Enemy In The House (23 page)

Hester! Amity almost cried it aloud. Hester? Simon had never married Hester.

Captain Boyce went on. “She told me all about it. She showed me some papers, all tied up in blue ribbon they were—like love letters—” He laughed, overly boisterous, frightened. “She said it was her marriage certification. She told me you were coming to Jamaica, her fine husband! You had seen her and told her you were coming here to make your fortune and tried to put her off again with promises.” There was a jocular, man-to-man confidence now in Captain Boyce’s voice. “You were lucky. Why, she said she’d even tracked you down, written to some parson, and he’d told her to write to a lawyer and enlist his help to establish her marriage rights. Is that the same lawyer they tell me was shot? Oh, very lucky for you!” He chuckled grossly and then grunted in terror, “Here now—now—don’t do that! Wait, I haven’t told anyone! I can see how Hester had coaxed you into a secret marriage, a girl far below your station in life! You’re not the first fine gentleman caught in that trap and sorry for it later!
I
don’t blame you. But I meant no harm. I’ll keep it a secret, give me gold. Why, I only wanted to help the girl. I told her a nursemaid was needed. Smart, she was. It gave her what the French call an ontray to Mallam Penn. So she could force you to acknowledge her—
Don’t come near me with that
—”

There was a terrific clash and clatter, a chair fell over, footsteps thudded on bare floors, a heavy object thumped with an enormous crash almost at Amity’s feet, there in the lighted doorway. It was an axe with a glittering sharp edge.

“I’ll give you your gold—I’ll cut the ropes—” Simon said.

She’d have known his voice, anywhere. She saw his hand, the hand that had worn the carnelian ring so many years before he placed it on her hand, come out and grasp the handle of the axe.

She heard chopping sounds and Captain Boyce’s grunts “—my feet first—I can run with my hands tied—good—now my hands—”

Simon panted. “Find one of your smuggler friends—get yourself off the island—”

“Give me the gold—”

Amity moved so she could now see the lighted room. Captain Boyce was on his feet, stamping them up and down as if he were numb from being tied. A chair lay on its side with hacked-out lengths of rope around it. Captain Boyce’s thick hand clutched the roll of gold; the laced handkerchief looked strange and incongruous in that ugly grip. Simon put down the axe, went to a table where there was paper and an ink horn, sat down and began to write. Captain Boyce gave Simon a swift glance and sidled out a door at the end of the room like a gigantic crab.

Amity heard no sound beside her; she sensed no presence but suddenly Squire Wickes stood at her elbow and said mildly, “I rather fancied something like this would happen if we left the good captain without a guard.” He limped past Amity into the house. So he’d been waiting in the shadows, too, watching like a wily old brown spider having woven his web.

Simon’s red head went up. Squire Wickes said, “Mr. Mallam, isn’t it? I have to arrest you, sir, for murder. I heard Boyce, not all he told but enough. It seems clear that you found yourself with one too many wives. Your first, indeed your only legal wife, Hester, followed you. She was determined to establish her place and her secret marriage to you, sir. Since she recognized you on the smuggler, and knew that you were an officer in the Continental Army, she was in a position to force you to admit your prior marriage to her.” Squire Wickes said sternly, “I arrest you, sir, in His Majesty’s name.”

Amity flashed into the room. “No! No, it wasn’t Simon! He was not wed to Hester. I know now! I know the link. I can prove it—”

Simon rose. “I’m not sure we can prove it, Amy.” He addressed Squire Wickes. “The day Amity and I were wed, sir, Lawyer Benfit objected on the score that it was a secret wedding. He said that only that day he had had a letter from some poor girl, secretly married and unable to establish her marriage. She had written first to Shincok, a parson whose name she could easily discover. He had referred her to a lawyer Benfit. Both men were of Blackstable, so Hester had traced her husband to Blackstable, and was obviously determined to force his recognition of their marriage. Benfit’s house was said to be ransacked and presumably nothing taken, but Hester’s letter was obviously missing. No, I doubt if there’ll ever be proof of that.”

“Sir—” Squire Wickes began.

“A moment, sir,” Simon said. “Immediately after our marriage Mr. Benfit wrote a note and left it for Mr. Grappit. We took it that in the note Benfit was explaining our own marriage. But that letter, too, disappeared. I believe he actually reported Hester’s secret marriage and demanded Hester’s rights. Neville arrived home first. He saw a letter addressed
Mr. Grappit, Immediate
—”

Amity cried, “Neville saw it first. He took it. It was addressed
Mr. Grappit, Immediate.
He is Mr. Grappit, too. Uncle Grappit and my aunt both said there was no letter. Yes, Neville had to take it and then—then he knew that both Parson Shincok and Lawyer Benfit knew of his marriage to Hester and he knew that Benfit would insist upon Uncle Grappit knowing and—and God knows how he killed poor Shincok, but it would have been easy. Benfit—how Neville must have hated to kill him. But Neville was terrified, out of his head with fright. He thought he had to kill him. That’s the link. That was the link all the time. It was Hester’s secret marriage to Neville that both Shincok and Benfit knew about. And then—then Hester herself—”

“My dear child—my dear child—” But Squire Wickes’ intelligent old eyes were snapping. “Go on,” he said.

“Well, well, then Neville must have told Hester he was coming to Jamaica. Captain Boyce said he tried to put Hester off with promises. But she wouldn’t believe him. So she hurried to Savannah, got a passage on the ship, came here to Mallam Penn—why, when Neville saw her, I ought to have guessed then that he knew her! He was stunned—but he made the best of it. He tried to cajole Hester, promise anything to keep her quiet. When my uncle told Hester she had to leave, Neville was terrified for fear she’d come out with the truth then and there. I see that now. So the next day he thought there was only one final, safe way out for him. He killed her but he hated it, he hated violence, he really did. He insisted upon her burial in the family lot—he’d killed her but still she was his wife. It’s so—so
like
Neville, inconsistent, scared, weak—”

“He tried to kill you,” Simon said. “He took that axe—”

“Why an axe?” Squire Wickes said. “He had a gun and a sword. No, no—”

“For that very reason,” Simon replied gravely. “Strangling, an axe—would anyone suspect him when a gun would have been easier? He was sure that I was here and would be found and hanged. He knew that my wife would inherit from me, you told him that, sir. He knew she would never marry him but if she were dead then Mallam Penn would go to Jamey, a child, and—”

“Yes!” Amity cried. “Yes. That’s the reason! I refused to wed him. He knew I meant it. But after me Jamey would own Mallam Penn. They could do anything with a five-year-old child.”

Squire Wickes said slowly, “Yes—yes. All this does seem very reasonable. But it is based upon a letter which only you two claim ever existed. You said it yourself, sir. There is no proof—”

Selene came into the room, from the back. She wore her long, white dress which Amity had glimpsed in the shadows; she wore red hibiscus flowers, bracelets to her elbow, like marks of authority. “They are telling the truth, sir,” she said to Squire Wickes. “I was in the back room. Mr. Simon was there with me. We both heard. Captain Boyce was talking to Neville, not to Mr. Simon. Then Mr. Simon took the axe from Neville as he was about to kill the captain. Neville
was
Hester’s husband. But he was driven to kill her—”

Amity said, “I knew. All at once I knew that Neville had taken the axe! Jamey said it was a duppy with the axe—light clothes like Uncle Grappit’s—and Neville wore pale yellow velvet that night. He didn’t want to kill me tonight—he tried, but he couldn’t nerve himself. He told my aunt to look for some love note he’d written Hester. There was no love note. He wanted the papers Hester claimed she had—she must have said those papers were evidence of their marriage. Neville didn’t dare go to Hester’s room himself and search. Besides he and Charles were sent to Punt Town—so he told Aunt Grappit to search, telling her there might be a love note, and she did. And he questioned us, Charles and me, when we saw him with Hester! He asked me point-blank if she had told me why she came to Jamaica. He pretended it was only a little flirtation with Hester because he had to have some excuse for seeing her, talking to her. … Oh, poor Neville.”

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.”