The Secret Kiss of Darkness

by Christina Courtenay

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I mean, continue, tell me about yourself.’ Kayla’s heart was beating painfully against her ribcage. The excitement was almost unbearable. Finally she would find out who he was.

  ‘Very well.’ He looked towards the window, his expression serious and pensive, and began. ‘My name is Jago Kerswell. I lived in the village of Marcombe on the coast of Devon. I was born in the year 1754, the bastard son of a Gypsy woman called Lenora.’ Kayla looked up swiftly. That would explain his looks, she thought. ‘My father was Sir Philip Marcombe, of Marcombe Hall, but you’ll not find any evidence of that anywhere so you’ll have to take my word for it. He was a good man and did his duty by me, but of course he couldn’t acknowledge me openly.’ He paused for a moment to let the words sink in. When she looked up once more he continued. ‘Sir Philip’s legitimate son, John, my half-brother, married twice, the second time to a Miss Elizabeth Wesley. They were not happy together.’ He paused again and gazed into the distance, as if his thoughts were far from the present.

  ‘And …?’ Kayla prompted.

  ‘I’ll not bore you with the details, but Eliza and I fell in love and we met whenever Sir John was away, which fortunately for us was quite frequently. In the summer of 1781 we often went for excursions along the coast. There are many secluded coves and inlets where one can be private.’ He winked at her mischievously and she felt a smile spread over her features. ‘However, one afternoon we found, to our dismay, that we were not alone. An artist and his assistant had set up their easels on the beach, and we fell into conversation with them. They were painting seascapes, but when the older man caught sight of Eliza, he was seized with the urge to paint her instead. She was very beautiful, you see, and she reminded him of a mermaid or some such creature, he said.’ He waited once more for Kayla to take it all in. ‘Are you with me?’

  ‘Yes, I think I can remember all that.’ In fact she was drinking his words in, every last one clear in her mind, but she hoped the story would soon come to an end so she could be sure she didn’t forget any part of it.

  ‘Eliza agreed to pose for him on the condition the man would do a portrait of me as well, which she would pay him for, and so it came to pass. You see before you the, in my opinion, rather shoddy result. He wasn’t really interested in painting me. It was only Eliza who had fired his enthusiasm.’

  ‘But who was the artist? There’s no signature and nobody knew at the auction house where I bought you.’ Kayla still couldn’t believe she was having this conversation, but she didn’t want to question it just yet. She was enjoying the fantasy and for now it was enough that the man was talking to her.

  Jago. Even his name was wonderful.

  Jago chuckled. ‘His name was Thomas Gainsborough, but as this painting was done in secret we agreed he wouldn’t sign it. It is meant as a companion piece for the one of Eliza, which is properly signed, but of course the two could never hang together while Sir John was alive. They were eventually displayed side by side in the first floor gallery at Marcombe Hall, but at some point the one of me was sold. I’m not sure why or when. Now, however, it wouldn’t matter to anyone if we were together and that is where you come in. I want you to find Eliza’s portrait and hang mine next to it.’

  Kayla’s mouth had fallen open and she stared at him. ‘Thomas Gainsborough! You’re joking, right?’

  ‘No, I am perfectly serious.’

  Kayla flopped back on the sofa and covered her eyes with one hand. ‘Now I know for sure I’m dreaming again. Gainsborough. Right. Couldn’t my brain come up with anything more original?’

  ‘I don’t understand. What is wrong with Mr Gainsborough? I take it you have heard of him?’ Kayla glanced at Jago, but he looked genuinely confused.

  ‘Of course I have. Do you have any idea how valuable you … I mean your portrait, would be if it was a Gainsborough? I paid eighteen thousand pounds for it, but if it was a real Gainsborough it would be worth at least a hundred thousand, if not more.’

  ‘The devil you say! As much as that? Well, surely that is good for you? You’ll make a huge profit.’

  ‘Yes, of course I wish it was authentic, but there’s no way to prove it. The experts tried already. You just said it yourself, the painting isn’t signed. I can’t very well walk into Sotheby’s and say “Excuse me, sir, but the man in the portrait I bought last week told me in a dream that he was painted by Gainsborough, so can you sell it for me at the going rate please?” They’d put me in an asylum for sure.’

  Jago laughed and Kayla shivered at the sound of it. His laughter was doing strange things to her and it was also infectious. She joined in, shaking her head. ‘You know, Jago, this is just about the craziest dream I’ve ever had, but it’s wonderful and I don’t want to wake up.’

  ‘Unfortunately we all have to wake up to reality some time,’ he said cryptically. ‘Now, as for the authenticity of my claim, all you have to do is find the portrait of Eliza, and you can prove this one was painted by the same hand. There are certain details that are similar, one in particular. A true connoisseur would find them and believe you. In fact, anyone should be able to spot the clue Mr Gainsborough left as long as Eliza’s portrait is still intact.’

  Kayla peered at him sceptically. ‘Really? How convenient. My brain surprises even me sometimes.’

  ‘Please will you do it? Will you help me?’

  Kayla hesitated. ‘To find the other portrait? All right, I don’t want to argue with you when I’m having such a nice dream so I’ll say yes, if only to keep you talking for a while longer. But tell me, why does it matter? I mean, I thought people in love met up in the afterlife or something.’

  ‘That is another long story, but suffice it to say our portraits need to hang side by side for us to be together. Just trust me on this.’

  ‘And where should I look? Have you any idea where she could be?’

  ‘Why not start at Marcombe Hall? If her descendants are still there the portrait should be as well. That is, if the house is still standing, of course. I’m not precisely sure what year it is now or how long I have waited.’

  ‘I suppose that would be the logical place to start.’

  ‘Good. That’s settled then. Now, go back to sleep so you can wake up refreshed and ready to begin in the morning.’

  ‘But … oh, very well. I do have a terrible headache as a matter of fact and I probably need to rest, if I’m not already asleep that is.’ She knew she sounded grumpy, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want the dream to end, she was enjoying herself too much.

  ‘Goodnight, then.’ His voice was a mere whisper, a verbal caress.

  She turned to glare at him, but suddenly he wasn’t moving any more. She climbed up to her bed and when she leaned over the balustrade to peer at the painting he was still motionless. Only his eyes looked even vaguely alive. Had she dreamed it all? Was she still dreaming? She would have to find out in the morning.

  Chapter Nine

  Walking along the coast, deep in conversation, they hadn’t noticed the two artists until they were almost upon them, and by then it was too late to avoid a meeting. Jago swiftly let go of Eliza’s hand, but he was fairly certain that at least one of the men had noticed.

  ‘Good morning, sirs,’ he said politely. ‘A pleasant day, is it not?’

  ‘Indeed, my good man. Nature smiles upon us today,’ replied the older man. ‘I am Thomas Gainsborough of London, here on a tour of the West Country with my nephew, Mr Gainsborough Dupont.’ He bowed, and the younger man did likewise before hurriedly returning to his work.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Gainsborough. I am Jago Kerswell, owner of the King’s Head Inn in the village of Marcombe over beyond those cliffs, and this is Lady Eliza.’ There was no need to inform the man of her full name, Jago thought. Let him draw his own conclusions.

  ‘Charmed, my lady, to be sure.’ Mr Gainsborough’s eyes had lit up at the sight of Eliza, and he bent over her hand to kiss it with a graceful flourish,
while Jago studied him covertly.

  The artist had heavy brows over big, brown eyes, a large Roman nose and full lips. His hair, greying now although it looked as though it had been brown once, was drawn back into a queue tied with a plain black ribbon. His coat was of good quality cloth, but simple in colour and cut, and he seemed exceedingly affable and in good spirits. Jago decided he liked the look of the man.

  ‘But why am I wasting my time painting seascapes, when there are such lovely ladies as yourself to portray? A veritable sea sprite,’ Mr Gainsborough was saying, and Eliza smiled at him uncertainly. Jago guessed she was discomposed by this sudden meeting and fearful that her husband would learn of their trysts. By the twinkle in his eyes, Jago didn’t think Mr Gainsborough would be the bearer of such tales, however. He looked to be relishing the little secret he had stumbled upon.

  ‘I’m sure your seascapes are wonderful, Mr Gainsborough,’ Eliza replied. ‘May I have a look?’

  ‘Certainly, my lady, though this one is far from finished.’

  ‘Oh, but it’s beautiful! You have a rare talent, sir,’ Eliza exclaimed, then inspected the work of the younger man. ‘And you too, Mr Dupont. You are obviously both masters of your craft. How I wish I could draw even a little, it must be such a pleasure.’

  Mr Dupont flushed at the praise and his uncle beamed at Eliza. ‘It’s nothing, a mere sketch. Now if I were to paint you, my lady, then you would truly see a lovely picture.’ He turned to Jago. ‘Where did you say your inn was, sir?’

  ‘Just along the coast here at Marcombe, about half a mile perhaps as the crow flies.’

  ‘Splendid. We may see you later then as we shall require a room for the night.’

  ‘But uncle, I thought we were supposed to go to—’

  ‘We have no firm schedule.’ Mr Gainsborough fixed his nephew with a glare and the younger man wisely held his tongue. ‘Would you have a room for tonight, Mr Kerswell?’

  ‘Certainly. I shall see to it that one is made ready for you. I hope you don’t require luxury, however? It is but a small establishment, although I can vouch for the cleanliness and the first-rate cooking.’

  ‘Excellent. I cannot abide gentlemen who think themselves too good to stay at a simple country inn. Indeed, what could be cosier? We shall see you later then.’

  Jago couldn’t help but notice the man’s final glance at Eliza and very much hoped he was only appraising her in his capacity as a painter and nothing else. She was beautiful enough to tempt any man, but she was his. He’d make sure Mr Gainsborough found that out sooner rather than later if he was staying in these parts.

  The sound of rain splashing onto the windowpanes woke Kayla the following day, and she sat up and stretched. All the crying she had done last night had left her feeling exhausted and her eyes stung. No doubt they would be puffy and swollen, but she didn’t care. She didn’t plan on seeing anyone that day anyway, so what did it matter how she looked? She’d already decided to call in sick as she couldn’t face going to the office, even if Mike was still away.

  She threw back the cover and climbed down to the sitting room, glancing at the man in the painting. Jago. She said his name out loud, savouring the sound of it, and the strange dream of the night before flooded into her memory, clear in every last detail. He had been so alive, so real. Oh, why hadn’t she touched him when she had the chance? But he had distracted her with his strange tale. An authentic Gainsborough indeed. She shook her head at herself. What would her brain come up with next? But at least she now had a name for him and whether it was his real one or not didn’t matter. Jago suited him to perfection.

  She stumbled to the bathroom to freshen up and emerged some time later feeling half-way human again. She sipped at a strong cup of tea, liberally laced with sugar to restore some of her strength. The thought of any other kind of sustenance didn’t appeal to her yet, so she just sat on the sofa and stared at Jago Kerswell.

  ‘If only you were real and actually needed my help. I think I would have done anything for you if I had lived during your lifetime,’ she whispered, but of course he didn’t answer. Idly, she picked up a pad and scribbled down the things he’d said in her dream. She remembered them all and they sounded like true facts from a real person’s life. Was she going crazy? Had her mind produced this incredible story, complete with names and dates? It seemed impossible, but the human brain was a strange thing.

  ‘Maybe I knew you in a previous life?’ She knew there were people who claimed to have memories from long ago, sometimes remembered during hypnotic sessions. Perhaps it was possible for the brain to bring them to the surface without the help of hypnosis in certain cases? That would certainly explain the vividness of her dream and the wealth of information she had scribbled on her pad. ‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check it out,’ she muttered, feeling extremely stupid for even contemplating such a thing. But if she didn’t, how would she ever know? It would just nag at the back of her mind, giving her no peace. The only question was where to start. She hadn’t the faintest idea.

  Then, unexpectedly, inspiration struck.

  ‘Yes, of course!’ She reached for the phone and dialled Maddie’s number. It rang for a long time before a sleepy voice answered.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Maddie? It’s me, Kayla. I need your help.’

  ‘Kayla?’ Maddie cleared her throat loudly and Kayla heard a crashing sound. ‘It’s only six o’clock and I think I just broke my alarm clock, damn it.’

  ‘Is it? Sorry, didn’t check the time. I’m a bit distracted this morning.’

  ‘I’d say. Please tell me it’s not the bloody painting again? Look, you’re really starting to worry me. Honestly, you’ve got to stop mooning over him or else your marriage is going to be very short-lived.’

  Kayla cut the lecture off. ‘Maddie, listen. I’ll explain it all later, but I need to ask you something. Weren’t you talking about someone you knew who was researching their family tree a while back?’

  ‘Genealogy you mean? What’s that got to do with anything? You want to help your uncle?’

  ‘No, but didn’t you say you had a friend who did it as a hobby?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. It was Jessie, one of the girls in the office where I’m temping at the moment. But why?’

  ‘Well, could you ask her how you go about finding out where someone was born?’

  She heard Maddie sigh and answer the question in the voice of someone who is resigned to dealing with a lunatic. ‘Even I know that. You go to the Record Office for the district in which you were born and look through the parish registers. If you were baptised, that is.’ There was a pause before she added, ‘Why? You need a new passport? You’re not thinking of fleeing the country are you? Weddings aren’t that bad, honest. You will survive.’

  ‘No, no, it’s not for me. I need information on, uhm, someone who lived in seventeen hundred something.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you ask your uncle then?’

  ‘He’d want to know why I needed to know about this particular person when I’ve never shown much interest in his research before. It has to be someone who doesn’t know me or my family.’

  ‘In that case, I think Jessie’s probably the person to speak to. She’s definitely into all that kind of stuff. I’ll ask her to give you a call, okay?’

  ‘Great, thanks. Do you think she could be persuaded to take me on a research expedition?’

  ‘Are you feeling all right?’ Maddie sounded suspicious.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Well, sort of anyway, but …’ Kayla took a quick sip of tea. ‘I would really appreciate it if she could take me next week. Or even this week. Soon anyway.’

  ‘Look, if it’s that important to you I’ll call her today. Although perhaps a bit later since most people are asleep at this time of day, you know,’ Maddie added in a dark voice.

  Kayla ignored this jibe. ‘Would you? Oh, thanks, Maddie. I’d really appreciate it.’

  ‘What are friends for? Not that you deserve it
after waking me from my much needed beauty sleep. God, my head feels like it’s going to split open any second. I knew I shouldn’t have had that fourth drink, but Jamie would keep insisting.’

  ‘Oh, Maddie, I’m sorry. Wait, who’s Jamie? He’s not there with you, is he? Aargh, I didn’t think about that.’

  ‘No, no, he’s just a friend. Never mind that. Why do you want to know all this stuff about genealogy anyway? Are you researching your ancestors so you can prove to your mother-in-law you’re good enough for her son?’ Maddie giggled. ‘If she hasn’t figured that out by now, I don’t think a pedigree will do the trick. Or hang on, are you trying to prove you’re related to the guy in the portrait for real? I was only kidding, you know.’

  ‘Not exactly. I’ll explain later,’ Kayla hedged.

  ‘Okay. I’ll stop by this evening and you can tell me if Jessie has rung you back. You’re not seeing Mike tonight?’ she added as an afterthought.

  ‘Er, no.’ Kayla knew she couldn’t hope to avoid the issue any longer so she might as well confess everything and get it over with. ‘I’m afraid Mike and I broke up on Friday.’

  As Maddie shrieked ‘What?’ in a voice of disbelief, Kayla realised that she hadn’t given the row with Mike any thought this morning. She’d been too intent on Jago and her strange dream and the break-up seemed almost unimportant. ‘Broke up? But you can’t. I mean, why?’ Maddie’s shrill tone made Kayla wince and hold the receiver away from her ear. She knew her friend was justified, however, so she didn’t protest. ‘Come on, Kayla, you’re not serious? You’re getting married in less than a month. I’m your maid of honour, remember? I’ve got the dress and everything.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Maddie, but there isn’t going to be a wedding. You’re excused from your duties. I’ll tell you all about it tonight, I promise.’