“I—” Persis’ sight suddenly blurred with tears. She stumbled forward to lay Molly’s flowers on the top of the coffin.
Captain Leverett did not leave her. The floor seemed to sway under her like the deck of the Arrow and she found herself clinging desperately to that strong arm as if it were the only promise of safety. All safe and normal life had been torn asunder. Shubal’s collapse had made her completely aware of that.
5
Persis’ straightly stiff back was a credit to the drilling Miss Pickett had imposed upon her young ladies. Her hands, primly folded, rested on the still locked portfolio on her knees. But she watched very closely the man standing near the hearthside, nor did she miss the fact that his frown was growing deeper.
“I agree, Miss Rooke, that legal assistance is necessary in this matter. Unfortunately, there is none to be had nearer than Key West, and as to when you can journey on there—”
“I understand, sir,” she said firmly, “that there is a mail packet visiting here at intervals.” Her chin rose a fraction of an inch; she would not beg for help, if that was what he was waiting for.
“At intervals is right—long ones,” Captain Leverett returned. “Also, the quarters aboard the packet are very cramped. And, if they have already picked up other passengers, they would refuse you room. But perhaps something else may be done, Miss Rooke. I shall give the matter my fullest consideration.”
“Thank you, sir.” He was almost as formidable here in this room as he had been on board the Arrow. She could imagine him sweeping her off again to suit his own plans. It was plain to her that she presented a problem and one he wished were absent. Now she arose.
“We are most grateful for your hospitality, sir. The care for my uncle, and now for Shubal, has been all one could desire, even from a close kinsman. And Shubal cannot travel, ill as he now is. But certainly we have no right to continue to intrude upon your home. I have been told that there is a hotel for shipwrecked travelers, perhaps it would be better for us to move there-”
Now he was positively scowling. “Certainly not! Oh, it is not too uncomfortable, I grant you. But it is not for a lady, especially one now alone.”
“Sir, it is time I must learn to manage for myself. And with Molly, I am certainly not alone!”
He was halfway to the door as if he could spare her and her concerns no more time. But he spoke over his shoulder.
“Let me hear no more of such a scheme, Miss Rooke. You will remain under this roof until we can make acceptable travel arrangements for you.”
Persis almost gasped. Such brusqueness was sheer rudeness and her resentment awoke at once. This Captain Leverett had no control over her. Yet it seemed he expected her to meekly accept his orders, as if he were her guardian.
She clasped the portfolio tighter. It was true that she lacked some months yet of being legally of age. But her uncle had never mentioned to her that he had made provision for any guardian. Perhaps some stranger might take over, and she would not be even allowed to go on to the islands.
Would any lawyer in Key West be empowered under the circumstances to act for her on her own will? She had not thought of that before. If she only knew what the law might be in her case—not yet of age and without a guardian.
She went to look out of the window at the late afternoon scene. The heat was heavy, for the earlier sea breeze had died away. And she began to understand Lydia’s feeling that the Key was a prison. But she would not allow herself to be trapped! Surely Captain Leverett must be as glad to see the last of her as she would of him.
Persis returned to her chamber. The portfolio was still to be gone through, and on the chest in her room lay the watch with the key attached to its fob. Seating herself, she unlocked the case and shook out on the bed a number of documents. Two, fastened together with tape, she recognized as letters from those in the attic box. Then there was a long, thrice-folded sheet bearing an impressive seal and in fancy script at the top the words Last Will and Testament.
Persis scanned the strange formal language of that. A pension for Shubal, and one for Molly, as well as a bequest to Mrs. Robison, the cook who had ruled their New York kitchen. Mention of some books to go to Mr. Hogue, and arrangements for a funeral which had been decided upon as decorous before Augustin Rooke had made his decision to come south.
Last of all—”the remainder of my estate and properties to my niece, Persis Rooke.” No mention of guardianship. Clearly Uncle Augustin had never thought he would die before she came of age. But he had known his health was precarious before he started—or perhaps he would not admit that to himself.
She read some letters—the most recent one first. It was from a lawyer—a Mr. Lampson Brown in the Bahamas—urging Uncle Augustin to either come or send some reliable agent for the settling of Madam Rooke’s estate. Though he mentioned no sums in the letter, it was plain that the inheritance was enough to warrant concern.
The taped letters were much older, of course, time-browned. Persis spread out the first—the ink was very faded. She looked to the window—it was not only that her eyes were unaccustomed to the crabbed writing, but the light had begun to fail swiftly. Clouds were gathering, and again the wind was rising. Such gusts followed that the curtains were blown out into the room and she hurried to close them, securing the shutters when she saw the whipping of the fronds on the palms below. Was a second storm on the way?
Lighting the bedside candle she held the letter page close to that to be able to read at all.
The subject matter was what Uncle Augustin had told her. And the hand was that of an educated person, the contents much to the point. Papers had been found after the death of Amos Rooke which made it clear he was in debt to his New York kin. The writer offered to send the sum so long owed. Her expression was stiff and Persis thought she was unhappy to admit the cupidity of her dead husband, but honesty had won out. The page was signed “Caroline Rooke.”
But the second letter contained information Uncle Augustin had not mentioned. It was longer than the first and the hand was shaky, though when Persis compared the dates of the two it had been written only four years after the first.
“To Augustin Rooke, Esquire,” she read in a half whisper as she struggled to distinguish the words—
I have to ask of you a very great favor, but it is necessary for my own peace of mind that this be done. As you know my late husband had a son born of an irregular union before our own marriage. However, he acknowledged this boy openly and made him his legal heir, since it was clear that at our time of life we would have no children.
Unfortunately this boy, James Rooke (his name assured to him by adoption) was of a wayward and passionate temper. He quarreled continually with his father, took up with bad company, and was a constant source of unhappiness and disgrace for my husband—though he gave James many chances to reform.
When the sea war broke out again with your country, James, much against his father’s wishes, sailed on a privateer fitted out here in the islands. This was later captured by one flying the American flag. We have heard nothing from him since— save a rumor that he was killed during a boarding action. Yet until his death my husband clung to the hope that James might still be alive. This, I will admit, I fostered, since it relieved his mind during his long illness.
I made private inquiries which stated that James was seen to fall wounded on boarding the deck. This has been since accepted by our courts to mean death, so his father’s estates were passed to me.
But very recently I heard another tale—that James, though wounded, escaped, and since has not been seen. I have traced the ship which fought with the Heron and discovered that, by some strange twist of fate, it was owned by you. Since it was not lost, and you may be able to find some of those who served on board—can you supply me with any information they may have about this affair?
James was twenty years of age, of a brown complexion, with dark hair. He had a sword scar across the back of his left hand and was of a reckless spirit.