Enemy in the House

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Enemy in the House Page 10

by Mignon G. Eberhart


  China gave a whimper and simply dissolved in a heap of billowing skirts on the floor; nobody moved to her assistance. Amity got her voice back. “Jamey—he’s gone—”

  “I’ll find him.” Charles snatched a candle but at that moment the back door opened and Dolcy came along the room leading Jamey.

  She came calmly, with the utmost serenity, restraining Jamey who was dancing, his eyes sparkling, every red hair on end with excitement. Amity sat down, weak with relief.

  Jamey shouted, “Earthquake—earthquake—”

  “He a good boy,” Dolcy said.

  “Where—” Amity said huskily.

  Dolcy gave her a half-comforting, half-guilty glance. “I think he safer in the bush. I take he out there.” Her dark eyes swerved once around the room. “Fire,” she said calmly, “all out now,” and led Jamey out, toward Hester’s room.

  “Earthquake—earthquake,” Jamey chanted.

  Amity said, “Thank you, Dolcy,” too late for Dolcy to hear.

  Madam Grappit’s eyes were popping like boiled gooseberries. “In the bush—why, she couldn’t have known—Mr. Grappit, what does that woman mean?”

  Grappit passed a bony hand over the thin black strands of hair across his shining scalp. “They said it would storm. I daresay there are certain signs, certain conditions. They’re accustomed to the life here.”

  It was as good an explanation as any and, just then, Amity did not believe a word of it. The obeah woman had known.

  Neville sat down, crossed his well-turned legs and examined a scorch on one white silk stocking. “They all gathered around that girl they call the obeah woman. Sang and listened to her and—”

  “Neville!” his mother screeched. “How do you know that?”

  Neville said absently, “That stocking’s gone. I’ve only seven left.” He sighed and gave his mother a rather wary glance. “I saw them. Out in the bush, the jungle, in a kind of valley running out from the western fields.”

  “You saw them!” Grappit said.

  “What girl?” Aunt Grappit shouted.

  “The obeah woman, of course. I was curious. Crept around through the brush and kept out of sight but there they all were and she seemed to be talking to them, moving her arms like a play actress.” He looked at Charles. “Gad, that girl, that obeah woman is cursedly attractive. You ought to see her.”

  “Neville!” Madam Grappit rose in majesty, remembered she was in stays and petticoats and clutched for her stained puce dressing gown. It distracted her and Neville cried, “The mill—” and shot up. “The fires! Were they left stoked?”

  Grappit, Charles and Neville all started for the door at once. It banged behind them and China wavered, hoisted herself to a sofa and sank down again.

  The huge mirror which had hung on the wall was still hanging there but broken; shards of glass lay on the floor. There was about the whole room an indescribable litter, a bizarre disorder.

  But no one was injured, no one—she then remembered Hester and cried, “Where is Hester?”

  China stared at nothing, still with the glazed look of terror in her eyes. Aunt Grappit shrugged. “Oh, that girl is safe enough. Hiding somewhere, I make no doubt.” She stalked away along the corridor to her room.

  But Hester, Amity knew, had been in the garden only a few moments before the first shock. She edged around the broken glass on the floor and went out.

  The sky looked the same but there was a deep disturbed motion in the sea, as if it knew its own secrets. A tree or two was down, sprawling untidily across other trees. A chimney was down, too; there were bricks, flung like stones everywhere. She pushed through the gap in the hedge. The garden was the same, straggled over with vines, yet it was different, too, for the trellis had collapsed and a mass of bougainvillaea lay in tangled vines and huge crimson clusters of flowers, sprawled out across the garden.

  Amid the brown and green vines, amid the green leaves and the red flowers there was something else, another color—a paler green and a wisp of pale red.

  She called, “Charles—Neville—” as she ran. She tripped in the mass of bougainvillaea, fell to her knees and pulled at the vines, thrusting at the rotted old trellis. She got her hands upon Hester’s green silk skirt. Neville had heard her. He came running to kneel beside her; he thrust up the trellis, disentangling the stubborn vines, with their brilliant, almost garishly gay flowers. Through them she saw Hester’s face. She saw its dreadful purple color; she saw the pale red scarf twisted and twisted around the full throat, wedged deeply into the flesh. She had just a glimpse of Hester’s eyes, wide open, staring, but seeing nothing.

  Neville saw it all, too. He let go of the trellis, which collapsed again, and so did Neville, neatly and gracefully with his own face deadly white.

  “You can’t faint ! Neville—”

  He opened his eyes, shuddered and closed them again.

  “Amity,” Charles shouted and thrust his way through shrubbery from the other side of the weedy garden. “Amity! What’s happened to Neville?”

  Neville answered. “The girl—the nurse—”

  Amity must have made some gesture. Charles pulled the vines and trellis away, stood for a moment, and then said over his shoulder, “Go to the house, Amity.”

  Neville hunched up and put his face in his hands.

  “Stop sniffling!” Charles shouted in sudden fury. He dropped the vines but gently, so as to cover the figure that lay there in its green silks, crumpled now and askew. “Amity, I told you to go to the house.”

  “It wasn’t the earthquake—”

  “No, of course it wasn’t the earthquake! The girl’s been murdered. She couldn’t have strangled herself like that if she’d tried. It happened before the earthquake, obviously. The trellis fell over her during the earthquake.”

  Neville was wavering to his feet. “What shall we do? Charles, what shall we do?”

  “Get your father. He’s in the sugar house. I’ll stay here.”

  “Yes—yes, he’ll know—” Neville gulped and started for the sugar house, stumbling over vines and bricks.

  Amity whispered, “Who?”

  “How should I know! There’s nothing you can do here—”

  “I saw—just before the earthquake. Here in the garden—I saw her—”

  Charles stepped out of the massed vines, took Amity by the arm and led her out of the dreadful, unkempt garden, away from a tangled mass of green and crimson, covering a paler green, a twist of paler red. At the steps he left her.

  The lounge was garish with its candle lights, showing up its ugly disorder. Aunt Grappit was not there. China still sat in a huddle on the sofa; she looked blankly at Amity.

  She couldn’t tell China—not then. She ran through the darkness of the corridor to her own room.

  By now the room itself was almost dark; the jalousies were closed. She stood for a moment, leaning against the door. Hester, killed! Shincok and then Benfit and now the strange girl, Hester! It was as if murder had come with them over the sea, like an extra, terrible passenger.

  Low, half-laughing beside her, a man’s voice said, “Don’t scream, Amy, it’s only me.”

  She couldn’t have screamed if she had tried. She couldn’t move. She could see him dimly in the dusk. “Simon!”

  It couldn’t be, it was impossible. But he caught her in his arms and with his face close against her own said, whispering, “Quiet, Amy. If they catch me they might hang me in a moment of impulse.”

  11

  “YOU CAN’T BE HERE—you can’t—”

  “But I am. I was on the same ship with you. The captain took me on as a seaman.”

  “No—I can’t believe it—”

  “I saw you several times. Although I must say I spent most of the time at the pumps. You should see my hands.”

  “Simon, they’ll find you!”

  “We’ll not let anybody find me. You’re a good Loyalist but I don’t think you’ll turn me over to the British—”

  “No, n
o. You’ve got to leave, hide, something—”

  “Well, I can’t just yet. I’m on a—well, a military mission. There’s a hitch in arrangements. So I got a horse and followed you here the very first night you arrived. Slept two nights in a ramshackle hut I found. Amy—I heard about your father in! Kingston. I’m sorry. And I saw Mr. Grappit meet you at the ship, so I presume the whole family is here.”

  She caught his arm. “You don’t know what’s happened!”

  “The earthquake? I really thought it was the end of the world. I had to make sure you were safe, so I crawled along behind the shrubbery and got up a ledge outside your window—” His voice changed. “What has happened?”

  “The girl—Hester—the nursemaid! Down in the garden. And Lawyer Benfit that very night and Parson Shincok! Her face—there was bougainvillaea over her and—”

  “Amy! There, now.” He put his arms around her. “Quiet—now just tell me—”

  She couldn’t select and order the telling; it poured out in jerky whispers.

  Simon said, “Strangled—Shincok—that might have been accident, but Benfit—that was certainly murder.” He paused. At last he asked, “Is that all?”

  “Dear God, isn’t it enough?”

  “Faith, I hope so. Is that all you know of this girl?”

  “Oh, yes. Except—oh, Simon, she said she’d stay here if she chose, as long as the house at Mallam Penn stands and now—now she will.”

  He held her tighter. “You couldn’t have guessed that she’d be killed. You couldn’t have prevented it.”

  “Parson Shincok and Mr. Benfit and now Hester!”

  “Yes, I agree. Two outright murders and one possible murder, three violent deaths—no, that can’t be chance. Whatever is the reason for murder it arose in America, it still exists and is no less urgent here in Jamaica. Shincok and Benfit would certainly have authenticated our marriage if need be. But this girl. I can’t think of any possible link. You say Hester didn’t seem just like a nursemaid.”

  “No. That is—oh, I can’t explain it. It was as if she was trying to be a fine lady but—”

  “But really wasn’t? I remember her only vaguely, on the ship. Good-looking, a kind of come-hither something about her. If it hadn’t been for the storm she’d have had all the men seeking her favor. Well—poor girl—”

  “She didn’t know the first thing about seeing to Jamey—Simon! There’s another thing. Uncle Grappit threatens to have himself appointed guardian to Jamey and take him to England unless—”

  “Unless what?”

  “Well—that is—unless I wed Neville.”

  He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I fancy he could find ways to dissolve our marriage. What did you say to that?”

  “I said no!”

  She thought his arms tightened a little. He said, though, matter-of-factly, “Then that’s settled. We’ll see to Jamey. Now then—” He stopped to listen. There were sounds from outside, a man’s voice, horses’ hoofs. He ran lightly across the room and opened the jalousie. “Two men—Neville and I suppose Charles Carey—they’re on horses, going down the driveway. Going for officers of the law, I should say.”

  She caught his arm. “They’ll search everywhere. You’ve got to hide. You can’t fall into British hands!”

  He looked at her quietly through the dusk. “I don’t believe you are such a good Loyalist as you think you are,”

  “Oh, for God’s sake—you’re my husband!”

  “Yes—well. I’ve got to get to Saint Dominique.”

  “Saint Dominique!”

  “Santo Domingo. It was captured by the French last September. D’Estaing’s fleet should be in that vicinity. General Cornwallis’ aim is to sweep up through the Carolinas and Virginia. We need French ships and French guns now. I have only a code letter of authorization. I’m to present our position in the form of a spoken request. They may pay no attention to it.”

  “But that’s dangerous!”

  “Well, there’s a point. I’m not a spy. Yet in a sense I am a secret agent. How a court would decide it, I don’t know, and frankly I’d rather not find out.”

  “A code letter! They’d say spy! How are you to get to Saint Dominique?”

  “There was an arrangement. The captain of the Southern Cross, Captain Boyce, thought that for a consideration he could make the voyage but he insisted upon coming to Jamaica first. As it happens, his cargo wasn’t ready and obtainable. He’s to let me know when he’ll leave. Amy, do you remember our funny old French teacher, the broken-down dancing master?”

  “Yes, of course!”

  “If he hadn’t taught me what little French I know, I wouldn’t have been chosen for this errand. I wouldn’t have been here now—in fact, I wouldn’t have sent you to Jamaica, if I hadn’t known that I was to come here.”

  “You knew then—well, of course, you knew.”

  “I thought I could see that you arrived safely. I didn’t reckon on your escort, Charles Carey and China. I certainly didn’t reckon on the Grappits’ arrival. Or murder. There’s something hideously contagious about murder. Like the pox. But it seems a long way to travel—from Shincok and Lawyer Benfit, all the way to Mallam Penn and this nursemaid.”

  “Simon, you’ve got to get away, hide—before they come back and search and—oh, hurry—”

  He said gently, “My good and faithful wife!”

  “Why, that was you! That first night on the ship, there at the railing when Charles spoke to me and a sailor jostled between us—that was you!”

  “I was a witness to a tender little scene.”

  “You heard what I said, too!”

  “I take it that Charles has agreed most politely to your decision.”

  “Yes! He’s been a friend and a—You’re laughing—”

  “I was never further from laughing in my life,” he said soberly. “To tell you the truth, I think I am admiring Charles. … You said that Neville was sure that he had seen Hester somewhere.”

  “He couldn’t remember where. He thought at one of the Charlestown balls. Charles said he’d never seen her.”

  “She brought a box with her; I saw it unloaded. There might be—oh, papers, something to prove her identity or—” He checked himself. Another sound, a kind of wailing which still had the vestige of a tune about it, came from somewhere in the house. It was incredibly a jaunty, gay kind of tune, vaguely familiar and totally out of place in that house at that moment.

  “What is it?” Amity whispered.

  “Go and find out what’s happening. But—be careful, Amy. I’ll stay here until you come back.”

  Simon closed the door softly behind her. The wailing resolved itself into a high-pitched, stumbling kind of song. By the time she reached the lounge she had recognized the tune. She was not prepared for the sight that greeted her.

  Madam Grappit, dressed now in lavender silk with a yellow silk petticoat, was sitting beside China on one of the hard sofas. A small table had been pulled up before them. A squat dark bottle stood on the table. Both Aunt Grappit and China had teacups in their hands and they were singing together, “—and then I married me a wife and the world turned upside down.”

  It was a popular song, a rake’s song, one that Aunt Grappit would have disapproved strongly in her right and sensible mind, but apparently she was by no means in her right and sensible mind and neither was China. They struck high notes, shatteringly off-key, and stopped to laugh cozily. China saw Amity.

  “Dear,” she cried, “have some tea. I’ll have some more.”

  Her words were blurred, her face flushed, her eyes glassy. She took up the bottle and splashed a good swig of rum into her teacup. Aunt Grappit held out her cup and China poured into that, too.

  “The King!” Madam Grappit declaimed, tried to rise, wavered and sat down again.

  “We’ve had that,” China objected. “Over and over we’ve had that—”

  “Can’t have it too often!” Aunt Grappit looked at Amity, squinted
, and said crossly, “Do stand still, Amity. Young girl should be quiet and dec—” She hiccupped and said with an air of triumph, “Decorous. Have some tea, Amity. Hot tea with rum in it. What you need. A good idea.”

  An excellent idea, Amity thought swiftly; pray heaven they kept at it until Simon was safely out of the house and—well, where? She had to get back to Simon; she had to find a safe place for him. “Where’s Uncle Grappit?”

  Her voice was so sharp that it pierced the cozy haze around the two women. Aunt Grappit answered. “Out somewhere—the mill. We had an earthquake—and that girl was strangled. Charles and Neville are off to get law officers—soldiers—whatever there is in that little town—” She turned companionably to China who said, “Punt Town. Six miles away.”

  “Constabulary,” said Aunt Grappit ponderously.

  There was no time to be lost. Amity was, then, struck by a dangerous, a dubious notion, and just possibly one that promised safety for Simon. It might not work. But he couldn’t hide in the mountains, the bush, anywhere. They might bring dogs. She shuddered away from the quick memory of the overseer’s words to Grappit, something about dogs sent to track down a runaway.

  She ran back to her own room. Simon was still there and laughing softly. “I opened the door a crack. Are they both in their cups?”

  “Teacups,” she said and then snapped at Simon, who laughed again. “You’ve got to hide! Uncle Grappit is at the mill, but he’ll come back any minute! Neville and Charles have gone to Punt Town, it’s only six miles away—”

  “I’ll make for the mountains—”

  “They’ll bring dogs, anything. Simon, stay here. I’ll go and see if—I’ll talk to her—”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find the obeah woman. Perhaps she’ll hide you.”

  12

  HE SAID COOLLY, “SUPPOSE she doesn’t want to hide me.”

  “I’ll give her anything, promise her anything—”

  “From what I’ve seen from my various vantage points, I doubt if money means anything to her.”

  “What did you see? What do you mean?”

 

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