Persis arose and took the path which led first over the shell-strewn mound and then down into the low, strange, vegetation. She culled as she went two handsful of brilliant red flowers, the first she could sight, thinking at the time that such a tribute might amuse Uncle Augustin but would hardly be his choice. Their colors were too bright, their appearance of vitality too strong.
Leaving them by the wooden cross on her uncle’s grave Persis deliberately turned in the other direction along a path even more nearly overgrown. Here she had to hold her skirts firmly close to her lest they catch again and again on the spikey arms of low bushes, as she headed for the rendezvous Ralph Grillon had appointed.
8
“Greetings, Miss Rooke.”
Persis started; Ralph Grillon had appeared so suddenly he might have risen out of the ground. She had rounded a large rock and was looking across the shell-strewn sand to the now-tamed wash of the waves, still holding her full skirts about her. Whether he had meant to startle her she did not know, but she eyed him with very little welcome.
“I had your note,” she returned abruptly, attempting to summon to her own voice some of the brusqueness Crewe Leverett used. Persis found Ralph’s good looks, his air of recklessness, both drew and repelled her. Perhaps more the latter because she associated trust always with Uncle Augustin’s air of quiet reserve.
“Come.” He held out his hand. “If we sit here we cannot be overlooked from the house.” He pointed to a log of drift half-buried in the sand, perhaps so deeply anchored that not even a storm, unless one strong enough to wash away the whole of the island, could shift it.
Persis folded her hands before her. “You said you had a message of value for me.” She refused to soften her voice. “I shall be missed since I have been helping Mrs. Pryor care for Captain Leverett.”
He smiled, in no way abashed by her refusal to be ushered to the seat he had chosen.
“Yes, Leverett met bad luck at last, didn’t he?” Grillon sounded cheerful about that. “Or maybe it was good luck—a soft bed ashore and near all the females in the Key fussing over him. But it will be some time before he takes out the Nonpareil.”
“I did not come here to discuss Captain Leverett,” Persis reminded him sharply. For all his charm, and she did not deny that he had it, she decided she did not in the least envy Lydia her beau.
“No, you came here for the news I promised you, but I can’t say that is good, Miss Rooke. By all accounts, your uncle—since you seem to want to speak frankly— was hard set financially when he started down here. Well, that will on which he pinned so much hope may not be worth the paper and wax of its making.”
“What do you know about my uncle’s affairs?” Persis withdrew a step or so, again surprised. She had not even discussed the full of the tangle with Crewe Leverett in their one meeting before Uncle Augustin’s burial.
“You’d be surprised how quickly rumor spreads hereabouts when there is something new to talk about,” he countered. “And Mr. Rooke had some interesting conversations with Captain Pettigrew before the Arrow came to its dismal end. He asked a lot about the islands, enough to make the Captain interested. And since Rooke is not a common name, it is well remembered in the Bahamas. Old Madam’s will was the talk of the town when it was proven. Only she didn’t have the right to be so free with Rooke property, you see. James Rooke had a child—legal born—all proper. And that child has a good claim, a better claim on old Madam’s leavings than Augustin Rooke—or you.” Ralph was watching her, still smiling, and she could not read any maliciousness into that smile. Also, that he was speaking the truth she did not doubt, or at least what he believed to be the truth.
“But there are documents proving that James Rooke died—at sea,” Persis protested.
“Which is no reason to say that he did not sire any offspring before he took off on that privateer, is it? Even Madam had her troubles with the court clearing her title to what there was in spite of proof of James’ death. I am afraid James was not a very good boy.” Ralph Grillon leaned his back against the rock which screened them from view. He had thrust his thumbs into the front of his belt and now his fingers beat a soft tattoo on the salt-stained leather of that.
“No, James was never the pattern of a good and dutiful son. After old Rooke finally paid up a last round of debts and said his son could well live at the expense of the devil, since he had already chosen to ape his satanic majesty, they did not keep in touch.
“Though I did hear that the old man had second thoughts before he died, and tried to find James—even left a letter for Madam which kept her hunting, too. Until your uncle obligingly sent her the proof that James was safely dead. But James had left a child, all right-”
“What proof of that have you?” Persis demanded.
“Oh, there’ll be proof when the proper time comes. If you go on to the islands, Miss Persis Rooke, you’ll find more trouble than any female can rightly face. But there’s a way out—a very good way. You help me— I’ll help you.”
“In what way?”
“I know the lawyer who is ready to slap down old Madam’s will if you try to prove it. But he and his client are not unreasonable. Seeing as how you are, in a manner of speaking, an innocent party in all this and a lone female. They’ll make a settlement which will give you enough to get back north again. Up there you can manage—”
Persis studied him. His confidence was complete. She must accept that he knew exactly what he was talking about. And there were perhaps remnants of Uncle Augustin’s estate left in New York. They would—she, Shubal, and Molly (because they were family and she must consider their future as well as her own)—have to live very frugally. The house could be sold; it was a good one in a district considered the height of respectability. And there might be other small sums she could count on. And, she could teach. Though she did not look forward to that. But Miss Pickett would give her a letter of recommendation.
Only, before she gave in, she must know more and not just accept Ralph Grillon’s word. In her mind Persis tried to marshal all her confidence in herself, her belief in Uncle Augustin. He was not, in spite of his severe reverses, a man to travel to this wild place in spite of his illness, unprepared. He must have made inquiries of his own. Did Ralph Grillon imagine that she would meekly accept his word and take the first possible ship back to New York?
“I must take my uncle’s papers to a lawyer in Key West,” she said slowly. “Then I can make up my mind on his advice. But you spoke of a bargain—if you help me, how do I help you?”
Captain Grillon lost none of his good humor. “Fair enough—but remember these lawyers know all the tricks, and when it comes to arranging an inheritance some of it sticks tightly to their own fingers when they handle it for you. So no matter what one advises, the settlement of which I speak would be more to your advantage—yours without the gamble of a court case and the expense of a greedy lawyer.
“Now with what I can do for you being settled, we come to the other part of the bargain, even as you suggest. Crewe Leverett has warned me off this Key in no uncertain terms. I don’t want to challenge him openly. It would not look well to fight a man over the right to come courting his sister. Yes, it’s Lydia I want to deal with. You do what you can to help me there and I’ll find out what I can in the islands which may be to your advantage.
“Leverett has no right to warn me off, you know. He hates Bahamians because he had a run in with one the first year he set up here. And he came out of it with a ship that needed some repairs as well as a couple of men to bury. So to him all from the islands are like scum. I’m not saying that we’re saints. But we hunted these reefs before your United States made such a parade of declaring them off limits. And a lot of us don’t take kindly in the least to that. Why should we have to risk our ships and our necks getting in a wreck and then have a court of another country decide proper fees—as well as collect taxes?”