“What a handsome couple,” I commented.
“Oh, that’s Cad and Boo,” Finty said, and her expression relaxed as she studied the picture. “You may have heard of them, even in South Africa? Cad Jago and his wife, Bouche? In her heyday, Boo was never out of the society columns because of her beauty and her eye for fashion. They say that the Prince of Wales, the one who became King Edward the Seventh, took one look at her and fell madly in love. Pursued her like a demon, by all accounts. But, of course, she was utterly devoted to my father. My parents were really quite famous, but to me they were always just Cad and Boo.” I raised my brows at the prospect of more strange names to contend with, and she laughed. “As a very young child, I couldn’t say ‘Bouche’ so she was ‘Boo.’ And my father was Charles, although the whole world knew him as Cad, for some reason lost forever in the mists of time.” She spread her hands as though in explanation. “Cad and Boo.”
“Did they approve of you calling them by those names instead of more conventional ones? ‘Mother’ and ‘Father,’ for example?” Rudi asked with an indulgent smile. Since our first invitation to tea, Rudi and I had become regular visitors to Athal House. I suspected our reasons for wanting to be there were completely different.
“Oh, yes, because I wasn’t really their daughter, you see. They adopted me. My real parents were estate workers who died in a train accident. I had no other family, so it was entirely typical of Boo to bring me to live here at Tenebris, instead of sending me to the orphanage. They were older then, of course. Boo just adored children.”
With the teacups cleared away, Rudi took his sketchbook out onto the cliffs and Finty eyed me thoughtfully.
“Your clothes are quite unusual, are they not, Annie? Of course, I know nothing of the prevailing fashions in Africa.”
I was wearing a full skirt in heavy wool that came almost to my ankles. It was an unprepossessing brown, and I wore it with a matching jacket over a white blouse. It was almost identical to Ouma’s Sunday best outfit. In comparison with Finty—who was clad in a soft, drop-waist dress in hues of peaches and cream—I felt like a carthorse next to a butterfly.
“I would love to wear something like your dress,” I confessed.
She clapped her hands together gleefully. “Oh, you have no idea how delighted I am to hear you say that! I didn’t want to offend you, but your own clothes are truly awful! And you are so pretty. No, not pretty exactly. Beautiful”—she put her head on one side and studied me—“stunning? Quite, quite lovely. But those things you have on today make you look odd. Aunt Eleanor agrees with me, you know, and she has an eye for these things. Of course, we were both lucky enough to have the benefit of darling Boo’s expertise. Now, I have thought up a plan…”
She held out her hand to me and, when I warily placed mine in it, hauled me off up the stairs. We traversed an alarming length of corridor. “That,” Finty whispered, indicating a set of gilt-embossed double doors, “is the earl’s bedchamber. Being made ready, of course, for the imminent arrival of its new occupant. We expect him any day now. And this, in comparison, is my humble abode.”
“What a beautiful room.” I drank in the light, bright space, the colours and furnishings of which seemed to perfectly match the view across the slate-grey cliffs as they descended into ravines. Humble was not the word I would have used.
“All of the rooms at Tenebris are lovely,” she said with a casual acceptance born of familiarity. “Tynan Jago was a poet who was also very artistic, so he designed this house to reflect the beauty of the Cornish scene. His wife, Lucy, was practical, so she made sure that the house was also comfortable. Those of us who live here now reap the benefits of their joint efforts. And, of course, Cad and Boo added some modern touches. I expect the new earl will want to change things to suit his own tastes.” She turned to a large trunk that sat in one corner. “You won’t be offended, Annie dearest? These are some of my darling Boo’s dresses. Rather outdated now, of course, but the materials are lovely and the colours are exactly what will suit you. Your colouring is dramatic, just like Boo’s. Aunt Eleanor is very talented with a needle, you know, and she has offered to alter some of these into the latest styles for you.”
“Finty, I couldn’t—”
“Shh! You would be doing her a great kindness. She has so very little to occupy her time these days. At least try on this bronze chiffon while I go and fetch her.” She fluttered away.
The dress I slipped into was full length with a slim silhouette, three-quarter-length sleeves and detailed embroidery across the fitted bodice. I studied my reflection in the mirror and found it made me look instantly taller and slimmer. Bouche Jago—or Boo, as Finty persisted in calling her—must have been a very clever lady, I decided.
“Oh!” Finty paused on the doorstep in the act of pushing Eleanor’s wheelchair into the room. They both stared at me with matching expressions of shock. Eleanor raised a shaking hand to her mouth, her blue eyes filling with sudden tears.
“What is it?” I gasped.
“Oh, Annie, it must have been a trick of the light as we came into the room.” Finty recovered her composure and came forward with an embarrassed laugh. “I thought you were Boo! You looked so like her that, just for a second, it was uncanny.”
“Well, I am going to take that as a huge compliment.” I laughed, but there was an edge of unease in my voice. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of wearing a dead woman’s dress and being mistaken for her! Although the fact that Bouche Jago was acknowledged as the most beautiful woman of her day did take some of the sting out of the situation. Where was tomboy Annie now?
Finty became purposeful again and the moment passed. We spent a pleasant hour while I tried on other dresses, and we discussed how they could be adjusted into the latest styles.
“I have one or two things that really do not suit me, you know. The colours or shape are all wrong, but they would be perfect for you, Annie. Boo told me I should never wear bold colours, and to be perfectly honest, I don’t know what I was thinking when I bought them. You would be doing me a great favour if you would take them off my hands.” This was said with such a winning smile that I found it impossible to refuse, so when I descended the stairs again, I wore a straight, sleeveless coral dress with a scallop-edged neckline.
Nicca Jago, who was just entering the house, studied my new attire with a flare of masculine interest in his eyes that caught me unawares. It made me feel strange, like I didn’t know what to do with my limbs or my mouth.
“Rather a different look for you, Miss van der Merwe,” he remarked, his equanimity restored as he stood aside to allow me to enter the parlour.
I went into the room, but faced him warily. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounded like,” he replied coolly. “I take it Finty and Eleanor were responsible for this remarkable change in your appearance? You look very ladylike, but I observe there has been no corresponding alteration in attitude.”
Recalling our last conversation, I felt a blush of mingled anger and embarrassment tinge my cheeks. “I did not persuade them to give me these clothes! I didn’t come here today to beg, ask for money or seek handouts from Finty or Eleanor.”
Nicca’s lips twitched with suppressed amusement. “I don’t recall suggesting that you did.”
His calm manner infuriated me. I had a feeling that was his intention. “Ek sal jou ’n poesklap gee,” I muttered furiously and stormed out of the room again, pushing past Rudi, who was returning from the garden, sketchbook in hand.
Since I didn’t know my way around the house, I couldn’t go very far. I was still within earshot when I heard Nicca say, “What did she just say?”
“It was along the lines of how she would never get tired of slapping your face,” Rudi replied in his quiet way.
“What is the problem with that hellcat of a sister of yours?”
“Annie takes after our Ouma,” Rudi said mildly, as though that explained everything. And, in a way, it did.
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“Ouma?”
“It is the Afrikaans word for ‘grandmother.’ Our own Ouma is the daughter of voortrekkers, the people who migrated into the heartland of South Africa and fought to establish new communities there. Her husband, our Oupa, died just after our mother was born, and since then, Ouma has run a vast farm single-handedly and very successfully. She is a tough, determined woman, and Annie is the image of her.”
“And what about the foul language?” I heard an undercurrent of amusement in Nicca’s deep, cultured tones.
“Voetsek, Meneer Jago,” I said under my breath, kicking the edge of an expensive, sculpted rug with the tip of my shoe.
Rudi gave a weary sigh. “I take it that means she’s been swearing again?”
“Like a trooper who has just heard that his leave has been cancelled.”
“That, too, comes from Ouma,” Rudi said. “They both have a mouth like the sewer when they get angry.” His voice softened. “Annie is a great girl, Mr Jago. But for several years now, because of my poor health, she and Ouma have run the farm between them. She’s used to getting her own way.”
“That makes two of us. Your sister may be an irresistible force, Mr van der Merwe, but she will find that I am an immovable object.”
I sensed a hint of a smile in Rudi’s next words. “If you want my advice, I wouldn’t let Annie hear you say that, Mr Jago. She’ll only see it as a challenge—” He was interrupted by Finty’s voice calling out a greeting, and I took the opportunity to slip out of the house.
The high-pitched whine of a horse in distress drew me toward the stables. A beautiful, young mare, black as midnight, was quivering in her stall. Eyes huge, nostrils dilated, flanks heaving. When she saw me, she flinched, and I saw the bloody ridges on her shoulders where someone had made liberal use of the whip. I wanted to smash the wooden door and rage curses on whoever had done this to her. Instead, I contented myself with swearing quietly under my breath to get it out of my system, before starting to whisper to her in the singsong tones I had heard Jabu use so many times at home.
“Can’t rush them, Nkosikazi Annie.” I heard his voice in my head. “Maybe it will take one hour, maybe all day.” I didn’t know what many of the Zulu words meant, but I had seen Jabu work his magic so many times on a frightened horse that I knew what I needed to do. Gradually, the little mare stopped shivering.
“That’s it, sweetheart, let me make it better.” Ever so slowly, I reached over and unlatched the door of her stall. She gave a warning squeal and backed away from me, but I stayed just inside the door, still talking quietly to her. I had a natural advantage over most people when it came to horses. I loved them and wasn’t afraid of them. The mare began to relax, and I slowly closed the distance between us. I was in her space now, and the confined stall was not ideal. If she kicked out, there was nowhere for me to run to. Reaching out my hand, I ran it along the soft down of her nose. She seemed to regard me with surprise. I repeated the gesture and she relaxed, lowering her head. I had not realised until that moment that I was holding my breath, and I allowed myself to breathe again in a great whoosh. Crooning softly, I stroked and scratched her head and ears, blowing into her nostrils until she whickered with pleasure and rested her big face against my shoulder.
“Annie.” The voice was a low, even warning. “Move away slowly and then step out of the stall.” The horse rolled an eye in the direction of the speaker and curled her lip threateningly at him.
“Why?” I asked, turning to face Nicca, who was silhouetted above the half door.
“That horse is dangerous,” he said, still in the same flat monotone.
“Yes, I can see that,” I said with mock sincerity, scratching behind her ears and reducing her to a state of blissful idiocy.
“I’m being serious,” he said. “She took a chunk out of one of the grooms when she arrived this morning and kicked her way out of one of the other stalls.”
“Well, if the groom in question was the bliksem who took a whip to her, he got exactly what he deserved.” I said, rubbing my cheek against the black velvet of the horse’s nose. “Didn’t he, sweetheart? What is her name?”
“She doesn’t have one yet. My brother sent some of his horses down in advance of his arrival. She is one of his newer purchases. Will you come out of there? You’re making me nervous.”
I gave the horse a final pat and joined him outside the stall. “She should be called Ebony,” I stated. “I miss riding so much.” I sighed, giving him a sidelong glance to gauge his reaction to this statement.
“Oh, no!” He understood me immediately and glared down at me from his superior height. “Let us get one thing straight here and now, Miss van der Merwe. If you so much as make the attempt to put a saddle on this horse, I will march you down to the police station myself and have charges brought against you for theft of the animal. I don’t care what you say, that mare is dangerous and I will not have you putting your life at risk just because you like the look of her. If you want to ride, I can find you a nice, sedate mare suitable for a lady.”
“But I thought you had already decided that I am not a lady?” I said with a provocative glance under my lashes. “And I don’t like sedate things.”
“Lady or not, have I made myself clear?”
I thought that his troops probably disliked that overbearing manner of his intensely when he served in the army. Now was probably not the time to mention it, however. “Perfectly, meneer. I am not, under any circumstances, to put a saddle on Ebony,” I repeated docilely.
He gave me a doubtful look and appeared to have more to say on the subject, but the chief groom came along and claimed his attention so I took the opportunity to slip away.
∗ ∗ ∗
I always used a saddle for longer rides over the vast kraal at home, but I much preferred to ride bareback. How lucky it was that I had brought my riding culottes and boots on this trip, even though I had not expected to do much riding. Rudi eyed me suspiciously as, clad in these serviceable items, I attempted to sidle out of the door.
“Nicca—I mean, Mr Jago—said he would arrange a horse for me to ride.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, I reasoned.
“Don’t play with fire, Annie,” he said quietly, not for the first time in our lives. “That man is not the pushover you think he is.”
“Don’t you get your broekies in a knot, broer,” I replied mischievously and blew him a kiss as I went out. I had chosen a time when I knew all would be quiet up at Athal House. The servants were used to me coming and going now. I had heard Nicca say he had business in Wadebridge that day, and Finty had expressed a desire to accompany him in order to do some shopping. By late afternoon, the working day in the stables was done and I was able to approach Ebony’s stall without being seen. The little mare came bustling up to me and leaned over the half door, nudging me delightedly in the ribs. I gave her a carrot and she grabbed it greedily.
“Now this must be our little secret, ja?” I whispered, collecting a bridle and stealthily opening the door. She allowed me to lead her out of the stall and onto the drive like a big, eager puppy. There was an awkward moment when I realised that, away from the stables, I had no mounting block. A handy tree stump acted as an alternative, however, and, after some initial protests from Ebony, we set off at a canter along the drive.
Riding the unschooled mare was much harder work than I had anticipated, and I was glad that Nicca was not there to witness my struggles to get her under control. We came to an uneasy understanding, and I felt the exhilaration of the wind in my hair and the movement of the horse’s muscles in time with my own as we cantered down the drive. We had settled into an easy rhythm by the time we reached the gates at the end of the drive, but it was unfortunate that a stray dog should choose that very moment to cross our path. Ebony gave a violent kick and dashed off at a headlong gallop over the moorland. It took all my skill to avoid being unseated, and as I clung to the terrified mare, we flew wildly toward the edge of the promontory and the waiting oce
an.
The ground we covered was, for the most part, uneven and covered with scrubby heather and dark green furze bushes. Here and there were dotted worn, old thorn trees between open spaces of dull, short grass that housed any number of rabbit warrens and molehills. I was terrified that Ebony would place her foot in one of these and break one of her delicate legs. All the while, in my mind’s eye, I could see Nicca’s disapproving face as he warned me not to take the horse out. I hauled at the reins to no avail; the sound and smell of the sea loomed ever closer.
It was with relief that I heard another set of hooves pounding behind me. I tried to look over my shoulder, but the speed and jolting of Ebony’s movements meant that I couldn’t see clearly. I wondered if it was Nicca and anticipated a resounding scold should that prove to be the case. I would probably be lucky to avoid the boxed ears he had threatened me with at our first meeting.
The other rider seemed to be gaining on us, but it was going to be a close-run race whether he could reach us before Ebony hurtled over the cliff edge. I faced a stark choice—go with her, or spring from her back. Fortunately, it did not come to that. With expert timing, my pursuer wheeled across in front of me with feet to spare. Ebony, startled but with nowhere to run, slid to a halt, sides heaving and eyes rolling.
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at, you stupid girl?”
It wasn’t Nicca. I turned to thank my unknown rescuer, but I could not. For once in my life, I was unable to speak. Instead I gazed at up him. And gazed.
“Well?” His voice held a note of autocratic impatience.
“Uther,” I murmured, spellbound.
“Yes, I’m Uther Jago, Lord Athal.” He appeared mildly amused now by my stunned expression. A mischievous light began to dance somewhere in the golden depths of his eyes. I was looking up at the most spell-bindingly handsome man I had ever seen. He was also unmistakably the man Rudi had been drawing since we were children. “But you have the advantage of me because I have absolutely no idea who you are.”
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