Galleon House

by Margaret Malcolm

  “You must regret parting with the family treasures,” Simon said politely.

  “Oh, I do,” Leo assured him. “But—” he shrugged his shoulders “—there it is! Ah, here is Madam, punctual as ever.”

  It was rather a silent little party at dinner that evening. Both Leo and Simon seemed to be deep in thought, and since Madam did not choose to keep the conversation going, Andrea did not take it on herself to do so. But the silence made her feel uncomfortably constrained and restless. She wondered what the two men were thinking about. Perhaps she could guess in Leo’s case, but certainly not in Simon’s. To amuse herself, she moved her hand gently so that the diamonds around her wrist caught the light—until she noticed that both Leo and Simon were watching her.

  It was a relief when the meal ended and a still greater one when, just before going to bed, she handed the jewels back to Leo, who put them in the safe.

  It was dull and cloudy when she awoke the next morning, but nonetheless Andrea went for her swim. She had become accustomed now to the watcher on the top of the cliff, in fact barely noticed that he was there.

  The coldness of the sea and, even more, the chilly wind made her cut her swim short. She was almost a quarter of an hour earlier returning. She ran to keep herself warm, but as she went along the hedge-lined path on the other side of the stableyard she heard voices and paused.

  “Rubbish, man!” she heard Leo say impatiently.

  “It isn’t rubbish,” Luke retorted doggedly. “He’s dangerous.”

  “That’s for me to judge,” Leo said sharply. “And I say he’s not.” ‘He,’ of course, must be Simon. And Luke was doing what she had advised him—having it out with Leo. But apparently he was not getting much satisfaction out of it.

  “Be you blind, master?” Luke demanded curiously. “You, of all men!”

  “And just what do you mean by that?” Leo asked with dangerous calm.

  “Well,” Luke drawled significantly, “there’s them that think it would be natural for you, more than the rest of us, to want to see the back of him!”

  Andrea frowned, unable to make anything of this. But apparently Leo could.

  “If I find that my private affairs have become the subject of tittle-tattle in the village, I shall not only have something to say about it, I shall give any man who has taken part in it the worst thrashing of his life!” Leo said icily. “You’d better make that clear to anyone concerned.”

  “And suppose it’s the women?” Luke leered. “You can’t thrash them.”

  “No, but I can thrash their men for not keeping their women in order,” Leo retorted. “Make that clear as well! And now, clear out!”

  Silently Andrea slipped away and gained her bedroom without either man knowing she had overheard them.

  What had Luke meant, she puzzled as she toweled herself briskly. Why should Leo want Simon to go more than anyone else? Why, it was he who had pressed his cousin to stay!

  Then she forgot about that aspect of the conversation to consider another. If Leo would not take any notice of the men’s complaint, she was practically certain that they would take the law into their own hands. They were like that—hot-headed and lawless. Simon was very definitely in danger. Somehow or other there would be an accident—that sort of thing had happened before. It could happen again.

  And if it did, suspicions that could not be proven before would be remembered. There could be real trouble for St. Finbar and goodness knew who might become involved in it. Leo himself, perhaps. And through him, Madam and herself.

  Andrea frowned. Never in her life before had she questioned any decision of Leo’s, but now she did. Surely he ought to see the danger and do something about it! Warn Simon to take care...

  Suddenly she made up her mind. One thing was clear. Leo had refused to take any notice of Luke and he would never change his mind. So, since he would not warn Simon, she would!

  It was not easy, however, to find either the words or the occasion, for she and Simon were never alone together for more than an odd moment or two—and her warning had to be discreet so that Simon would not take the matter up with Leo and get her into trouble.

  However, within a day or two not only did the opportunity arise but Simon himself proved to be more helpful than she could have anticipated.

  Madam retired rather early, confessing to tiredness. Andrea, Leo and Simon were sitting on the terrace, and Leo was called to the telephone.

  For a moment Andrea did not speak. Then she drew a deep breath. Simon’s eyes, she saw, were fixed on the distant scene and she seized on the fact to start a conversation.

  “You find it beautiful, Simon?” she said inquiringly.

  “Most beautiful,” he told her, his eyes still absorbing the view. “ ‘Every prospect pleases ...’ ” she quoted, and then, abruptly: “And what do you think of our men, Simon?”

  “The village men?” He did not hesitate. “I think they can be very loyal—but I wouldn’t like to have them for my enemies.” Involuntarily Andrea caught her breath, wondering if, after all, her warning was unnecessary. Perhaps he had already realized—but she would take no chances.

  “Yes, they can be dangerous enemies,” she said deliberately. “If they hate, or fear, they take the law into their own hands at times. They all carry knives.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” Simon said coolly, without turning. “So, for that matter, do I.”

  Andrea started.

  “Do you? Why?”

  “Oh, habit,” he said carelessly. “A knife is a good thing to carry. Useful, I mean. I’ve often shot a meal for myself and used a knife to skin it—and then to eat with it after I’ve cooked my meal.”

  So he wasn’t quite so unprepared for attack as she had thought! Perhaps she could leave matters there.

  “Yours must be an interesting country, Simon,” she said graciously. “Tell me something about it.”

  When Leo returned, Simon was deep in a description of a sheep roundup, and Andrea was stifling a yawn with difficulty. It sounded incredibly dull to her!

  So there the matter lay. Simon had a pretty shrewd idea what the men were like, and though he might not realize that they were his enemies, she now felt reasonably sure that they would have a job to catch him napping.

  She was quickly to discover how wrong she was.

  The next day was heavy with the threat of a storm which never broke. By evening the still air was so heavy and oppressive that it hung like a menacing presence over the house and the people in it. Madam went to bed early and both Leo and Simon had gone off somewhere on their own affairs. Andrea, left alone, felt that she would stifle if she did not escape somewhere, somehow.

  She changed out of her evening clothes into a cooler cotton dress, wishing that Leo had not forbidden her to swim by night. That would have been heaven, but as an alternative she made her way to the more thickly wooded part of the estate.

  Here there was the faintest rustling of leaves, and though Andrea knew that in all probability heavy rain would fall at any moment, she plunged into the dimness.

  Suddenly she stopped. Surely she had heard a movement farther on. Leo, perhaps. Or Simon. Or even a poacher. Whoever it was, she meant to find out.

  Then, quite near at hand, she heard a shout, and instantly the sound of a heavy body blundering through the undergrowth.

  It would have been wiser, no doubt, to go back to the house and report what she had heard, but the idea simply did not occur to her. Instead, she hurried as quickly as she could in the direction from which the shout had come. The path twisted and turned, hardly visible in the dim light. Only familiarity with it enabled her to make her way, and even so, as she turned a corner, she stumbled and almost fell over something that lay across the path. Something heavy—yet soft and yielding...

  With all her strength suddenly drained from her, she dropped on her knees beside the still figure, and at that moment the storm began in all its fury.

  Rain, driven by a furious wind, lashed through t
he swaying trees. Then suddenly the sky was torn apart by a blinding fork of lightning.

  Another second and the wood seemed darker than before, but in that dramatic light she had seen that it was Simon who, face downward, lay sprawled there.

  He had discarded his jacket and his white shirt was red with the blood which welled from the haft of the wicked little knife that projected from near his shoulder.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  For one heart-stopping moment Andrea thought Simon was dead. Then he moved slightly and groaned, and though it brought overwhelming relief, her anxiety quickly returned as she saw that with the slight movement the scarlet patch had spread.

  “Simon, Simon!” she said urgently. “Don’t move! Do you hear me? Don’t move!”

  His eyelids fluttered as if lifting them was too much effort. Then, in another brilliant flash, she was gazing down into his dark eyes. Just for a second she saw something unfamiliar and breathtaking in them. Then it was dark again, but not before she knew that he had slipped back into unconsciousness.

  Andrea knew that she had to make up her mind quickly. Should she try to staunch the wound herself or should she go back to the house for help? It was not difficult to decide, for she was afraid to leave him. He might move and do himself a greater injury—or whoever it was who had attacked him might come back and finish the job.

  Setting her teeth, she tore the shirt away from the wound, and as she felt cautiously with her fingers she gave a little sob of relief. The knife was not, as she had thought, in his body but in the fleshy part of his arm. Nor did she think it was deep enough to have severed an artery. She tore the back of the shirt into long strips, made a pad of part of it, and then, with the fingers of her left hand pressed firmly against either side of the knife, she pulled it out with her right hand. Instantly she felt the warm flow of his blood over her fingers, but this was not the first time that she had cared for a bad knife wound. She was quite certain now that no desperately serious damage had been done. She pressed her pad firmly against the wound and bound his arm as tightly as she could to his body. And to her relief the bleeding was checked.

  Suddenly she heard approaching footsteps. She pressed her hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming, and then it fell away. No would-be murderer, surely, would walk so boldly and with so little attempt at stealth. And at that moment the unmistakable figure of Leo rounded the same corner she herself had taken.

  Within seconds he took command, apparently far less startled by what he saw than Andrea was at his sudden appearance.

  “Go to the house and get a couple of the men to bring a stretcher,” he ordered, making no comment on her rough bandaging. “See that his bed is ready—hot water bottles, my first aid kit—”

  But Andrea did not move. How was it that Leo had appeared so opportunely at just the right place? Had he known...?

  “You little fool!” Leo said softly. “Had I done this I should have made a better job of it. You should know that! Now go!” With a strangled sob, Andrea obeyed. She raced to the house, oblivious of the stinging rain, and quickly roused two of the men. By the time they and Leo came slowly back with their inert burden, the rest of Leo’s orders had been carried out.

  “Our cousin, it would appear, was born under a lucky star,” he said dryly. “A flesh wound, no more. A few days’ discomfort and he’ll be as right as rain. I’ll have to put a couple of stitches in.”

  “Shouldn’t we... shouldn’t we get Dr. Penlee?” Andrea suggested.

  “Penlee? What for? I’ve coped with worse than this before! Besides—the less publicity there is about this, the better. Surely you can see that.”

  Without a word, Andrea turned to the little table where she had laid everything that could possibly be needed. Leo washed the wound carefully, put in a few neat stitches and then bandaged it expertly.

  “A shot of penicillin and he’ll do quite nicely,” he commented. Andrea prepared the syringe and handed it to him, but she was careful not to meet his eyes. Leo gave the injection and laid the syringe down.

  “Someone must watch him,” he said thoughtfully.

  Andrea made a quick little movement but did not speak. “No, not you, my dear,” Leo told her, still with that hateful irony. “Go and fetch Mrs. Macey.”

  But at that moment the door opened and Madam came slowly in. She approached the bed and stood looking down at Simon. “He will recover?” she asked.

  “Undoubtedly,” Leo said calmly as he rinsed his hands and dried them. “He has got off very lightly.”

  Madam nodded.

  “I will stay with him,” she said firmly, and to make it quite clear that she intended having her own way, sat down in a nearby chair. Then, not unkindly but quite dispassionately, she looked at Andrea. “Go to bed, my child. You’ve done enough.”

  But Leo had other ideas. With his hand under Andrea’s elbow, he steered her firmly out of the room.

  “And now,” he said grimly, “you and I will have a little talk. We’ll go to my study—there’s less likelihood of us being disturbed there.”

  “Not tonight, Leo!” Andrea pleaded, trying to squirm out of his grasp. “I don’t feel I can stand much more now.”

  “No?” Leo said, menacingly quiet. “That’s a pity, my dear, because you will have to, I’m afraid. By morning you’ll have had time to invent a plausible explanation—and I happen to want the truth!”

  “Leo!” Andrea gasped, her eyes widening with fear. “I don’ understand—”

  “No, my little innocent? Well, come along to my study and I’ll explain,” he told her, and, as his grip tightened, she had no choice but to walk just ahead of him.

  “Now!” he said, closing the door behind him. “Will you be so good as to tell me just how it happened that you and Simon were together in Birley Wood?”

  Andrea’s jaw dropped. It was not in the least what she had expected him to say.

  “But we weren’t!” she protested.

  Leo jerked his shoulders impatiently.

  “Strange, I thought I found you together!” he commented “Well?”

  Andrea lifted her chin and met his eyes fairly.

  “I went to the woods because I thought it might be cooler there,’ she said steadily. “I heard a shout and someone running. I went a bit farther and almost fell over Simon. And, as you say, you fount us together. But we didn’t go there together. Nor had we an assignation to meet there ... which is, I suppose, what you’re insinuating!”

  Leo did not reply for a moment. Then he nodded.

  “Yes, that’s the truth,” he agreed. “And it’s well for you that believe you. Otherwise...” He shrugged his shoulder and fell silent. “What else did you hear?”

  “Nothing—until you came,” Andrea said briefly.

  “So,” Leo said softly, “either the would-be murderer escaped—or I am he! Which do you think?”

  Andrea pressed her lips tightly together and made no reply, and after a moment Leo went on:

  “The knife was thrown, of course. A common trick, hereabouts, and one in which I have considerable skill.” He put his hand in his jacket pocket and brought out a little bundle wrapped in his handkerchief. Slowly and deliberately he unwrapped it and displayed the evil little knife, still red with Simon’s blood.

  “Look!” he said tauntingly, holding it out toward Andrea. “My initials! My knife!”

  “You!” Andrea gasped. “It was you!”

  “No,” Leo said deliberately. “I lost the knife a day or two ago—and someone evidently found it—and I can guess who it was!”

  “Who?” Andrea demanded.

  “That’s my business,” Leo said softly.

  “Mine, too, isn’t it?” Andrea insisted defiantly, though her heart was pounding violently at her own recklessness. “After all, it’s a very unconvincing story, and surely it’s natural for me to want to know that I won’t be marrying—a murderer!”

  Leo’s hand shot out and caught one of her slim wrists in a grip of steel.
Roughly he pulled her toward him.

  “There are two lessons that every Trevaine woman has to learn,” he told her with deadly quiet. “One is to obey her husband and never to question his actions.” His grip tightened painfully. “Be sure you remember that, Andrea!”

  “But—” she began.

  “There’s no ‘but’—anymore than there is any chance for you to break your promise to marry me and bestow your favors on our dear cousin Simon. For, my dear, the other lesson is—we Trevaine men demand faithfulness from our women—and we take good care to see that we get it!”

  “But I’ve never thought of such a thing ... nor has Simon ... it’s absurd...” Andrea stammered incoherently. Leo laughed softly.

  “It’s of no interest to me whether you’ve thought of it or not!” he declared carelessly. “You belong to me and I have no intention of surrendering you to Simon or anyone else. Do you understand? You’re my property!”

  Suddenly he released her wrist and caught her to him. She was crushed against his massive chest by arms that knew neither pity nor tenderness.

  “And in case you’re still in any doubt about it,” he went on deliberately, “this should teach you!”

  Ruthlessly he forced back her chin, his searching lips crushed hers until she could have screamed with the pain of it. But she would not allow a sound to pass her lips, and when at last Leo let her go her eyes were dark, blank pools, as unrevealing as her white, expressionless face.