by Jane Godman
I turned as a footfall sounded in the doorway and Nicca entered the room. We had been carefully formal with each other since he told me his theory about Rory’s death, and now he paused on the threshold as though unsure of his welcome.
“Good morning,” I said, moving toward the coffee pot in an attempt to emulate Finty’s best hostess skills. “You have just missed Uther. He has gone to deal with his correspondence.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, a faint smile dispelling some of the wariness in the azure depths of his eyes. “That sounds most unlike Uther.” We chatted of commonplaces while he breakfasted, and while I could not say that our differences were forgotten, a little of the awkwardness melted. “I almost forgot,” Nicca said, reaching into his pocket. “Uther left his riding crop at the gatehouse the other day. In case I don’t see him and he should be looking for it, could you give it to him?”
It gave me an excuse to disturb Uther, which I seized with both hands. We had to talk about the strange experiences we shared. I had a suggestion to make. If we went away from Tenebris for a few days, perhaps to a London hotel, we could put our attraction to the test. No ancestors, no shuddering, shivering erotic half-recollection of a love that belonged to someone else. To hell with waiting. We would make our own memories. The thought quickened my step.
I tapped lightly on the study door and entered on the knock, the riding crop extended in front of me, the words of explanation forming on my lips. But they remained unuttered. I had caught Uther unawares. He was sitting at his desk, a letter in his hand, staring blankly at the wall opposite. He rose quickly to his feet when he saw me and thrust the pile of letters that lay on top of the desk into the top drawer, turning the key swiftly in the lock. There was a new expression on his face, one I had not seen before, and I went to him, sliding my arms about his waist. I froze as I stared into his eyes. Fury was too restrained a word to describe what I saw. Within their amber depths, Hell had broken free from its chains.
“Uther?” I leaned back, lifting a hand to touch his cheek, and he flinched at my touch as though my fingertips scorched his flesh. “What is it?”
His fallen-angel smile flickered briefly like a light switched on and off. I glimpsed fear lurking behind the anger. “Nothing to trouble you, my sweet. Just some business I need to attend to. It will only bother me because it must take me away from you for a few days. I will have to go to London tomorrow.” He bent his head and kissed me. Every touch of his lips was as magical and forbidden as that first time. My whole body arched submissively toward him. The brightness of his touch and the sweetness of his taste immediately blinded me to everything but him. It was only when I left the room that I paused to speculate about what could have been in the morning post, and why it had wrought such a dramatic change in his manner.
Later that day, however, nothing could have exceeded Uther’s good humour to the point where I wondered if I had imagined the whole thing. He had been on a long ride and returned in the afternoon just as Winrow was bringing the tea tray into the parlour.
“Bring coffee as well, please,” Uther said, pausing to remove his hat and coat. “No, don’t put it there.” Winrow paused in the act of placing the tea tray on a side table, where it always went. “I’d prefer it to go on the dresser over there.” A flicker of something approaching resignation crossed the butler’s face, and I wondered how many conversations had taken place in the servants’ hall about the new master’s mercurial whims.
When Finty and Rudi came in—predictably hand-in-hand—we chatted comfortably and Uther determinedly exerted himself to be pleasant. Perhaps I was oversensitive to such things, but I still noticed the occasional meaningful look between Finty and Rudi. I poured tea for Finty and myself, but, when I reached for the coffee pot, Uther forestalled me.
“No, thank you, Annie.” He turned to Rudi with a rueful look. “Help me out here. We coffee drinkers must stick together, and Annie has no idea what a good cup of coffee should look like. Sorry, my love, but it had to be said,” Uther told me lightly. “Let me.” He held up a hand, forestalling Rudi, who had been about to rise from his seat. “I was accounted the coffee connoisseur of the barracks, you know. Have you told Finty how the plans for the wedding are progressing, my love?”
He busied himself with the coffee pot at the dresser while Finty and I talked about invitations, dresses and flowers. Rudi accepted his cup from Uther and rolled his eyes in the age-old manner of the male caught up in the alien world of female ritual. I thought how nice it would be if every encounter between the four of us could be as easy and relaxed as this.
Despite my daylight promise, my dreaming self returned each night to Lucia’s Glade. An ancient moon peeped through the canopy of cloud. The forest was crypt-silent and grave-dark.
He was waiting for me. In his wake, flowers drooped, fruit shrivelled and grass dried. Because I had no will of my own, I went to him. He took my face in his hands tenderly, and I glimpsed evil angels dancing behind the gold curtain of his eyes. The gentleness was short lived. Gripping my shoulders, he pushed me hard against a tree trunk, need intensifying to passion instantly.
“Not here,” I whispered. Not in this place I associated so strongly with evil.
He took no notice, his lips claiming mine with a fierceness that drove the breath from my body and left me quivering with something that went far beyond desire. When we kissed, we both became more than ourselves. Soulless, timeless beings, merging with the shadows of Tenebris, taking from and giving to the past. Hearts and souls that met in absolute darkness. The hellish, winged spectre of my nightmares hovered over us, merged with our entwined bodies, and I was lost.
“Uther,” I moaned, but even as I spoke his name I knew.
“No.” His voice was different, lightness and laughter banished. His mouth travelled down my throat in a familiar movement, but the lips that scorched my flesh did not belong to any incarnation of Uther Jago.
Even within the agonising sweetness of that kiss, I sensed the malevolence that could lurk in the depths of a human soul. I leaned back, as silent and helpless in Arwen Jago’s arms as a moth trapped beneath a cat’s paw. Behind the smile I loved so much, I caught a fleeting impression, a reflection of a ghoul. I couldn’t see her, but I knew Lucia was there, too, watching us.
It wasn’t outside me. The blackness I felt came from somewhere within my own body. Dispassionately, I studied its approach, explored it, tried to keep it separate from myself, but relentlessly it came. Like a shroud, it enveloped me completely.
The fireworks in my head and the beating of my wayward heart drowned out all sound. Sensation—raw and carnal—took me. Another being breathed inside me, bending me to its will. Electricity surged through my body into his and back again. The thing that lived inside me and possessed me reared and bucked and shuddered. It wanted to explore his body, needed to be one with him. Arwen’s tongue met mine as he crushed me into a kiss that drew me deep inside him and him into me. Just as it was always meant to be.
When I opened my eyes, the dream washed away like tears on white satin, a nightmare that should never be revisited or spoken of in wakeful hours. Except I had to confront it if I was to unravel its meaning. Had Tristan’s story about another Uther—a man so deluded that he believed he was Arwen Jago reborn—triggered this unconscious fear in me? The nonsensical suspicion that my own Uther could really be part of the dark legacy that affected this family persisted long after the dream had vanished.
“Are you feeling unwell, Finty?” Nicca asked.
I was so wrapped up in thoughts of Uther and our wedding that I had scarcely noticed her. I looked up and studied her face, and realised that she did look decidedly pale.
“No, but I am worried about Rudi,” she said. “He has stayed in his room today. I wanted to ask you to come and take a look at him, Annie. You are more used than I to what his health can be like. He really does appear quite poorly to me. It started a few days ago with a mild headache, dizziness and some confusion. He di
dn’t say anything because he didn’t want to worry anyone. Then he began to feel rather drowsy. But last night he started suffering vomiting and severe stomach cramps.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry. Rudi has always been sickly,” I replied, turning back to add a note to my list of things to prepare for the wedding.
“This sounds like rather more than mere ‘sickliness,’ however,” Nicca said with a frown. “I think you should send for a doctor.”
“Folly!” I said briskly. “If we overreacted every time Rudi felt unwell, the kraal at home would be permanently swarming with doctors. He should rest and drink plenty of fluids.”
“Will you come and see him, Annie? Please?” Finty’s eyes were troubled.
I resisted the temptation to sigh. “I will come up to his room before I go to bed,” I promised. I was conscious of Nicca watching me. Really, what reason could there be for that reproachful look in those blue eyes?
And I did mean to keep that promise. I sat at my dressing table, lost in thought as I brushed my hair. I was clad in my nightgown and I rose to fetch my dressing gown, intending to go to Rudi’s room. A faint sound from the doorway made me turn my head. Uther stood in the shadows, leaning his broad shoulders against the closed door, watching me. I wondered briefly how long he had been there. He had discarded his jacket and tie, and his shirt was unbuttoned almost to the waist. I was struck again by the devastating good looks of this man whose life was now forever entwined with my own.
“Come here.” He held out a hand. I knew from the tone of command that it was not my own Uther who spoke. I shivered in erotic anticipation. He took my face in his hands and gazed at me. “I wish I didn’t have to go to London tomorrow, my sweet. It’s a damned nuisance.” He ran his thumb slowly across my lower lip as though testing its texture. “Do you remember our first kiss?” He laughed softly. “But of course you do. It was better than sex, or what passes for sex for most people. Not for us, of course.” He lowered his head and parted my lips with his, drawing my tongue into his mouth and suckling it gently. I clung to him, lost in the emotions he instantly aroused in me, not pausing in that instant to wonder why it was this incarnation of him who could make me feel this way. “When we make love, it will be our awakening.
“I want the memory of your body to warm my journey tomorrow, Annie. I want to recall your perfect breasts.” His fingers tugged impatiently at the cotton of my nightdress, and obediently, I pulled it over my head. The flare of lust in his eyes drove away any momentary embarrassment I might have felt. “And the curve of your hips.” Obediently, I slid my panties down and stepped out of them. “I want a memory of your nipple growing hard beneath my tongue.” He matched the action to his words. “Sit here.” I moved to the edge of the bed, and he knelt before me, holding my knees apart. “I want to remember your scent when I am forced to breathe the smog of London.” He bent his head and pressed his face against the base of my stomach. My muscles clenched. His wicked smile flashed as he looked up at me again. “And I want the taste of you on my tongue the whole time we are apart. The whole time, Annie.” His tongue traced a downward path, pausing to lightly flick and stroke before moving lower to dart deep inside me. Coherent thought was lost to me then, and I fell back onto the bed, giving myself up to pure, maddening sensation.
It was only much later, when he had gone and I fell into the sleep of satisfaction, that I remembered my promise to visit Rudi and check on his health. But, of course, it was much too late to go and disturb him then.
“Tristan! What a delightful surprise.”
“I hope you will still think so, Annie, my dear, when you learn the reason for my visit.” He kissed me lightly on the cheek, handing his hat, coat and cane to Winrow in the same movement.
“I hope Eleanor is well?” I asked, after I had requested the butler to bring us some tea.
“Yes, she is fine,” he answered almost automatically.
“You find our numbers greatly depleted. Uther is in London. My brother is unwell and remains in his room. Nicca has gone to Wadebridge, and Finty has accompanied him to get some medicine she believes will alleviate Rudi’s symptoms.”
“Have you spoken to Uther today?”
I was shocked that such a precise man should interrupt the social niceties in this way. “No, I don’t expect him back for some days.” Cold fingers of fear clutched at me. “Please tell me there is nothing wrong with Uther.”
Tristan tented his fingers beneath his chin. He seemed to be steeling himself. “Annie, did you get the letter I sent you about a week ago?”
I strange feeling assailed me then. A footman came in with the tea tray, and I used the interruption to wonder if I might be able to make some excuse not to hear the rest of this story. It was my choice, after all. I had a busy day ahead of me. Why should I allow Tristan to derail my wedding plans with this new agenda? Just because something was important to him, did that mean it must instantly become important to me? The concern on Tristan’s kindly features answered me. It was not something I could ignore. Taking a seat and gesturing for him to do the same, I poured tea.
“No, I have never received any letters from you, Tristan,” I replied, resigning myself.
He sighed. “Let me start by telling you something I should have said to you on my last visit. I was struck when I first saw you, by the fact that you and Rudi look like Jagos. You have the unusual eyes and dark colouring, and you, Annie, do bear a quite uncanny resemblance to Bouche at times. When you told me you thought your father’s name was Austell and that he was English, I was not entirely honest with you. I immediately thought that you and Rudi must be the illegitimate children of Petroc Jago, Cad and Bouche’s oldest son. His middle name was Austell. As a boy, he made no secret of the fact that he hated the name Petroc. It is the name of the church in the village, where Cad and Bouche were married, and his younger brother Rory ribbed him about the fact that he was named after a medieval place of worship. His dislike of the name became a family joke. So much so that Rory relented and always called him Austell. As you know, Petroc—or Austell—died in South Africa during the Boer War. He was based in Maheking during the siege, so it is entirely possible that he was your father.” Tristan sipped his tea while he let this information sink in. “Both boys were obsessed with the army, and Petroc was only seventeen when, against Cad’s wishes, he enlisted. Cad wanted him to take the route that Rory eventually chose, which was to enrol at Sandhurst and train as an officer. But Petroc was hot-headed and rebellious.”
I thought of all the times I had done something impetuous, and Ouma had pulled a long face and told me she didn’t know who I took after. Perhaps that mystery was now solved.
Tristan went on. “He joined under a false name—well, we found out later that he joined as Private Petroc Austell—and was on his way to Natal before we knew anything about it. Bouche, of course, was devastated.”
I thought of Bouche Jago who, it now seemed, might well have been my grandmother. The idea enthralled me. “It must have been a dreadful time for the family,” I said.
“It was,” he agreed. His manner became brisk again. “What I couldn’t understand, as I told you at the time, was how your mother got to know Lady Sarah Wilson. Even if she had a fling with Petroc while they were trapped at Maheking together, it doesn’t explain how she became friendly with one of the foremost ladies of the day. So I spoke to that old martinet a few days after I got back to London. What she told me was very interesting. Lady Sarah remembered your mother very well, Annie. She was present at her wedding to Petroc Jago.”
Chapter Eight
I sat upright so abruptly that I spilled most of my tea into my saucer and some of it slopped onto my skirt. Tristan reached for his handkerchief and held it out to me, but I waved it aside. “No, please go on.”
“In Maheking, Lady Sarah recognised Petroc immediately. He looked like Cad, who she knew because she and Bouche served on many of the same charitable committees. So although he was just a young artilleryman, she
knew that Petroc was not only a Jago, but that he was also the heir to the Athal title. She took him under her wing. He confided to Lady Sarah that he had fallen in love with a local girl and that he intended to marry her. She helped him to make the necessary arrangements and attended the wedding. She also befriended your mother once they were married. Petroc asked Lady Sarah not to tell his parents about the marriage, and she respected his wishes. Besides, she didn’t have any information about your mother, so she kept his secret even after his death. But she didn’t know that your mother was pregnant when the siege ended. If she had, she assured me that she would have told Bouche about it when she returned to England, so that she and Cad could have attempted to find their grandchildren.” He watched my face as I assimilated this information.
“So Rudi and I are Jagos.” I shook my head in wonder. I thought of Rudi’s childhood drawings and adult pictures and the lure of this place across thousands of miles. Some strange, unexplained force had drawn us here to the place that was part of our birth right. “We are Cad and Bouche’s grandchildren.” A thought—dreadful in its enormity—struck me. “How closely are Uther and I related?”
“Oh, hardly at all. Uther and Nicca are distant cousins to you and Rudi, several times removed.” He allowed himself a slight smile. “The connection is so slight that it need not concern you. No, Annie, that is not the reason I have come down here to see you.”
I raised my brows in an enquiry.