The Opal-Eyed Fan Part 1

The Opal-Eyed Fan.

By Andre Norton.

Though Lost Lady Key does not exist, features of two coastal islands and one key are combined to furnish its checkered history. On Sanibel a mysterious race built a city of ca.n.a.ls and mounds composed of sh.e.l.ls and rammed earth, as well as sh.e.l.l-paved roads. These unknown people are rumored to have been exterminated by an uneasy combination of Spaniards and imported Seminoles, leaving only evidences of a civilization somehow linked with that of the Mayans of South America.

Captiva, Sanibel's twin island, is supposed to have served as a prison for women taken during the pirate raids of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries.

But Indian Key provided the house with its escape route through the sea turtle pens, its master who refused to acknowledge the power of Key West, and its doctor who pioneered in growing tropical fruits in Florida. An Indian ma.s.sacre in the middle 1800s brought an abrupt end to this small empire-the fabulous house (known for its luxury, up and down the coast) was burned. A pall fell over the site and no attempt was made to rebuild or reuse the land.

1.

The room was dusky dark, but it was quiet. Where was the wind-that threatening, screaming wind which had engulfed the whole world, whipped the sea mountain high?

Persis Rooke turned her head slightly, though she did not yet open her eyes. Here was no musty odor underlaid with the stench of bilges. Rather, a faintly spicy fragrance. Her mind seemed as sluggish as her body, and the latter bore painful bruises that made her wince as she s.h.i.+fted position a little.

She stretched out her hands. Under them was the smoothness of linen. Was this a dream? She did not want to open her eyes and find herself once more wedged into the narrow s.h.i.+p's bunk. She lay still, grateful for the silence, the feel of the linen, and tried to remember as she slowly, at last, opened her eyes.

This was-a room! Not the tiny stifling cabin into which she had barely been able to squeeze herself and her belongings. She lay on a real bed-she must be in a house-on land!

A drapery of netting hung about the bed, making the rest of the room dim and misty looking in the morning light. Solemnly, as she had sometimes done as a child, she gave the skin on her right wrist a sharp pinch. The resulting pain was rea.s.suring. She was awake. Now Persis braced herself up on the wide expanse of the bed to look around. Her head whirled a little and she fought that giddiness stoutly.

She must remember- She had been on a s.h.i.+p, there had been a grating crash as the Arrow had brought bow up on a reef. Then- The wrecker!

Persis shook her head in spite of the giddiness that it caused. She felt the warmth of the returning outrage. That-that pirate! The one who had loomed out of the storm to where she clung to a rail, had shouted some incomprehensible words at her, and then carried her, in spite of her screams and her attempts to fight free, to toss her down into the small boat below, her hair streaming about her, the protests battered out of her by the wind along with the air from her lungs. She had been so angry at his high-handedness that she had almost lost her fear. But after she was in the boat- Persis shut her eyes again. No, it was very queer. She thought she would never, never forget that pirate's face, his treatment of her as if she were a bale of goods. But later-there was just nothing.

Uncle Augustin!

What had happened to Uncle Augustin?

Persis, now thoroughly aroused, slid to the edge of the bed, hooked fingers in the netting, and jerked it along until she could find an opening in it. That sense of duty long drilled into her was completely awake. She hardly glanced about the shadowy room where only an edging of light showed around the ma.s.sively shuttered windows. She must find her uncle. He had been only a feeble shadow of himself before the storm. Perhaps- She looked around a little wildly; she simply could not go charging out of this room wearing only her night rail. And that, she noted now, was not one of her own fine lawn ones, but a garment too big and of coa.r.s.er stuff. Where was her clothing?

At least that wind was gone. But under her feet the floor still seemed to sway as if it were the deck of the lost Arrow. She made her way to the nearest window by holding on to the edge of the bed as a support.

To throw open the shutters was a task she fumbled over, though she was usually quick with her fingers. Then she looked out into a still morning. At first nothing was visible but the crowns of palms. Then, by leaning forward on the broad windowsill, she discovered that she was on the second story of a house which had been, in turn, erected on a mound of-sh.e.l.ls? Could they be sh.e.l.ls? How could so substantial a dwelling have been placed on a foundation of sh.e.l.ls?

There was water below, and a wharf on which were piled boxes and barrels and-yes-her very own trunk!

Also, there were people; Persis watched three dark-skinned men trundle a large box by wheelbarrow back toward a building of which she could see only a bit of roof. The three wore breeches cut off at the knees, leaving their brown legs bare, and their s.h.i.+rts were much patched, faded, and salt stained.

Wreckers-like that brute aboard the Arrow.

Persis felt distaste and a touch of fear. Though Uncle Augustin had said that the wreckers of the Keys saved lives and goods, she remembered talk in New York of their greediness, tales of conspiracy between some captains and the Key men to lose s.h.i.+ps on marked reefs. They were certainly not very far removed from the pirates who had earlier made these same waters their own and had had hiding places hereabouts.

But what had happened to Uncle Augustin?

Now that there was more light, Persis saw a wrapper lying across a chair by the bureau. As she s.n.a.t.c.hed that up, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the wall. It was a very ornate mirror, perhaps better suited for a formal parlor, deeply framed in gilt which was a little dimmed. But the dimming had not extended to the gla.s.s.

What a miserable sight she was!

No neat braided knot to top off her coiffure, no carefully disciplined bunches of side curls, just a ma.s.s of tangled brown hair sticky and matted, as she discovered when she poked and pulled at it. She looked like one of those noisome hags ill.u.s.trating one of Mrs. Radcliffe's weird stories. Persis was no beauty, but she had never allowed herself to be untidy. Now her reflection appalled her. She was startled by a tap at the door and whirled about to call: "Come!" Then she added, "Molly!" with deep relief, running to throw her arms about the woman who entered, a liberty Molly would never have allowed normally. For she was as set in her idea of the perfect lady's maid as Persis was schooled to be the lady in charge of Uncle Augustin's household.

"Miss Persis, you'll catch your death!" Molly freed herself and shook out a light cloak from the bundle she carried, putting it around the girl's shoulders. "It's a mercy we ain't all at the bottom of that there sea, so it is!"

"Where's Uncle Augustin?"

"Now you have no call to fret, Miss Persis. He's as snug set as a baby in a hearth cradle. Shubal has took him some soup and he swallowed near all of it. That the good Lord brought us safe to land is a mighty mercy-"

"But where are we?"

"This is Lost Lady Key, leastways that is what they call it. And you've been sleeping right in Captain Leverett's own bed. This is his house."

"Who is Captain Leverett?" Persis' head ached. If Uncle Augustin had his faithful Shubal in attendance, she need not worry about him for the moment. Molly's calm had its effect, for she was acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world for Persis Rooke, a most respectable lady, to wake up in the bed of an unknown captain in a house she did not even remember entering.

"Why he's the one who rescued us. It was he as got you into the boat so his men could bring us ash.o.r.e. Don't you remember that, Miss Persis?"

The pirate-oh, she remembered all right! Persis set her teeth. It was not likely she'd ever forget being thrown about. Molly could talk of being saved, but surely one did not have to be treated like that!

"It was a bad reef the Arrow got hooked on," Molly continued. "Though Captain Leverett thinks they might be able to pull the s.h.i.+p off once she's lightened of cargo. They've been bringing in stuff out of the hold since last night."

"Wreckers!" Persis sniffed.

"We was right glad to see them, Miss Persis. It's these wreckers as save s.h.i.+ps, lives, too. And Captain Leverett, he's a proper gentleman. Gave orders to get the doctor for Mr. Augustin. There's a real doctor living here, though he don't do much doctoring anymore. Seems he's more interested in planting things to watch 'em grow, or so Mrs. Pryor says. But he ain't forgot his doctoring when there's a need for it. He said as how Mr. Augustin has had a bad shock, and the wetting didn't do him no good neither. He looked at you, too, Miss Persis. Seems like when you fell into the boat you got a knock on the head. But he said that was no great matter-just to let you sleep it off."

"I-" Persis pushed impatiently at her tangled hair. The past few days had been a bad dream. First the awful seasickness which had kept her captive in her cabin in spite of all her will to conquer it-then the terror of being tossed about in the storm-the final shuddering crash- "You'll be all right, Miss Persis. And Miss Lydia, the Captain's own sister, is lending you some clothes. I'll go and get 'em. That there dress you had on is ruined. But first-" Molly went out to get a tray on which was a mug, with a saucer set on top of it, and alongside a respectable silver spoon.

"They've a real good cook here," the maid announced. There was satisfaction in her praise, for Molly and Uncle Augustin's cook were old enemies, enjoying a feud Persis sometimes suspected was highly satisfactory to both. "This broth has real body to it. You get that inside you, Miss Persis, and you'll feel a lot better. You look washed out."

Persis averted her eyes from the mirror. Washed out was a very mild term for what she saw there now.

"I look worse than that," she agreed with dismal frankness as she picked up the spoon. The liquid in the mug did smell good and, for the first time in days, she felt hungry instead of squeamish.

"My trunk is down there-" she gestured to the window. "Can you get them to bring it up? I'd rather wear my own things."

She had fretted so over those dresses since Uncle Augustin had suddenly decided to make this trip to the Bahamas where it was supposed to be so very much warmer, that the heavy silks and woolens one needed in New York would not be proper. She had had such a difficulty shopping for muslins, a light silk or two at the beginning of the fall season. The whole contents of that trunk were the result of much time and effort. And she had had to be very careful in the cost of her selections because Uncle Augustin's affairs were in such a muddle after the disastrous fire last year when half of the city had gone up in flames.

"Them things'll all need was.h.i.+ng and tendin' to," Molly announced. "So you'll have to wait on wearin' 'em." She eyed her mistress measuringly. "Miss Lydia, now, she's a might fuller at the waist-for all her lacing-but not too much."

Persis sighed; now she was going to hear Molly's standard comments on her own deficiencies.

"I know I'm as thin as a rail. But I'm just made that way, Molly, no matter how much I eat. All right-it's plain I'll have to wear something and if Miss Leverett is kind enough to offer, I must be gracious enough to accept."

But she was not. Persis hated the thought of wearing someone else's clothing. Such a small thing to trouble her when she ought just to be glad they were safe. One thing she was sure of-to go to sea again (if the Arrow was ever patched up or they were offered other transportation) was going to require all the fort.i.tude she could summon.

Two hours later she was more at ease with herself and her world. A slim black girl brought in cans of hot water and Molly had washed all the salt stickiness out of her hair, brus.h.i.+ng and toweling it dry. She was laced into a muslin far more elaborate in tr.i.m.m.i.n.g than any from her own trunk. In fact, suited for at least a formal tea drinking.

The gown was lemon colored (to compliment her own brown hair and rather sallow skin) with the fas.h.i.+onable full sleeves, tight from shoulder to elbow and then billowing out in twin puffs of undersleeves of lace. A cobweb-fine lace edged the cape-wide bertha. And the neckline had a turndown collar finished off with a bow. There was even an ap.r.o.n of sheer muslin with a deeply ruched border.

Molly had skillfully braided her hair into the upstanding loops on the top of her head, though her side curls in this humid damp were more flyaway wisps than proper ringlets. Yet this time Persis faced the mirror with hardly any more a.s.surance. She did not think all these frills became her. Her face was too thin, her high-bridged nose too sharp. Yes, she had the look -the slight look-of a schoolmarm.

"Uncle Augustin-" Duty nipped her again.

"Still sleepin', Miss Persis. Shubal is sittin' there right beside him should anything be needed. But no harm your lookin' in on him."

Molly opened the door of the chamber and pointed to another directly across the hall.

"Miss Lydia and Mrs. Pryor-they are down on the veranda. You go down them stairs and straight ahead -"

Persis nodded, tapped lightly on her uncle's door.

Shubal peered out at her, his gray whiskers a disorderly fringe about his meager face. He waved her in, but set his finger to his lips in warning.

Here was another huge bed with netting falling from the tester above. Against the pillows which supported his head and shoulders (her uncle had to sleep nearly upright since his illness) the old man's face was clay-white. His thin hair stood up like the crest of one of those strange birds sailors sometimes brought home, and his mouth hung open a little as he breathed in shallow puffs. His eyes were closed.

And it was the eyes which had and did make Uncle Augustin so alive as a person. Their bright, inquiring blue had been the first thing Persis had noticed when he had brought her to live with him after he retired from traveling in foreign parts.

Somehow she had never thought of him as being old, though he had been the eldest of a long family and her father was the youngest of the lot. Now when she looked at that pinched and weary face, the eyes shut, a stab of fear chilled her. She could not believe in a future which did not include Uncle Augustin-his wry humor, his keen wit, and his always interested mind. Though he had also had a reserve, so that her affection was born of duty and appreciation, not love.

Not many men of his age would have taken an orphaned niece of eight into their house. He had given her every comfort but had always kept her at a distance, forging a barrier Persis never tried to pierce.

However, her situation was hardly different from that of Sally Madison or Caroline Briggs, who had shared her studies at Miss Pickett's Academy for Young Ladies and had been her closest friends. For both Sally and Caroline seemed to fear their fathers and hold all older gentlemen in awe.

But Uncle Augustin, as remote as he was, was always there. He shared no confidences, of course. She had been astounded when he had first told her of his decision to sail to the Bahamas. Though she had guessed that the situation of Rooke and Company, as a result of the fire, had been a worry which had brought on his first attack.

He had appeared to recover so well from that. Then he said a voyage to a warmer climate was all he needed to put him on his feet again. Persis suspected that more than his health had occupied his mind during the past few months. Mr. Hogue, the lawyer, had come so many times to the house.

And there had been that hunt through the attic storeroom for a certain box. Which, when found, contained little more than a packet of old letters. Yet Uncle Augustin had been delighted with those.

Shubal touched her arm and motioned to the door. She nodded and went out, the manservant following her. He had always been as silent as Uncle Augustin, but his lips were trembling now and he kept glancing back, which added to Persis' uneasiness.

"He-he looks worse!" she blurted out.

"It's the Lord's good mercy he ain't dead!" Shubal's voice quavered. "His heart-the doctor fears for him-I know it. Though he said naught to me. You must speak with him, Miss Persis. Perhaps he'll tell you the truth."

"I will." The truth they must certainly have. This doctor might be the best they had on the island. But surely Key West might house a better one. How far were they now from that port? Could Uncle Augustin be taken there-or could a doctor be summoned here? Persis s.h.i.+vered, remembering the fury of the storm. To go to sea again- "Thank you, Miss." Shubal's hand shook as he reached for the door latch. He must care a lot for Uncle Augustin, they had been together for years and years. Now the signs of his caring made her feel guilty. Uncle Augustin really meant more to Shubal than he did to her. Yet he had given her so much. Everything, another part of her mind whispered-but himself.

"Miss Rooke-"

Startled, Persis looked to the head of the stairs. There stood a woman of the same st.u.r.dy build as Molly, but clad with far more elegance in a gray muslin, a ribboned cap on her gray-brown hair which was dressed high in the manner of a much earlier time. Yet this style became her round, rather highly colored face better than the modern curls. She had the air of one used to giving orders and now offered her hand with a.s.surance.

"I am Mrs. Pryor."

A housekeeper perhaps, but no servant, not even what might be deemed an "upper" one, Persis deduced.

The girl curtsied as she would to the mother of one of her friends.

"Please, can you tell me how my uncle is?" If the doctor had shared the truth with anyone of this household, it must have been with the very competent appearing Mrs. Pryor.

For a moment she was eyed measuringly, and then the answer came: "He is an old man, and one in a perilous state of health. The storm and the wreck-well, they have not been good for him. But I have seen many recoveries which were unexpected. One does not go until one's time comes, and he is fighting-" Her words were far from rea.s.suring.

"The doctor-he-?" Persis did not know how to put into plain language a question concerning his competence.

But Mrs. Pryor seemed to divine what she could not bring herself to ask.

"Dr. Veering is a very good physician. Having a tendency toward lung disorder, as a young man he went to stay several years in Panama. Some time ago he came here and began to experiment with plants, to see how many of the useful tropical ones could be grown this far north. Captain Leverett has fostered his project and given him Verde Key for his garden. But he lives on Lost Lady, and we are lucky. You can accept that he knows his calling well."

"Thank you-" Persis was a little subdued. Mrs. Pryor's una.s.sailable dignity was having the same quelling effect on her as Miss Pickett's had had-reducing one to the status of a schoolgirl. This state of affairs she began to resent.

"Now, my dear Miss Rooke-" The housekeeper became as brisk as Miss Pickett when she was about to order someone to do something for "her own good." "Why not go down to the veranda-there is luncheon waiting. And since the storm has blown itself out, it is quite pleasant there."

Persis' inner reaction was the same as it had been to Miss Pickett's suggestions-to do just the opposite. But that was only silly childishness. So she went.

Her journey, short as it was, through the lower floor of the house proved (to her surprise) that Captain Leverett's residence could match any in the better part of New York. A wealth of furnis.h.i.+ngs, and the thick carpets were outstanding. Wrecker's loot, Persis thought disdainfully, though she looked about with a curiosity she could not control.

Since her knowledge of what went on in the Keys (rank piracy, some of the s.h.i.+powners her uncle had known wrathfully termed it) was founded mainly on their conversation, she had little liking for what she saw. It was true that a wrecker must be licensed by the government, that he must agree on rescue fees with the captain of the unfortunate vessel he boarded, and he was further bound by the law to hold legal auction of the cargo. But the fact remained that he prospered from the ill luck of others-richly, if this house was any indication.

At least the wreckers now operated under American law, and those from the Bahamas (about whom there were some dark stories) were forbidden these waters. Though there were always rumors of lure lights and the like to bring s.h.i.+ps into danger.

Persis went out on the veranda and stopped short. She had forgotten the mound foundation of the house she had sighted from her chamber window. Now she seemed to be on a hill from which one could look down on a sea of green growth and white, sh.e.l.l-strewn sand.

Several chairs made of cane stood by a table on which the dishes were covered by a netting not unlike that used to curtain the beds. And seated on one of those chairs was a young girl who stared at Persis with something near to open rudeness.

Her hair, of a very pale shade of gold, was very elaborately dressed, the upper knot based by a band of flowers. And her complexion had manifestly been well guarded from the glare of the southern sun. But her brows and lashes were dark, giving an arresting vividness to her features which Persis thought a little bold. There was very little color in her cheeks, but her small mouth, with its pouting lower lip, was moistly red as if she had been recently sucking a cinnamon sweetmeat.

Now she smiled, her beflowered head a little atilt, her dark-fringed eyes narrowed.

"I never did like that gown. The color is certainly more yours than mine." Her frank appraisal was delivered in a way which suggested there might be something just a little common in being able to wear lemon muslin to any advantage.

"I have to thank you very much for the loan of it," Persis returned with the same briskness. She must watch her tongue. However, she did not greatly warm to Miss Lydia Leverett, even on this very short acquaintance. And it was not like her to take such an instant aversion to anyone.

"Welcome to Lost Lady Key-" Lydia waved a hand to the chair opposite her own. "At least the storm is over. If you sit here, you will have your back to the sea. Doubtless you have seen enough of that for the present!"

There was something about Miss Leverett's disregard of all social formalities and niceties which seemed to put Persis on the defensive.

"Such an odd name-Lost Lady." She seized upon the first subject she could think of, not wis.h.i.+ng to discuss the wreck.

"Not when you know the story. There was a lady and she was lost-or disappeared," Lydia returned. "She is our ghost now. Be warned. Some say she brings ill luck to those natives unfortunate enough to meet her.

"This was a pirate hold a hundred years ago. In fact, the foundation of this house was part of a fort built by Satin-s.h.i.+rt Jack. And before him there was the mound- that was made by the Old Ones." Lydia was watching her guest, a queer little quirk about her lips as she paused. "Some of the islanders tell tales about them-all blood and sacrifice. They were supposed to be giants able to shoot one of their arrows straight through a Spaniard's breastplate.

"But the Spanish finally killed them all-unless that dirty old witch, Askra, is really one of them. She looks as if she is old enough to be so, goodness knows. Then the pirates under Jack raided the Spanish and killed all of them-except the lady. She was the Commandant's wife or daughter or something like that, so Jack claimed her as part of his share. Until he was found dead and she was gone- "The Spanish came back again-or so it went. Do I frighten you, Miss Rooke, with all these b.l.o.o.d.y tales? This is a place which should be haunted-enough has happened here. And the islanders swear that the ghosts do walk."