Enemy In The House (22 page)

“There
was
somebody—”

“Who?”

“I don’t know—I couldn’t see—except the axe—”

The yellow candle lights seemed to cast their own color upon Madam Grappit’s face, which looked a little sallow beneath her paint. But she said vigorously, “Did he speak to you? Did he touch you?”

“No—no—”

There was a short pause; then Aunt Grappit said, “Somebody was there but you couldn’t see who. Somebody was there but didn’t speak to you or touch you. Yet you saw an axe. Pooh!”

She swooped to Amity, snatched the filigreed bottle out of her hand and held it firmly to Amity’s nose until she choked and gasped and her eyes streamed. She pushed it away and Aunt Grappit said, “That’ll bring you to your senses! You’ve been out of your senses, Niece, ever since that silly, secret marriage of yours.”

“It
wasn’t
secret!” Amity gulped and wiped her streaming eyes. “It was all legal and proper. Mr. Benfit wrote to Uncle Grappit, explaining it all. He left a letter for him, there on the hall table, marked immediate, telling him about it. It wasn’t secret—”

“Twaddle,” Aunt Grappit said forcefully again. “If there’d been such a letter I assure you I’d have seen it. I see everything. Here—more salts—”

“But it
was
there—no, no, I’ve had enough. I can hardly breathe.”

“Letter, indeed!” Aunt Grappit snorted. “Next thing I know you’ll be saying I stole—” She stopped with a puff and her green eyes narrowed. “Well, there now—go and get dressed.”

A curious thought flashed into Amity’s mind. Perhaps Squire Wickes had suggested it. “Aunt Grappit—was Hester—did she have any claim upon us? Upon Mallam Penn?”

“Upon—Good heavens, child. You don’t mean to say you think she was your natural sister or something!” Aunt Grappit gave a hoarse cackle of laughter but eyed Amity narrowly just the same. “No. She wasn’t. Now forget this nonsense—”

“You searched her room. After you’d given China all that rum and—you searched her room. Dolcy told me.”

“Suppose I did. It was my duty.”

“Uncle Grappit searched it, too, but that was later. You didn’t tell him you had already searched it. Why not?”

“Well, I—I—” Suddenly she smiled, all frankness and friendliness, but her eyes twinkled strangely from her mask of paint. “My dear child, I rather feared—that is, for all I know—well, young men will be young men. Neville might have written her some note or—or some fashionable little catch of verse or something silly and imprudent which I didn’t want—Mr. Grappit to see.”

“Or anyone,” Amity said.

“Or anyone, naturally. Imprudent. But I was overanxious. There was nothing at all.” She was very forceful indeed and she sniffed the smelling salts herself, got too much, sputtered, and said unexpectedly, “You are very like your mother. Black hair, skin like apple blossoms. She had an air about her—yet she could laugh and—not that we ever got along too well. But then I was married to Grappit young and—I had no beauty, of course, but I always had brains.” She put down the little bottle. “Yes—there’s always a way—”

The paint on her face looked suddenly shriveled in the candlelight but her green eyes were hard.

Amity whispered, “What do you mean? There’s always a way to do what? Do you mean—did Uncle Grappit kill Hester?”

“
What!”
Aunt Grappit snatched up a lace handkerchief of China’s, dabbed at her face, dropped it, cried shrilly, “That’s a wicked, wicked thing to say, go and get yourself dressed decently,” and swept out of the room.

The tap of her slippers with their high red heels, and the rustle of her silk skirts, had barely died away when Simon called, low, from Amity’s room, “Amy—”

Simon! She held her own skirts so she made no rustle, tiptoed but ran, and closed the door behind her before she flung herself into his arms. “I thought you’d gone!”

“I told you I’d see you before I go.”

“Captain Boyce hasn’t told them! He’s trying to bargain—”

“I know. Selene told me.”

“Selene!” She pulled back, trying to see Simon’s face.

“No, she didn’t relent. She just wants to get rid of me, get me off the island. She’s got a boat for me. Some fishing boat, due to leave a cove not far from here, tonight. Amy, I heard everything Madam Grappit said. I think she told the truth about why she searched Hester’s room but not quite all the truth. The link between Hester and Shincok and Benfit—yes, that could be it! I should have guessed. Your aunt guessed, I’m sure of it, just now while she talked to you.”

“Simon—”

“Wait. She said ‘there’s always a way,’ didn’t she? That means she suspects and she’s going to try to keep it quiet—”

“Simon, you won’t listen! Someone was here, in this room, I saw the axe—”

She told him quickly, words stumbling over each other. “Who was it, Simon? He meant to kill me! I know he meant to, but he didn’t. I threw the wigstand, you see, so he’d think I was at the window, and then I ran to China’s room—”

“Get a candle—”

She ran to China’s room, snatched a candle and ran back, the candle flame streaming and smoking. He took it to the window. “There’s the wigstand,” he said, looking down. He held the candle over the ledge. “This window is so easy to get in and out of, it’s like a door. The jalousies were open when I came in. I didn’t see anyone, but the shrubbery is thick. I couldn’t have heard anyone in all this hellish racket outside. That was an easy way of escape. But why try to murder you? It doesn’t fit—”

“Doesn’t fit what?”

“The link—the link! It doesn’t fit—Yes! Yes, it does fit! You refused to wed Neville. They are all sure that I’m here somewhere and that I’ll be found and hanged so—”

He broke off, for the door to the hall flung open and Grappit stood on the threshold for a second, utterly still. A triumphant light flamed into his eyes. One bony hand went out slowly to close the door behind him. “I knew it! So I’ve got you. And you’ll hang—and Mallam Penn, why, Mallam Penn and your wife—your widow, Simon—” His greedy hands opened and closed as if already he felt the touch of money in them.

But he resorted swiftly to a new move. “However, I can offer you both a bargain. I’ll protect you. I’ll save you from hanging, Simon. One word from you, Niece, that’s all. You’re a stubborn wench, otherwise I’d offer no bargain. But you’re honest. You’ll keep your word. One word from you and I’ll see that Simon goes free.”

“And what is that word, sir?” Simon said.

“I have only to raise my voice, remember, and you’ll hang. But I’m a merciful man. I’m kind and—We’ll arrange an annulment, something to salve your wife’s tender conscience. Give me your word, Niece. You’ll wed Neville and this man goes free.”

There was no way out of the trap. He was too near the door, he had only to shout. She had no weapon. Simon had no weapon.

“I’ll wed Neville,” she said.

Simon flung the wigstand at him.

H
E FLUNG IT AS
accurately as he had flung stones when a boy and very hard. Grappit looked vaguely surprised, slid to his knees and then, quietly, into an awkward huddle on the floor.

Simon came to bend over him. “He’s not dead. But he’ll be quiet for a while.”

“You’ve got to leave now! They’ll look for him, they’ll find you. They’re all there, in the lounge, the soldiers and Squire Wickes and—”

“Who’s guarding Boyce, then?”

“I don’t know—they’ll come—Simon, I beg you—”

“Do you still have the gold I gave you in Savannah?”

“The—oh, for your passage on the boat! Yes!” She flung herself down at her trunk. “Here—take it—”

Simon weighed the little roll, still tied in his laced handkerchief, a curious relic of other days. “It may not be enough but I’ll try.”

“Enough! Enough for what?”

“To bribe Boyce, of course. I’ve got to know what he knows of Hester—”

She stumbled up and toward him. “No! You must get away, hurry!”

“Why, you little ninny, do you think I’d leave you like this—in danger? Good God, don’t you see that after me you own Mallam Penn! Why else would anyone try to murder you! Give me some towels—a sash, anything. I’d better see that Grappit stays quiet.”

She snatched towels, the emerald velvet ribbons for her pink muslin dress, and watched as Simon swiftly trussed up Grappit’s flaccid body. “Just for good measure I’ll gag him,” Simon said working busily. “There. That’ll put him
hors de combat.”
He grinned a little as he rose. “Looks like a pretty lean old rooster ready for the oven. … Take it easy now.”

He ran lightly to the window and she ran after him. “What are you going to do? Simon, I don’t understand. This link? What link?
Who tried to murder me?”

“Stay here. If Grappit does make a move hit him over the head again—”

He swung himself out the window. His red hair caught lights from the candle. Then he dropped out of sight.

The din and hum of the night throbbed through the room. The flame of the candle near the window wavered and smoked. Grappit didn’t even gurgle and she was going to follow Simon, willy-nilly.

Her dress was light; it would show up in the night. She snatched up her only dark garment, her red cloak.

She glanced around the room and saw her mother’s miniature. The diamonds might help bribe Captain Boyce; she would slip the tiny lovely portrait out before she gave it to him; she thrust it in her pocket and got out the window, carefully. It had been easy with Dolcy’s hand helping her. It was easy now; she landed with only a scratched arm and a crackling and rustle of twigs.

The men had taken Squire Wickes along the path toward the sugar house—and toward McWhinn’s house. After she passed the whitewashed bulk of the sugar house, she saw another small house snuggled amid trees. A light shone from an open door.

Great clusters of bamboos rustled around her as if whispering together. The moon was coming up, full and white, making sharp black shadows of trees and shrubbery. As she neared the light from what must be McWhinn’s house, she moved cautiously from one patch of shadow to another and waited to listen before she slid across the open patches of moonlight. At last she could see the house clearly amid its vines and trees; it was whitewashed, with two rooms apparently, a back door and a front door, and a little roof over the front step.

They wouldn’t have left Captain Boyce without a guard. How did Simon propose to offer his bribe to him? If there were any sound at all from the little house, standing there half in the gloom of shade from the trees, half in the moonlight, she could not hear it.

She waited a few moments then, for she didn’t know what to do. Her thoughts darted in and out like little birds, darting in to peck at an apple, darting away again, fluttering back for another peck.

Simon had said that Aunt Grappit told her the truth about her reason for searching Hester’s effects—but not quite all the truth. Then what was the rest of it? He had also said that Aunt Grappit had just then guessed the link—Hester and Shincok and Benfit—that he should have guessed it. What was the link, then?

Simon believed that the abortive attempt to murder Amity herself didn’t fit—and then suddenly he had said, yes, it did fit, because Amity had refused to wed Neville and because all of them expected Simon to be found, and hanged.

She could find no link, no answer. All the time she and Simon and Selene and Charles, too, had assumed that the motive for Shincok’s and Benfit’s murder had been to get rid of a witness to Amity’s marriage. If not that, then what? Certainly her marriage had seemed like touching a tinder to a fuse, setting off a trail of cause and effect.

At the back of McWhinn’s house a shadow seemed to detach itself from other shadows. It flickered put of sight again like a ghost—like Jamey’s duppy all in white! Uncle Grappit’s a duppy, Jamey had chanted. She thought, oddly, of Selene in her ceremonial white robe, with flowers above her ears and her black hair down, and the palely moving cloud of China’s silk dress, in the darkness of the corridor. Charles always wore clothes of a somber dignified color. Charles had saved Amity’s life once; he wouldn’t have tried to kill her that very night. But Charles had come, hurrying, to Hester’s room actually before the second shock of the earthquake! His real purpose might have been to hunt out and secure the papers tied with blue ribbon. Certainly Hester’s murderer wanted those papers. It seemed remarkable that she, all of them, had overlooked that. She had assumed that Charles’ only concern was for her and Jamey.

And then suddenly, as if she had seen a picture, she knew who had taken the axe. In the same revealing flash she understood the sense of a deliberating but dangerous balance in the darkness of her room and a driven, reluctant decision to kill her. But she didn’t know why, she couldn’t guess why. And she could still see no link between murder and Hester, murder and Shincok, murder and Benfit.

She could see no link at all. At the same time some small memory began to stir. Amity was uneasily aware of a kind of lode of truth, a deep vein, small yet significant. She felt that if she could dig fast enough and hard enough she could bring it out and explore it—as Simon had done.

There hadn’t been time for Simon to tell her the result of his own swift exploration. She now felt urgently herself the pressure of time. She had to know what was going on in McWhinn’s house. She slid lightly across the open area before the house, into the shelter of the roof of the tiny porch, and close to the door. Captain Boyce’s rough voice boomed out, “—you wouldn’t kill a defenseless man.”

There was a little silence which seemed to convince Captain Boyce that defenseless or not, killing was a very likely possibility. He said, whining now, “Well, then give me gold—money—give me a ship—no, no, forget the ship. Just give me money and I’ll not tell them that I know”—the whining changed to a show of strength—“I know who Hester was and why she came here, and I can guess why she was killed. You couldn’t wed two wives, now, could you?”

Two wives? Simon? No, no, Amity was his wife. No one else. But her heart thudded so that she could hear nothing else until Captain Boyce’s voice rose in a terrified shout. “Now—now—wait—I mean no harm! Hester told me the truth, before I let her come aboard and got her a post as nursemaid.”