The day was bright, but clouds teased us by playing hide-and-seek with the sun as we followed the liveried servant through dark shrubbery that formed a tunnel over the winding drive. A listening silence trembled in the hushed air. Laden brambles hung so low that they almost stroked my cheek as I passed, and carolling birds sang glad tidings of summer. In my mind I set a troop of men with scythes and pickaxes to work and had the wilderness cleared in a day.
“Oh!” I gasped as we rounded a final curve in the drive and the house could finally be seen in all its glory. Dancing, wanton blooms in a captivating summer palette highlighted the pale marble simplicity of Athal House itself. Built on three sides of a central courtyard, it had an arched portico over which an ivy mantle embroidered with honeysuckle grew. But there was more to my reaction than the obvious aesthetic beauty of the house. It awakened thoughts within me of quiet candlelight, whispering twilight and forever un-tranquil dreams. Before I ever set foot across its threshold, I knew the moods of Tenebris were as mercurial as shadows on a mountainside. The memory of that which had never been was a dull pain, like an almost-healed wound.
Finty, who was waiting impatiently on the doorstep, came dancing forward to greet us. She clapped her hands in delight at my reaction. “Everyone does that,” she explained, linking her arm through mine. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” We paused looking up at the magnificent facade, and I took a moment to collect my scattered thoughts. “It was designed by Tynan Jago, who became Earl of Athal in 1837, the year Queen Victoria ascended the throne. There was a castle here for centuries, but it burned down on his twenty-first birthday, which was also his wedding day, and he built this house in its place.”
Rudi and I exchanged a glance over her head. Coincidence? I mouthed, and he shook his head.
“This is my brother,” I said, and Finty released my arm, turning to shake hands with Rudi. I knew how handsome he was, and that knowledge had almost nothing to do with my sisterly partiality. At home, in spite of his disability, he always attracted considerable attention from the opposite sex. Until now, however, he had never evinced the slightest bit of interest in return. As he gazed down at Finty’s pretty countenance, however, his expression softened and my heart sank. Perhaps it might be a good idea for Rudi and me to go off and do some sightseeing, after all. Added to mysterious castles and paintings and the father we had never known, Finty was a complication we could probably do without.
Finty collected herself first. “But what a dreadful hostess you must think me. Boo would be so ashamed of me,” she exclaimed. “Please do come inside.” She led us into the elegant parlour I had seen from the garden during my clandestine foray. Beyond the windows, the misty line of sea and sky merged into one, and in the nearer view, foaming backwash and new waves were fighting for supremacy. Inside the room, formal portraits on the walls and a collection of photographs on side tables told the Jago family story. Afternoon tea consisting of dainty sandwiches, cakes, the inevitable Cornish scones laden with cream and a large pot of tea stood on a side table, and Finty, playing her part to perfection, served us while chatting about the house.
“We call it Tenebris,” she explained, pouring tea into pretty china cups. How could I possibly have already known that was what the family called this house? But I did.
“After the Latin motto?” Rudi asked.
“Yes. The motto was taken by Peder Jago, who famously turned coat at Senlac in 1066 when he saw that the battle was going against his liege lord, King Harold. He crossed the field and presented his sword to the Conqueror, going on to kill many of his former friends on the side of the Normans. His reward was Castle Athal, which became known throughout the centuries as Tenebris. Even after the castle burned down and this house was built, the Jago home has continued to be called Tenebris. Or Darkness. I think some people consider it rather odd.” She smiled and handed me a plate. “But we are Jagos, and we are used to being thought odd. Aunt Eleanor, by the way, is rather poorly today and has remained in her room. She will be most sorry to have missed you, but I believe my cousin Nicca is at home, so he may join us shortly.”
“Nicca?” I was bemused by all these unusual names.
“Nicca Jago. I call him my cousin although he is not related to me, for which I am heartily glad. A more stiff-rumped, disagreeable creature one could never wish to meet! I’m sure he thinks he is still in the army and I am one of his subalterns. He is forever prosing on about money and economy and living within one’s means. Which is all very well, but I don’t know what my means are. And, even if I did, I’m quite sure I shouldn’t know how to live within them. And it has nothing to do with him because my guardian is Tristan Martyn, who managed my father’s estate.” She frowned briefly before continuing. “Athal House has a new owner now. Nicca is the new earl’s half brother and will manage his estate while he finds his feet. He came down here a few weeks ago to make the house ready for our new lord and master. And about time, if you ask me, because the dear old place has been allowed to slip somewhat since our dearest Cad passed away.”
As if on cue, the parlour door opened and the blue-eyed giant from the garden entered. He paused on the doorstep, taking in the scene. When his eyes encountered my upturned face, he looked thunderstruck and made an impulsive movement toward me. Rudi threw me a questioning glance and I gave a tiny nod in response.
“Ah, cousin Nicca, we were just talking about you,” Finty said, reaching for another cup. “This is Mr van der Merwe and his sister. They are staying in Port Isaac and have been kind enough to come and keep me company this afternoon. I was just explaining that you are here to make sure everything is in readiness for his lordship’s arrival.”
If it was at all possible, he seemed even bigger indoors. His height and the width of his shoulders would make him an imposing figure in any company. He seemed to be fighting some sort of internal battle for a minute or two, and I regarded him with mild amusement. I got the distinct impression he would like nothing better than to storm over and shake me by the shoulders…or perhaps the throat. Instead, he accepted the cup Finty held out to him. There was still a decidedly militant gleam in his eye as he regarded me, and I tilted my chin in response giving him back look for look.
“Have we met before, Miss van der Merwe?” he asked in a carefully conversational tone, ignoring all of the other seats and coming to sit next to me on the tiny sofa. I was forced to turn to face him, or appear unbearably rude. And, while I didn’t particularly care if Mr Nicca Jago thought me impolite, I didn’t want to offend my hostess.
“I think I would remember if we had, Mr Jago,” I replied calmly.
“Yes, that was what I thought. I’m sure any encounter with you would be quite memorable. Tell me, how do you like Cornwall? Have you had the opportunity to view some of our historic buildings? We have some beautiful gardens as well in this part of the world. People go to the most extraordinary lengths to view them.”
I felt my lips curve into an appreciative smile at this unexpectedly head-on tactic. I was aware of Rudi watching us anxiously out of the corner of his eye as he chatted to Finty, and I sensed some of the tension leave him as I returned an acceptable answer. Nicca and I continued this unexceptionable conversation while we drank our tea.
“Would you care to take a turn around the gardens here at Tenebris, Miss van der Merwe? Unless you have already seen them, of course?”
I decided to ignore such a blatant attempt to bait me and, smiling, rose to my feet, accepting the arm he held out to me. “That would be delightful.”
Finty nodded approvingly, and as we strolled out through the open French window, I heard her say to Rudi, “Gosh, cousin Nicca must be quite smitten with your sister. I have never known him be nice to anyone before!”
We walked until we were out of earshot of the house. The garden had received some attention since I had been here last, and the scent of summer flowers was overlaid with heady perfumes of fresh grass. As I had expected, Nicca’s polite veneer disappeared.
> “Your short hair suits you,” he said, turning to face me. His expression was cold.
“Why, thank you, how kind of you to say so.”
“You can drop the society manners now. Why are you here?”
“Your cousin invited me. She called it afternoon tea. It’s not a concept I’m particularly familiar with, but I think the idea is you drink tea, eat cake and make polite conversation—”
“Don’t try to play games with me. You know what I mean.” I waited without speaking. “If this is about money, you’ve come to the wrong place. Finty may look like an easy touch, but this is not her house and her personal fortune is tied up in trust.”
I smiled very sweetly up at him and said, “Gaan fok jouself.” I had perfected a tone that made it sound more like a benediction than a curse.
He regarded me with a look of utter stupefaction. “I may not know your language, Miss van der Merwe,” he informed me eventually, after clearly struggling to get his emotions under control. “But it is not so dissimilar to English that I cannot understand the gist of some of the phrases you use.”
“Good,” I said calmly. “Because I would hate to think, Mr Jago, that my sentiments toward you had not been expressed with absolute clarity.”
We glared at each other like a pair of angry cats over a fish bone before he said, with more than a touch of asperity, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t march back in there and tell Finty that just two days ago I found you skulking round this garden dressed as a boy. Or, for that matter, why I shouldn’t also inform the police.” I continued to stare mulishly back at him without speaking, and he ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “Well, you might at least make some attempt to explain to me why you were here!”
I decided I would quite like to pursue my acquaintance with Finty and the mysterious Eleanor, and I certainly wanted to discover more about the house that used to be a castle—a castle that had burned to the ground. In those circumstances, it seemed an edited version of the truth might be required to pacify him. “My brother is an artist, and this peninsula had fired his imagination. We wondered if the owners might grant him permission to do some paintings from the cliff top. He also suffers ill-health and finds walking any distance difficult, so I came as his ambassador. I had tried to gain entry through the gatehouse, and when I couldn’t, I thought the house was empty so I climbed the wall to get a closer look.”
“And you just happened to be dressed as a boy?”
I deliberately overemphasised my accent. “Meneer, you will have to excuse my ignorance of your English ways. I am used to a different lifestyle. Sometimes, in my own country, femininity can be an encumbrance so I borrow my brother’s clothing as a disguise. After all, you just never know what dangers you might encounter. But you are right, of course. Had I been dressed as I am today, I am sure you would not have handled me so roughly.” I gave him my sunniest smile.
For a moment, a black thundercloud of anger lowered his brow, and then, just as abruptly, it cleared and he burst out laughing. I watched him with bemusement. “Miss van der Merwe, I don’t know whether I can believe a single word you are saying! I will give you the benefit of the doubt, however…for now. I can see why your countrymen caused the British so much heartache with their unconventional tactics during the Boer War. Has anyone ever told you that you are quite unique?”
“No, but why would they? I expect I might be unusual in this setting, but in my own home I am, I assure you, quite ordinary.”
“You mean there are plenty more like you out there in the bushveldt? Heaven help me!”
“Oh, I shouldn’t imagine divine intervention will be necessary,” I told him in a comforting tone. “After all, you are most unlikely to ever visit my home, and I will not be in your country for much longer.” I smiled up at him again, an action which meant tilting my neck back. “I promise I mean your family no harm, Mr Jago. I will also undertake to stay out of your way as much as I can for the remainder of my stay. Does that reassure you?”
“I know it should,” he said, offering me his arm again. “So why do I still feel so ill at ease in your presence, Miss van der Merwe?”
∗ ∗ ∗
I paused on my walk, gazing around with a combination of disbelief and something deeper. A certainty that I was meant to come to this place. I was here at last, at Lobber Point. The very place that was mentioned in a scrap of letter I had found all those thousands of miles away. I drew it from my pocket, even though I knew it by heart. It began oddly, almost as if in midconversation, without salutation or preamble.
I’m writing this note sitting on Lobber Point, looking down at Port Isaac as it basks in the sunshine. A million miles from Maheking and the awful events you described in your last letter. You were right, of course, Austell, old chap. Darling mama is quite distraught with worry about you. Papa, as a result, has a frown on his brow, which does not bode well for you when next you meet. I, being the dutiful son, have promised to apply for officer training at Sandhurst instead of following your lead and running away to enlist in the ranks.
I had not realised your soldierly soul held quite the sort of poetry revealed by your last outpouring. If Miss Monika van der Merwe has only a fraction of the beauty and virtue you ascribe to her, then I very much look forward to meeting—
It ended abruptly at that point, because the bottom part of the page had been torn away.
Our mother died when Rudi and I were eight. I remembered her as a beautiful and rather tragic figure. She never talked about our father. All she told us was that he was an English foot soldier, and she insisted that we must learn his language, but never tell anyone his nationality. After her death, and as we grew up, Rudi and I gradually pieced together the reasons for her reticence. The most important was fairly obvious. It did not take any great skill to deduce that we were illegitimate. Our name was van der Merwe. It was our mother’s name, and by no stretch of the imagination was it an English name. Rudi and I were born during the Boer War, when our nation was fighting the British. It spoke volumes about feelings in our country at that time that our mother could live with the shame of having bastard children, but not the shame of having children with an English father. As with any problem we had, we took our concerns to Ouma.
“He was a rooinek, sure enough,” she confirmed, using the derogatory Afrikaans term to describe the red, sunburned necks of the British soldiers who had arrived ill-equipped to face the fierce African sun. “Your ma was on a visit to my sister in Maheking when the siege began in October 1899. Eina! I was out of my mind with worry. My girl and my sister were trapped inside with the Brits while our people, the boers, were shelling the town from the outside. No news came out of the place for close on six months. Then—dank God—it was over and she was home safe. My sister was not so fortunate. She died of malaria just before the siege ended.” She sighed and then, with one of her swift mood changes, gave a coarse cackle. “But Monika, your ma, brought a little extra present for me. A big belly! And a few months later along you came, the two of you.” Her brow darkened. “She used to sit on the stoep and nurse you and look out at the mountain path. I knew she was waiting for him, jou vader—your father—to come. But he never did. Engels bliksem.”
“But me and Rudi are English bastards, aren’t we? We are Engels bliksem, too, Ouma,” I pointed out.
“There’s bliksem like you and there’s bliksem like him,” she said darkly, and refused to speak of our father again.
If it could be called a community at all, because of its far-flung nature, ours was a distinctly puritanical one. I went to a day school in Ladysmith, the nearest town. Although “nearest” still meant it was over an hour’s carriage ride away. Rudi, because of his disability, often had to be tutored at home. Looking back, neither of us could recall any specific incidents that made us feel uncomfortable. We were not struck down by a thunderbolt when we entered the church each Sunday, and nobody turned their back on us in the street. I like to think it was the force
of Ouma’s personality that overcame any potential stigma. Of course, it also helped that she was one of the wealthiest landowners in the area. I had observed that, although I was always very popular with the young men of the neighbourhood, their mothers had a tendency to look upon me with something less than approbation. But that, Rudi pointed out, might have had more to do with some of the things I said and did than my illegitimacy.
I had found the scrap of letter in a trunk containing my mother’s clothes. When the rainy season came and the thunderstorms kept me indoors, Ouma compared me to a caged cheetah. I was not generally given to bursts of domestic activity, but I had become so bored by a period of weeklong inactivity that I was driven to offer to sort out some of the years of accumulated memories that resided in the vast roof space at Sonskyn Kraal.
“Stay up there as long as you feel inclined, Annie-girl,” Ouma said generously.
I pulled a face at her and mounted the steps to the attic. I had spent the best part of the day up there and had made some serious inroads into the junk when I found my mother’s trunk. The letter was tucked inside an old diary, which was interesting in itself because it had been written during her time at Maheking. It was also intensely frustrating, however, because many of the pages had been ripped out. Rudi and I pored over the letter hungrily and, despite the deepening sadness of Ouma’s expression, our travel plans had been born that day.
Chapter Three
I studied the family photographs that were arranged on the table closest to me. These were dominated by one that was particularly eye catching, not just because it was larger than the others. It depicted a man and woman, both dark haired, dressed in the clothing of an earlier decade. The woman, who was stunningly beautiful, had turned her head slightly to look up at the man and the affection between them was almost palpable, even in the stiffly posed portrait.
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