“Do you often prowl the house at night and come into guests’ rooms without permission?” I asked tartly.
One slender finger drew a line down the thin scratch on her chin. “Night hours are always best. Then we drop our day time masks and let our feelings come through.”
I was reminded of some feline creature—though nothing so tame as a cat. A beautiful panther, perhaps, poised and ready to pounce. I had not noticed that she hid her feelings by day and I waited for her to tell me the reason for this intrusion.
She scattered ash carelessly and gave me her sly smile. It never seemed that she smiled with anyone, but rather that she smiled to herself and for herself, so that only she knew why her lips curled in secret amusement.
Without warning she came to the point. “King says you’ve decided to stay. I’ve come to tell you I don’t want you here There’s nothing you can give my daughter that she needs from you. I want you to leave tomorrow morning.”
I pulled up my knees and clasped my fingers about them feeling the need to do something strength-testing with my hands.
“I’ve already told your mother that I mean to stay.”
She could move like a panther. She left her chair, sinuous in her quick motion, and came to sit on the foot of my bed. Now the smell of her cigarette did not cover the sweetish scent of water lily as she bent toward me. It cost me an effort not to shrink away.
“I don’t like meddling and interfering,” she said. “It will be better for you if you leave at once.”
She spoke with the assurance of a child long accustomed to her own way—a spoiled child who would not grow up. And she was dangerous in a child’s way, with the ready cruelty of the child, ungoverned by those restraints which an adult learns with the passing years. Yet she was cleverer than a child, and with an adult’s strength—a strength I must somehow oppose.
“Why must I leave?” I asked.
She seemed faintly surprised that I should question her wishes. “I can make things unpleasant for you if you stay here. Do you doubt that?”
The pattern that had created Catherine Drew was increasingly plain: Roger, her father, indulging her, encouraging her to have her own reckless way; Maud struggling, opposing, but often taking the wrong course and going down repeatedly to defeat; King raging and storming off, trying to fight her with anger and physical strength. Perhaps there was a flaw to start with and in the face of this twist in her nature no one had ever taken a sound enough stand to teach her what she needed to learn. Now it was too late. Teaching her was not up to me, even if I had known how to go about it. I could only try for my own course and play whatever cards came to hand. I played one now.
“Is it because I saw you on the beach at Water Island a week or two ago that you want me to leave?”
Her greenish eyes seemed to flicker. “I thought you’d recognized me. Just as I recognized you the moment I saw you on the terrace last night.”
“Listen to me,” I said, playing the teacher again. “What you do is your own affair. It’s no concern of mine who you meet, or where. My work lies with Leila.”
“Don’t be silly!” She waved her cigarette scornfully. “Of course you’ll make what I do your business—if it’s to your interest. I would myself.”
“I don’t think we’re much alike, Mrs. Drew. My concern is with Leila. I would hate to see her hurt.”
“Do you expect me to believe that? I’ve seen the way you look at him. King is already your concern.”
An alarm rang through me, setting every nerve alert and on guard. Here was the essence of her enmity toward me—and if I was to be honest with myself, there was justification. I could not help my own feelings, but I must do better about hiding them if I was to stay in this house.
“Your husband wants me to leave,” I reminded her. “He wants to send Leila away.”
“But you’d like to show him you can win my daughter over, wouldn’t you? Oh, I’m sure you’re filled with all sorts of noble, teacherish purposes. But you’re a woman—even though you’ve managed to cheat yourself of being one. Don’t you think I know the signs when his attraction is working?”
“What good will it do if I go away?” I asked, ignoring her words. “The moment I’m gone Mr. Drew will send Leila to his sister. Then you’ll lose her anyway.”
The secret, unnerving little smile touched her lips. “I won’t lose her. There’s still time to make sure of that. Perhaps it will be good for her to go away for a while. Perhaps I’ve been wrong in opposing that.”
I knew what she meant. Alex Stair had given her a glimpse of what it might mean to have Leila growing up here on the island—young and increasingly beautiful as she matured, while Catherine grew older and faded in contrast. No, of course she would not mind sending Leila away. She wanted no worshiper who might also prove to be a rival. She might permit her daughter to be sent off to Denver, no matter what pretense she made with the girl herself. But she did not want her to leave before she had made sure of a final smashup between Leila and her father. Then Leila would go away brokenhearted over leaving her mother, with the pattern frozen in resentment and dislike of her father—just as Maud Hampden feared it might be.
“We still have a little time,” Catherine repeated, sounding pleased with her secret plans. “After you leave, I will manage.”
I had to make a beginning. I had to meet attack with attack.
“Not if I can help it,” I said quietly.
She looked at me from her perch at the foot of my bed as if I were some odd species of creature with which she was unfamiliar. Her eyes were very bright.
“If you must be so stupid as to stay,” she said, “I will have to take steps. And I can promise you they won’t be pleasant ones. I never bother with half measures. If you stay I’ll make you very sorry indeed.”
There was a long moment while we stared at each other and antagonism quivered in the air between us. In spite of the fact that I had managed to oppose her with words, she frightened me not a little. With her ungoverned impulses, I had no idea how I could defend myself against whatever she might try. But something stubborn had awakened in me and would not be beaten down. I said nothing and my lack of an answer was my reply.
She shrugged and slipped from the bed. Moving with smooth grace she ran barefooted across the room, a rippling of mauve floating about her. With no by-your-leave she drew out the green negligee from the closet and searched its pockets.
“If you’re looking for your gold locket and chain,” I said, “it’s not there. Your sister found it in your robe when she brought me here last night. She said you were sometimes careless with your possessions, and took it away.”
“Careless! I’ve always kept personal things in this room. I had no idea they were going to put you here and move my things out until it was done! Maud loves to spite me, and so does Edith. But I’ll pay them off, never fear.”
She flung the green negligee toward a chair, from which it slipped to the floor, and gave me a last careless look of warning before she went out of the room.
When I left my bed I found I was trembling in reaction. At least I had stood up to the woman—I had begun my struggle. Perhaps I could learn a more direct kind of fighting. Perhaps it was not too late.
When I listened at the door all seemed quiet in the hall beyond. The odor of cigarette smoke and the scent of water lily mingled pungently in my room and I flung both gallery doors wide to let clean sea winds sweep away such tangible reminders of Catherine Drew. Then I went back to bed and, strangely enough, fell soundly asleep, free for a little while of the threat that had hung over me ever since my arrival. I knew its source now, but I did not think that Catherine Drew would return to disturb me for a second time in one night.
8
No one called me the next morning, nor was I coddled with the arrival of a breakfast tray. When I went downstairs it was still early, but the lowe
r house seemed empty and it was Noreen who served me something to eat in the dining room. I talked to her a little, fascinated by her swift Calypso speech—which she made an effort to clarify so that I could understand her. There was a slurring and transposing of English words, and accents fell on different syllables, so that the very tune was different. Sometimes the stranger was left as baffled as though he heard a foreign tongue.
Noreen had come here from Guadeloupe—a bonded servant, as were most of the domestics who worked in St. Thomas, remaining here only while they were in service, with their employers wholly responsible for them.
After breakfast I went looking for Leila with the firm intent of capturing her and at least talking over her studies. I must put Catherine’s threats out of my mind and try for a fresh, productive start. I must not think of King at all, except in helping to solve the problem of his daughter. As always, night phantoms seemed much less real by day. I was ready to get started.
I found the girl on the terrace, standing at the stone wall studying the harbor through a pair of binoculars. This morning she wore a cool white blouse and a bright skirt patterned with swimming fish. On the gallery Alex Stair sat in a cane chair watching her, once more fingering the brown cone shell I had seen in his hands yesterday. He did not see me as I came to the door, and I heard his faintly challenging words to Leila.
“What do you see out there that you haven’t seen before?”
She answered evasively, without lowering the glasses. “Nothing much, I guess.”
Her uncle’s bearded face had a gloomy cast this morning. It appeared that the watcher at the play was not amused, I thought wryly.
“You’re wasting your time.” His tone was dry. “They left an hour ago.”
Still Leila did not turn, but there seemed a dejection in the very set of her shoulders that told me something was seriously wrong.
Alex saw me then and nodded with no great cordiality. “Good morning, Miss Abbott. Do you propose to start your classes today?”
Before I could answer, Leila swung away from the wall, paying no attention to me, all her interest upon her uncle.
“I knew Cathy was going out,” she told him, clearly on the defensive. “They’ve gone to hunt for shells. Cathy said yesterday that they might.”
“They’re overdoing it, don’t you think?” Alex asked. “Edith has more than she can handle now. That last stuff they brought in was trash.”
He looked sour and disgruntled and I did not like the way he seemed to be baiting Leila. She came purposefully toward him up the steps.
“You’ve said yourself that no shells are worthless these days, providing they’re not chipped or broken. I heard you telling Steve that there’s a decorating craze for shells. They’re used for jewelry besides, and goodness knows what else.”
“Don’t get excited,” said Alex dryly. “I think you know I’m not interested in getting into a mass market for shells. It’s the rare varieties that most interest me.”
Leila turned from him impatiently and seemed to notice me for the first time. I said, “Good morning,” and she smiled with a certain bravado, as if she still defied not Alex’s words but his thoughts.
“Let’s get started,” she said, taking me by surprise. She set the binoculars down on a table with a thump and went past me into the house.
For a moment I waited, watching Alex. Though he spoke to me, he did not glance up from the shell he fondled in long, sensitive fingers. “You’d better take your pupil while she’s willing. It’s probable that her mother won’t bother you for the rest of the day.”
That he was morose over whatever Catherine had done was clear, but I knew I would learn nothing from him in this guarded mood, and I followed Leila inside to the coolness of the study.
Her books and papers waited for us on the long worktable, but the girl avoided them, moving restlessly about the room, poking with no particular interest at a shell here and there, ignoring me as though it had not been by her invitation that I was there.
I drew out a chair and sat down at the table, waiting for her to join me. Evidently my silent waiting began at last to disturb her, for suddenly she came across the room, moving with that unconscious, youthful grace that was natural to her when her mother was not about, and perched herself on a far corner of the table. It was clear that she was keyed up and ready for dispute. I had seen girls look this way before—girls who were spoiling for trouble.
Nevertheless, the subject she broached astonished me.
“You found a broom beside your door yesterday, didn’t you, Miss Abbott? Do you know why it was there?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” I admitted. “Your grandmother seemed upset when she saw it and she called Noreen to come and take it away. Did it mean something special? Something I ought to know about?”
“It doesn’t matter whether you know or not,” Leila said. “You won’t be able to stop it anyway.”
“Stop what? Suppose you tell me what you’re talking about.”
She flicked a finger at a bright red fish swimming down her skirt. “No one can ever stop obeah. That’s what it is, you know. Put a broom upside down by a door and you hurry the departure of an unwanted guest. You’d better look for spilled salt on the doorsill next.”
I gaped at her. “But who would do anything so foolish?”
She gave me a slanted look that reminded me of Catherine. “It’s not foolish. Obeah’s supposed to be against the law in the Virgin Islands, but it hangs over from the old days, and it comes in from other places. There’s a lot of it in Guadeloupe, where Noreen comes from. Are you afraid, Jessica Abbott?”
“Not of that sort of thing,” I said.
“Maybe you should be. If Cathy’s got it in for you, she’ll try anything. She came to your room last night, didn’t she? She told me she sat in your chair and watched you till you woke up. Did she frighten you badly?”
Clearly the girl had set herself to torment me, baiting me as her uncle had baited her. I moved with caution in the face of this effort to antagonize.
“I suppose she wanted to frighten me,” I said calmly. “She told me she wanted me to leave, but I let her know I planned to stay.”
Leila leaned toward me from her perch on the table. “Why? Why should you want to stay when she wants you gone? Don’t you know it isn’t wise to cross her? It might even be—dangerous.”
“ ‘Dangerous’ is a very large word. I’m here because your grandmother thinks I may be of use in helping you with your studies. If you don’t take advantage of what I can offer, then you’ll probably be sent to a stateside school in the fall, whether you like it or not.”
“School!” She was scornful. “That’s the least of my worries. If it wasn’t for you, Cathy might have taken me along this morning when she and Steve went out in his boat. Uncle Alex doesn’t know where they’ve gone—but I know. If Dad guessed, he’d have a fit.”
She crossed her legs and clasped her hands about one knee, rocking back and forth on the table’s edge, still watching me in bright defiance. My attention had quickened. I’d better find out about this—though I could never manage it directly with the girl in this mood. With King’s threat about missteps hanging over my head, I did not dare to lose so much as a skirmish.
Pushing back my chair, I left the table and went to the iron-bound pirate chest Alex had showed me the day before. Without a further glance at Leila, I took the big key boldly from its hook and slipped it into the lock. In a moment she was off the table and across the room to snatch at my hand.
“What are you doing? What’s in that chest is mine! You’ve no right to go snooping!”
Quietly I drew my hand from her grasp and turned the key in the lock, half braced for some rough move on her part. With the example set by Catherine, there was no telling what her daughter might do. But she surprised me by stepping back with an air of puzzlement.
“You really aren’t afraid, are you?” she said.
“I suppose I’ve had to work around some fairly immature antics in my time,” I said dryly, and reached into the chest to bring out the stack of drawings. “These interest me. Whatever it is that prompted you to work on them interests me. All your talk of danger and native magic really doesn’t, and I hate to waste time on subjects that bore me.”
That I should be bored by anything instigated by her mother seemed to give Leila unexpected food for thought.
I carried the pictures to the table, leaving her to follow or not as she pleased. She came after me, caught in spite of herself, and curious to see what I would do next. Besides, if she possessed anything of an artist’s pride, she would want to know what I thought of her work. With the stack before me, I sat at the table and started to sort through the drawings.
At once she leaned over and placed a hand on the stack. “Wait, Miss Abbott! Please!”
I smiled at her. “If you really don’t want me to look at your work, I won’t.”
She shook her head in denial. “It’s just that this morning I put in a couple of new pictures. I haven’t shown them to anyone yet, and I’m not sure I want to.”
“Why don’t you pull them out then?” I said, relinquishing the stack. “I’ll look at the ones you don’t mind my seeing.”
Swiftly she paged through the drawings and drew out two sheets. Then she stood back from the table to study them, apparently uncertain. I paid no attention but began to look through the sketches and tempera paintings of shells that Alex had shown me. When I came to the one that reminded me of Georgia O’Keeffe’s work, I laid it aside.
“This is my favorite,” I said. “You’ve caught the texture of that dun-colored background. And the rosy color of that big shell among the cream-colored ones is effective.”
Leila dropped into a chair beside me, leaning across my arm to look at the painting with a rapt air, the two drawings she had withdrawn turned face down in her lap.
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