GALLEON HOUSE
Margaret Malcolm
For generations Galleon House had been the home of the Trevaines—a haughty, arrogant family, who ruled the local people in almost feudal splendor. Andrea was proud to belong to them, and accepted that her destiny was to marry her cousin Leo and carry on the line.
How would she react when she discovered that the Trevaines were anything but perfect, their activities anything but honorable?
CHAPTER ONE
With the greedy eagerness of the very young, Andrea opened her eyes and was instantly awake to the promise that the day before her held. It was always like that.
She slid from the caress of the bedclothes and seemed almost to wing her way to the open window.
The sun poured in, and as she leaned out, breathing in great drafts of the salt-tanged air, her heart leaped with the sheer joy of living.
Galleon House stood high on the very brink of the headland and from her window Andrea looked straight down into Pay-Off Cove. The Cornish rock, drab in itself, was bright with patches of lichen, and the brilliant blue of the June sky was reflected and magnified in the water that gently creamed up the small sandy beach.
Over on the other side of the wide estuary the Poldean cliffs were not as steep as here on the St. Finbar side, but they were topped with a solid stone tower, a reminder of the days when England waited with a grim welcome for any venturesome Spaniard who might come that way.
It was an entrancing view—always the same and yet ever changing its mood. It had been Andrea’s home for all of her twenty years and she loved it so fiercely that she did not believe she could live anywhere else. This was her world.
But suddenly it was not sufficient just to gaze. She wanted to be closer to it all, to share the exhilaration of the wheeling seabirds and the little craft that bobbed so lightheartedly at their moorings.
She slipped off her plain, boyish pyjamas and reached for the scarlet bathing suit she had laid in readiness the night before. She thrust her feet into old canvas sandals, slung a towel around her shoulders and opened her bedroom door.
Galleon House was too solidly built for doors to squeak or stairs to creak, but Andrea’s caution was instinctive. The solitude of this early morning swim, a daily occurrence, meant more to her than she fully realized. Even the presence of those dearest to her would have been an intrusion.
She emerged into the sunshine through a garden door and five minutes later, she stood poised for a moment before, with a little shout of exultation, she plunged into the blue water.
In spite of the sunshine, the water was chilly enough to make her gasp, but she was young enough to enjoy that. For half an hour Andrea swam and dived to her heart’s content, at one with the sea and sky, at peace with the world. She lay on her back, staring up at the blue vault, feeling that this was a moment so perfect that life could offer no more. Above her towered the massive bulk of Galleon House, a sentinel, a watchtower whose presence gave her a sense of security.
Clearly in the silence she heard the stable clock strike eight, and immediately she struck out for the shore. From painful experience she knew that Madam—no one ever called her great-aunt anything but that—would have something to say if she were not at the breakfast table on the stroke of eight-thirty.
It was not until she was running up the beach that she realized that she no longer had the cove to herself. Coming toward her was red headed, dark-skinned man. He had picked up her towel and was now holding it out toward her.
“Turn around and I’ll put it on for you, Andrea!” he said familiarly, his full’ lips smiling, his eyes frankly admiring.
Andrea shivered. She had known Luke Polwyn all her life. He was, in fact, some sort of distant cousin, and until recently she had simply taken him for granted. Then, quite suddenly, she had discovered that she hated him to come near her, that something in his expression when he looked at her made her feel uncomfortably unsure of herself—and vaguely ashamed.
“Thank you, Luke, I can manage it myself,” she said with a dignity that contrasted oddly with the scarlet bathing suit. She held out her hand for the towel, hoping that he would not guess the surging, unfamiliar fear that filled her.
“Come and get it!” he said teasingly, retreating a few paces.
Andrea’s hand dropped to her side.
“You will either give it to me,” she said coldly, “or I will go back to the house without it—and explain why!”
“Oh, here you are, then, if you can’t take a joke!” He tossed it to her, his eyes sullen and smoldering. “You’re not very friendly these days, Andrea.”
“You’re abroad early this morning. Luke!”
Both Andrea and Luke started violently. Since each was absorbed in the other—though for different reasons—Leo Trevaine had been able to approach them unobserved. Now, gun under arm, he stood there surveying them unsmilingly, a magnificently built man, arrogantly aware of his ability to dominate this or any other situation. In the morning sunshine his hair and trimly cut beard turned to flame, but his eyes were the steely, threatening gray of a winter sky.
“I said you’re abroad early this morning, Luke,” he repeated very softly.
Luke’s eyes shifted uneasily before that grim gaze.
“Well, for that matter, so are you,” he retorted with an unsuccessful attempt to sound at ease.
For a moment Leo continued to regard him. Then, sparing a brief glance for Andrea, he jerked his head upward in the direction of the house.
“Run along, or you will keep Madam waiting,” he said, and Andrea obeyed instantly, as she always had done when Leo gave an order. As long as she could remember, Leo had not only been her cousin but her hero. In her eyes he was everything that a man should be—big, brave and born to command. No wonder she had always adored and imitated him.
She raced upstairs, tore off her wet suit and gave herself a brisk toweling. She dressed rapidly, wishing as she did so that Madam would allow her to wear slacks or shorts. But Madam was adamant on the subject.
“If the Lord had meant women to wear trousers, He would have made them a different shape,” she always insisted.
So Andrea wore skirts, although she was always careful to choose clothes that hampered her freedom of movement as little as possible.
This morning she donned a blue cotton dress with a white collar and belt. When she was ready to go downstairs, she stood for a moment in front of her long mirror. She was far from being vain, but early training had made her instinctively fastidious about her appearance. Every detail must be perfect. Gravely she inspected her stockings. Then her fingernails. A solitary hair clinging to her dress was removed. Lastly she examined her hair. She had the Trevaine hair, as Leo had, though hers was a darker red, and it hung to her shoulders, a rippling, fiery curtain. About her face where the hair was finer it broke into soft little curls.
She was about to turn away from the mirror when she paused. Were her eyes blue or green? She leaned forward to regard them more closely. When Leo wanted to tease her he called them cat’s eyes, but just once he had told her that the sea was in them—sometimes they were green, sometimes blue—ever changing, ever mysterious.
With a start, Andrea came back to reality. To be late for a meal was an unforgivable offense, and she flew downstairs just in time to be in position behind her chair, when on the stroke of eight-thirty Madam entered the room escorted by Leo.
Madam—christened Ruth Ann—was a Trevaine by birth as well as by marriage, as so many of the Trevaine women were. In her day she had been a famous beauty. Even now, at seventy-five, though her beauty was gone, she was as erect as she had ever been. Her thin, hawk-like face beneath the piled white hair had lost none of the arrogance it had always held and her brilliant eyes mi
ssed nothing.
Andrea’s heart beat a little faster, as it so often did at the sight of her great-aunt. She was such a commanding figure, so regal that it seemed the most natural thing in the world to Andrea that she should not only say, “Good morning, Madam,” in greeting but should drop a little curtsy as she had been taught to do almost as soon as she could toddle.
“Good morning, my child,” Madam responded amiably, and sat down at the head of the table as if it were her right. And indeed no one would have thought of questioning it. Galleon House and the land around it might belong to Leo, his word was law to his tenants, but Madam was—Madam!
Leo rang the silver bell that had once belonged to a Spanish admiral until his ship had ground itself to pieces on the rocks to which false lights had lured him a little more than a stone’s throw from the security of the estuary itself.
Madam surveyed Andrea closely. The child looked flushed, she thought. Something had happened to disturb her emotionally. What it might be she had no idea and she had no intention of asking. Direct questions often provoked lies, and in the end, if one waited patiently, one always found out the truth.
Leo had now unlocked the leather mailbag that lay on a side table and was sorting through the handful of letters in it. Four or five for members of the house staff...
There were almost as many letters for Madam as for Leo, but there were none for Andrea. Not that it worried her. Letter writing was one of the things she had been taught as a matter of course, but it was not a task she enjoyed. If she could receive letters without being compelled to answer them, that would be fun, but as she couldn’t, it was better if she received none at all.
She busied herself pouring out the coffee while the maid served the food. She then sat down to eat her meal in silence until her twin companions were free to speak.
Suddenly Leo gave an exclamation.
“Well, well, well!” he said softly. “Here’s a pleasant surprise!’ Madam looked up.
“What is it, Leo?” she demanded sharply.
“We are, it seems, to have a visitor,” Leo announced. “Our dear cousin Simon, all the way from New Zealand, is now in London and would like to come and pay his respects.”
“Simon Trevaine!” Madam held out her hand for the letter Simon, son of Simon, son of Philip, grandfather’s younger brother who married a foreigner and emigrated. Mentally Andrea rehearsed that piece of the family tree. They had founded a line of Black Trevaines, tall dark men who seemed to have no regret that they had cut themselves off from their kith and kin. Yet there was one returning. Why was he doing that, she wondered.
The same idea had evidently occurred to Madam. She read the letter through carefully, then she laid it on the table, her hand extended flatly over it.
“I wonder what his real reason is?” she said slowly.
Leo shrugged.
“One or two things. Either he has made a lot of money and, having time on his hands, indulges in a sentimental urge to see the cradle of his race. Or he’s broke and wants us to help him. I almost hope that’s it. I might be able to find him a job.”
“A job!” Madam’s bright eyes met Leo’s and read what was in his mind without any difficulty.
“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “I don’t know Andrea was amazed. Never in all her life could she remember having seen her great-aunt unsure of herself. Usually her mind was made up in a flash and it was rare for her to change it. Leo laughed.
“Why not?” he said carelessly. “Whatever the color of his hair, he’s the same blood, isn’t he? It might be quite a good thing. I could do with a really competent second-in-command. Luke is getting a bit too big for his boots these days.”
Andrea looked up quickly. Somehow she did not want to be here if they were going to discuss Luke.
“May I be excused, Madam?” she asked formally, and received a preoccupied nod of permission.
When she had left the room, Madam’s keen eyes fixed Leo. “You will tell him, Leo?” she asked.
“Tell him?” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Do you know, Madam, I very much doubt if I shall need to, it is the same blood, as I said. I shall be very much surprised if the same instincts don’t go with it. Yes, I’m quite looking forward to meeting this cousin of mine.”
“And Andrea?”
Leo’s expression changed abruptly.
“What about Andrea?” he demanded sharply.
Madam shrugged her shoulders very slightly.
“Simply that she is growing up. She is an attractive young woman now...”
“Yes,” Leo agreed thoughtfully. “So I’m given to understand!”
“You say that as if—what has happened, Leo?”
“I told you that Luke was getting too big for his boots,” Leo explained grimly. “It’s been increasingly obvious for some time now. He’s beginning to lift his eyes to Andrea.”
“Leo!” Madam was genuinely startled. “Are you quite sure?”
“Quite!” And briefly he outlined the events of the morning. Madam nodded.
“That is enough!” she said sternly. “Today—Luke. Tomorrow—who knows? This Simon, perhaps. Leo, it is time that your engagement to Andrea was formally announced.”
“You think so?” He looked surprised. “But such a short time ago you thought her still too much of a child.”
“When a girl begins to attract the attention of a man like Luke Polwyn she is no longer a child,” Madam retorted grimly. “It’s time that Andrea was married.” Then, because her eagle eyes saw the faint shadow in his eyes, she made a concession. “Or, at least, that plans for the marriage are commenced.”
Leo nodded.
“That, if you wish.”
Madam’s face grew anxious at his obvious reluctance.
“Leo, there is no one else, is there?” she demanded.
“No one that matters,” he said carelessly. “No, it’s simply that I’m not the sort of man who relishes abandoning even a small portion of his freedom. Still, there are other considerations. Will you tell her or shall I?”
Madam regarded him curiously.
“Most men prefer to do their own asking,” she commented dryly.
“But then I’m not most men,” Leo replied blandly. “Nor are the circumstances usual. Andrea has known most of her life that eventually she and I would be married. She will hardly expect a formal proposal.”
“Leo!” Her hand fell on his and gripped it with amazing strength. “Be careful. Don’t take too much for granted. At the moment Andrea is entirely ignorant of her own charm. But one of these days a man’s eyes will tell her. And if they are not your eyes, there will be trouble. A girl who knows she can stir other men is not likely to be content with cavalier treatment from the man she is going to marry.”
Leo lifted her hand and touched it to his lips.
“Caw, caw, caw, like an old crow with your warnings, aren’t you?” he said affectionately. “I tell you, there’s no need for you to worry. A small token will content Andrea. It always has.”
Madam did not reply. It was true that all her life Andrea had been Leo’s willing slave, asking nothing better than that he should monopolize her time when he chose, yet accepting as inevitable, if unwelcome, the occasion when he had no time for her at all. But Leo, she was sure, did not appreciate the gravity of the situation now. If he had cared in the least for Andrea, it might have been different. As it was—suddenly she shrugged her shoulders. In her considerable experience there had never been a Trevaine who would heed a warning, and Leo was no exception.
However, she would not allow the weeds to grow under her feet. She would speak to Andrea this very day.
Before Andrea even set eyes on Simon she hated him. Because of him she was likely to lose an opportunity for which she had patiently waited.
The people of St. Finbar—their people—depended almost entirely on fishing for their livelihood, and in recent years they had had to go farther and farther afield for their catches. And as the distanc
e increased, their profits dwindled until, in desperation, they turned to Leo for a solution to their problem.
Leo told them bluntly that as long as each man fought just for himself, they would never regain their former prosperity. But if they were-to combine, share profits and cut overheads, then it would be a different story. They saw the sense of that, but it was clear that they needed a leader, and Leo was the only one whom they would recognize.
They sold their small boats, and with that money and some that Leo added they bought a sturdy secondhand trawler, reconditioned her to suit their own particular requirements and replaced the part-worn engines with two far more powerful ones. They called her the Cormorant and Leo was her captain. Just as he had promised, they got better results in far less time. They built up a reputation for the speed with which their catches arrived at market, and prosperity returned to St. Finbar. Each man, including Leo, took his share and did with it as he wished. The standard of living went up. Once again men came to church in decent suits. Their wives and daughters had flowered silk dresses. But, even more important, far fewer young people drifted away from the district. Leo had every reason to feel satisfied with the result of the venture and was thinking of buying another trawler.
Luke was Leo’s second-in-command, and Andrea had realized almost as soon as Leo that it was not an arrangement that could last much longer. Before very long Luke would be told to leave—and Andrea wanted his place in the Cormorant. She would have liked to skipper the new trawler, but had not ventured to suggest that. As it was, when she had told Leo what she wanted he had laughed uproariously and told her that it was no job for a girl.
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