The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons (15 page)

Only Marni sat, stock-still, her features turned to stone.

“What is it?” I asked. The room fell silent.

“It may be great fun to glorify piracy,” she said. “But the lawlessness and brutality they practice has affected generations of decent people! This I know firsthand!” She fingered the silver locket at her throat.

Her tone silenced us, discouraging comment or question. Another of her many mysteries. But before we had a chance to wonder too deeply, her nimble fingers worked two lengths of rope, one red and one blue, and we practiced tying nautical knots of various kinds. “Walter,” she said, “you and Lucy work on the carrick bend; Georgie and Annie, the icicle hitch.”

We tied and untied, cooperating, giving and taking, securing more than rope and twine. A comfortable familiarity began to enfold us, finger to finger, knot to knot. Then there were maps and charts to read, and geography books to study, all of this embellished by Marni's tales of travel. This, of course, brought me around to thoughts of Aunt Pru, which I set aside as best I could, waiting,
waiting, for the weekend to come.

And come it did. Another trek to Mr. Mathers's to borrow the horse and buggy, and Marni and I were on our way. We left at dawn, the sun nothing more than a fuzzy pink-orange line floating over the ocean, the milky outline of the moon still visible through the brightening blue sky. Annie and Georgie hung in the doorway, begging to come along, Annie's mouth pulled into a petulant pout. Walter waved, and corralled them back inside.

By eight o'clock we had arrived. Marni (or Miss Maude, as I had to keep reminding myself) spoke briefly to Uncle Victor about my progress, all her comments of a very general nature—“a satisfactory adjustment,” “a conscientious pupil”—comments to which Uncle Victor nodded distractedly, apparently eager to address the more important issue of my return to school.

“And you'll come back for her, when?” he asked, leaning forward, his head cocked to one side.

“I will send the buggy for her on Sunday afternoon,” Marni replied in her Miss Maude voice, all business; the only hint of her other self was the discreet little squeeze she gave me on the arm on her way out the door. In seconds I was fairly flying up the stairs to Addie, who was patiently waiting on the landing.

I threw myself into her embrace, remembering all at once the warmth of her arms, the clean, soapy smell of her hands, the crisp feel of her starched dress. We walked, arm in arm, up to my room and sat on the bed.

“Aye, I've missed ye somethin' awful!” she said, holding me at arm's length and looking me over, as if searching for something she might have overlooked—something that might have changed in the week I'd been gone.

“I missed you too,” I said, feeling a little guilty over all of the time I'd spent so completely engaged in my other life with Marni and the Perkinses.

“So, is it a grand school yer at there?” asked Addie. “And how are ye bein' treated?”

“Fine,” I replied. “I'm getting on fine there.” I wasn't sure how much to tell Addie, at least right away. I was far more interested in affairs here at home.

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Have you been checking the mail?” I asked.

Addie nodded, the edges of her mouth turned down.

“Aye, I've checked it—every day, in fact—but the RFD never comes. I fear your uncle's suspended the service here, and that after all of the captain's efforts to bring it out here in the first place!” She
made tsk sounds with her tongue, shaking her head. “He's been to town twice since you've gone, checkin' the postal office, I imagine.”

My heart fell, even though I had suspected as much. Addie wiped her hands on her apron and looked away.

“Addie,” I said, “there's something else, isn't there?”

She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

“What is it?” I asked, my heart quickening.

She shook her head. “I'm not sure how to put it in words,” she said, “or quite what t' make of it, even.”

“What?” I said. “Please, Addie, do tell me!”

She paused, considering. “There's been quite some strange goin's-on in yer absence, is all.”

“What kind of goings-on?” I asked.

Again Addie paused and avoided my eyes. She seemed almost embarrassed, uncertain about what she was about to say, reluctant to begin. Her hesitation began to alarm me.

“Addie, what is it? Tell me, please!”

“'Tis probably just me imagination, although I never b'fore in me life have seen such as I've seen, and I cannot think of a reason why me imagination should begin to run wild at this particular place in time.”

“Addie?”

She stood. “Never ye mind,” she said, “'Tis a bit of nonsense is all.”

That's when I knew—it was the magic!

“So, you've noticed?” I said. “The magic, I mean. And did it help you too?”

She turned toward me, her eyes flashing.

“What was it ye said, then?” she asked. “Did I hear ye right?”

“The sparkling cloud,” I replied. “That
is
what you saw, isn't it?” I feared for a moment that I'd said too much.

Addie's eyes grew large and round. “So ye've seen it too, then?” she asked, sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

I nodded. “It kept me out of trouble—many times since Uncle Victor and Aunt Margaret came.”

Addie's mouth dropped open. “And nary a word t' me about it?” There was a trace of hurt, or maybe it was resentment, in her voice.

“It's not that I didn't
want
to tell you,” I began. “But I was very perplexed. I thought, at first, that perhaps I was seeing things. And if I'd told you, would you have believed me?”

Addie shrugged a little. “I s'ppose ye have a point,” she said. “Well, let me tell ye how it all began.” I propped up my pillows on the bed and leaned back
and patted the space beside me for Addie. She shook her head, positioning herself instead so that she could see out the door as she spoke.

“Yer uncle Victor,” she said, in a hushed voice, “he began to carry on in a manner I found quite suspicious. He went off t' town, as I mentioned—t' the postal office, I suppose—and upon returnin' he'd hole up in the captain's lib'ry fer the whole of the afternoon. There he'd sit all hunched up over the desk, cursin' and swearin' at the fountain pen in 'is hand. It appeared he was working on correspondence of some kind.”

Correspondence—that could mean he'd heard from my aunt Pru!

As though reading my mind, Addie nodded. “Of course, ye know what I took to thinkin'—that he'd gotten a letter from Prudence! So, I made it my business t' find out, though 'twas no easy task, I'll tell ye—”

“What did you d—”

“I'm gettin' t' that,” she said, pushing aside my anxiousness with a bit of impatience.

“I waited fer the two o' them—yer aunt and uncle, that is—till they went into town the next day. When they were gone, I took meself into the library.” Addie leaned forward and peered out into the hallway. Apparently satisfied that we could
continue our talk undetected, she went on, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I went t' the desk, I did, and set about looking fer the letter, if that's what 'twas—but I found the desk was locked up tight! Being that they'd gone to town, I was struck with the notion that perhaps I could find the key, or give the lock a little poke with a tool o' some kind—not t' break it, mind ye, but t' pop the lock open.”

I nodded vigorously, anxious for her to continue.

“Well, I searched fer the key, everywhere I could think of, 'cludin' under the carpets, behind the draperies—I'm ashamed to say I even looked about in yer uncle's chambers, something I'd never dreamed o' doin', in the interest of my employer's privacy, but in this case—”

“I know, I know,” I said. “Then what happened?”

“An hour I searched, an hour at least, but I didn't find any key, of course—he most likely took it with him in 'is pocket. So I went on t' me next plan, which was t' open the drawer some other way.”

“So, how did you do it?” I asked.

“Well,” Addie said, “I looked about the kitchen for somethin' of the right size and shape—and I settled on the rug beater.”

The rug beater? It was the size of a tennis racket! “How in the world would you use the rug
beater?” I asked.

Addie made an exasperated huffing sound. “Surely I didn't intend t' use the entire rug beater,” she said. “I bent one of the wires back so's it could be slipped into the lock.”

“Did it work?” I asked, nearly breathless with excitement.

“No,” said Addie, “and not only did it not work, but the bent wire got stuck in the lock! And no sooner was it stuck in there than I see yer aunt and yer uncle makin' their way up the path!”

“Oh no!” I said, my heart pounding as though it was I standing beside the desk with the rug beater hanging there as evidence. “Did they catch you?”

“Well,” said Addie, suddenly, it seemed to me, taking a certain pleasure in keeping me in suspense, “'tis the strangest part o' the whole story. There I was, yankin' at the rug beater with every bit o' might I could muster, and workin' meself up into quite a sweat, I might add, when I see this sparklin' cloud. At first I blinked, thinkin' 'twas me eyes and me nerves, playing tricks on me. But, no, it swirled about the rug beater, liftin' the handle and turnin' it round, like the hand of a benevolent ghost or spirit, and just like that I hear the lock turnin' over in the barrel, and the desk drawer bursts open!”

She paused for a moment, perhaps reliving her
surprise at such an occurrence. “Well, I tell ye, time runnin' out as 'twas, I didn't stop to marvel too much—yer aunt and uncle were already makin' their way up the front walk. So, I rifled through the drawers like a common thief, and let me tell ye what I found.”

“What?” I asked, barely able to contain myself.

“A letter from your aunt Pru is what I found.”

“Where is—”

“Now hold yer horses,” she said. “I said I
found
it—but I wasn't fool enough to
take
it!”

My heart dropped for a moment, but my curiosity quickly pushed past my disappointment. “Well, what did it
say
then?” I asked, leaning forward, eager for her to continue.

“Not to get yer hopes up, lass,” Addie began. “'Twas nothing in it that would help ye—just some greetings and inquiries fer yer mum, and words explainin' how she'd been so far off down under that she neither expected t' receive or t' send out mail in any kind o' timely way. And she asked after your father and you. Said she continued to collect clues, whatever that meant. Said she had tales of piracy to tell!”

I slumped back on the pillows, my disappointment threatening to erupt in tears. I was unreasonably angry at Addie, furious that she had
risked so much to discover so little.

“So after all that, you didn't find out
anything
?”

Addie looked at me. “Now, is that what I said? No, I found somethin' all right. 'Twas but a minute or so left; I could hear them bickerin' like they do out on the front porch. So's quickly as I could manage, I went through the drawers. 'Twas a whole tablet of paper there, covered in a peculiar script. I took a piece of it, without thinkin' really—it just seemed that with so many pages, he'd hardly be missin' a single sheet. I slipped it into my pocket and made haste to go. I shut the drawers, all of 'em, I did, but that sparklin' mist reappeared, I tell ye, and drew the bottom drawer open again! I struggled with it fer a moment, fearin' I'd be discovered, but the mist wouldn't allow the drawer to close! I took another look in the drawer and what did I see but a letter from Barrister Hardy! I read it with me heart in me throat, listenin' to them right out there on the porch.”

“The letter?” I said. “What did it say?”

Addie took a deep breath, confirming my fears that the letter did not bear good news for me.

“It said that the barrister was returning t' England t' care for his ailin' mother. That someone else, a Judge Forester, would be overseeing yer affairs from now on.”

That seemed a terrible blow. I'd always felt that if things got bad enough with Uncle Victor and Aunt Margaret, at least I'd have a sympathetic ear, a fair and objective ally in Barrister Hardy. Now, with him gone …

Addie went on. “Well, what with yer aunt and uncle halfway in the door, I gave the drawer a push and, thank the Lord, finally it closed. The mist swirled about and the rug beater floated—it actually
floated
—out of the lock, and I heard a bit of a click, which of course was the sound o' the drawers lockin' themselves back up. By the time yer aunt and uncle came in, I was on me way to me chambers, the rug beater in me hand, requirin' a bit of time to calm me nerves, which I must say are still more than a little shaky.”