Enemy In The House by Mignon G. Eberhart

birds were rustling and twittering outside the windows. The maid had chocolate on a tray and said that Massa was waiting for her in the lounge.
    “But it’s still night!” Amity rubbed her eyes and then stared, for the wall opposite was alive with tiny gleaming lights, like fairy candles.
    The maid saw her stare and chuckled. “Fireflies, lady. They go when full light comes.”
    From the maid’s attitude there was no haste about Grappit’s summons. Yet she wondered about it and took her time to brace herself for a coming struggle, sipping the chocolate, listening to the birds, and watching the flashing, tiny gleams of the curtain of fireflies. In all likelihood he intended to bring up the subject of Hester’s dismissal again.
    When at last, dressed and fully awake, she made her way to the lounge Grappit was annoyed. “It took you time enough, Niece.”
    “It’s still night, Uncle.”
    “It is nearly dawn.” He put down an empty cup, wiped his pale mouth, and Amity saw that his mood was conciliatory. “You must see the plantation—I should say the penn—and the early morning hours are cool. Also we must have some private conversation. Last night you spoke to me rather sharply about that girl, Hester. You reminded me that I am not master here. I am prepared to overlook that. I see that you have a misunderstood me. I am the head of the family. It is only my clear duty to care for you and China insofar as my abilities permit. But only as long as you require it.”
    Fair words, Amity thought; they sounded rehearsed.
    She made no reply and he went on smoothly, “This is a very rich property. Indeed, I was amazed to discover how rich it is. During my short stay here I have been at some pains to inform myself about the penn. I am delighted to put such information and experience as I have at your disposal. An inexperienced young woman would find it difficult to grasp details of management.”
    Fair words, but actually true words, she thought grudgingly. He said, “Here is a hat for you. The sun will grow very hot.”
    He gave her a wide-brimmed straw hat, tied with a black crepe ribbon. She went with him along the lounge and out the back door.
    The house itself still lay quiet and asleep, but there were lights from another, small house, connected to the big house by a trellised passageway. “The cookhouse,” Grappit said.
    The maid who had talked of the obeah woman and a coming storm was wrong. It had not stormed during the night and the dawn sky was a clear lemon color. The mountains were deep blue. A long penetrating wail rose from somewhere, startling her. It shrilled through the valley, echoed off-key but sweetly against the blue wall of mountains.
    Again he informed her. “The conch shell. They blow it for rising—meals, an alarm, anything. They say it can be heard at a considerable distance.”
    It had been then the conch shell which had roused her the previous morning and she had thought vaguely of a hunting horn, far away and off-key. Beyond a cluster of huts, laborers were already streaking toward sheds, mill, canefields, their red and yellow and green and purple clothing dulled by the misty dawn.
    “We can talk for a moment here,” Grappit said and led her to some chairs of a heavy wood, weather-stained and wet with dew. He wiped one ceremoniously for her, with a great, figured bandanna. He settled himself in the other. They were in a grassy enclosure, shaded by bamboos which looked silvery in the dawn, and great trees. A sagging fence, laden with flowering vines, divided it from a bare space, which extended back toward the clusters of cabins and sheds.
    “Now then, Niece, first, the girl Hester.”
    “We can’t send her away, Uncle, just because Neville—”
    “Neville has nothing to do with it. She is obviously unsuitable to her place. However, I spoke in haste last night, as you did, Niece. She is an impudent, insolent wench but I can see your point and I admit that it is fair. We’ll