She straightened, and reserve returned to her voice. "Well?"
"I was only going to say, ma'am, that you could keep on giving him a grandmother's affection. I never had a father's affection nor a grandmother's, and I think this boy ought to have both, don't you?"
Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth hastily as if to halt words. Then she turned and left the room. For a moment he was resentful; but he shrugged it off and returned his attention to the infant. "Damnation, son, I didn't mean to upset her."
Leaving the house, stepping into the bone-chilling wind straight off the broad harbor, he met his brother-in-law, whom so far he hadn't encountered during his daily visits. Although the day was young, Clay Peary evidently had been drinking heavily. He looked owlishly at Scott.
"Scott," he said thickly.
"Yes?"
"I've been thinking 'bout you . . . 'bout you an' me. Know all 'bout your calls to shee baby. Know where I've been?"
"No."
"Rowena's grave, thash where. Want to go there?"
Skunk-drunk, Scott thought, keeping his irritation in check. He said, "Later."
Peary squinted in an effort to focus reddened eyes. "I'm drunk, Scott. Know it. Hell of way to mourn, I know. But can't help it sometimes." He paused, squinting closely at Scott. "Rowena thought you were all right, Scott. Know. Tol' me. Tol' me right after you 'loped. Everybody angry then. Hated you. Don' mind my tellin' you, do you, Scott, boy?"
"No," Scott said shortly. "But you'd better get some sleep."
Peary caught his arm firmly. "Wait minute, Scott, lad. Father don' like you. Mama don' like you. But I—I like you fine now. Didn't use to, but do now. Forgive you. Been thinkin' lot 'bout it."
"Thanks," Scott said, attempting to steer the man inside the house; but Peary resisted his effort and kept on talking. "You know my father's in—influential man here 'bouts. He might black-list you."
Scott stiffened. "Black-list me? Why?"
Peary shook his head solemnly. "He thinks you good fightin' man, Scott, boy, but no good otherwise. Don' like you."
Taking the man firmly by the arm, Scott propelled him inside the house with more force than tact. What had been said drunkenly made him seethe with anger. Without employment—and Philip Peary could keep him from finding a berth in Charleston—he would never be able to buy or hire a nurse for his son. Maybe Rowena's father was thinking of striking at him that way. Clay must have heard something to set him to talking so. He set out rapidly in the direction of Rousseau's house.
Warmly wrapped against the damp chill of his bedroom, Rousseau sat by the blazing oak fire and smoked calmly while Scott paced the floor, angrily railing against the strokes of fortune which had placed him within reach of Philip Peary. When finally he paused for breath, the captain spoke up.
"I've been listening to you, Scott," he said. "Now you listen to me. I've been talking with Phil Peary—talked with him about you—and he's never mentioned anything about any possibility of black-listing you. I admit that Phil can be harsh, and I know he's dead set against your having command of any ship he's got a finger in. However, I'm just as set on your being the master. I don't know which way John Lloyd'll go, if and when the time for a decision comes."
"Hell vote with Peary, of course," Scott said bitterly. "They're both merchants."
"Damn it, don't jump to conclusions, son. Simmer down. I think we'll know more about what we're going to do this afternoon."
"What do you mean?"
"The man Lloyd was waiting on is in Charleston."
"The fellow who was in the pepper trade before the war?"
"Aye, Lloyd brought him by this morning while you were out. His name's Hosea Fox, and he's from somewhere up around Salem. He claims to be a ship's officer, and I reckon he is. And I think he really does know a lot about the pepper trade. I'd like to visit the Pepper Coast myself."
"Are you, Peary and Lloyd going to make up your minds this afternoon?"
"I hope so. But I'll tell you one thing: I'll never accept this Fox as master of the ship."
"He wants that?"
"Aye. But it struck me that what he mainly wants is to get back to Sumatra. I believe his story, as far as it goes, but there's something about Fox that I don't like. I can't put a finger on it and so can't say why, but that's the way I feel."
"Well, let me say one thing right here, sir," Scott said earnestly. "Don't let your friendship for me stand in the way of a profitable venture for yourself. I'll find employment in another port, if need be."
"Friendship be damned!" Rousseau exclaimed gruffly. "I'm thinking of myself. If I sink everything I can beg and borrow into a trading voyage to some heathen island in the Indian Ocean, you can be damn' certain I'm going to put it into the hands of a captain I trust. I'm a gambler, as you know, and have been all my life; but I believe in using my own dice."
Philip Peary came home for his dinner in the middle of the day. It was on the table, hot and ready to be eaten, and he looked around impatiently. "Let's eat. I'm famished. Besides, I've got some important business this afternoon, and I want to take a nap first. I can't think unless I sleep awhile after I eat dinner." He paused. "Where's Clay?"
"Asleep," Mrs. Peary said.
"Asleep ... at this hour?"
She looked worried. "He's been drinking too much. I'm afraid Rowena's death has upset him overmuch, Mr. Peary."
"Nonsense. All young bloods drink, especially when they have more money and leisure than is good for them. What Clay needs is another long voyage, since he shows no promise in the business, and I think I've got one for him."
"Indeed?"
"Yes. . . . This hot bread is just right, but that stupid cook burned the venison again. I ought to sell her as a field hand. ... John Lloyd's got a venture in mind for himself, Dave Rousseau and me."
"Has Captain Rousseau any money to spare? I thought you said the cruise of the Jasper nearly ruined him."
"It did. Pity, too. But maybe this business of Lloyd's will put him on his feet again. It's a risky venture, probably as dangerous as privateering."
"What is it?"
"Just an idea so far. But it has to do with sending a ship to the Pepper Coast of Sumatra."
"I never heard of the place, Mr. Peary."
"Few people have; but it's in the East Indies. I never use pepper myself, but a lot of people do—especially in Europe. Lloyd says—and he got it from some fellow who's interested him—that pepper grows wild on the northwest coast of Sumatra. You get it by trading with the natives, some of whom are a savage, thieving lot, I gather. We're going to need the right shipmaster." He paused, stuffing his mouth with a chunk of meat and chewing vigorously. "Rousseau wants to send our beloved son-in-law as captain."
Mrs. Peary looked up. Her eyes were softer than usual. "That reminds me, Mr. Peary. Only this morning I overheard him talking to the baby."
"Talking to the baby? Why, that child's not two months old."
"I know. He didn't know I was listening. But what he said to little Scott then and afterward to me gave me a new opinion of him, Mr. Peary."
Peary laid down his knife. "Indeed?" he said dryly.
"Yes," she said with conviction. "It gave me a much better opinion of him. Perhaps our Rowena was a better judge of his character than we."
"I'm waiting to hear what he said to the baby and you, madam."
She told him. He leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. Then he said, "You're fond of the child, aren't you?"
"I am. But I no longer feel he should be taken away from his father."
Peary prided himself on his fair-mindedness. "Perhaps you're right, madam. Perhaps you're right." He was silent a moment. "In such matters you often are."