by Andre Norton
“When he fled New York he left no accounting of these monies. It was my father and later my brother Julian and I who supported my grandmother. We learned that Amos had established himself well in the Bahamas where he built and. crewed two wreckers. In time he married a widow and had one son. But that son was lost at sea. Therefore, Amos had no legal heirs. He left his estate when he died to his widow, a woman of prudence and frugality and, as some of the ladies of the islands, also holding shares in wrecking ships. But in addition, she was also a very honest female.
“It was while she was dealing with her husband’s estate that she came upon letters written by my grandmother urging Amos to return her funds; letters which, incidentally, he had never answered. His widow at once wrote to New York and offered to make up the sum in question. At that time I was our representative in London and so out of touch. Julian, my grandmother, and my Aunt Eleanor, all died within two weeks of each other of yellow fever which struck hard that summer. I was summoned home but the letter was delayed in reaching me and it was some months before I found that from Amos’ widow.
“At that time I was engrossed by the company affairs and, since the debt was owed to my grandmother, I thanked Madam Rooke by letter but said that I considered the debt discharged by the deaths of those concerned. I did not think of this again for years.
“However, shortly before the fire which reduced our circumstances so greatly, I received word from an attorney in the islands that Madam Rooke, who had lived to a great age, was lately dead. And her will had left all her extensive property to be equally divided between my grandmother’s kin and certain charities. The sum willed to us amounted to a sizable one.
“Thus I gathered the letters and papers in that case—” He made a slight gesture to the bedside table where lay a small, locked portfolio. “Those prove the validity of our claim.”
His face was near gray though he spoke clearly and with his usual deliberate spacing of words. Now he paused and Shubal pushed past the girl to hold a small glass to his master’s bluish lips. Uncle Augustin sipped, then raised his head slowly once more. His eyes did not dismiss Persis. Rather there was a fierce determination in them which spread to his drawn face.
“You”—shallow gusts of hardly drawn breath punctuated his sentence—“must remember!”
“I will, Uncle Augustin.”
Now his eyes closed and Shubal waved her back without speaking. The servant followed her to the door as if he must make very sure she would go. But his attention was fixed on the man in the bed.
Persis returned to the chamber across the hall. So there had been a real reason for this voyage to the islands, more than just the quest for the health that Uncle Augustin would never find again. She stood by the window which looked down on the wharf.
There were no men busy there now, though boxes and bales remained. Perhaps their warehouse had been filled. A bird with vividly colored wings and a harsh cry swept past, to be lost in the thick green rimming the pool and the canal. Seaward, that smudge Lydia had named a ship was taking on more visible outlines.
But closer there was a craft making its way up the canal. And this was no ship’s boat; rather a narrow, battered looking canoe made of a single huge log hollowed out, in which sat a single paddler. It advanced at a sluggish pace in spite of the efforts of the paddler who headed straight for a small wharf at the foot of the mound on which the house stood. Catching hold of one of the stakes there, the paddler—now obviously a woman—scrambled out, to stand erect, winding a twist of rope around the stake to anchor the strange vessel.
A fringed skirt of tanned hide flapped about her legs and a wide-brimmed hat woven of some reed or frond covered her head, so that Persis, from this higher level, could see nothing of the newcomer’s face. The stranger stooped to pick up a hide-wrapped bundle and, settling this on one bony hip, started to the house, climbing a series of hardly noticeable notches in the hillside to disappear around the side of the outer wall.
The canoe bobbed lazily at the post. Farther out, the ship which had so excited Lydia was entering the anchorage by the reef. Men gathered on the larger wharf, watching it. There was something about their attitude which suggested no good will toward the intruder—even as if they were about to consider defense against an invasion.
Persis remembered tales that the Bahama wreckers and those from the Keys had been, not too long ago either, bitter enemies. And there had been hints of secret battles fought far away enough so that no neutral watchers had witnessed such.
Though the law had now settled boundaries and many of the Bahamians and their families moved to the Keys rather than lose their livelihood, old jealousy and hatred might still smolder under the surface. Certainly what Lydia had said suggested that Captain Leverett held little or no liking for the master of the vessel now coming to anchor in a domain he had made his own.
Persis moved away from the window. Lydia seemed very sure of herself, preparing to give this Captain Ralph Grillon the welcome of an honored guest. But—once more her own single vivid memory of those last moments on board the Arrow when the master of this Key had dumped her into his boat like a bale of goods, made Persis wonder a little at the other girl’s defiance. The impression which remained in her own mind of Captain Leverett was that he was certainly a man to be reckoned with.
So perhaps there were storm clouds of another kind ahead. But that was none of her concern. More important than any arrivals by canoe or ship, arrivals which had nothing to do with her affairs, was Uncle Augustin’s story.
He must feel—her breath caught a little—he must feel very ill. He, who had always been so self-sufficient and the master of his destiny, and of hers too, who had waved aside that earlier offer of repayments—must now face dire necessity to make this trip to claim funds from a stranger. And now to tell her about it. Funds tainted with dishonest dealing. Uncle Augustin was a truly honorable man. Was he entirely ruined then?
A tap on the door interrupted her unpleasant chain of thought. She lifted the latch to find Molly outside, and behind her two of the island men carrying Persis’ trunk between them. Molly waved them in, her round face one determined scowl. After they had set down their burden and were gone, the maid sniffed.
“Fees indeed!” She snapped at the door closing behind them. “They dare to talk about fees, do they—?”
“What fees?”
Hands on her hips, her face flushed, Molly fronted the girl.
“Seems like those rescued by these seagoin’ varmints are supposed to fee them for not being left to drown! Never did I hear such un-Christian talk! Wasn’t my own father one of them at the Cape who went out in the boats when there was a ship a-reef at home? And there was no talk then of fees—that I’ll give oath on!”
Persis’ own indignation arose. All of a piece—this wrecking. You rescued a ship, or at least its cargo, and settled with the Captain for either a fee or else the goods to be auctioned. So of course it would naturally follow that the passengers, also saved, had to fee the wreckers in turn. But she fully agreed with Molly’s outraged feelings.
“Did they quote you a sum?” She strove to control her anger. Certainly Uncle Augustin was not going to be bothered by this! Though what she could do, except ask Captain Leverett for a reasonable time to pay, Persis did not guess. The more she thought of this system, the hotter her anger grew.
“I did not ask,” Molly returned. “Knowin’ as how this was yours I just told them straight out to bring it here. Might be all in it is ruined by water anyway. Then that there big Irishman, him who bosses the wharf crew, said as how this couldn’t be moved ’cause it was cargo. I give him the sharp of my tongue about that, I can tell you! Cargo, eh! And I had some things to say about this fee business that one won’t be forgettin’ in a hurry.
“I told him the master was sick abed and not likely to be able to talk fees. And that he wasn’t to bother you with such foolish wickedness neither. I don’t think,” Molly ended on a note of satisfaction, “we’ll hea
r any more about it—not from that one anyway.”
So they were not really guests, Persis thought. Captain Leverett’s house might as well be an inn, in spite of all its luxury. Mrs. Pryor ought to be able to straighten out the status of such uninvited intruders. Of all under this roof, Persis believed Mrs. Pryor the best to question frankly. And it was up to her to do it.
She had no idea of what funds Uncle Augustin carried—whether they could so meet their “ransom” when this pirate wrecker demanded it. But if she could gain some idea of the sum—They must be able to pay the doctor also. And there would be their passage on to Key West, and from there to the Bahamas. She, who had never handled more than the household accounts in her life, was more than a little disturbed.
Molly was busy with the trunk. Perhaps Persis could find Mrs. Pryor and get it settled about their status under this roof as soon as possible. Murmuring that she had an errand, Persis went back into the hall and down the front stairs. Raised voices drew her to the back part of the house.
“You know, Miss Lydia, what the Captain would say—and do, if he were home.”
“Yes, but he isn’t. And if he can open his precious house to these people he dragged off the Arrow—then I can entertain a friend. My friend. And I’m not asking any leave of Crewe, which I couldn’t anyway—since he is not at home. Mam Rose and Sukie are to do just as I told them—the best china and linen and good food. Ralph Grillon is no seagoing trash. He has every bit as much authority in the islands as Crewe assumes here. And I am not going to be ashamed of this house when he visits. I saw Mason go off to warn Crewe, but it’ll be hours, if ever, before he has that wreck off the reef and ready to bring in. I heard him say so. In the meantime, I am entertaining a gentleman and giving him such hospitality as we are noted for—” Her voice rose higher with every vehement word.
Persis, embarrassed, wanting to be away from her involuntary eavesdropping, took several steps backward. So when she bumped into someone who must have entered very quietly indeed, it gave her such a start she nearly lost her balance. A hand fell on her arm, grasping her firmly, and she turned to look over her shoulder up into the sun-and-sea-browned face of a stranger.
“Steady as you go, ma’am!” The laughter in his eyes matched the curve of his lips. “Never thought I’d be a reef to bring up short such a pretty craft—”
His eyes were not only laughing, but bold. Persis stiffened, not caring for the way he deliberately looked her up and down. As if she were a ship and he was considering purchasing her.
He wore a blue jacket with brass buttons which the sea air had not been allowed to tarnish, and his hair curled about his forehead, for his head was bare though he held an officer’s cap in one hand. She had to look well up, for in height he matched Uncle Augustin’s inches. But he was sparkling alive, having none of her uncle’s aloof reserve.
Persis flushed, realizing she had been staring at him almost as boldly as he had eyed her. Now, dropping his hand from her arm, he bowed.
“Ralph Grillon, at your service, ma’am,” he introduced himself. There was the faintest of accents in his voice. She found it interesting. “Very much at your service.”
She thought he accented that “your” and blushed a little deeper as with a cry of “Ralph!” Lydia came running down the hall, both hands outstretched in very open and informal greeting.
3
P ersis had no chance to confer with Mrs. Pryor over the vexing questions concerning fees. Everything now centered about the very dashing Captain Grillon as Lydia made very sure it must. It was apparent that she was completely captivated by her guest, her demeanor far from proper when she showed such a marked preference. Persis, so carefully schooled in the restraint of Uncle Augustin’s household, so well taught in the manners of Miss Pickett’s Academy, was embarrassed by Lydia’s exuberance. And then troubled somewhat on her own account when she became aware that Captain Grillon was making a determined effort to include her in their company, in spite of Lydia’s beginning frowns.
That the Captain was handsome Persis admitted, against her better judgment, for he was too handsome somehow. And she found his familiar way of addressing both her and Lydia increasingly disturbing. Finally she made an excuse of the necessity of attending on her uncle and managed to reach the chamber which had been given her. There she found Molly shaking her head over the creased and dampened contents of the trunk.
“Just look at this!” The maid held up a flounced dress of pale-green spotted muslin. But there were other spots on it now and the ruffles hung damply limp. “I’ll wash and iron them. But, Miss Persis, some of these ain’t never goin’ to look nice and fresh again—I’ll give you my word on that!”
Perhaps an hour ago the implied destruction of her wardrobe might have been a catastrophe for Persis. But now, though she did not in the least want to continue wearing the charity of Lydia Leverett, she had more important matters on her mind.
“Molly!” She raised her voice, lacing it with authority to get her companion’s full attention. “Is there a way you can arrange for me to speak privately with Mrs. Pryor?”
“Now there’s one with her head firmly on her shoulders,” commented the maid. “She runs this house, for all the show of Miss Lydia being mistress. She had a boarding house down in Key West ’til the Captain got her to take over here. A widow woman who—”
“Molly!” Persis’ voice became even more crisp. “I don’t care about her history. I just want to talk with her. Miss Lydia is entertaining a guest and I do not care to journey about the house, hunting her—”
“You wouldn’t find her if you did, Miss Persis. Not right now. She took off with that old witch who came up to the kitchen door. Cook and the maids let out such a screech when that happened m’heart fair stopped a beat. I wonder that you didn’t hear them, Miss Persis—them screaming so. None of them would go near the old hag, but Mrs. Pryor just took up a basket and filled it right up with bread and cheese and good thick slices off a cold roast. Then she and that witch took off together. Strangest thing I ever did see—Mrs. Pryor, she being so proper and neat, and that other one—” Molly sniffed disparagingly.
Persis was interested in spite of herself. “What do you mean by a witch, Molly?”
“She sure looked like one, Miss Persis. Got a face on her ’bout a hundred years old, nose and chin coming as near one another as the parts of a nutcracker, and her eyes all sunk in. But she isn’t blind—she could see good enough with them eyes. I wouldn’t want to have her overlookin’ me with ’em—not if she took some sort of a spite to me.
“After they were gone, cook tells me as how this witch woman has powers all right. Indian she is, but not like the rest of the Indians hereabouts. They’re all afraid of her, too. She speaks as good as a Christian if she wants to and she has healing powers. She brings Mrs. Pryor leaves and herbs and such things for nursing. Mrs. Pryor is well known for a nurse. Did all the doctoring on the Key before the real doctor came.
“And the Captain, he lets this old witch come around and gives her what she wants—’cause of those other Indians—the raiding ones. As long as this here Askra is friendly, then maybe they won’t try to move in. They say as how it was her people who lived here a long time ago, and built their houses on mounds. Askra, she comes to talk to the ghosts of the Old Ones. Leastways that is what they say in the kitchen. Sounds like a lot of real nonsense, only when you see them eyes of hers lookin’ you over you begin to wonder a little.”
Persis was amazed at the new angle of life on Lost Lady Key. The figure she had seen disembark from the canoe, that must have been Askra. And that the very correct Mrs. Pryor would accompany such a visitor anywhere was another surprise.
“They’re talking about trouble comin’, them in the kitchen. More than just this witch.” Molly dearly loved to gossip, but it was seldom she had such unusual material to work with. “They don’t take kindly to that ship out there,” she gestured to the window. “One of the men has gone to warn the Captain about
it. Seems like the Captain don’t want to be neighborly with this Grillon. They had a run-in ’bout six months back over some wrecking business. Grillon, he has no right in these waters and the Captain warned him off. But Miss Lydia took a shine to the man and if he comes courtin’ she’s partial to it. Now this Grillon says as how he needs fresh water, his casks got stove up and stalted in the storm. So he comes here. But they think downstairs as how he really came to spark Miss Lydia, knowing somehow that the Captain ain’t here.”
Persis went back to the window. Yes, there was now a long boat midway between the Stormy Luck and the wharf, near enough for her to see it carried some barrels. Water was scarce in the Keys, even Key West had to be supplied by shipped-in water when their rain-filled storage tanks began to fail. But Lost Lady was unique (which probably accounted for its long habitation by different peoples) in that it had a spring of fresh water, jealously cherished by the islanders, as the captain of the Arrow had told them one night.
“All this is none of our business, Molly.”
“Maybe so, Miss Persis. But when Captain Leverett gets back there is goin’ to be such a rumpus—if this Grillon is still here—as will make you think you are back in a storm again. Now, I’ll just take these and see what can be done to freshen them up.” She scooped up an armload of dresses, petticoats, and underlinen and went out.
Persis settled on a chair by the window. When Captain Leverett returned—yes, she could well imagine that that great giant who had seized her so roughly would not take easily to having his orders disobeyed. This was his room, too, and she had no right here. If Uncle Augustin were only as well as he had been when they left New York. But she was sure she dared not suggest transporting him now, unless there came a sudden change for the better in his condition. She watched the wharf and the incoming boat. Her fingers nervously pleating the edge of her apron. What should she do?
Life in New York had never been this complicated. It had revolved with slow and undisturbed dignity (if a little dully at times) about Uncle Augustin’s routine, so regularly kept that Persis could chart her employment for hours ahead. Then she had been bored. Now she wished herself back in that snug safety where there were no storms, either human or natural, and all the rest which seemed about to beset this house.
