Persis looked around the room. She did not even have as much right here as she would in an inn chamber. It was manifest that Uncle Augustin could not travel, even if the Arrow could be made seaworthy again. Perhaps if Captain Leverett went to Key West — But he might not take them now. Her suggestion of a headache grew worse and she longed to throw herself on the bed and just forget about everything. Except that she could not do.
Now she was startled again by that queer moaning sound which had first so excited Lydia and sent her racing to the roof walk. Another ship was edging along beyond the Stormy Luck, in fact two ships, the first having the second in tow. Captain Leverett bringing in the Arrow?
Men gathered on the wharf, one was holding a huge shell into which he blew as if it were a trumpet—producing that wailing moan. Persis arose hastily. If the master of this house was returning she had no wish to be discovered in his bedchamber.
As she hurried out into the hall she heard voices below, but not clearly enough to distinguish the words. With the Stormy Luck at anchor and her captain perhaps in this house, some of that trouble prophesied by the servants might well speedily develop now.
She hesitated uncertainly at the head of the stairs. To remain in the Captain’s room was unthinkable. To descend and perhaps walk straight into a family dispute was even worse. But at last she crept down the stairs, alert to any sound which would mean she might again be an unwilling eavesdropper.
However, it seemed Persis was too foreboding. As she went out on the veranda, she caught the sound of a voice from around the corner.
“—a good catch.” Grillon stood at the corner, holding to one eye a glass much like that Lydia had used on the roof.
“Give the devil his due.” The Bahamian captain continued, “If I were to be reefbound in these waters I’d be glad to know Leverett was on the prowl. That ship lists— but she’s still afloat.”
You’re more generous than he is.” Lydia. moved into view, her wide skirts brushing provocatively against Grillon. “You wouldn’t hear him say the same about you, you know.”
“Oh, I know how I stand with Crewe Leverett, m’dear.” His drawl was lazy, a little amused. “But because we bristle up every time we face one another is no reason not to respect the man’s seamanship. He’s a good wreck-master. I’ll grant him that. Only he’s too free with that tongue of his. As he’s going to find out someday.” There was no disguising a note of satisfaction as he put down the spyglass and smiled at Lydia in a way which somehow made Persis a little uneasy.
“Nothing can disturb Crewe,” his sister snapped pettishly. “He’ll always go his own way! Just as he always has—no matter who suffers by it.”
“As you believe that you do, my sweet?” Grillon was still smiling. “Fie, now, that’s cutting a little thick, ain’t it? I don’t see you’ve wanted for much—”
“How can you say that, Ralph?” Her delicate face was flushed, her plump hands balled into fists as if she would like to batter him. “Doesn’t he keep me penned up here—on this god-forsaken island—where nothing ever happens. I’ve begged even to go to Key West. Marcie Daw is willing to have me stay with her. And her father’s the Commandant of the base. Crewe can’t believe they aren’t proper people to visit.”
“Ah, but he knows that the Stormy Luck makes port there regularly,” Grillon laughed. “I don’t think he trusts either of us overmuch, m’dear.”
Once more Persis was an eavesdropper and was ready to tiptoe back into the hall when shouts from the wharf startled her into looking seaward. Without realizing what she did, she moved closer to the pair at the other end of the veranda to see the better.
“Behold, the master arrives!” Grillon commented. Now his smile had a wry edge to it. “Well, m’dear, perhaps we had better prepare for rockets. Maybe you’d better get out of their range.”
Lydia grabbed his jacket in a tight grip, her chin was up and her jawline stubborn.
“I won’t! Crewe may give orders here, but about this he doesn’t give them to me! Just let him try it!”
Grillon laughed. “That’s my Lydia. But, m’dear, this has to be settled between Crewe and me, no petticoats about.” He set down the spyglass and rested his hands lightly on the girl’s shoulders. “It has to be that way and no other, girl.” Then he set her aside as if she weighed nothing at all.
“What are you going to do?” she demanded.
“I don’t propose to meet Crewe Leverett under his own roof,” Grillon returned. “Best we meet eye to eye out there.”
Persis had taken two quick steps backward so she stood within the doorway. She was ashamed she had not once made her presence clear, but now she spoke.
“Miss Leverett-”
Lydia looked over her shoulder. Her expression was hardly a welcoming one.
“I understand,” Persis plunged on, “that I have been given Captain Leverett’s own chamber. Of course that is not right now that he is returning—”
Grillon laughed again, lounging back against the rail of the veranda. But Lydia’s frown deepened.
“What does all this have to do with me?” she demanded impatiently.
“Why, you’re mistress here, ain’t you, sweet?” observed the Bahamian. “The young lady rightly wants to know what you decide. Quite properly I would say. It’s plain she and Crewe can’t—”
Lydia jerked away from him. “Leave it to Mrs. Pryor. Her word carries more weight here than mine, always has.” She turned her back on Persis and looked out toward the wharf.
Grillon winked at Persis and nodded.
“I saw Mrs. Pryor just a few minutes ago,” he said as Lydia continued to ignore the other girl. “I think you may find her in the kitchen, Miss Rooke.”
Persis managed a “thank you” and then fled. Did Grillon suspect she had overheard much of their conversation? She fully deserved the feeling of guilt she carried with her.
A door at the other end of the hall opened on three steps down into what was plainly the kitchen. There was an open fireplace with old-fashioned spits and chains, and an oven built inside it. The heat, even though an outside door stood wide open, was enough to make Persis feel as if she had walked into a fire.
A small black woman, her thin chemise blouse plastered to her shoulders in wet patches, her full red skirt only partially covered by a coarse apron bearing the stains left by her work, was thumping out pastry on a board with the vigor of one battling a long-sought enemy. Sukie and another maid were washing vegetables and cutting them up.
Persis’ entrance brought a sudden silence, though the cook continued her energetic thumping. Her eyes were not on the girl rather than the task before her.
“Mrs. Pryor, where is she?” Persis addressed them all. For a long moment she thought no one was going to answer. They merely stared as if she were an apparition which they had never expected to see. Then the cook raised a floury hand and pointed to the outer door. She said something but in a thick dialect Persis could not understand.
So the girl brushed past the table and went on into the open. Mrs. Pryor was there, superintending the stretching of a line across a portion of the mound top uncovered by the house, two boys making it tight. She glanced around as Persis’ slippers crunched on the layers of broken clam shells which seemed to cover most of the ground.
“It’s a good day for drying, Miss Rooke. Your maid will not have to wait long before she can put iron to your things.”
“Please,” Persis had only one thought in mind now. “Captain Leverett—I was told I have his bedchamber — which was most generous of him. But now that he is returning—”
“You may have no worries, Miss Rooke. The Captain will stay on the Nonpareil, of course. He spends many of his nights there when it is in harbor. It is he who gave the orders that you were to have his chamber.”
Persis found the other’s calmness somehow a little irritating.
“I understand that there is also a matter of rescue fees. Since my uncle is at present unable to discuss the matter, I do not want to trouble him. Can you explain just what is expected of us?”
She saw Mrs. Pryor’s lips tighten. “I do not know where you have heard such nonsense, Miss Rooke. Of course there are no fees. What you must have thought of us! There is a hotel down the Key built by Captain Leverett’s orders to house the crews of wrecked vessels, if their ships cannot be made seaworthy again, until they can take passage to Key West. And oftentimes there are more passengers than we are able to shelter here. But you and Mr. Rooke are the Captain’s guests. Please understand that he would be greatly offended if you believed otherwise.”