Galleon House

by Margaret Malcolm

  Nothing had been said between them about Andrea’s discovery of her true identity. Evidently Simon had kept her confession to himself, and to all appearances there was no change in their relationship to one another. Only Andrea knew that deep down in her a strange new sense of freedom was growing. It was not, so far, a freedom that could be translated into positive action, but it influenced all her thoughts. She was not a Trevaine. The laws and obligations by which her life had been governed until now no longer held. But, because she had always despised the Polwyns for a dirty, shiftless, worthless lot, she could not adopt their outlook. She did not realize it, but Simon’s insistence that it was she herself, an individual, that mattered was bearing fruit. Perhaps not quite the fruit he had hoped, but at least Andrea had come to regard herself as a person in her own right and not a slave to tradition.

  Linked with that was the determination to humiliate Simon. It gave her a gloating satisfaction to think how he would hate being shown up by a mere girl. And she had no fears that she would not be able to play the part she had set for herself. All that worried her was whether others would do their share.

  It was not until the third day of Simon’s absence—he had said he would be away a week—that the letter arrived. She saw it immediately she opened the bag on Madam’s bed and it needed very little skill to leave it where it was as she took the remainder out. And since the bag was always returned unlocked to the post office, she had only to wait until later to remove it.

  But that morning Madam was irritable and difficult to satisfy. She kept Andrea running about on innumerable trifling errands, and all the time the bag still lay on her bed. Supposing she should take it into her head to look into it? It was the sort of thing one might do quite idly...

  But at last Madam let her go and she sped with winged feet to her room. Her hands shook with excitement as she took the letter out and slit it open. With considerable relief she saw that it was written in English.

  “I greatly regret that illness in my packing department has until now prevented the fulfilling of your esteemed order,” she read eagerly. “I sincerely trust that this delay has not caused you undue inconvenience.

  “I am happy to say that all is now well. Your parcel is now awaiting dispatch and will reach you approximately today week. “Again, please accept my apologies...”

  Andrea chuckled as she folded the letter. A box of bulbs would arrive—they always did. It was part of the camouflage, and as a result, the grounds of Galleon House blazed every spring with daffodils and narcissi and crocuses.

  But of course what the letter really said was that on today week the Dutch boat would rendezvous with the Cormorant—Andrea frowned. Today week! But Simon would be back by then. And it would be a very different matter going out in the Cormorant under his very nose from doing it while he was away.

  If only Simon’s return could be delayed—no, that was too much to hope for. Things didn’t go wrong for Simon.

  But this time they did. During the day he phoned to say that he would be returning that night as certain papers he needed would not be available for several days.

  “Oh!” Andrea did her best to crush down her excitement and speak naturally. “How annoying for you! Does that mean you will have to go back to London later?”

  “It does,” Simon said resignedly. “Some time next week.”

  “How annoying!” Andrea said sympathetically. “All right, Simon, I’ll see that your train is met.”

  “Thanks,” he said laconically, and hung up—to sit staring thoughtfully at the telephone for several minutes.

  Since Leo’s death, the Cormorant had gone out regularly on its legitimate business. But Luke had not been numbered among her crew. He had been so confident that he would be the master of Galleon House that he had irritated more than one member of the crew to the point where they refused to have him with them. Then, when all his plans had come to nothing, Luke sulked in the face of the taunts that came his way. Jeremy Strood, who before the days of the Cormorant had owned one of the largest boats in St. Finbar, was put in charge by popular agreement and Simon’s consent. So Andrea went to him.

  She came straight to the point.

  “I shall be coming out with you next Wednesday night, Jeremy,” she said briskly. “And I shall need the cabin to change in.”

  The man’s face brightened.

  “So it still be going on?” he asked delightedly. “That’s good hearing, Miss Andrea. We did think perhaps the new master...” Andrea laughed.

  “He’s a Trevaine, isn’t he?” she said meaningfully.

  Jeremy chuckled.

  “So he is, to be sure,” he admitted. “The boys will be glad, so they will. We like a bit of excitement, same as any Trevaine!” Andrea nodded. She had been afraid of Jeremy asking outright whether Simon knew about this and she hated the idea of telling a deliberate lie. Nor did it strike her as inconsistent that she should feel that when she was quite deliberately acting against Simon’s stated wished. Not, of course, that he had forbidden her to go out in the Cormorant, but that was because he had just not thought of the possibility. Still, he had said that he would have no more smuggling—

  She shrugged her shoulders. When he saw how easy it was... It seemed an eternity until Wednesday night. Andrea watched the weather anxiously. There had been some misty nights lately. That would postpone the venture once again and she might never again have such an opportunity.

  But she need not have worried. Wednesday night came clear and cloudless. Andrea said good night to Madam and went to her own room, ostensibly to bed. Half an hour later she crept quietly downstairs and out of the house through a side door which she locked behind her.

  Then she raced silently over the grass and so to a path among the trees. The moon cast eerie shadows and there were strange night noises all around her, but Andrea paid no heed to them. Her mind was set on her purpose and nothing else was of any importance.

  On the other side of the wood was the steep road leading down to the harbor, and now, though she hurried, she no longer ran. It would never do to board the Cormorant breathless and excited. She had to be calm and collected so that the men would feel as confident with her in command as they always had been with Leo.

  There was a dinghy waiting to take her out and she saw that Jeremy himself was in it.

  “Ready to sail, Jeremy?” she asked briskly as she got in.

  “All ready, Miss Andrea,” he assured her.

  But Andrea looked at him sharply. There was something odd in the way he spoke. He sounded subdued and uncertain.

  Andrea’s hand clenched angrily in her lap. She knew what the trouble was, of course. Now that it had come to the point, the men were feeling uneasy because, after all, she was a girl. They were not sure whether she had the nerve to carry it through.

  Well, there was only one thing for it. She would prove to them that they could trust her. So, since words were of no use, she did not speak until she was on the Cormorant. Then she went to the wheel and gave the order to cast off.

  She breathed a little sigh of pure delight as the lights of St. Finbar slid past them and were left behind. She had always loved these first few moments of movement as they put to sea. Something in her leapt to life as the boat cut so surely through the water. There was a sense of mastery both of the elements and of the boat itself. Once she had tried to tell Leo something of what she felt, and though she had stumbled and stammered, because it was difficult to find the words to describe such an experience, he had understood.

  But Simon did not understand—any more than he understood the thrill there was in taking a risk.

  Simon, Simon, Simon! If only he had never come to England, she thought impatiently. He was a stranger, an alien. And though he was master now, he would never be accepted as a leader by the men. They would never take their orders from him!

  Any more than I will! she told herself passionately. He’s a coward.

  She sensed rather than saw that Jeremy was uneasy. He
felt that she was not giving her full attention to the job—or perhaps he had spoken to her and she had not heard.

  “Hold her steady on the same course, Jeremy,” she said crisply. “I’m going below now.”

  He took the wheel, and Andrea made her way to the companionway that led to the Captain’s cabin.

  She was angry with herself. Why should it be so difficult to forget Simon? Why was he always in her mind? Particularly now when he was miles away...

  She opened the cabin door, felt for the light switch with the ease of familiarity and found herself face to face with Simon.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Andrea’s hand flew to her mouth to suppress the scream that rose in her throat. Simon here! But he couldn’t be! He was in London.

  She saw that he was coming toward her and she whipped around, the urge to escape from him so intense that she forgot there could be no escape on the Cormorant. Then, as the realization dawned that he must deliberately have planned it that way, all the strength drained from her body.

  Simon gathered her up, limp and inert, and set her in the armchair. Then he turned to a cupboard and Andrea heard the chink of glass against glass. Her eyes darted to the door. Perhaps there was time to get away while his back was turned. But the effort needed to move was too much and she sank back, humiliatingly aware that Simon had known it would be so. That was why he had not troubled to lock the cabin door.

  He knew everything, she thought dejectedly. It seemed as if he always did. It simply wasn’t worth fighting any more.

  “Brandy,” he remarked. “I’d like you to sip every drop of it.”

  And though he spoke in a perfectly normal, even pleasant way, Andrea knew that it was an order and found herself meekly obeying him.

  Simon waited in silence until she had finished.

  “That’s better!” he commented, taking the glass from her. “And now, I should like to hear the whole story from the very beginning, if you please.”

  But Andrea had a question to ask first.

  “How ... how did you know?” she stammered.

  “You told me,” he explained, and then, at the astonishment in her eyes: “Oh yes, you did! You were not quite careful enough to keep the pleasure and relief out of your voice when I told you that I had to return to London this week.”

  “Oh!” Andrea murmured, abashed.

  “And besides that,” he went on, “I knew from Madam that the last—venture—had been a disappointment and that Leo had expected to hear from his partner, but had not done so. It seemed likely that a letter had come during my absence and that you and Madam—”

  “No!” Andrea contradicted swiftly. “Not Madam. Just me.”

  Swiftly Simon made for the cabin door. He paused to lock it behind him and then she heard his footsteps clatter up the companionway. Then came his sharp order:

  “Full speed ahead!”

  For a moment nothing happened. Andrea grew tense as she waited. Suppose the men, with their objective in sight, refused to obey him? They might, and if they did, Simon was one against many. He would not have a chance.

  Her hands clenched so that the nails sank into her flesh. Then the Cormorant seemed almost to lift from the bed of the sea as Simon’s order was obeyed, and unconsciously Andrea gave a sigh of relief.

  She ran to the open porthole and stared out. Yes, there were the lights of the Dutch ship already sliding away to their stern. Andrea, trembling violently, returned to the chair.

  So that was the end of it. Simon had definitely and finally made his stand, and whatever the men might feel about it, they had accepted his decision.

  Dimly she seemed to hear Madam’s voice from the not very distant past:

  “His is a different strength from Leo’s, but make no mistake, the strength is there and they will have to admit it!”

  And they had. Not in the way that Madam had anticipated but in a way that had added immeasurably to Simon’s stature, for they had obeyed him against their own wishes.

  Andrea picked restlessly at the arm of the chair, her forehead puckered. It was a different strength from Leo’s. A sort she did not understand. She had told herself that he was a coward. But it wasn’t true. Not for a moment did she doubt that Simon had known exactly what risk he ran enforcing his will. But he had not hesitated. Well, of course, Leo would not have either. But it would not have been the same...

  She puzzled deeply and slowly, and understanding came. Leo had been a man of fire and daring. He simply did not know the meaning of fear. Simon, she thought, did. But it made no difference, he faced it without flinching. Tempered steel—yes, that described him. And now it seemed strange that she had not realized it before.

  Simon did not return to the cabin. Once or twice she heard his voice giving orders and she heard the quiet confidence in it. Simon, as well as the men, knew that he was master in fact as well as in name.

  With a wistful little sigh, Andrea relaxed. She was very tired. It was not surprising, for excitement had kept her from sleeping well ever since the Dutch letter had arrived. Her heavy lids drooped. For a while she tried to resist, but a last she slept, a faint smile curving her lips.

  She awoke with a start some hours later. The auxilliary engine was clanking away briskly. Probably that was what had disturbed her.

  For a while she did not move because she felt so warm and cozy. Then she realized why. She was tucked in by a scarlet blanket, and the light had been dimmed. Simon must have come down and found her asleep. And, despite the fact that he had every reason to be very angry with her, he had done everything in his power to make her comfortable. Andrea pondered the discovery. Strong ... and kind! It seemed an odd combination to her. When you were strong, you just rode roughshod over people, particularly when you were angry with them. If you didn’t, what was the good of being strong?

  The sound of footsteps on the companionway roused her to prompt activity. She sat erect, pushing the blanket back, and then ran her fingers through her tawny hair, restoring it to some state of neatness. Her feet fumbled for the shoes she had kicked off. Then she waited, her eyes riveted on the cabin door.

  To her surprise, Simon entered without having to unlock the door. And she had regarded herself as a prisoner without even trying to find out if she was or not!

  To her watchful eyes it seemed as if there was something different about Simon. It was not just that, as he was a dark-haired man, his need for a shave was very obvious, or that, from the condition of his clothes, he had obviously been taking an active part in the night’s fishing activities. It was his expression ... something in his eyes. Her brain fumbled for understanding, and suddenly it came. Simon’s was the face of a man who had set himself a task and had performed it satisfactorily. Not triumphant. Not complacent, but quietly and deeply thankful.

  She realized that he was watching her intently, and flushing warmly she asked him if the catch had been good. She had only asked for the sake of something to cover her embarrassment, but the moment she had done so, she regretted it, for, from Simon’s wry smile, she knew that he was thinking of the catch they had not made.

  “Very,” he said with a nod. “In fact, the men tell me that it’s the best one they have had for years.” He hesitated. “They seemed to regard it as an omen of future prosperity.”

  Andrea looked startled. She knew just how superstitious these fishermen were, but nonetheless it seemed strange, in the circumstances, that they had accepted their changed fortunes so readily.

  It seemed that Simon must have read her thoughts, for he nodded.

  “I know. It sounds surprising, doesn’t it? But you see, during the night I’ve been talking to them, and I’ve told them something they appreciate must make a difference. Something I want to tell you. But later. We are in the estuary now and there’s no time.”

  Andrea shrank back in her chair. The time had come when she must face the men who had witnessed her defeat at Simon’s hands. The cabin, which had been her sanctuary, could be that no longer.
<
br />   Simon seemed just about to say something, but at that moment there was a deferential knock on the door and he went to answer it.

  He exchanged a few words with the man outside and then, closing the door, came over to her.

  “Come, Andrea!” he said quietly.

  Obediently she arose and followed him up on deck.

  “We’ll go to the wheelhouse,” Simon announced.

  Without protest she went with him, and the moment they went in, she knew he had been right. In future, the men of St. Finbar would treat her differently. But not on the way she had anticipated.

  Jeremy’s hand instantly touched his cap—a sign of respect hitherto reserved exclusively for Leo and Madam.

  “Morning Miss Andrea,” he said deferentially.

  “Good morning, Jeremy,” she managed to say, and glanced in wonder at Simon.

  He smiled and nodded reassurance, and Andrea knew that she had nothing to fear. Simon had seen to it that the men knew they would be in trouble with him if they showed her any disrespect.

  Her heart glowed in a strange, unfamiliar way. Where she was concerned, no one had ever been as thoughtful as that before. Least of all Leo.

  “A bath first and, as far as I’m concerned, a shave,” Simon announced, when they arrived home, his hand rasping over his chin. “Then breakfast. After that, if you’re not too tired, we’ll thrash this thing out together, Andrea.”