“Miss Persis, you ain’t just goin’ take his word for that?”
“Not altogether, but he was very sure in what he had to tell me—so sure he offered a bargain.”
“What kind of a bargain?” Molly’s disapproval had vanished. She watched the girl now with complete attention.
“He wanted to keep in touch with Miss Lydia with my help. In return he would help settle matters in the Bahamas through a lawyer he knew. Of course, I told him that that was impossible. If he wanted to court Lydia he must do it openly and face up to Captain Leverett.”
“Miss Persis, I wouldn’t take that one’s word that the sun was shinin’ if it were out in the sky right over my head! I’ve seen his like before—swaggerin’ around an’ talkin’ big. He got his comeuppance from the Captain the day the master died. An’ all Miss Lydia’s carryin’ on didn’t make a mite of difference either. They had a fight one other time over a wreck, and the Captain got the better of him. I wouldn’t listen to no story he had the tellin’ of! You get the Captain, when he feels better, to listen to it all. He’ll put it straight for you.”
“No, Molly. I can handle my own affairs. And I won’t depend on Ralph Grillon for any help—that I promise you. What we want is to get to Key West and find a lawyer there. I have all of Uncle Augustin’s papers. He can use them to make inquiries for me. It may be, Molly,” she said soberly, “that Captain Grillon was not exaggerating. If this other heir does exist, then I will have lost all Uncle Augustin hoped to gain by coming south.”
“If he’s right!” Molly sniffed again. But a moment later she added, as if the dire meaning of Persis’ words had come to her, “But—Miss Persis, what will you do then?”
“We have the house in New York.” Persis thought of the first asset. “That can be sold. It is a good house, Molly, and should fetch a good price. Then I can teach. Maybe Miss Pickett would find a place for me. Also, though Uncle Augustin was poor compared to what he had been, there is still some money. And you and Shubal have your pensions—those will come first.”
“Not if you need the money, Miss Persis!” Molly shook her head decisively. “And you have only this Grillon’s word that it is so—”
Persis wanted to cling to that hope also, but she disciplined herself quickly. Perhaps a female was not credited with a practical mind but she thought it best now to plan on receiving the minimum and not the maximum of an estate her uncle had left her.
“Molly, bring me the portfolio. I think there is some time before dinner for me to look through it again. Certainly if this heir exists, the lawyer in the islands must have warned Uncle Augustin of it. Unless he or she has been very recently found.”
The maid went to the trunk and started to lay aside the contents which had not been placed in the chest drawers in the new chamber.
“Now that’s a funny thing,” she said. “I remember as well as if I saw it now, that it was under three night rails. But here it is on top.”
She came back to Persis with it in one hand. “And nobody’s been in that trunk but me and you. Did you have it out, Miss Persis?”
“No—” As Persis took it into her hands the cover moved. She held it closer to the light. Just as Molly had been so distinctly sure where she had put the folder, so had Persis been sure that it had been locked. But plainly the cover was now ready to open at a touch.
“Molly, my jewel box—Uncle Augustin’s watch—is the fob still there, the one with the small key on it?”
The maid made a quick search. Persis’ jewels were certainly very modest: a necklace of coral with matching hair ornament, bracelet, and earrings—carved into roses, two gold chains, one with a locket, and an ivory pin, and a set of jet which had been mourning jewelry for the mother she could hardly remember. Uncle Augustin’s watch was there, with the key still fastened above the carved seal which formed the carnelian fob he had brought from London.
Persis examined the lock of the portfolio closely, holding it near the candles which Molly had set on the dressing table. Tiny scratches. She was sure those had not been there before! But she could not swear to that. If someone had forced the lock—but who—and why?
She moved quickly to pull out the papers, checking through them hastily. As far as she could see everything was there—the old letters, Uncle Augustin’s will, the depositions of the privateer’s men. Everything— but she was very certain someone had rummaged through them. Though she could not prove that either. Ralph Grillon? No, he would not have dared enter this house, for all his reckless self-confidence. But he might have bribed one of the islanders.
Only she doubted if any of the housemaids would be able to read. Sukie certainly could not. And Molly would not have done this. Persis shuffled the papers back into the portfolio. She was right, she discovered when she tried to close it—the lock had been broken.
“Someone has been looking through this,” she kept her voice as calm as she could. “Molly, could you hide it among your things?”
“Miss Persis, who in this house—and why?”
“I don’t know any answers, Molly. But the lock has been broken, only nothing was taken. And these may be highly important.”
“You just give them to me. Nobody is going to get at them again, Miss Persis. What a thing to have happen in a respectable house!” The maid flushed nearly as red with indignation as she had been when she had discovered Persis enjoying the pool.
The thought that her belongings had been searched was a blow—a threat. It couldn’t have been Ralph, and she did not see how any of the servants might have done it by his bribes or orders. Then—Lydia? But she had no right to imagine that the other girl would do such a thing. Save that she was plainly fascinated by Grillon and, in defiance of her brother, might be moved to some reckless act to prove her partisanship with a man she plainly greatly admired.
“Don’t you worry none, Miss Persis,” Molly held the portfolio against her heavy breasts as if she would defy anyone under this roof to wrest it from her. “I’ll see as how no one gets to this again!”
They dined by candlelight for the first time, the three of them together, Mrs. Pryor (who declared herself well satisfied with Captain Leverett’s turn for the better), Lydia, and herself. And Lydia talked vivaciously as she always did, flitting from subject to subject. Only Persis found it hard to maintain polite interest in her hostess’ chatter. She kept wondering if Lydia had been the one to invade her chamber, search it—perhaps the note from Grillon had been partially to get her out of the way before such action could be carried out. Grillon had offered her help, but could it just be the other way around—that he wanted to assist the mysterious heir and had come to get knowledge, one way or another, of what authority Uncle Augustin had brought south with him? She had made no great secret of the portfolio earlier. All knew it was her uncle’s and contained papers of importance, though she had not gone into details over its contents with even Captain Leverett.
For the first time she considered a new and startling thought. Captain Leverett—he had offered her assistance in Key West. Yet Grillon had said he could not venture there—that there was a writ out against him. Her uncle, Shubal, either one of them without telling her, might have appealed to him. Also, there was Captain Pettigrew of the Arrow, still bound here on the Key with his crew. How much had her uncle talked with him during those hours when she had been so miserably sick in her cramped stateroom? It would be easy for Captain Leverett to get one of the servants to secure the portfolio, go through the papers. He had slept most of the afternoon Mrs. Pryor announced with quiet satisfaction, but she had left Sukie with him on watch since his turn for the better was so pronounced.
Only—while she could picture Ralph Grillon rifling, or causing to be examined her belongings—Persis could not visualize similar action on Crewe Leverett’s part. There was something petty—and—and perhaps dangerous enough to make her uneasy, in that action. While the Captain accepted danger as part of his daily life—it was a different kind of danger altogether.
“Miss Rooke—” Persis looked up quickly, hoping that her preoccupation had not been apparent to them all. She was not even sure her murmurs had satisfied Lydia who was now consuming a coconut custard spoonful by spoonful with the air of one who had not been enough appreciated for her social expertise.