Enemy In The House (18 page)

“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.”

M
CWHINN 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?”

“Were you going to creep up to her cabin and try to listen?”

“That’s what you intended, I’ll be bound. But I can’t find my way in this deucedly tricky brush. I’ve ruined my best coat, too.”

A small—perhaps not so small—hope darted into her mind.

Grappit used his artful comprehension of people and their likely courses to his own purposes. Perhaps she could appeal to Neville’s butterfly good nature. In any event it would do no harm. “Neville, this marriage your father suggested—”

“Our marriage? We’d get along. Worldly marriages are made like this. Everybody accepts it. It’s a mere matter of—of—”

“Money?” she said.

“But that—I don’t see why you object.”

“For one reason I’m—” She caught her breath on the verge of saying, I’m married to Simon and I know he was not killed at Savannah.

Neville said, “You were going to say that you’re already married. I told Pa that’s what you’d say. But he said to leave it to him. He said he had ways of dissolving that marriage of yours. Why, he said you were as good as mine right now. And that was last night after China—well, after China refused me, as a matter of fact. Not that I cared. Of course, I don’t know why he didn’t tell me that Simon was killed at Savannah. It would have made everything simpler if he’d told you and me and everybody. I wonder why—” She could hear the gentle rasp of his hand brushing raindrops absently from his velvet coat. “Why—that seaman! Amity, was Simon on that ship you came here on? Is he that seaman they were talking about?”

She had not expected his quickness of perception. “Do you mean to say,” Amity asked, “that your father lied about Simon’s death in Savannah? You wouldn’t call your own father a liar!”

“Bah,” he said, which, in truth, covered that question.
“Was
he on that ship, Amity?”

“No,” she said firmly, a round, sound and, she hoped, convincing lie.

“You’d lie, too, if you had to! I’ll ask China. No, she said she was seasick and in her cabin almost the whole time. Well then, I’ll ask Charles. H’m,” Neville said thoughtfully, “I wonder if that’s why he’s been going around so—so quiet and secretive. But then he’s always that way. Too good to be true, Charles is. If Simon
is
this escaped seaman they’ll find him and unless I miss my guess he’ll stand an excellent chance of being hanged.”

“You heard Charles! He said that Simon was in America.”

Neville thought for a moment. “You didn’t shed a tear when Pa told you he’d been killed,” he said astutely. “I believe Simon
is
in Jamaica and—I believe you’ve seen him! I’ve hit on the truth, haven’t I? I know you, Amity. You’ll stick to Simon. You’ll never give him up—”

Charles came up beside them so suddenly and quietly that Neville stopped with a gulp.

Charles said coolly, “Are both of you curious, too, as to why Squire Wickes wanted to talk to the obeah woman?”

Neville said point-blank, “Was Simon Mallam on that ship, that smuggler?”

“Simon?” Charles’ voice sounded surprised but his handsome face was in the shadow. “Why, your father said he’d been killed in Savannah. I am truly sorry, Amity—”

“He could be that seaman they’re hunting. Tall fellow—red-haired—”

Charles laughed. “The King himself might have been on that ship without being recognized if he’d taken a berth as a seaman. You don’t know what a storm we weathered. I dare swear that some of the seamen scarce left the pumps for sleep! However,” his voice became grave, “if by any chance that was Simon, I sincerely hope, Amity, that he has contrived to escape the island by now. But then Mr. Grappit is sure of his death in Savannah—”

“H’mm,” said Neville.

“Why, surely you don’t think your father would lie in so serious a matter?”

“Well, he—he could have been misinformed,” Neville said.

“Oh, they’re coming!”

Amity saw the bobbing glow of a lantern, behind some bushes, coming from the direction of Selene’s cabin. She couldn’t go to Selene, then; she couldn’t make any credible excuse to escape Neville and Charles. She took Charles’ politely offered arm.

The bobbing glow of the lantern followed them all the way back to the house. Here a lavish supper was laid, with the usual great tureens steaming with highly spiced fragrances and huge silver candelabra lighted as for a festival. The two officers had been taking full advantage of the wine bottles, for their faces were almost as red as their coats and Grappit was pressing more wine upon them in his role of gracious host and even, with a great flourish, taking all of a teaspoonful himself.

Neville, looking down at his damp-spotted velvet coat with disgust, disappeared and presently returned, having changed to canary velvet with a lavishly embroidered white waistcoat and fresh lace ruffles, fit for a ball.

Grappit had poured wine for Squire Wickes. “You tell me that the obeah woman insists that everyone on the penn was accounted for when—this girl was murdered. But you can’t take her word for it, sir! The word of a slave. It’s not legal.”

“Selene’s word will be accepted as true by anybody in the parish,” Squire Wickes said. “She is a remarkable young woman. As a matter of fact, she is not a slave. Thank you, madam,” he added as Aunt Grappit ladled out a steaming plateful of soup and handed it to him.

“Remarkable?” Grappit frowned.

“Yes, and you see we all know Selene. We know her history and we know—no more pepper, thank you. Yes, we know her history. She was born in Jamaica. Her maternal great-grandfather was a Spanish grandee, her father an officer in the British Army. He took Selene to England where she had an unusually good education. After his death Selene returned to Jamaica and became, as you see, an obeah woman.”

“Why?”
Grappit asked.

“She is a born Jamaican. She is devoted to one purpose and that is to improve the lot of people who, unfortunately, need help. Our present system, God knows, has its injustices. There are few obeah women—in fact I know of only one, Selene. Usually the obeah is a man and not always—shall I say, a desirable influence. But Selene understood the power of an obeah for good, if I might so describe it, and as Selene has directed it. She is extremely intelligent. Yes, there is not a man in this county who does not know and respect Selene. It seems a strange life for a young and beautiful woman. But it is the life she has chosen, one of unswerving, complete dedication. Excellent soup, madam.”