“I know—that will mean going to sea again.” Persis believed she could understand a protest against that. She did not want to think of it herself.
“Not just that, Miss Persis—though I ain’t sayin’ as how I’d relish that too much. But they do say as how the Arrow ain’t goin’ to be able to go on. Not unless they do a lot of work on her which ain’t possible right here. And the mailboat—that don’t come too often.”
“But Captain Leverett’s ship must certainly go to Key West-”
“That’s just it, Miss Persis. Right now the Captain is havin’ hard words with the Key West people. Leastwise that was what Mr. Hawkins was sayin’ only this mornin’ when he came out to the kitchen to get himself a snack. Mr. Hawkins, he’s bosun on the Nonpareil and a mighty knowledgeable man. Why, just think, Miss Persis, it turned out he was born up on the Cape not far from my pa’s place. ‘Course he went to the sea when he was twelve and ain’t never been back, no more’n I have. But we know a lot of the same people.
“Well, Mr. Hawkins says that those folks down at Key West don’t take kindly to the Captain setting up his own place hereabouts. Takes away some of their trade. They’ve been tryin’ to get him into court about it. But there ain’t nothin’ they can do—seein’ as how he bought the whole Key fair and square, and has his license for wrecking. Only when he goes to Key West they always try to start some kind of trouble to make him mad and start a fight so he don’t go there regular.”
“Then we’ll have to trust to luck,” Persis said resignedly. She shrugged on the waist of the white muslin gown. “Captain Pettigrew will have to go somewhere to see about the Arrow. If he can’t take us with him, perhaps he will take a letter to Key West. We shall have to find a lawyer there to advise us.”
She pulled the portfolio from beneath her pillow, fingering the lock doubtfully. Sooner or later she would have to open this with the small key Uncle Augustin had always worn on his watch fob. But she shrank from that task at present.
“Put this in the trunk please, Molly, down at the bottom. It is full of important papers.”
“Yes, Miss Persis.”
Then Sukie came in with a breakfast tray and Persis ate as much as she could. She was perfectly willing to accept Molly’s dictates as to what was acceptable conduct for the newly bereaved. But as she settled on a chair by the window, she tried to make a few plans.
It would seem that the best she would do was to ask her host frankly for assistance—much as she disliked the thought of that. She, Shubal, and Molly could certainly not remain here as uninvited guests, perhaps for weeks. There must be some way of reaching Key West or the outside world.
The Arrow was in the sheltered portion near the dock now. But it was plain even to a landswoman that the ship listed badly and rode ominously deep in the water. Beyond it was the Nonpareil. But the Stormy Luck was nowhere to be seen. Persis guessed that Grillon’s interview with the master of the Key had been such as sent him speedily back to sea.
Captain Leverett—since she had to depend upon his good will she must master that dislike which arose in her every time she remembered his roughness on board the Arrow. Maybe, she reluctantly admitted now, he had done his best to save her life.
But he was a wrecker and even (according to Molly) one his own kind did not accept. This pretentious house of his was filled with loot from lost ships. What kind of a man was he really?
She combed her memory for a picture of the man who had left bruises on her arms when he had torn her loose from her hold to throw her—as she believed at the time—straight into the sea. He was tall, her head had topped his shoulder by very little. And his wind-tossed hair had been streaked by the rain and so plastered to his skull she could not say whether he was fair or dark. At the time she had been only cowed by his complete assumption of authority over everything and everyone in sight. She could not even guess at his age. But she fully believed he was not a man one could warm to, even if met under less tumultuous circumstances.
She had seen him again last night when he had once more assumed full command, but she could remember very little indeed of that second meeting. Except he had not roared at her as he had the first time, but rather spoke in a dry, matter-of-fact voice which she only partially heard. That he was such a man as Uncle Augustin—though perhaps less polished—she could well believe.
And—Persis sighed—he would be the only one who could advise her now, much as she disliked admitting that. If he could not, or dared not visit Key West, certainly he would know what arrangements she must make to go there—or to whom to apply for legal aid. There must be a will among Uncle Augustin’s papers-he was too good a man of business not to leave such.
Again Persis sighed. She felt almost as tired and beaten as she had upon her first awakening in this room when she had not been sure of where she was. She was sorry for Uncle Augustin, in a vague way. But until his illness and the loss of the company, she was sure he had been happy in his own remote fashion. Somehow she was sorrier now for Shubal, and a little for herself—as well as uneasy. This was rather like having a secure and sturdy house fall away brick by brick.
At a tap at the door she started up, breathing a little faster.
“Miss Rooke?”
Persis’ breathing steadied. It was Mrs. Pryor. Why had she expected somehow to hear that deeper voice of authority? She went out into the hall where the housekeeper waited.
“Miss Rooke—” The repetition of her name sounded as if the formidable Mrs. Pryor was disconcerted in some way.
“I know,” Persis summoned her own courage. “Thank you, Mrs. Pryor. In the parlor, I believe?”
“Miss Persis,” Molly puffed in her haste, coming up the back stairs to catch up with Persis. In her hands she carried a tight bunch of flowers, as bright and varied in color as those pieces of patchwork she delighted in. Persis accepted the roughly made bouquet thankfully. Though she had never associated Uncle Augustin with flowers, certainly not ones of such violent hues.
The service was strange to her and she found herself shaken, moved by the loneliness of death in this far place where there was nothing of the world Uncle Augustin had always known. She found herself crying for the man she had never understood, but who had been kind to her in his remote fashion. Somehow she was glad that the words said for him were those chosen for other strangers who had also met death far from home.
She watched Captain Leverett read from a small, well-worn Bible. Yes, he was tall, and his now dry hair was sun bleached to a shade even lighter than his sister’s, showing near white against the dark tan of his skin. His eyes were a piercing gray-blue—with something about them which reminded her of Uncle Augustin. They appeared to see directly into a person, as if to read the very thoughts of one’s mind. He was not a handsome man, she decided, yet in any assembly he would be a notable one. She was grateful to him as she had not thought to be.
Just as she was grateful to those others gathered here. Dr. Veering in his rumpled white linen suit, but wearing a black stock, Lydia and Mrs. Pryor, Shubal and Molly, between whom she stood.
“Ahhh—” there was a sigh which was nearly a groan.
Shubal, his thin old hands pressing against his breast, wavered on his feet. Persis caught his shoulder, tried to steady him. Then Dr. Veering moved swiftly in and took most of the weight of the man’s frail body.
“He would come,” Molly said. “But he ain’t fit to be out of bed, he ain’t!”
Dr. Veering gestured and two of the servants waiting discreetly at the parlor door came to carry Shubal back. Persis was aware of Captain Leverett moving to join her. She spoke without looking up at him.
“They were together ever since they both were young. I—”
A hand caught hers, drew her fingers up to lie on a strong supporting arm.
“Your uncle must have been a very good master to win such devotion. Do not worry about his man; Veering will see to him.”