else could.
‘I’d rather kiss a monkey’s bum than kneel to you.’
‘My, my, you do have a colourful turn of phrase, don’t you, Hengrave? I think we should make an example of you, just as will be done to that negro boy when his rightful master gets him back home. It’ll teach others of your persuasion that spreading the poison of the abolition will not go unpunished.’
‘No, don’t . . . please.’ I held out my hands in front of me to ward him off. It cost me to beg anything from him but I had no choice.
‘Then kneel.’
Deciding discretion was the better part of valour, I sank to my knees, hoping this would satisfy him. But he hadn’t finished with me: he’d only just started. Fixing his eyes on mine, he grabbed a handful of mud and rubbed it into my mouth, gripping the back of my neck as I struggled against him. The other boys cheered.
‘That’s better,’ he said, wiping his hands on my jacket. ‘Now you know who’s master here.’ Trembling with fury, I spat at his feet. ‘Not yet learned your lesson? Take this, you dog!’ He aimed a kick, catching me in the stomach. I instinctively curled up into a ball, my hands protecting my head, as the others joined in, treating me like – well, like one of their slaves. Pain flashed through me again and again. I probably screamed but I can’t remember much more – except that the kicks stopped as suddenly as they had started when a voice thundered overhead:
‘Stop that this instant! Leave that boy alone!’ My persecutors fled as the locked door was flung open from inside and I saw a pair of boots inches from my face. Mr Castleton bent down.
‘Good God, is that you, Hengrave?’ The thought fluttered in my mind that this was a stupid question really in the circumstances and it was one that I did not answer as I blacked out.
I awoke and found myself lying on an unfamiliar bed in a room with a high ceiling. The air was cold and fresh. Someone was taking my boots off.
‘Back with us? That’s good.’ A woman in an apron and cap was smiling at me from the far end of the bed: it was Mrs Clough, dame of my house and the person I had been trying to avoid since my first day.
‘What happened? What am I doing here?’ I asked groggily.
‘I’d say you were set upon by some bullies. I see it all the time. Little chaps like you always seem to bear the brunt of it. Mr Castleton found you and carried you in here. He told me you weigh no more than a feather. Looks as though you’ve not been eating well, young man.’ She wagged a finger at me.
‘I’ve been ill,’ I said, remembering my family history.
‘That explains it, poor lamb. Now tell me, do you think anything’s broken? Your nose looks undamaged – that’s usually the first thing to go on these occasions.’
In a fog of pain, I moved my arms and legs on her instructions. They hurt like fury but were in working order.
‘You’ll live, Hengrave,’ she said with a nod that set the ribbons on her cap dancing. ‘Now, let’s see to those bruises. I’ve got some wolfsbane which will sort them out in no time. It’ll draw out the bruises. Take off your shirt.’
I sat up in more of a hurry than was wise, almost blacking out again with the pain. ‘No, I don’t need it,’ I said hastily.
‘Come, come, boy, no need to be shy. I’ve seen hundreds of boys in the flesh.’
Not like me, she hadn’t.
‘No, really, if you’ll just let me get back to my rooms, I’ll be all right.’
‘Don’t be a fool, Hengrave. You’re not going anywhere for the rest of the day. Now take off your shirt.’
A door banged open at the far end of the room and Charlie galloped into sight.
‘Mrs Clough, how’s my brother?’ he asked, giving me a desperate look.
‘Well, he’s just had what you barbarian boys call a good kicking, but he’ll live. He’s now refusing to let me put some wolfsbane on his bruises. How he expects to get better if he won’t take his medicine, I don’t know. Tell him to take his shirt off like a good boy, will you?’
Charlie quickly grasped my predicament.
‘He’s very shy, Mrs Clough. It’ll be torture for him to do that in front of you. What needs doing?’