Galleon House

by Margaret Malcolm

  “He was the youngest son,” Simon pointed out. “And youngest sons have a way of going abroad to seek their fortunes.”

  “And did he succeed?” Andrea asked with supreme lack of interest.

  “To a certain degree,” Simon admitted frankly. “He laid the foundation on which my father built—”

  “And to which you, no doubt, have added?” Andrea suggested, stifling a yawn with the tips of her fingers.

  Madam and Leo exchanged a brief glance. Normally Andrea would have been quickly reproved for such rudeness, but since it had given them information that they were extremely anxious to have, the transgression was allowed to pass unchecked. “Yes,” Simon admitted briefly.

  “What is your particular line?” Leo asked pleasantly.

  “Sheep,” Simon replied.

  Andrea gave a tinkling little laugh.

  “How odd. A Trevaine earning his living as a shepherd!” she remarked maliciously.

  “No more strange than that another Trevaine should earn his living as a fisherman,” Leo told her with an almost imperceptible movement of the head that told her she had gone far enough.

  “A fisherman?” Simon looked surprised and interested. “You?”

  “Even I! You see,” Leo explained carelessly, “some years ago it became clear that the only way to save our fishing industry was to pool all the available resources and buy a bigger, more highly powered trawler than any of our men possessed. The trouble is that to get a worthwhile catch one must go farther afield. It’s a common situation all around our shores. So we formed a company of which I’m the captain.”

  “And it has been a success?” Simon asked.

  Leo shrugged his shoulders.

  “By your standards, perhaps not. Nonetheless, it satisfies our simple needs.” And Leo’s eyes wandered with ironical amusement over the lavish and costly display before them.

  “Down in the town, I asked my way of a red-headed man with a knife at his hip,” Simon remarked thoughtfully. “He seemed extremely suspicious of me—in fact, he was obviously in two minds whether to give me the information I wanted or not. Would he be one of your men?”

  Leo smiled.

  “Your description would fit a good many of our men! They’re all either red or black—but whichever color they may be, you’ll find that suspicion of strangers is an inherent characteristic!”

  “This one had a scar from the outside corner of his left eve down to his mouth,” Simon amplified, “It puckered his mouth slightly. A knife wound, I should imagine.”

  “Quite right,” Leo replied with a nod. “His brother did that. A quarrel over some girl or other. Yes, he is one of my crew. My second-in-command—at present—in fact. Luke Polwyn. Some sort of very distant relation. If you remember, our great aunt Esther married a Polwyn.”

  “John,” Simon said automatically. “But they didn’t have any children.”

  Leo looked amused.

  “You evidently know the family tree as well as we do,” he commented genially. “Yes, well, Luke is a descendant of one of John’s cousins. Bad blood there, I’m afraid. Luke is something of a problem at times. Are you at all interested in ships, Simon?” In spite of the fact that Leo was apparently changing the subject, Simon had the impression that his question was actually closely linked with his previous remarks.

  “Yes, I am,” he replied unhesitatingly. “As a matter of fact, three other chaps and I own a sea-going yacht between us. Only a single engine—diesel—but quite an efficient one.”

  He stopped abruptly, suddenly aware that three people were looking at him with intense interest. Hanging onto his words, in fact, though in Andrea’s eyes he thought he saw something like bitter hostility before she hid them from him with quickly downcast lids.

  “You must come out with me on the Cormorant,” Leo declared enthusiastically. “How about tomorrow night?”

  “I should like it above all things ... if it’s convenient...” with a fleeting glance at Andrea.

  “Absolutely!” Leo declared blandly. “I’d like to have your company.”

  Most of the conversation that evening was between the two men. Madam, though she listened intently to every word, rarely joined in. Andrea, in her rather pathetic finery, frankly sulked.

  When, as usual, she helped Madam up to her room, she did not come down again. Despite Madam’s warning that Simon was a dangerous man, she, so she told herself, was bored to extinction by him.

  Later that night Madam summoned Leo to her room. She looked incredibly small and frail in the huge fourposter bed, but indomitable spirit burned in her brilliant eyes.

  “You’re a fool!” she began without preamble. “It’s useless.”

  Leo sat on the edge of the bed and took her hands in his. “Because he is a rich man and, I fear, something of a prig?” asked.

  “That ... and other things.”

  Leo did not reply immediately. When he did, though his voice was very gentle, it was quite inflexible.

  “I’m not going to pretend I don’t know what you mean, Madam. But, as I said, dear Simon is a prig. A disadvantage in some ways but a boon in others. No, there’s no danger there, I’m convinced.” Madam did not reply, and Leo went on reflectively:

  “As to his wealth—sheep must be boring companions, a despite his priggishness, I’m convinced that there is a capacity: adventure in Simon. Well hidden, perhaps, but capable of being roused.”

  “Still I say you are a fool!” Madam insisted.

  Leo stood up and walked over to the open window. The mo was full and from this room, as from most of the bedrooms, o overlooked the estuary and Pay-Off Cove. It was a sight that never failed to stir his heart, as it stirred Andrea’s.

  “You may be right, Madam,” he admitted at length. “Or rather you could be, but for one thing. I have a presentiment—”

  “Leo, Leo!” Never before had he known Madam to be afraid, and now there was very real fear in the thready whisper. He turned and faced her.

  “I’m convinced that Simon’s life and mine are to be inextricably bound together,” he told her with the solemnity of a man who set into the future. “I don’t know what it means or in what way it will affect us, but I know that it’s as inevitable as that the night must follow the day. I can’t avoid my fate any more than he can avoid his. So, being myself, I seek his company rather than avoid it. Would you have me do otherwise, Madam?”

  “No,” she admitted with a sigh that seemed to shake her whole body. Then, more strongly: “No! But I wish ... wish with all m being that he had stayed on the other side of the world! I am too old now to fight!” And her voice quivered.

  “But I’m not!” Leo returned to her bedside. “I’m not, dearest Madam!” He bent over her, his face alight with reckless amusement. “A good fight has an irresistible appeal to me—particularly at this moment. It will give zest to what ha otherwise been a singularly insipid courtship.”

  Madam lifted her hands in protest. Then she allowed them to fall heavily to the bed.

  “You are an even greater fool than I had imagined,” she told him resignedly. “But—” and the old eyes held the same unregenerate glint that shone in his “—I love you for it!”

  For the first time in her life Andrea found no pleasure in her solitary swim the next morning. The stinging kiss of the sea was as invigorating as ever, the sky as blue and the sun as brilliant, but she herself was different. It was impossible to lose herself in her surroundings as she usually did.

  Life seemed purposeless and bleak, and it was all Simon’s fault. Somehow, in the short time since his arrival, he had contrived to rob her of her self-confidence. She did not understand how it had come about nor why anything he did or said should matter to her, but the fact remained. Whether she thought of all those familiar things that made up her life or whether she brooded on the self that was somehow a stranger to her, she was aware of this depressing sense of dissatisfaction.

  For several years now she had known that one day she a
nd Leo would be married. The thought had filled her with excitement and elation. Leo’s wife—mistress of Galleon House—what more could any girl want from life?

  Well, now they were betrothed—a formality only little less binding that actual marriage. Except when she was swimming she wore the heavy old ring that Leo had put on her finger so few days ago. At the time she had been thrilled at the gravity of the occasion and by what Leo had said:

  “Before the end of the year I shall put another ring on your finger, Andrea. A plain gold one. And that, in the eyes of the world, is the more important, for it will be the acknowledgement that we are man and wife. But to me and, I hope, to you, this ring has a symbolism that no other can have. You know how many Trevaine wives have worn it and you know their tradition of utter loyalty and unswerving devotion. In giving it to you I’m giving witness of my belief that in you I shall find these things. In taking it, you are assuring me that I shall not be disappointed. Do you understand?”

  Yes, she had understood, and at the time it had all seemed both inspiring and flattering. Now she was not so sure. Why had Leo never told her that he loved her? Why had he not even kissed her? And most of all, why, instead of asking her if she would marry him, had he simply taken it for granted that she would?

  Suddenly she had the urge to put her thoughts behind her—to run away from them. She turned and began to swim strongly for the shore. Then something on the cliff caught her attention and she stopped, treading water.

  Since the day that Luke Polwyn had made a nuisance of himself, Leo had given orders that one of the gamekeepers was to patrol the cliff while she was swimming. She regretted his presence because it made that glorious feeling of the whole world belonging to her alone impossible. On the other hand, it did mean that Luke would not bother her again.

  She could see Nicholls, the gamekeeper, silhouetted against the sky, his gun under his arm. But someone had joined him now. A tall, spare, unmistakable figure. Simon. Obviously he wanted to come down to the cove, and equally obviously, Nicholls was telling him that his orders were to allow no one to pass him.

  Andrea gave a little crow of laughter and swallowed a mouthful of water. But it was worth it. That would take Mr. High-and-Mighty Simon Trevaine down a peg or two! Guest of the house and cousin of its owner notwithstanding, he had to toe the line like anyone else when her pleasure was in question. And it was Leo’s doing. As Andrea swam the rest of way to the shore, her self-respect was completely restored.

  After breakfast, the two men walked down to the harbor. Both were rather silent. That morning the screaming of gulls and cormorants had awakened Simon early and he had decided to go for a swim. It had come as a shock to find his way barred. The man had been perfectly respectful, but, as he had said, he had his orders. Simon had too much sense to do anything but accept the situation and beat a retreat. But he could not help wondering how long this watch had been kept. Did it date from before his visit... or was it mounted on his account? He would have given a lot to know, but the last thing he intended was to ask. And Leo, he was sure, would make no reference to the incident, though, of course, it would be reported to him.

  By now they were at the harbor, and Leo pointed out the Cormorant.

  Simon whistled.

  “She’s a size!” he commented.

  “She’s more than that,” Leo told him. “Come aboard and have a look.”

  Almost a full crew of men, including Luke Polwyn, must have been aboard, for Simon was conscious of curious, peering eyes wherever they went, but since Leo ignored them, so did he, and indeed there was plenty more to hold his attention.

  The appointments of the Cormorant were extraordinarily luxurious. Leo’s cabin in particular was amazing. Paneled in walnut with a bunk, desk and armchair, it might have been in a private yacht rather than a boat used for strictly utilitarian purposes.

  But it was her engine room that really surprised Simon. He had been prepared by what he had already seen for something moderately efficient, but nothing as powerful as was actually the case.

  “You’ve got some power there!” he commented admiringly.

  “Oh, I like a bit of speed up my sleeve,” Leo said carelessly.

  “A family trait?” Simon suggested dryly. “I seem to remember than an earlier Trevaine—Captain Jeremy in the eighteenth century, wasn’t it—preferred a ship that could show a clean pair of heels if occasion demanded it. But then he, to be sure, was a smuggler!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was as if Simon had dropped a stone into the placid waters of a pool. Thoughts, emotions, even fears circled out from the mind of every man present—and there were far more men aboard now than even Simon had realized. He was supremely conscious of the growing tension. Faces darkened, hands dropped significantly to sheathed knives and there was an undertone of hostile muttering.

  Then Leo laughed his big, breezy laugh and the tension shattered into a thousand fragments.

  “Those were the days!” he said with frank regret. “But nowadays, if you have any intention of following in Captain Jeremy’s footsteps, I would advise you to have second thoughts. Coastguards are far too efficient to make it worth the risk. Even fog is no help now since radar was invented.”

  Simon glanced upward.

  “I see you have it, too.”

  “Naturally,” Leo said carelessly. “You’re seeing our coast at its best and most friendly. But there are times when we have fogs or storms and it’s a very different kettle of fish.”

  For a moment Simon hesitated. Then he nodded.

  “Yes, of course,” he agreed, and the subject was dropped. Shortly afterward, the two cousins returned to the house.

  Andrea and Madam were sitting together on the terrace, enjoying the sunshine.

  “Well, what do you think of her?” Madam asked curiously.

  “I think she’s terrific,” Simon said enthusiastically. “I’m looking forward to tonight’s trip.” As he spoke he realized that, with Andrea present, he had not perhaps been very tactful, but a glance in her direction showed that she was to all appearances completely absorbed in her embroidery. Her needle stabbed in and out with smooth, effortless efficiency.

  After a while—long enough so that it did not appear that she was running away—Andrea turned to Madam.

  “I think cook should have the basket ready by now,” she remarked. “I’ll go and see, anyhow. I don’t want to be late for lunch.”

  “A basket of food? Who is it for?” Leo asked sharply.

  “For old Bess Polwyn,” Andrea explained as she folded her embroidery and put it neatly in its bag. “Dr. Penlee telephoned to say that she scalded her foot rather badly two days ago and he’s afraid she’s not getting proper food.”

  “Penlee should have let us know sooner,” Leo said sharply. “I must have a word with him.”

  “I expect he thought her family would be looking after her,” Andrea suggested. “And of course, so they ought to have done. But being Polwyns...” She shrugged her shoulders significantly.

  Leo nodded as if he had not only agreed but accepted his responsibility for looking after the old woman.

  “Take the little car,” he ordered.

  “I can manage quite well on my bicycle,” Andrea told him. Leo frowned.

  “The car!” he said curtly, and a few moments later Andrea drove around from the back of the house and vanished down the driveway.

  She was sorry Leo had insisted on her making the trip in the car because she had looked forward to the cycle ride. It was a hot day and her own movement would have created a pleasant little breeze—besides, the breathless rush down the steep hill that would take her to Bess’s cottage was always a thrill. But she understood the reason for the order. Leo was not allowing her to take the risk of a solitary encounter with Luke in circumstances where she would not have complete control of the situation.

  “But he wouldn’t dare!” she thought confidently. “Not after the way Leo dealt with him!”

  Noneth
eless, she was careful to park the car where she could keep an eye on it through the firmly sealed window of the little cottage.

  It was intolerably stuffy in the cottage, but Andrea knew better than to comment on it. It was Bess’s home, and if that was the way she liked it, that was her business. Besides, only Leo could possibly have persuaded her to alter her ways, and he had never attempted to.

  “Hello, Bess, how’s the foot?” she asked, setting the basket down on a rickety table.

  “Could be worse, my pretty dear, could be worse,” the old woman piped from the depths of a dilapidated armchair. “What you’m brought me in that basket?”

  “Lots of things.” Andrea began unpacking. “Some stew that I’m going to warm up for you to have now. A pie that only needs putting into the oven for a few minutes. Bread, butter, milk, cheese—and a little nip of brandy!”

  “Brandy!” Old Bess cackled gleefully. “Better nor all the rest together, so ‘tis! Puts warmth in me old body, brandy does!”

  Andrea heated the meal for the old woman, waited while she went through the rather revolting process of eating it, packed the empty basin back into the basket and said goodbye.

  “I shall be here again the day after tomorrow,” she promised. “And you see to it that there’s some brandy left, or you don’t get any more. And don’t get trying to take me in with cold tea—I know that trick!”

  Old Bess laughed until she nearly choked.

  “You’re a one, so you be!” she wheezed. “Can’t get the better of you no more’n I can of the master! Though they do say he...” She paused and looked sideways at Andrea.