But really there was little opportunity of finding anything out. Madam, so he was told, was not feeling very well and spent almost all her time in her own room, although she granted Simon an interview and apologized graciously for being able to spend so little time with him during the remainder of his visit.
“But I am an old woman, Simon,” she admitted with a sigh. “And lately, I have been forced to admit it.”
“I don’t think you will ever be old, Madam!” he said gently. “Your spirit will always be young and gay.”
For a second her eyes sparkled and she flashed him a glance as provocative and devil-may-care as any she had given in her young days. But the gleam faded and Simon came away from the interview feeling depressed and troubled. He had, in fact, been shocked at the change in her appearance during the brief interval of his absence. More than ever, he was convinced that something had happened—something that had been too much even for her dominant personality.
As for Andrea, he knew that she was avoiding him, and grimly he admitted to himself that perhaps it was just as well. He had no wish, in the few days that were left, to make a fool of himself, and he was not too sure that if they were alone together, he might not do just that. And it was better for her that he should go out of her life without her ever knowing.
So it was Leo with whom he spent his time. A Leo who showed less than the other two that there was anything on his mind, but who was not entirely successful. He was inclined to fall silent suddenly and not always to hear what was said to him. Undoubtedly something was preoccupying his mind.
Only once did he really seem to recover his old spirits. It was at breakfast one morning. The two men were eating alone and Leo was reading his letters. Suddenly, as he read one, he gave a sudden exclamation.
“Anything wrong?” Simon asked casually as he helped himself to marmalade.
Leo gave a little start.
“Wrong? No, on the contrary, I’ve had a piece of good luck! You remember the necklace and bracelet I sent up to the sale room?”
“Yes,” Simon said briefly.
“They’ve fetched an infinitely higher price than I had imagined possible,” Leo explained, and Simon realized that he sounded considerably amused at the fact. “About half as much again, actually.”
“Very good!” Simon commented laconically.
Leo looked at him sharply. Surely there was something just a little odd in his cousin’s manner? He read the letter again.
“Most of the people who turn up at these big sales are well known to the auctioneer,” he commented. “But this time, apparently, there was a stranger present who ran the price up considerably. Not you, by any chance, Simon?”
Simon did not think it worthwhile to beat about the bush. “Yes,” he admitted.
Leo pondered for a moment.
“Then,” he said at length, “it would seem that I’m deeply in your debt.”
“Not in the least,” Simon told him calmly. “I wasn’t there to put up the price for you. I wanted to buy.”
Leo laid down the letter with exaggerated care.
“Did you, indeed!” he said softly. “You must be a very wealthy man, Simon.”
“Not wealthy enough to top the last bid,” Simon said feelingly. “Worse luck!”
Again Leo pondered.
“It would have been—interesting if our old treasures had gone to New Zealand to enhance the beauty of a Trevaine woman of your branch,” he commented.
Simon looked him straight in the face.
“They would not have left this country,” he said bluntly. “I had hoped, with your permission, to present them to Andrea as a wedding present. But I was disappointed. I shall be glad if you’ll say nothing of it to Andrea,” he finished with a note of challenge in his voice which Leo did not miss.
He nodded gravely.
“As you wish. But perhaps you will allow me to say how much I appreciate your generosity?”
“It would have given me great pleasure to know that the things stayed here—where they rightfully belong,” Simon replied. “There is a certain fitness about it—however, since I failed, I would rather the matter was dropped.”
“Of course, of course!” Leo agreed understandingly. He folded the letter up with his good hand. “Still, however unintentionally you did it, you certainly succeeded in getting a very good price for me!”
And once again, Simon saw the amusement in his eyes.
Later that day, the two men walked down to the harbor together. Once again the weather had changed. There was a wind so high that Leo prophesied that there would be a gale before night.
“You remember, I told you that you’d only seen our coast at its best and most friendly,” Leo shouted above the noise. “What about it now?”
“Frightening!” Simon admitted as they watched the sea break against the Poldean cliffs. “But magnificent!”
“Yes, both of those,” Leo agreed. “But their very fearsomeness has been our security before now. I think I told you that one of Philip’s Spanish ships making for the harbor went on the rocks instead. Not but what we helped them a little with false lights,” he added. And then, turning sharply to Simon: “Do you think that was wrong?”
“If it was, you’re condemning every man who has ever fought in defense of his country,” Simon replied unhesitatingly. “And I, for one, would not dare to do that.”
“Any more than you would blame us for looting the ship afterward?” Leo asked dryly.
Simon shrugged his shoulders.
“Plundering was a recognized part of war in those days,” he pointed out. “It’s hardly fair to judge them by our own standards.”
“But if those standards were practiced in our day, you would think it wrong?” Leo said softly. “Particularly if there was no war?”
“Yes!” Simon said bluntly.
Leo nodded. It confirmed the decision he had already come to about Simon. The one, he had to admit, that Madam had held right from the beginning. His lips parted to speak when he suddenly saw that Luke Polwyn was approaching them. He frowned and turned to Simon.
“This chap has been giving me a bit of trouble lately,” he remarked. “I wonder if you’d mind strolling on so that I can have a word with him alone?”
“Of course!” Simon said promptly. He walked slowly on, careful not to turn around.
But in a few moments Leo, with Luke at his heels, caught up with him.
“Luke is a bit worried that one of the lobster pots is going adrift,” Leo remarked casually. “So we’re going out to have a look.”
Simon stared at him incredulously.
“Going out—with a sea like this?” he exclaimed. “Surely it isn’t worth the risk—just for a lobster pot?”
“Oh, I think so,” Leo shrugged. “It’s not so bad as all that!”
Impulsively, Simon laid his hand on his cousin’s arm.
“Don’t go, Leo!” he begged earnestly.
Leo quirked a quizzical eyebrow at him.
“Would you have me show the white feather—in front of one of my men?” he asked.
Simon’s hand dropped.
“If you are going, so am I!” he declared.
“No!” Leo said sharply. “This is my cup of tea—not yours.”
For a second the eyes of the two men clashed—and it was Simon who admitted defeat. After all, this was Leo’s territory. He was the one who gave orders.
But Simon watched the two men put off in the little motorboat with a heart full of misgivings. The tide was coming full bore with the wind blowing straight up the estuary. There was no protection whatever afforded by the land on either side. The boat pitched and tossed violently and every now and again was hidden completely from Simon as it slid down into a deep trough between the waves.
He saw them reach a lobster pot. Saw Luke lean over and secure it and then—
A wave, mightier than all the rest, surged up the estuary. Simon shouted a warning—and heard his own voice thrown back to him o
n the wind.
Then it happened.
The little boat vanished beneath the mass of water. And when the wave had passed, it was floating upside down.
Luke they saved. He was clinging to the bottom of the boat, a terrified and battered man. But alive.
Leo, handicapped by his plastered arm, was trapped beneath the boat. By the time they were able to get to him it was too late.
CHAPTER SEVEN
For nearly a week Andrea saw nothing of Simon. It was not the custom for the women of St. Finbar to attend funerals, and in any case, Madam had needed her care, for the shock of Leo’s death had almost been too much for her. Only her indomitable spirit and the knowledge that there was still work for her to do pulled her through, and now, according to the doctor, there was no immediate danger.
It was a relief to Andrea. No other thought than to look after Madam had ever entered her head, but the need to be alone, to think things out in solitude, had been growing ever since Simon had brought the news of the accident to Galleon House.
At first she had been utterly stunned. This could not have happened! Not to Leo! Then they had brought him back to his home, and for the last time she looked on his face. It was, strangely enough, completely unmarked, and almost the face of a stranger, for there had never been that look of peace on it before.
She looked down at the ruby betrothal ring that Leo had put there only such a short time ago. She had been so proud of it then. And she had vowed herself to Leo for the rest of her life. Now her vows were flung back at her. They meant nothing. She was no longer bound to Leo. Or was she? There was a certain security in wearing his ring, for she was sure that no other man would approach her while she did. Was that what she wanted? Sometimes she thought it was. And then those strange emotions that had torn her at the time Simon had been wounded would all return. She would not let herself think what they meant. She only knew that she did not want to see Simon and that it was torment even to know that he was in the house.
In fact, one morning when she brought Madam a very early cup of tea because she had slept so badly, she asked why he was still there.
“At my request,” Madam said wearily. “At a time like this, one needs a man. He has taken a great burden from my shoulders—and yours, Andrea. You should be grateful, as I am.”
And it was true. At Madam’s behest, Simon had quietly made all the necessary arrangements, assuming an authority that he made quite clear was his only by right of being Madam’s deputy.
Andrea made a restless movement and Madam’s tired old eyes grew thoughtful.
“You will be glad when he has gone?” she asked.
“Yes,” Andrea said briefly.
“He must stay until I am stronger,” Madam insisted. “I cannot do without him. Nor can you.”
“I!” Andrea exclaimed. “Why should I need him?”
“Use your brains, girl!” Madam said harshly. “Have you forgotten Luke?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Andrea admitted, startled. “Yes, you’re right. Now, more than ever, Luke will want—he will see a chance of stepping into Leo’s shoes and getting all that he has felt ought to be his—through me!”
“I see you realize you have something to be afraid of,” Madam said dryly. “Well?”
“Yes, perhaps it would be as well if Simon stayed on for a time,” Andrea agreed thoughtfully. “Until Mr. Trenire returns and everyone knows that I am the Mistress of Galleon House. Then I shall send Luke packing—as Leo ought to have done long ago. And I shall make it quite clear that anyone who doesn’t like it can go after him. After all, they are our employees, and most of them get their cottages free. And there are—other things—for which they are dependent on us. They can’t expect to get everything and give nothing.”
“And what do you want them to give?” Madam asked curiously. “Loyalty and obedience,” Andrea replied crisply. “To me, as their leader. Oh, but Madam, it’s the only way!” seeing the doubt in the old lady’s eyes. “Remember, Leo did not trust Luke. Nor do I. He has, as you say, Trevaine blood in him, but there’s a bad streak as well. All the Polwyns have it. They are unreliable and think too much of themselves. What’s more, in my opinion, the other men would not accept him as a leader. After all, he is one of them and they might well resent it if he were raised over their heads. No, Luke must go—and as quickly as possible. Don’t you agree, Madam?”
“It would certainly be better if he did go,” Madam admitted, and tapped with elegant, impatient fingers on the bed cover. “It is outrageous that Trenire should be away at a time like this. He should be about his business, not gallivanting all over Europe so that we cannot get hold of him.”
Mr. Trenire, the solicitor, had left a few days before the accident for a tour of European capitals. So far, it had been impossible to get in touch with him, and even if that had been done, it was doubtful whether he could have returned any sooner than he had originally planned, since it was the height of the tourist season and unlikely that he could make different arrangements.
“I don’t really see what Mr. Trenire has got to do with it,” Andrea said indifferently. “I know he has Leo’s will, but after all, everybody knows that naturally he will have left everything to me. Who else is there?”
Madam closed her eyes firmly.
“I am tired, child. I think I can sleep now. Run along out and get some fresh air. Wake Mary up and tell her to come and sit in the dressing room in case I need anything.”
With the elderly maid on guard, Andrea went out with an easy mind—at least, as regards to Madam. Once out of doors, she hesitated. This was about the time that she had always taken her morning swim, but she had not been to Pay-Off Cove since before the tragedy. For several days previously, Leo had forbidden her to bathe because the storm was blowing up. Since his death she had had neither time nor inclination to come to the spot she had always loved best. Now she made her way through the garden, over the cliff path and down the steep stairs to the beach below.
But as soon as she got there she knew that the spell it had cast on her was gone forever. The sea was as blue and serene as it had been on that day when Leo had had Simon’s letter. But only a few days ago it had been fierce and treacherous—it had killed a man. No, she would never find happiness here again. But at least it was quiet and solitary. She could try to unravel her tangled mind.
She sat crouched on a rock, her chin on her fist. At first pictures out of the past seemed to be conjured up in front of her eyes. Her childhood days when her father had been alive. She had been very happy then. She had loved and admired her father deeply, though he was not a typical Trevaine. He was essentially a student, a man devoted to the arts. Andrea could remember Philip, Leo’s father, laughing at him and teasing him that had they lived a few centuries earlier, Amyas would have been a shaveling monk. Amyas had retorted that had that been the case, doubtless he would have prayed at the passing of Philip’s soul when he was hanged, as he certainly would have been. There had been a brief, uneasy silence. The Philip laughed—that same big, boisterous laugh that Leo had had. And the subject had dropped. But Andrea, child though she was, had realized that her father had had the last word and that, for all his quietness, he was somehow the stronger man.
Andrea frowned in perplexity. It had really been after her father’s death that Leo had become the center of her life and she his willing slave. It had never occurred to her that he could possibly make a mistake, and she had been quite willing to be ruled by him even when it meant being disappointed or having to do something she did not want to. Leo was the master of Galleon House, so of course he made the decisions and gave the orders.
But lately there had been a difference. Somehow it had been increasingly difficult to believe in Leo’s infallibility. More than once she had found herself disagreeing completely with him, and though she kept the fact to herself she did not alter her mind. The frown deepened as she tried to discover just when the change had come about. And really, it wasn’t very difficul
t to answer that. It was from the moment that Simon had come to St. Finbar.
Simon. But why should his presence make any difference? It wasn’t as if he had ever influenced Leo. Nobody had ever been able to make Leo change his mind once he had made it up. And yet Leo had changed. He had become far more autocratic—at least as far as she was concerned. And he had become suspicious. At one time, though he rarely let her make decisions, he had trusted her absolutely. But not since Simon had come. A dull flush rose in Andrea’s cheeks as she remembered what he had said, or rather what he had insinuated, the day Simon had been wounded. He had suspected them of having planned to meet in the wood behind his back because ... because...
She clenched her hands and childishly shut her eyes. She would not remember! Whatever it had meant, it did not matter now. Even that terrible kiss of Leo’s did not matter. It all belonged to a past that was dead because Leo was dead. And as for Simon ... well, he would be going home soon. He had only stayed on because Madam, quite unnecessarily in Andrea’s opinion, had asked him to.
All that mattered now was the future—a future that rested in her own hands. The people of St. Finbar, who had been so dependent on Leo, would turn to her now. She must not fail them. And the first thing she must do was to show them that though she was a woman, she was the mistress, and they could rely on her. She could do that by carrying out her decision to get rid of Luke. It might not be easy, but it had to be done!
“A penny for them!”
At the sound of the mocking voice, Andrea jumped to her feet and whirled round. Deep in her thoughts, she had not heard the approaching footsteps, and now Luke was standing within a few paces of her, an unpleasant grin on his swarthy face that was still marked by the battering he had received at the time of the accident.
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