"Andre Norton - The Opal-Eyed Fan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

cham-ber. It was manifest that Uncle Augustin could not travel, even if the Arrow could be made
seaworthy again. Perhaps if Captain Leverett went to Key West — But he might not take them now. Her
suggestion of a headache grew worse and she longed to throw herself on the bed and just forget about
everything. Except that she could not do.
Now she was startled again by that queer moaning sound which had first so excited Lydia and sent
her racing to the roof walk. Another ship was edging along beyond the Stormy Luck, in fact two ships, the
first having the second in tow. Captain Leverett bringing in the Arrow?
Men gathered on the wharf, one was holding a huge shell into which he blew as if it were a
trumpet—pro-ducing that wailing moan. Persis arose hastily. If the master of this house was returning she
had no wish to be discovered in his bedchamber.
As she hurried out into the hall she heard voices below, but not clearly enough to distinguish the
words. With the Stormy Luck at anchor and her cap-tain perhaps in this house, some of that trouble
proph-esied by the servants might well speedily develop now.
She hesitated uncertainly at the head of the stairs. To remain in the Captain's room was
unthinkable. To descend and perhaps walk straight into a family dis-pute was even worse. But at last she
crept down the stairs, alert to any sound which would mean she might again be an unwilling eavesdropper.
However, it seemed Persis was too foreboding. As she went out on the veranda, she caught the
sound of a voice from around the corner.
"—a good catch." Grillon stood at the corner, holding to one eye a glass much like that Lydia had
used on the roof.
"Give the devil his due." The Bahamian captain continued, "If I were to be reefbound in these
waters I'd be glad to know Leverett was on the prowl. That ship lists— but she's still afloat."
You're more generous than he is." Lydia. moved into view, her wide skirts brushing provocatively
against Grillon. "You wouldn't hear him say the same about you, you know."
"Oh, I know how I stand with Crewe Leverett, m'dear." His drawl was lazy, a little amused. "But
be-cause we bristle up every time we face one another is no reason not to respect the man's seamanship.
He's a good wreck-master. I'll grant him that. Only he's too free with that tongue of his. As he's going to
find out someday." There was no disguising a note of satisfac-tion as he put down the spyglass and smiled
at Lydia in a way which somehow made Persis a little uneasy.
"Nothing can disturb Crewe," his sister snapped pettishly. "He'll always go his own way! Just as he
al-ways has—no matter who suffers by it."
"As you believe that you do, my sweet?" Grillon was still smiling. "Fie, now, that's cutting a little
thick, ain't it? I don't see you've wanted for much—"
"How can you say that, Ralph?" Her delicate face was flushed, her plump hands balled into fists as
if she would like to batter him. "Doesn't he keep me penned up here—on this god-forsaken island—where
nothing ever happens. I've begged even to go to Key West. Marcie Daw is willing to have me stay with
her. And her father's the Commandant of the base. Crewe can't believe they aren't proper people to visit."
"Ah, but he knows that the Stormy Luck makes port there regularly," Grillon laughed. "I don't think
he trusts either of us overmuch, m'dear."
Once more Persis was an eavesdropper and was ready to tiptoe back into the hall when shouts
from the wharf startled her into looking seaward. Without realizing what she did, she moved closer to the
pair at the other end of the veranda to see the better.
"Behold, the master arrives!" Grillon commented. Now his smile had a wry edge to it. "Well,
m'dear, per-haps we had better prepare for rockets. Maybe you'd better get out of their range."
Lydia grabbed his jacket in a tight grip, her chin was up and her jawline stubborn.
"I won't! Crewe may give orders here, but about this he doesn't give them to me! Just let him try
it!"
Grillon laughed. "That's my Lydia. But, m'dear, this has to be settled between Crewe and me, no
petti-coats about." He set down the spyglass and rested his hands lightly on the girl's shoulders. "It has to be
that way and no other, girl." Then he set her aside as if she weighed nothing at all.