Amity’s power of motion came back. She moved quickly from Grappit’s unctuously affectionate arm. “I said no. What else?”
Squire Wickes seemed to give her a little bow, and turned to Neville. “And you, sir? Is it your wish to wed your cousin? If I may inquire upon so delicate a matter?”
China twisted from Aunt Grappit to give Neville an indignant glance. Neville’s cheeks turned pink. “Why, I—why, certainly, sir. If the lady—But this is no time to talk of it, sir!”
Squire Wickes said amicably, “Quite right. This is really an unwarrantable intrusion on my part. Did Hester know of your marriage, madam?” He asked Amity point-blank.
“I suppose so.”
“I only wondered—well, there. I’m getting old. My thoughts wander. Now I understand that Hester presented herself saying she wished to come to Jamaica in your employ.”
He was looking at China, who burst into flurried explanations. “There wasn’t time to inquire about Hester. She looked very respectable. At first. Then she began to paint and wear silks and flirt with Neville.”
“Will you tell me anything you know of the girl’s murder, sir?” Squire Wickes asked Neville so quietly that a second or two passed before Neville’s face reddened. He flung his wine glass to the floor. The glass broke and tinkled, the red wine spilled. Neville shouted at Squire Wickes.
“You act as if I lured that girl out there in the garden and—and she repelled my advances and I killed her! This is an outrage! An insult! By God, I’ll call you out and kill you. No—” Neville caught an uneven breath. “No—no, I can’t do that. You’re too old. But I—I—” His chin quivered. Amity thought he was going to cry.
Charles put a steadying hand on Neville’s laced wrist. “The Squire didn’t accuse you, Neville.”
China burst into speech again, her face pink. “For heaven’s sake, Neville, the shoe is on the other foot! That girl wouldn’t have repelled your advances, far from it! She’d have led you on, that little slut—”
Squire Wickes said sternly this time, “De mortuis nitl nisi bonum.”
China whirled on him. “I don’t know Latin but I know what that means, and let me tell you, sir, death didn’t change that girl—”
“China,” Charles said. “You have no proof of any ill behavior.”
Grappit tried twice to speak and then succeeded. “Squire Wickes, this is, I assure you—”
Aunt Grappit cried, “Young men will be young men. There’s no harm—”
Charles interrupted. “I doubt, Squire Wickes, if you seriously consider the likelihood that a young woman of this girl’s station in life would fail to be flattered by the attentions of—I mean to say passing little flirtations with—no, no, I’m speaking no ill of the dead but still such little games are only that, sir, as you know.”
Neville shot him a flashing blue glance and smoothed the lace on his cuff.
Aunt Grappit said absently, “Really, Neville, you didn’t have to fling wine about.”
The red spot on the floor was the color of blood. No, Amity thought, it is the color of those masses of red bougainvillaea where Hester died.
Squire Wickes took more snuff, sneezed and said in a vague way, “You have undoubtedly searched Hester’s effects.”
Neville stopped smoothing his laces. Aunt Grappit stared fixedly at the spilled wine. China batted her eyes. Grappit said, “Certainly, sir. I searched her effects that night after McWhinn—after her sad burial. I found nothing but clothes. But then I expected to find nothing. My sister-in-law had told us that what papers she had were in a box which was lost.”
China half lifted her head, caught Amity’s eyes, looked guilty and put her head back on Aunt Grappit’s shoulder without saying a word of the ribbon-tied, blank papers.
Squire Wickes should know of those papers; Selene was right, Amity thought swiftly. But if those papers represented so urgent a danger that it was a motive for murder, then someone in that room must be, for that moment, on the rack. Apparently no one was. Not a face changed.
Perhaps, then, Selene was wrong. Why, she had to be wrong! If Hester’s murderer had feared the presumable contents of those papers, he’d have gone, hot-foot, to Hester’s room to recover them.
It flashed through her mind while Squire Wickes took another leisurely pinch of snuff and said, “No doubt the girl was just what she said she was.”
Grappit said, “The fact is, Squire, I intended to dismiss the girl.” There was again about him an air of candor—but he knew that Amity or China or someone would tell the story. It came better from him.
“Dismiss her?”
“She was not attending to her duties, sir. I intended to find some other post for her, naturally.”
“Did you tell her that you intended to dismiss her?”
“Oh, yes. She was—well, I must tell you the full truth. She was angry about it, ill-mannered, really rather insolent. But that was all.”
China lifted her head, again seemed to think better of an impulse to speak and again burrowed it in Aunt Grappit’s embrace.
“This little flirtation with your son—I believe you called it a little game, sir.” Squire Wickes nodded at Charles. “Had this anything to do with her dismissal, Mr. Grappit?”
“Not at all,” Grappit said firmly. “I knew nothing of it. Indeed there was nothing to know. I believe my son had some conversation with her—how many times, Neville? Once—”
“Twice,” said Neville, scarlet and angry again, and muttered something about making mountains out of molehills.
Squire Wickes’ ears were acute. “I daresay. Still there was certainly some reason for killing her. Now this ship that brought you here—” He made a foreshortened bow to Amity, to the back of China’s head, to Charles. “Hester was certainly aboard that ship and—dear, dear, odd things happen. We are out of the world here. Yet sometimes we have news from here and there. For instance, we know that the French fleet, under command of d’Estaing, left your country—the coast near the province of Rhode Island, I believe, in November. He is now in our vicinity. Indeed, he engaged in battle off Santa Lucia, in December, Admiral Barrington commanding our forces. D’Estaing was driven off but his fleet is still in our seas.”
D’Estaing’s fleet and Simon’s errand! Amity lowered her eyes for fear the old squire would see too much.
Grappit said, “Well, but—I don’t see the significance—”
Squire Wickes contrived to look apologetic. “Really, I am old. Absent-minded, thinking of the war.” He addressed Amity. “Five passengers, two ladies, a servant, a gentleman and a little boy—yes, yes, of course it was your party—a story of having been picked up at sea from an American vessel—dear me, yes. But you made the entire voyage on the Southern Cross, out of Savannah. Oh, the captain had a Dutch flag and papers—what they won’t do to turn a dishonest farthing! But the Southern Cross was discovered to be in fact an American privateer and smuggler. The captain has been taken up by His Majesty’s government in Spanish Town to await trial. Shocking, the amount of smuggling that does go on—hard to control, of course—so many privateers in our waters—yes. An odd thing though,” he said conversationally. “He had false papers but his true papers were found hidden, log, crew list and all. His crew was signed on in Savannah and one of his crew seems to have disappeared, just before the boat was put under guard pending the decision of the Vice-Admiralty Court.” He took snuff again and Amity thought her heart would burst.
Squire Wickes sneezed. “But we’ll find him. I daresay there would have been some inquiry here, merely in the event that any of the passengers on the Southern Cross had any knowledge—you understand. The thought has occurred to the officers of our Vice-Admiralty Court that this vanishing seaman may have been a colonial, endeavoring to get in touch with d’Estaing’s fleet. Possibly a secret agent with some kind of message. It seems that the other seamen—dear me, how fully they blamed their predicament upon their captain—it seems that they concur in their belief that the man wh
o escaped was no seaman. Indeed, they all said that he was a gentleman. Odd.”
“What was his name?” Grappit’s voice was as harsh as a rusty file.
“Now let me see—I did hear it—but it really doesn’t matter. A false name. But Jamaica is a small island and he’ll be found any moment. Too bad. A mere prisoner of war, that’s one thing. But a secret agent—yes, that falls into a very ugly category, indeed. I dislike hangings.” His wise old eyes fixed Amity. He said gently, “I am indeed sorry to know that your husband, Simon Mallam, was killed in this dreadful quarrel. In view of the circumstances, I believe I should tell you the contents of your father’s will.”
“But I—” she began and stopped, for there was something curious in Squire Wickes’ look. And something very singular indeed about the stillness in Grappit’s pale face.
“You already knew about your father’s will, I take it,” Squire Wickes said. “His entire estate, both here and in America, were originally left to you. But while in Jamaica he wrote a codicil. Indeed, he did me the honor to ask me to witness his signature.”
Amity shot another glance at Grappit and if it was possible for him to look slightly embarrassed, he did.
She said to Squire Wickes, “Did he name my brother and my stepmother, then?”
“No,” he said, looking hard at Amity. “He told me that you would share with them, it was all arranged with you. The codicil was to the effect that Mallam Penn was to go to Simon Mallam. Or,” said Squire Wickes, “his heir. It is true that your husband died in the rebel cause—still since your father was a sincere Loyalist and in view of your husband’s death, yes, I feel that the Court of Chancery will respect your father’s intent and Mallam Penn will almost certainly become your property.”
The tears Amity could not pretend to shed when Grappit had lied and told her Simon was killed at Savannah, now came to her eyes. “Mallam Penn belonged to Simon’s branch of the Mallams. My father was always fair—always generous—” And then a curious, a strong and sudden conviction thrust itself at her. That was why Grappit had declared that Simon was dead—so she would inherit Mallam Penn from Simon.
“You knew this, Uncle!” she cried. “You went to Spanish Town! You saw his will—”
“Certainly, Niece,” Grappit said smoothly. The touch of embarrassment, at seeing one of his schemes exposed, had gone. He said eagerly to Squire Wickes, “Do you think it likely that they’ll find this escaped seaman, this runaway, soon?”
So he was on the trail, swift and crafty as a ferret!
Squire Wickes hoisted himself up. “I can’t say how soon. But we’ll find him. Now then, McWhinn—”
Amity had forgotten McWhinn’s presence. He stepped forward as if he were a piece of the wall, mobilizing itself. “I’ll see the obeah woman now,” Squire Wickes said pleasantly.
Grappit started from his deeply concentrated thought, and Amity knew the direction of those thoughts as if he had told her. “Why, Squire, we’ll send for her if you must speak to her, but really, I don’t see what—”
“McWhinn will take me to her,” Squire Wickes said.
“But she—why, she’s only a servant—I’ll send for her if—”
Squire Wickes said quietly, “There is a certain courtesy. She is a very unusual woman—No, no, I’ll go to her cabin. Come, McWhinn.”
16
MCWHINN MARCHED TOWARD the door. Squire Wickes limped stiffly after him and at the door turned back. “Captain, Leftenant, you will remain here for the time being. Mr. Grappit, the night grows late and the journey back to Punt Town is a difficult one. If we may impose upon your hospitality—”
Grappit twitched as if a spider had stung him and Amity wished it had—a tarantula, by preference. “Certainly, yes. Most welcome, I assure you.” He looked at Aunt Grappit. “Madam, see that our guests have accommodations for the night.” His pale eyes shot to Amity. “Niece, go to the cookhouse. Tell them supper—”
Amity grasped her cloak and hurried out toward the cookhouse. A dim moonlight was beginning to struggle from behind scattered clouds. The night din had begun long since and pulsed through the wet and dripping shadows. She ran along the passage to the door of the cookhouse, told the maids to serve supper and then turned from the passage and skirted along a thick hedge of bamboos toward the path that led to the banyan tree and Selene’s cabin. McWhinn and Squire Wickes were by this time ahead of her; there was no chance to warn Selene but Selene knew of the presence of the officers of the law and she would have been prepared for that.
What Selene and Simon didn’t know was that the captain of the smuggler, Captain Boyce, was under arrest. And that all over Jamaica they were hunting an escaped seaman.
Once she reached the banyan tree and its heavy tent-like foliage, she paused. Now Grappit’s whole plan was as plain and neatly executed as the moves on a chessboard. And like a very good chess player, he had made flexible plans, alternative courses, capable of change in the event his opponents (circumstances, time, Amity herself) did this or that.
First, he had come at once to Jamaica, to discover whether her father was alive or dead and if dead, exactly how he could get his hands on Mallam Penn, now that Amity by her marriage(and if the Americans won the war) had placed the American property out of his reach.
He had discovered that her father’s will was in Chancery Court; as the actual head of the house he would have had no difficulty in seeing the will and reading the codicil.
China seemed his best and most direct gambit, in the belief that the British court would not allow the wife of a rebel (which by British law meant Simon) to inherit property.
He was balked there; he saw through China’s airy pretensions at once. China would not have Neville and there was no possible lever he could use to sway China. Why had China suddenly denied having witnessed Amity’s marriage? Amity thought of that for a moment. Certainly China had taken on a remarkable quantity of rum but she had also proved to have a remarkably hardy capacity so it wasn’t a matter of the rum speaking. China was always a weathervane; always easily frightened, always influenced except when her own strong wishes were involved; then she was like a pretty little rock and Grappit knew that as well as Amity knew it. ; But his next gambit was perfectly logical and that was to marry Amity to Neville. He was sincerely astonished when the argument of money and possession of Mallam Penn failed to affect her; for a simple reason: it was the strongest argument anybody could possibly have used to influence Grappit himself.
When that failed he had recourse to his alternate move, the threat to take Jamey and China to London, and he had shown skill there, for he had known that China would be only too pleased to go to London.
Now, his latest move was even more rapid and skillful. He had declared his belief in her marriage to Simon and almost in the same breath he had stated that Simon had been killed in the defense of Savannah. He had read the codicil of the will so he knew that if Simon were killed she would then inherit; as Squire Wickes said, the British court was not likely to pass over her claim, since her husband the rebel was dead, and she was a Loyalist and daughter of so firm a Loyalist that he had been driven from his home to take refuge in Jamaica. Oh, yes, Grappit intended to see that she came into possession of Mallam Penn.
But how did he expect to induce her to marry Neville? All at once that was clear, too, and it was again by manipulating people as if they were pawns. As a Loyalist, as the head of the family, as her only male relative, he could exert a very strong influence upon the Court of Chancery. He counted on convincing them that he, not Amity, should be made Jamey’s guardian and trustee—if Amity still refused to marry Neville. And he intended to use that threat to induce Amity’s agreement.
And in Grappit’s reasoning, it was a second and very sound argument for telling her that Simon had been killed—thus salving her conscience about dissolving her marriage. So he would reason.
It would be simple, later, for him to say that he had been misinformed about Simon’s death and that would
come after he had tied her fast and hard to Neville. He’d have known that eventually, when the truth came out, there would be the entanglement of her prior marriage to Simon. But like a very good chess player, he intended to deal with that contingency when it arose—and after he had got his hands on Mallam Penn.
All that was clear. His immediate next move was horribly clear, too. He was now suspicious, more than suspicious. All his quick and sly intelligence was actually on the scent of the escaped seaman and he was all but sure that the seaman was Simon. So, therefore, Grappit would reason that Simon would be somewhere near Mallam Penn and probably had seen her.
Why hadn’t she had the wit to weep some crocodile tears, put him off? No, she’d just stood there like a ninny, so surprised —and so thankful that he was lying—that she hadn’t even pretended grief. Well, she couldn’t do anything about that. But she must warn Simon. She would have to risk Selene’s displeasure and go to her cabin. She would wait then, until McWhinn and Squire Wickes left her cabin and returned to the house. She would stand very quietly, behind the great trunk of the tree until she heard their voices.
Her cloak, made for a colder climate, was suffocating even though the night had turned cool. Some night bird kept up a monotonous call, three notes repeated over and over again, just above her head. She didn’t hear Neville until he stumbled, fell apparently against some shrub and swore as it rained drops on his head. He came dimly into sight, stumbled again over a projecting root and said, “Gad’s life—my velvet coat—”
She could hear him brushing angrily at his handsome coat. She shrank back against the trunk of the tree but he came to a stop so near her she could have touched him, saw her and gave a violent start. “Who’s that? Why, it’s Amity! What in the world are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same question.”
“I’ll warrant we’ve the same reason. Where is this obeah woman’s cabin? This old man, Wickes—what’s he up to, questioning her?”
Enemy in the House Page 14
