Galleon House

by Margaret Malcolm

  “What do they say?” Andrea asked coldly. “And who are ‘they?’”

  “Now don’t be angry with old Bess!” she whined. “‘Tis only what she hears.”

  “What do they say?” Andrea repeated sternly.

  “Simply that the master is fair bedazzled with this new cousin of his—can’t bear to have’m out of his sight.”

  “Mr. Simon is our cousin,” Andrea said loftily. “Naturally, since he is also our guest, we make him welcome.”

  Old Bess mumbled something that sounded like “A Black Trevaine, ‘tis agin nature!” but Andrea did not trouble to make her repeat it. She had had enough of the stuffy cottage—and of Simon.

  But she was to hear more about him before she reached Galleon House. As she was driving along a narrow, high-banked lane a man stepped out from the entry to a field and stood in the middle of the road. Since she could not pass him and he stood his ground so firmly, she was compelled to stop.

  Luke Polwyn came slowly to the side of the car.

  “I want a word with you,” he announced.

  “Be quick about it, then,” Andrea said shortly.

  Luke stared at her with hot, sullen eyes.

  “Not so long ago you were friendly enough to me,” he told her. “What’s come between us?”

  “Your own insolent behavior,” Andrea replied unhesitatingly. “And if that’s all you have to say...” She put her hand out significantly to the ignition key.

  “No, it isn’t. About this Simon who says he’s a Trevaine—”

  “Says?” Andrea repeated sharply.

  “That’s what I said,” Luke insisted doggedly. “Comes here as cool as you like, says he’s one of the family from foreign parts, but I ask you, does he look like a Trevaine? Have you ever seen a black Trevaine before? No, nor nobody else, either. But it’s dear cousin Simon this and dear cousin Simon that—and show him everything. Tell him everything, too, for all we know! And we don’t like it. ‘Tisn’t safe, not with a stranger.”

  Involuntarily Andrea had allowed herself to feel both alarm and sympathy as she listened to Luke. She knew perfectly well that his resentment was due to the fear that Simon would oust him from his position on the Cormorant, second only to Leo, and she had felt the same way herself. And it was true, Simon had arrived with no more credentials than his own bare word.

  “What we say is, if he isn’t a Trevaine, then who is he?” Luke went on, encouraged by her silence. “And what’s he doing here, anyway? Spying, we say! And that’s dangerous!”

  Andrea felt a sudden surge of panic and instantly despised herself for it.

  “Nonsense, Luke!” she declared roundly. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you. Cousin Simon may not look like your idea of a Trevaine, but nonetheless, he is. We’ve always known that the redheaded strain has gone from that branch of the family. But if you don’t take my word for it, have it out with Leo.” And without stopping for his reply she switched on the ignition and shot off, leaving him to mutter uselessly at the back of the retreating car.

  As soon as she reached Galleon House and had put the car away, Andrea went in search of Leo. She found him alone in the little tower room he used as a study and an office and she shut the door carefully behind her as she entered.

  Leo looked up and nodded silently toward the chair. “Luke?” he asked grimly.

  Andrea nodded.

  “But not about... me.”

  “About Simon, then,” he stated rather than asked. “Asking you to put a word in on his behalf?”

  For some reason it gave Andrea confidence that Leo had guessed wrong.

  “No, not that. In fact, I’m pretty sure he would have asked me not to tell you about what he said, only I didn’t give him time. Leo, he asked me if we were sure that Simon is what he says he is—a Trevaine...” Her voice trailed away because Leo’s face had assumed that masked look she knew of old. It meant that neither by look nor deed was he going to reveal his own thoughts and opinions. Not until he had got every last detail out of her would she know if she had angered or pleased him.

  “And what did you say to him?” he asked evenly.

  “I said that cousin Simon might not look like his idea of a Trevaine, but nonetheless, he is. And that if he didn’t take my word for it, he had better have it out with you.” Andrea repeated her own words parrot like.

  “I see. And then?”

  “I drove on without waiting for any more,” Andrea confessed. “Luke is afraid that I’m thinking of getting rid of him and offering Simon his place,” Leo commented, his eyes intent on her face.

  “Yes, I thought that,” Andrea agreed, and waited.

  “And so I am,” Leo went on softly.

  Andrea did not reply, and after a moment, still in the same silky voice, Leo continued:

  “You don’t like the idea, either?”

  “I can see that Luke is going to get more and more difficult,” Andrea said slowly. “And that means you’ll have to find someone else. But I had hoped it would be me.”

  For the first time since the beginning of the interview Leo smiled. But he also shook his head.

  “I know you do, Andrea. And I wish it were possible. There’s no one whom I would so willingly trust. You have the nerve and the knowledge. But it’s out of the question. Surely you can see that?”

  “But why?” Andrea asked urgently. “You say you trust me—”

  “I meant it. But that doesn’t alter the fact that I should be an even worse rogue than I am if I allowed you, a young girl under my care and my betrothed into the bargain, to become involved. No, I’ll never permit it. You will put the idea out of your head once and for all! Do you understand?”

  “Very well,” Andrea said forlornly. And then, in a burst of exasperation: “I wish I were a boy!”

  “As you used to say some twenty times a day when you were a child!” Leo commented. “You haven’t changed much, Andrea. Still, as far as I’m concerned, I’m glad that you’re not a boy but a very charming girl—and my future wife!” He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth with a curious deliberation. Andrea colored quickly, he noticed, and he remembered having said to Madam that a very little lovemaking would satisfy her. How right he had been—and how dull it was!

  “And now, what about Simon?” he asked briskly.

  In spite of her disappointment it was flattering to have Leo ask her opinion and she thought deeply with puckered forehead before saying slowly:

  “Since Simon is apparently a rich man, would he see the point...?”

  “If he were not a Trevaine, I should say no, definitely he would not,” Leo replied promptly. “As it is, I think he might.”

  “Ye-es,” Andrea said judicially. “He might. But even so, I think there might be difficulties. You see, he must be as used to giving orders as you are.”

  “Almost certainly, I should imagine,” Leo agreed. “Well?”

  “Then would he be willing to take orders from you?”

  “He wouldn’t have to. He would be my partner. My equal.”

  “No!” Andrea shook her head vigorously. “That wouldn’t work.”

  “Indeed?” Leo looked at her curiously. “Why not?”

  “Because, when I told you about Luke, didn’t you notice that I said ‘Luke says they don’t like it’—not just that he didn’t. And I think that’s true because old Bess more than hinted the same thing. Don’t you see what that means, Leo? Luke has got the other men with him—either because they genuinely feel that way or because he has persuaded them that it would be dangerous. But whichever it is, really it makes no difference. We can’t afford to have disaffection of that sort.

  “They’ll soon get over it once Luke is out of the way,” Leo said easily.

  “How will you get rid of him?” Andrea asked dubiously. “Oh, I know you can dismiss him, but will that really help? Surely he has got to leave St. Finbar. Otherwise he will always be a source of trouble.”

  Leo looked at her through
narrowed eyes. What an extraordinary child she was. As reckless and as ruthless as he himself was and yet at the same time an unawakened innocent. Perhaps, after all, it was rather an intriguing thing to contemplate marriage to such a girl.

  “I intend to make life so uncomfortable for Master Luke that he’ll see no point in staying and every advantage in going,” he told her blandly.

  Andrea did not flinch at the brutality of his pronouncement, but she looked thoughtful.

  “So you’ve really made up your mind, Leo? If Simon is willing—”

  “And if you are,” Leo interrupted, to her considerable amazement. It was the first time Leo had ever said anything like this. “Do you relish the thought of Simon living here permanently? Because that’s what it would mean.”

  Andrea lifted her head and looked him straight in the eyes. “I can’t see, apart from the fact that he would have the job I wanted, that it will make any difference to me, one way or the other,” she said coolly.

  Leo laughed and stood up.

  “I could almost wish that Simon had heard you say that,” he told her, and patted her gently on the shoulder. “You’re a good girl, Andrea. I’m very proud of you. And now run along, my dear. I have work to do.”

  Andrea, accepting the summary dismissal without comment, went slowly down to the garden. Why, oh, why was it always like this? Why did Leo treat her as an equal, give her his confidence and praise one moment and then suddenly send her away as if she were a troublesome little girl with whom he could not bother to play any more? That was how it had been when she was a child and he almost a young man, but now surely it should be different? She was bewildered and hurt. And more than that, she could not help wondering why Leo wanted to marry her at all, because less and less could she believe that it was because he loved her.

  “Well, now that you’ve been here a week, what do you think of it all?” Leo asked lazily.

  The four of them were sitting on the terrace enjoying the last of the sunshine. From this side of the house there was a distant view of the sea—it was, in fact, visible from all but one side of it. Nearer at hand were stately trees so placed that they seemed to call attention to the sea rather than to form a screen. Below the terrace flowering shrubs blazed and flower-beds made a gay patchwork. Gulls were wheeling in the blue sky and birds were singing. In the background, like a gentle accompaniment to the song, one could hear the hiss of the sea as each wave ran up and then retreated over the pebbly beach.

  “I think it’s wonderfully beautiful,” Simon said with very evident sincerity. “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life and I don’t think I ever shall. You must be a proud and happy man, Leo.”

  “I should be, indeed, if it were not for the infernally heavy taxes we have to pay,” Leo said wryly. “As it is, they’re inclined to rob the gingerbread of some of its gilt.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. In fact, I’ve several times wondered—” Simon stopped abruptly. “Sorry, no business of mine.”

  “But I should like to feel that you do regard it as your business,” Leo said softly. “That you are genuinely interested, as why should you not be? You’re a Trevaine. Tell me what you had in mind.”

  “Well... that this must be an expensive place to run...”

  “It is!” Leo murmured feelingly. “Extremely expensive!”

  “And your fishing venture, though I can see that it makes all the difference to your people, I shouldn’t have thought that your share would be more than a drop in the bucket, compared with your outlay.”

  “Too true!” Leo sighed. “You’ve doubtless heard of the Trevaine treasure—buried in the bowels of the earth beneath the house?”

  “Yes, of course,” Simon said with unconscious eagerness. “To be quite honest, I always thought grandfather was making it up.”

  “Oh, no, it was true enough. Loot from Spanish towns in the New World—precious stones, gold plate from the churches, chests of gold coin—oh, quite fabulous, despite the share which the Virgin Queen took as her own. Then, of course, we did quite nicely out of the Armada. One of their treasure ships was wrecked just outside the mouth of the estuary. You can see the cross that marks the place. And, of course, Captain Jeremy—an extremely successful smuggler, as you know, though to be sure he came to a bad end at the last. Those were the days!” He sighed gustily.

  “You should have lived in those times,” Simon said impulsively, and Leo nodded gravely.

  “You’re quite right. I am born out of my time. New worlds to conquer! Desperate risks to take and fantastic prizes to be gained. A gentleman venturer! Yes, that should have been my life. Instead, I go fishing and make ends meet by selling what they gathered at the risk of their lives. They must turn in their graves when they see what the Trevaines have come to!” He shook his head in mocking self-contempt. “It wouldn’t be surprising if I made some effort to live up to their tradition—but it’s not so easy as it used to be.”

  “I suppose not,” Simon agreed thoughtfully. “Now there are no towns to sack under the guise of patriotism, no new worlds to conquer and exploit. Yes, I see the difficulty.”

  Andrea looked at him sharply. Simon had a naturally slow, even drawling way of speaking that made everything he said sound deliberate and calculating, but now, surely, there was irony as well—almost as if he did not believe Leo. She remembered what Madam had said the very first time she saw him. That he had a brain like a rapier and used words to hide his thoughts. Her uneasiness increased. Leo, however, seemed to have no such qualms.

  “It’s a pity,” he said deliberately, “that you and I can’t engage in some enterprise together—doubtless illegal and shocking according to the law—but exciting, nonetheless.”

  Simon laughed.

  “It is, indeed,” he agreed lightly “Though, as you say, there are difficulties. For one thing, my interests lie on the other side of the world.” He fell silent, the echo of Leo’s deliberate manner still in his mind. In the same manner he went on: “Though, to be sure. I could sell out tomorrow ... if I wanted to.”

  “Are you thinking of doing so?” Leo asked lazily, while Andrea held her breath.

  “I haven’t decided—yet,” Simon admitted.

  Just what had made him say that? Simon asked himself. It was perfectly true that he had had an offer for his farm and a good one at that. But he had never seriously considered taking it up. While to his three relatives his home would no doubt seem crude and flimsy compared with their own, Simon loved it. His grandfather had built a small, one-roomed shack. His father had torn that down and built a pleasant timber house, unpretentious but roomy and comfortable. Simon had added to it, and as he became more prosperous, had beautified it. He thought of it now, of its big, airy rooms, its wide verandah from which one had a glorious view of rolling pastureland and distant mountains, and knew that it had a place in his heart that no other place ever could have.

  And yet he had implied that he might give it all up.

  Had he meant it, at the time? Was this old house exerting some strange compelling spell against his will? Or had he said it because, subconsciously, he had wanted to see what Leo’s reactions would be?

  He scowled darkly. He was being a fool—a crass, deliberately blind fool!

  Andrea would marry Leo. He himself would go back to New Zealand and, in time, marry some nice, ordinary girl. And that would be the end of it. He would never see Galleon House or these people again.

  And with the knowledge came unbearable pain. He had known, as he first set eyes on Andrea, that here was the only woman for him. And he had given himself away—not to Andrea or Leo but to Madam herself, who was, he thought, the most dangerous of all, for she was the only one who would take it seriously. If he had been wise, he would have accepted the uselessness of it all, limited his visit to a day or two and left before the spell bound him too firmly.

  Now it was too late. Everything that had happened, everything that had been said, confirmed that instinctive knowledge that there was a myste
ry here. A secret that for safety’s sake, must be jealously guarded. Yet Leo, he was convinced, was on the verge of confiding in him.

  That was why he was still here, why he had canceled his flight and accepted Leo’s cordial invitation to stay as long as he liked. He had to know what it was all about because of Andrea. To what extent was she involved? Was she in any danger? And if she was, could he do anything to stand between her and it?

  He had to know ... so he had to stay. It was as simple as that.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  To Simon everything in Galleon House was of absorbing interest, but the room which fascinated him beyond all others was the long gallery in which the family portraits hung and where Madam had received him on the day of his arrival.

  The Trevaines had all evidently felt that though the day must come when they passed on the ownership of the house to their successor, nonetheless something of themselves should always remain. For four centuries there was hardly a gap in the portraits. There they all were, from the days of the early Tudors until the present, smiling, scowling, looking completely indifferent as the mood took them. Not, with a few exceptions, a particularly handsome lot, but undeniably striking and most certainly individualists.

  Here was the Armada Trevaine, an earlier Simon, but strikingly like Leo, red hair, beard and all. And with the same bland, inscrutable eyes. They all had the same eyes, if it came to that. So had Simon himself, for all that he was a black Trevaine.

  One thing Simon noticed was that every artist had laid emphasis on his patron’s hair and beard—evidently it was a point of vanity with its owner. Indeed, that was obvious because even when it was the fashion to wear wigs, the Trevaines preferred to show their own tawny locks.