Squire Wickes snorted, “Poor Neville! If he’s killed three people—where is he, Selene?”
Selene came to Squire Wickes. “Sir, you believe me. You know that I’ve spoken the truth. You’ve been good enough to say that I have been of some help to you in the past. Now—please listen to me. Neville is a weakling. He murdered but his father is the real murderer. Neville was afraid of his father—afraid. He ran out through the back, sir, and I gave him directions. He’ll try to make his way to a refuge with the Maroons. God knows what will happen, it’s a poor chance but—give it to him, sir.”
Squire Wickes rubbed his wig, he stared at Selene, he shook his head. “It’s a poor chance, yes. His father’s a hard man. You plead well, Selene.”
Simon sanded the paper he’d written on, put it in Squire Wickes’ hand and said, “Is that all legal and right, sir?”
“This—why—” Squire Wickes read. “Why it’s a deed of gift. Mallam Penn to the boy!”
“Yes, sir. With a trustee, his mother’s brother, Charles Carey.”
“But this—but really—”
Selene said softly, “Mr. Charles is a good man, sir. He requires only a little tactful advice in the right direction.” She glanced at Amity and there was a sudden, purely feminine twinkle of amusement in her eyes.
So that was the spell Selene had put upon Charles! A little tactful advice in the right direction and considerable beauty! It meant as little to Selene as the hibiscus flowers she wore.
Selene said to Squire Wickes, “Mr. Charles is not a man of great intelligence, sir, but he’s exactly what he seems, honest and kind. He’ll see to the boy’s interests here.”
“No—” Amity cried. “I’m to take Jamey to America. China said so—”
Selene glanced at her again and this time she might as well have said, quiet, don’t talk. She said actually, to Squire Wickes, very gently but firmly, “I’ve another favor to ask you, sir. Let Mr. Simon go—”
“Him! But he’s a rebel. I’ve not even questioned him as to his purpose here—”
“Then don’t question, sir,” Simon said. “I can tie you up. I seem to be in the business tonight,” he said rather wryly and Amity thought of Grappit tied up like an old rooster. “There are ropes. But I’ll take your parole.”
“H’mm!” This time Squire Wickes jerked his wig off entirely and rubbed his head. “I vow I like you, sir. If all the colonials are like you—But a spy—no, I’ll promise nothing!”
“Well, I do regret this, sir.” Simon picked up a length of rope.
“Get at it, then!” Squire Wickes said testily. “I have no choice. And neither have you!”
Selene came swiftly to Amity. “The gate,” she whispered. “Hurry. I’ll have to free him but I’ll give you time—”
It was a command. Amity slid out of the house; she went like a flying shadow herself amid other shadows. She ran past the sugar house, along the path below her window, along the very edge of the driveway. The house was lighted and a burst of song and China’s high trill of laughter came from the lounge. So, thus far, no one had discovered Grappit and released him.
The gate loomed up in the moonlight and two, no, three horses stood there, shuffling about. McWhinn leaned down from one of them and said dourly, “I’ve got the boy. Selene said you’d never leave him. There’s a sidesaddle for you. Where’s the rebel officer?”
Jamey, in front of him, piped, “We’re going home! McWhinn says we’re domned rebels. What’s a domned rebel?”
“I’m a domned rebel,” Amity said and knew it for the truth. I’m going home, she thought, my home, my country, a new nation, mine. She hoisted her skirts and had pulled herself into the saddle when Simon came, running, from the shadow of the hedge.
He stopped dead when he saw her and Jamey. “No—you can’t—”
“No time to argue, man,” McWhinn said. “Get in the saddle and God speed us all.”
At the first curve of the road, though, Amity checked her horse to look back. Simon pulled up beside her. The lights of Mallam Penn glimmered through the trees.
Simon said, “Neville wanted money, you know. He’s not so unlike his father, after all. Well—there are things we know, things we surmise. Things we’ll never know perhaps.”
Mallam Penn lay quiet in the moonlight, keeping its secrets. But as they looked, a long, strange wail rose and echoed eerily through the night.
“The conch!” Simon cried. “The alarm! Grappit—”
“Come along!” McWhinn shouted. “We take the road to the sea.”
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copyright © 1962 by Mignon G. Eberhart
cover design by Heidi North
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Enemy in the House Page 19
