Sacred Hunger - Barry Unsworth [13]
‘Blood is thicker than water.’ Kemp’s tone held an increased alertness. He had sensed some reservation in the other’s words. ‘You did yourself express an interest in what I had to propose,’ he added after a short pause. After all, it is why you are here, he was on the point of adding, but refrained, as it might seem to suggest there could be no other reason.
All the same, the question hung in the air for some moments. Paris did not reply immediately. He was a man who, Kemp suspected, might gnaw at his own purposes indefinitely if left alone to do so.
‘You have taken into account the advantages, of course,’ he said. ‘As I outlined them in my letter. You will be calling at places with many marvels to offer.’
‘Indeed yes.’ Paris nodded gravely. ‘It was said by Pliny that out of Africa there comes always something new.’
‘Oh, aye, was it? Well, he was in the right of it. And then, being a man of science you will find a quantity of things to notice.’
‘I have no doubt of it.’
‘I don’t mention money,’ the merchant said. ‘You have incurred expenses and these have been met. We need say no more about that. But there is something else which I think will interest you.’ Kemp leaned forward again, marking a pause. ‘I had been keeping it till the ship’s articles were signed, but there is no harm in telling you now. I am purposing to allow you three negroes privilege to be paid out of the cargo at cost, your choice of the blacks to be marked at the time of purchase. There now, what do you think of that?’
He was disappointed to discern no change of expression on his nephew’s face. ‘That is in addition to salary,’ he added in a tone of reproach.
After a long moment Paris smiled slightly and said, ‘That is an unlooked-for generosity on your part.’
‘And then, just now, a break, a period away from home, new fields of endeavour. To dispel those unfortunate associations which must … to an extent at least … I had hoped to have your final answer.’
‘Oh, I am going,’ the other replied quickly and, it seemed, almost carelessly, certainly not as though capitulating to argument.
In fact he had known from the first, from first receiving his uncle’s letter, that he would go. This exile of a long voyage, a commerce he had every reason to believe degraded, and suitable therefore for such as himself – it was a combination, in his wretchedness, impossible to resist. He had not doubted since then, was so far from doubting now that he was surprised to see relief show on his uncle’s face. ‘Certainly, I am going,’ he repeated.
‘That’s the spirit, we’ll drink to that,’ Kemp said. Next to signatures, he had found brandy the best way of sealing a bargain. Getting out the bottle and glasses, however, he felt suddenly exhausted, as if he had been through an ordeal of some kind. These moments of doubt, just when everything had seemed settled, had brought home to the merchant why this awkward nephew of his exercised such a spell, why he was so set on having him for surgeon. It had little to do with charity, except perhaps to himself. What had befallen Paris was the worst possible thing, the thing most to be feared. He stalked through the rooms of the house in Red Cross Street, a spectre of bankruptcy and ruin, his own, Kemp’s, everyone’s; he was a wincing ghost that had to be, not laid to rest, but rehabilitated, undemonized, brought back into the world of collective enterprise. Then the fear that haunted most of Kemp’s dawns might also pass away.
‘Well, nephew,’ he said, holding up his glass, ‘here’s to success!’
FIVE
It took Erasmus an hour to choose his clothes for the visit. He tried on various suits, but all of them were lacking in one way or another. Finally he decided on the claret-coloured satin suit with the white, corded-silk waistcoat to go with it, a sumptuous garment this, embroidered all over with small flowers in a darker shade. His hair was dark and naturally lustrous; he had taken recently to wearing it in a bang across his forehead and tied behind with ribbon. Worn thus, it softened his looks, reduced the impression