The Opal-Eyed Fan by Andre Norton
“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?”
Persis stood very straight and chose her words carefully.
“I know very little about your personal problems, Captain Grillon,” she said quietly. “But as for your proposed bargain, that I find highly distasteful. Captain Leverett is now my host, in addition he saved my life and that of my uncle. At present he is bedfast because he suffered injuries attempting to do the same service for others. I think you must have a low opinion of either my intelligence or my honesty when you suggest that I aid his sister in actions he has completely forbidden. No, I shall not accept such a bargain. I bid you good day, sir.”
For the first time that half smile was gone from his lips. And something looked out of his eyes for a second or two which Persis believed she had not seen in Crewe Leverett’s even when irritation had reached a peak of his emotions. But she held her ground valiantly, meeting that gaze as bravely as she could.
Then, he laughed. “You are a proper miss, aren’t you? Do you tattle too, I wonder!”
Persis threw the note he had sent her at his feet. “I shall not dignify that with any answer, sir. But I intend to do as I have planned, go to Key West and consult with a lawyer. After that will be the time to make my own plans. But they will be my own plans.”
Ralph Grillon flung up both hands with a small gesture. “So be it, Miss Rooke. But Lydia cannot say now that I did not try. She worries about you, knowing your situation.”
“Which is no concern of anyone save myself.” Turning her back upon him, Persis marched up along the faint path. So he had discussed her with Lydia, and probably half the island knew by now that she was near penniless and had a dark future into the bargain. But that he would have dared suggest she play his game—she sucked in her breath sharply. Some men did hold a very low opinion of females, judging them incompetent to manage any affairs. Yet what man had ever tried to run a household smoothly, keep the peace between quarreling servants, make sure that the master under that roof had instant and excellent service? Perhaps were they to attempt all that for even a day or so, they would not be so quick to believe that females could be talked—or “sweet-talked” as Molly would put it—into some action which utterly lacked all principle.
She was flushed, not only with the heat of her walk, but also by her indignation that Ralph Grillon, and perhaps Lydia, would believe she would be party to arranging in some manner secret meetings between her host’s sister and a man he particularly disliked! Had Ralph Grillon thought his threat of impending ruin of her hopes would be enough to coerce her into such action?
More than ever she wanted to get to Key West, to find a reputable lawyer there, and learn just where she did stand and how much of Madam Rooke’s now seemingly illusive fortune she might be able to claim. She could make no real plans until she did learn that, and not as a second- or third-hand rumor from a man who wanted to use her for his own purposes.
Persis was so intent upon her own thoughts that she gave a start as she came up to the graveyard of the Key. Where she had left the already wilted bouquet earlier, a figure in a black coat knelt, both vein-ridged hands covering his face. But there was no mistaking Shubal.
The girl crossed quickly to touch the old man gently on the shoulder. “Shubal—should you be here? The sun is very fierce.”
He looked around and up at her, his face a worn mask of the man she had known for most of her life.
“Killed himself, he did,” the servant burst out. “The doctor told him it would be the death of him—I heard it with my own ears. I may be nigh as old as Master was, but I ain’t deaf! He went ahead, just like he always did, no matter the cost, when he thought he was doing right. But it ain’t right, Miss Persis, it ain’t right for him to be lying here, not able to do what he set himself out to do. He won’t rest easy—”
“Yes, I think he will,” Persis said slowly and distinctly, trying to break through the other’s wall of misery. “Because we are going to do it for him, Shubal. He knew that—when he talked to me he told me what was to be done.”
“Miss Persis, how are you going to do anything—?” It was plain, almost irritatingly plain, that Shubal considered her abilities scarcely higher than Grillon had done.
“We’re going on to Key West, Shubal, and see a lawyer. I have all of Uncle Augustin’s papers. He gave them to me. We’ll find out there just what our next move must be.”
Shubal shook his gray head. “The master—he had a way with him, Miss Persis. You never saw him face down angry men and him with nothing in his hands but his cane. He should never have come here.” Shubal pounded his fists together and his voice rose. “Never have come!”
“Could anyone have stopped him, Shubal?”
The old man sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his nose. “I guess not, Miss Persis. He was never one to be reined in. His father was killed so young, you see, and the master had to grow up quick. Then he was an agent for the General—General Washington–rounding up supplies, trying to get support—He was just as much a soldier as his father, though he didn’t wear the coat, nor the name.
“There’s no one like the master, Miss Persis—” His voice trailed away and there was such a lost look on his old face as to hurt Persis more than the death of the man she had respected and felt a duty to, but whom she had never loved. Shubal had loved, and lost, and now his world was in pieces around him.
“I know. But, Shubal, he has left you something to do.” She added her own interpretation of what was needed to bring Shubal back to his old self again. “He wanted you to help me finish what he had begun. And you can, Shubal. You know more about Uncle Augustin’s affairs than I ever did and you must advise me.”
For the first time he looked directly at her as if he saw her clearly.
“Yes, many’s the time he said to me, ‘Shubal, you’re my left hand, the one which is needed to help along with the right.’ I was with him overseas, in some mighty queer and dangerous places—” Shubal’s head came up proudly. “Depended on me a lot of times, he did. Why, I’ve carried a pistol in my pocket with my hand near to it, ’cause he would never take anything but that cane of his. Yes, he depended on me then—”
“And even more now.” Persis pulled a little at his arm, drawing him to his feet. He stood straighter, a faint flush high on the cheekbones of his worn, gaunt face. “I’ll need you, Shubal, so we can do just as Uncle Augustin wanted.”
“And we will, Miss Persis, that we will!” There was more force in his tone than she had heard for days. “First thing is we must get to this Key West—”
“Suppose you find Captain Pettigrew,” she suggested action which would keep this alert interest alive in him. “See what you can discover about how he is going to get transportation there himself.”
“That I will!” And he turned away from the small graveyard with a firm step.
Persis watched him for a moment and then continued back to the house. The long evening was closing in. She wanted to go through the papers in the portfolio more closely. Perhaps there was s
Also, there was Captain Leverett. She had been taking a night watch between Molly’s and Mrs. Pryor’s turns and she had no intention of shirking that. In fact, it was odd, but she found herself looking forward to those very quiet hours sitting by a shaded candle, listening for any sound from the big bed, but also able to think her own thoughts.
Her own thoughts—they were now in a queer muddle. Life had always been well ordered. There had been school. And, after she had been deemed of an age to quit Miss Pickett’s supervision, there had been the household to manage. A little shopping, sewing, reading—looking back now, those days which had seemed so well filled appeared empty. Oh, she had made herself useful; there were also the household tasks which were the mistress’ alone. But they had been very dull!
For the first time Persis allowed herself to admit that. Dull, dull, dull! The word repeated itself in her mind as she went up the inner stairs of the house. She had accepted that dullness because then she had nothing to compare with it. Now—
“So there you are!”
Startled so quickly out of her own thoughts, Persis saw Lydia waiting at the top of the stairs. The other girl was not wearing her usual finery. Rather she had pulled about her a wrapper of heavy Indian muslin, while behind her was Sukie, laden down with a big sponge, several towels, and a small basket in which there was both soap and a bottle of toilet water.
“The storm filled the bathing pool well.” Lydia pulled her wrapper tighter about her. “We can have the use of it to cool ourselves.”
That darksome hole below the kitchen floor! Persis looked at her in startled amazement. Did Lydia mean go down there!
“Didn’t Mrs. Pryor tell you? It’s just right now.”
“The turtles—” Persis said the first thing at the fore of her mind.
Lydia laughed. “Lord, they’re penned up near the canal; we don’t go near that part. But it’s good to splash about in all this heat.”
Persis considered the suggestion carefully. She had a good idea that Lydia was not speaking of something which she herself did not consider perfectly ordinary. And since the sea wind had died, Persis’ walk to the shore had left her feeling unpleasantly hot. The sponge baths which suited a lady might perhaps not be all one needed in such a climate as this.
“Wear an old shift,” Lydia advised her. “And don’t worry about towels and such; Sukie has plenty.”
There was a note of challenge in Lydia’s words. And Persis decided that she was going to accept the invitation. If there was any danger, she was sure that it would never have been issued.
“I’ll hurry.” She passed Lydia and began to unbutton and untie almost before she closed the door of her room. This was a new form of excitement, a new part of this life which was not dull.
She dropped the petticoats which were so hot and dragged so, at once; unlaced the stays which chafed her. She had an old shift, and there was her wrapper, her slippers. She stopped only to snatch that ridiculous bow out of her hair, Molly’s attempt to enliven her appearance, and then she did join Lydia who was waiting, openly impatient.
The trapdoor in the kitchen had been flung open and the light of a lantern gleamed up from below. Persis could not hesitate with Lydia already setting foot on the ladder to descend matter-of-factly.
So she followed her hostess down rungs which were damp with memory of the storm, to step out on a platform of wet stone where two lanterns gave a measure of light.
Lydia gestured to the right. “That’s the cistern. It’s both rain and spring fed. We dip in over here—”
“Over here” was to the left where there were waterwashed steps leading down into the flood. Lydia handed Sukie her wrapper and kicked off her slippers. But, Persis noticed, she used caution as she went down the steps where the water washed first her ankles and then her knees, and then to her waist. She took those steps one at a time and held on to a soaked rope which served here as a banister.
When she halted, she was breast high. Then she looked up to Persis.
“It is no deeper in this part—unless the storm has raised the water level. Sukie, give me the soap.” She deftly caught that as the maid tossed it down to her and fell to lathering her hands and arms. Gingerly, Persis began the same descent. The water was chill, or seemed so at first, in here shut away from the sun and the air. And the smell was strongly that of the sea. But it was good to feel it against her skin, cooling as it rose up about her body.
Reassured by Lydia’s unconcern, she joined the other girl.
“One can swim out to the canal—even out to sea that way.” Lydia held out the cake of scented soap and pointed with her chin toward the left where the lantern light failed to show any sign of wall. “Crewe opened it up in case of Indian attack. Other houses have cisterns and pools, but this is the only one with an escape way.”
She scooped up handsful of the water and splashed her face.
“Cool—it is so good to be cool!” Then she ducked down until the water ringed her neck. “Crewe swims, but he won’t teach me—or at least he’s never home long enough to take the trouble. There’s another rope under the water—you hold that and pull yourself out if you have to. Ahhh—” She closed her eyes blissfully.
Persis used the soap. It had the clean tang of herbs against the stronger scent of the sea, and the water was like the softest of linen enfolding her body.
“Miss Persis!”
She edged around to face the water-covered steps down which she had come so cautiously. Molly had elbowed aside the island maid and stood with a distinct frown of disapproval on her face.
“Miss Persis,” now she spoke as she had when she had taken over Persis’ childhood welfare and entertainment, “you come straight out of there—no tellin’ what kind of nasty fish or thing can be swimming around waiting to get at you!”
“There’s a net across the sea entrance,” Lydia said, glancing from Persis to Molly and then back again with a rather sly set of eyes, as if she wanted to see just how much Persis was ruled by Molly’s disapproval.
“I am perfectly all right,” Persis summoned up confidence. “You need not worry, Molly.”
At least the maid did not voice the rest of the arguments Persis had no doubt were burning on her tongue. But she became an embodiment of complete disapproval until Persis, having asserted her independence and knowing that she still had her duty of watching Captain Leverett, haltingly climbed the steps once again.
With a distinct sniff, Molly flung around the girl the large towel she had taken from Sukie.
9
P ersis had asserted her independence but, she discovered, she had not won Molly to acknowledge that in turn. The maid was ominously silent as she escorted her mistress back upstairs to her own chamber. So much so, Persis was piqued into speech.
“You should try bathing so, Molly. It’s wonderful to be so cool in this weather!”
The maid sniffed.
“There’s worse things than bein’ hot, Miss Persis. If Miss Lydia wants to go rampagin’ around so, you need have no reason to join her. A sorry sight you make now, both of you!” Her tongue held a sharp edge Persis knew of old. Molly was really upset.
“But—they all do it,” the girl pointed out. “And when the weather is so hot it is wonderful to find a cool spot–”
“Miss Persis, you was raised a lady. And a lady don’t go around bathin’ out in the open like that. I think you’d be ashamed.”
Molly set her lips tight together, as she could on occasion, and Persis sighed inwardly. There was nothing one could do when the maid was in this mood of righteous indignation.
Under Molly’s eye she dressed, submitted to a none-too-gentle repiling of her hair. And she noticed in the mirror, as she watched Molly work at the edifice the
“Molly—what is the matter with you? There is something behind all this—”
“Miss Persis, I was brought up to speak my mind when it was necessary, and right now—” For the first time her air of indignation was disturbed and she hesitated as if lost for words, before she continued briskly:
“Miss Persis, you went down to the beach to meet that Captain Grillon. Don’t you know that the Captain who’s lying right across there on his bed, a sick man, has said that that Grillon is no better than a pirate and has ordered him off the island? Now that Captain Leverett isn’t able to take care of him, the fellow comes sneakin’ back and you meet with him as bold as—as—”
“Brass?” Persis suppled the last word of one of Molly’s favorite expressions. “All right.” She swung around sideways on the stool before the mirror, hardly giving the maid the chance to anchor the last hairpin securely. “Yes, I met with Ralph Grillon. He sent me that note you brought me saying he had news—important news—for me. And it was important, Molly. Captain Grillon sails out of the Bahamas, and he knows what is going on there. I may have no right to anything Madam Rooke left Uncle Augustin in her will. It seems that her husband’s son left a child—and, if so, the will can be challenged.”
“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.”