I reached the circular trapdoor in the centre of the great hall and, offering up a silent prayer, grasped the heavy iron ring and pulled. Nothing happened.
Sobbing in fear and frustration, I scrabbled and strained until my hands ached and my nails were torn and bloody. I glanced around in desperation. Ripping the ornate cords from the velvet curtains, I fashioned a loop through the ring. Standing, I braced myself with my back against the wall and pulled with all the strength in my body. With aching slowness, the trapdoor rose. I released my makeshift pulley and ran to the gaping pit of the oubliette. Kneeling on the edge, I stared down into the inky abyss.
“Tynan!” My voice called back to me from the echoing darkness. “My love, are you there?”
Silence was my only reply. Rising, I prised a torch loose from its decorative sconce and returned. The oubliette was so deep that, even in the golden light cast by the torch flame, it was hard to see the bottom. But Tynan was there. Slumped against the rounded wall, his arms outstretched and secured by chains, his legs shackled so that he could not stand. His face was a bloody, beaten pulp, and I could not tell if he was dead or alive.
There was no time to lose. I had no doubt that Demelza would come after me to exact an awful revenge, but the keys to Tynan’s restraints must still be with Uther.
“I will come back for you, my love,” I called down into the darkness. Perhaps it was my imagination feeding my longing, but I thought I heard a faint moan in return.
* * *
With a feeling of dread, I steeled my nerves and pushed open the door of the earl’s bedchamber. The sight that met my eyes was morbid in the extreme. Uther dead in a pool of his own bright blood, lay sprawled diagonally across the immense bed. Demelza was kneeling next to the dais, her hands covering her face. She was crooning quietly to herself, the words unrecognisable. As she heard me enter, she lowered her hands. I almost ran away again when I saw the unhinged madness in her eyes.
“Get away from him, slut!” she hissed, leaping up to cradle Uther’s corpse in her arms. She smoothed the dark hair back from his brow and bent to kiss his pale, bloody lips.
“I need the key to the chains that hold Tynan in the oubliette,” I said calmly. “He will die if he remains in there.”
“Good!” she spat, her own mouth now rouged with the blood of Uther’s death rattle. “He should have died in childhood! My darling brother should have been Earl of Athal, not that sickly, mewling child!”
I edged closer, and she snarled, “Stay back!”
“Aunt Demelza, please. I love Tynan and he loves me. There can be a happy ending to this sorry tale. You are in control now. You can allow Tenebris to at last be bathed in light.”
“You!” Hatred rang out from the word. “I brought you here, saved you from a life of tribulation and this is how you have repaid me! You stole my brother from me…. Oh, don’t think I didn’t know! At first you were his little plaything. And how he played with you. But you were canny, weren’t you, Lucy? You knew how to hold him. I could see it in his eyes. He came to me, but he wanted you! It was like the first Lucia, then Eleanor, all over again….” She began to sob, rocking Uther in her arms once more.
I had to get her away from Uther if I was to get the key from his body. But I was trying to negotiate with a woman whose reason had deserted her. My mind raced.
“That’s right, he did want me,” I said coldly, mocking her. “How we laughed at you when we were together! Uther would tell me of your devotion and sneer at your clinging, fawning ways. He couldn’t wait to inherit the title so that he could at last be rid of you!”
She hissed at me, like a wild cat, her yellow eyes narrowed with venom. “I should have blinded you as I did that interfering nurse of his!”
“Uther used you, Demelza,” I said. “He used us all, but you more than any. Your skills with poison were the weapon he needed against Tynan and against Maggie Scadden.” I had read Demelza’s books and learned just how much skill was needed to administer the extract of the moonflower in the right dose. Although it was one of the most difficult of all poisons to use, it was perfect for the effect she desired. “But Uther never loved you,” I said.
She flew at me then, madness lending strength to her fury. “I will kill you for that, and your beloved Tynan with you!”
I braced myself for the impact of her body against mine, but, even so, I went reeling backward as her superior weight and strength threatened to overpower me. Her clawed hands reached for my eyes, and I ducked my head. My action coincided with her forward momentum and the top of my head connected full force with her chin. There was an audible click of her jaw and she reeled back, clutching her face as blood welled between her parted lips. I knew this was my only chance. Although I shuddered at the thought of what I must do, I was fighting for my life—and Tynan’s. I grabbed a candlestick from the dresser and, two-handed, swung it with all my strength against the side of her head. Demelza dropped to the floor like stone.
Stepping over her body, I clambered onto the bed. Uther’s ghastly expression dared me to touch him. With hands that shook so much they barely functioned, I slid my hand into the breast pocket of his jacket. There was a cumbersome, old-fashioned key in there and, offering up a silent prayer of thanks, I removed it. As I slid from the bed, Demelza’s hand closed like a vice about my ankle.
She had made her way over to me on hands and feet, clearly unable to stand. Taking advantage of her enfeebled state, I kicked out hard and she released me. Her face was a mask of blood, her movements slow and clumsy. As I darted for the door, her whisper reached me. “Kill you both…”
I withdrew the key from the lock and slid gratefully into the welcome gloom of the corridor. Closing the bedchamber door with still jittery hands, I locked it behind me—imprisoning the Jago madness inside its own unholy shrine—and fled down the spiral staircase on feet that were made fleet with fear.
* * *
The only way into the oubliette was to climb down a series of evenly spaced rock steps that jutted out of the sheer, cylindrical walls. My skirts hampered my descent, but I was past caring about feminine modesty. I struggled even more because I carried a candle and was therefore only able to grip the unyielding rock with one hand.
“Lucy-love!” The words were hampered by his swollen lips, but when I finally set my feet on the uneven floor, I found Tynan was in a better state than I had hoped. The flickering light of my lone candle told me that his poor face was bruised and battered, and one eye was swollen shut, but he assured me that no bones were broken. I set the candle on the floor so that it could shed its meagre light on my task. It took an age for my shaking fingers to insert the key into the rusty lock on the chains that held him shackled to the wall. When at last he was free and able to stand, I hurled myself into the safety of his arms.
“I pictured you dead,” I gasped when, at last, I could speak.
“Even blinded as he was by jealous rage, Uther is not stupid enough to kill me yet. Maggie and my mother’s letters aside, he needed to parade us before the neighbourhood. The earl and countess with, in a few months, the long-awaited heir on its way. Then a public display of my descent into madness and, finally, once there was a Jago son, my suicide. I expect I was to throw myself into the sea at the same poetic spot as my father. No, this—beating me, chaining me—this was merely to keep me away from you tonight, my love. He took great delight in telling me exactly what he planned to do to you in our marital bed.”
I shuddered, burying my head in the comforting curve of his neck. “He has been biding his time for so long. But, Tynan, what if there was no son? If I did not conceive a child, or that child should be a girl?”
His mouth was grim. “I imagine there was a contingency plan. His schemes had come so far, Uther would not be above buying or even stealing a male child in order to see it to fruition.”
Haltingly, I told him what had happened upstairs, my voice trembling as I described Demelza’s degeneration into the very insanity she had tri
ed so hard to ascribe to Tynan. “We must get away before Demelza can escape. She has sworn to kill us.” I bent to retrieve the candle and gasped when I realised that Tynan was not the only occupant of the oubliette.
Tynan followed my gaze to the inert form that lay slumped against the wall. Uther had clearly had no need to chain Desmond. His neck was broken. “I always thought he was Uther’s man. Set to spy on me. But when Uther turned on me this evening, Desmond had been waiting outside the dining room, listening, and he rushed to my defence.” Tynan’s voice was briefly choked, and he fought to get it back under control. “He didn’t stand a chance, of course. Even without the fuel of anger, Uther’s strength is lethal.”
“No more,” I whispered. “He cannot harm us any more, my darling, but…” I broke off. A unmistakable metallic tang caught in the back of my throat. The acrid incense of smoke drifted down into the pit and teased our upturned faces. Galvanised now, Tynan pushed me toward the rocky ladder.
“Go!” he ordered, the natural command I had seen in him before asserting itself. He turned back to where Desmond’s forlorn body lay. “I cannot leave him here.”
I wanted to protest. The words formed in my throat, but I choked them back. I knew enough of my love to recognise the stubborn expression on his fine features. As he hoisted Desmond’s lifeless weight onto his shoulder, I began the difficult climb out of the oubliette.
Thick, choking smoke filled the great hall as I clambered over the rim of the pit. Tynan, with a strength surprising in one so slender, managed to haul Desmond’s body into the great hall. There was no time to catch our breath. The grand staircase was already a relentless wall of fire. I watched in horrified fascination as flames began to lick the edges of Arwen Jago’s portrait.
Between us, we dragged Desmond’s body out into the courtyard and under the portcullis. We sank to our knees on the grassy edge of the cliff, clinging to each other. Tynan closed my wild eyes with soft kisses.
“It was you, Lucy,” he said, holding me to him in an endless embrace. “Do you not see? In the blackest hour, you came for me. After centuries of darkness, you were the light that shone at last in Tenebris.”
Villagers poured up the hillside from the cove and tended those servants who had escaped the blaze. Violet hurried over to us, draping a blanket about my shoulders. I clasped her hand in silent gratitude. She pointed to the turret that housed the earl’s rooms. “It started there,” she told us. “I saw it plain as day! A woman, she was standing there, framed in the light from the window. She took up a branch of candles and held them to the drapes.”
Behind us, the bitter glow intensified. Flames streaked the night sky with orange flecks of light. Tenebris, after withstanding so many lifetimes of Jago madness, had finally tired of the fight. Now, with a crackling, cackling sigh, it announced its death throes to the world.
Epilogue
I glance up now, from writing this memoir, and watch Tynan playing on the grass with our sons. The sun is dappling the lawn and scattering jewels on the distant ocean. I set aside my pen and go out to join them. Tynan greets me with a kiss and slips an arm about my waist as we stroll together around the gardens. Even after six years of marriage, within his embrace is the place I want always to be. The beautiful golden manor house that is now our home slumbers in the early evening Port Isaac sun. Away in the hazy distance is the dramatic Athal promontory. On a sunny day such as this, its westernmost edge and the ruined skeleton of once-proud Tenebris can clearly be seen.
We go there sometimes, almost in pilgrimage. Tenebris holds no fears for us now. There are no ghosts—only memories. Demelza perished in the fire she had set. She, and Uther, can harm us no more. The children dash in and out of the ruins of what was the grand hall. Nature has laid claim to its splendour; tenacious weeds spring up between the stone flags while ivy binds loving tendrils around the balustrades. The portraits are long gone, and I am relieved, yet oddly saddened, that I will never again encounter Arwen Jago’s arrogant gaze. Our bench, mine and Tynan’s, is still there and we linger awhile. The scent of roses—the perfume of our love—reassures us.
Tynan’s hand slides lower now to pat the swell of my stomach. We hope this little one is a girl. And, although we have never discussed it, I know we will call her Eleanor. The boys tumble and shout on our carefully manicured lawn and we watch them with a shared smile. Edward is older by eighteen months. He is a quiet, sensitive boy who looks like Tynan, but with my blue eyes. He already shows signs of his father’s poetic soul and musical talent. Charles—no Cornish names for our children—is altogether more robust. He has the unmistakable Jago stare.
Betty, who works for us now as the children’s nurse, comes to the door to call them in for supper. Edward runs to do her bidding while Charles loiters defiantly. As he draws level with his brother, I see him reach out and sharply twist Edward’s ear. Edward lets out a wail of protest. Charles casts a furtive look our way to see if he has been observed, and Tynan’s hand tightens on my waist as we both see it at the same time. Strong white teeth flash in gold-tinted skin and light dances in the depths of his golden eyes as Uther Jago’s familiar impish grin flits across our three-year-old child’s face.
About the Author
Jane Godman lives in England and enjoys reading and traveling to romantic European cities. Venice, Dubrovnik and Vienna are among her favorite places. She is a teacher, married to a lovely man, mum to two grown-up children and slave to a cat.
Gothic romance (with a dash of horror) is Jane’s favourite genre. The atmospheric settings, dark secrets and heightened sensuality send a shiver down the reader’s spine. She also writes historical romances set in the Georgian era.
The Devil’s Eye
By Dawn Brown
Dedication
For Dave and Max.
Special thanks to Nalini for all her hard work and guidance.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Prologue
“You’re a sodding liar, Charlie Deevers.”
Charlie glared at Martin Buldger. He’d have liked nothing more than to smash the other boy right in his stupid gob, but Martin was bigger than him, and would probably lay him out flat if he tried. Still, bigger or not, Charlie wasn’t about to stand there and let a prick like Martin take the piss out of him in front of their mates. Sure, he was lying, but so were they all. Why should he be the only one centered out?
“I did see her, The Witch of Stonecliff, up there on that rise.” Charlie pointed to the rocky ledge through the trees. Sharp gray stone poked out between clumps of fuzzy green moss. “She was hunched over, eating a dead animal. When she looked up, she had blood all around her mouth.”
Martin squinted his piggy eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “What kind of animal?”
How the hell should he know? He’d only added that last bit for effect. Eating an animal raw sounded like something a witch might do. “I don’t know. She’d eaten it, hadn’t she? All I could see was a bit of fur and guts. She looked at me and her eyes glowed red. I thought she was going to eat me as well, so I got the hell out of there.”
“Do you suppose that’s what she does with them?” Dev cut in, his voice heavy with awe. “Do you think she eats the men she takes?”
The wind kicked up, rattling the last leaves clinging to branches. Even without the forest canopy, skeletal trees cut
the daylight. Combined with bleak clouds overhead, a dull gloom made the forest darker than outside the woods. Charlie shivered.
Martin snorted and smacked his palm off his forehead. “Don’t be a stupid git.”
“I heard she fucks them to death,” Robbie added, his eyes bright.
For a moment, they all fell silent, even stupid Martin, while considering the possibility. At twelve, Charlie’s knowledge of sex was a combination of science lessons and wank mags Dev’s dad hid in their back shed. The idea of being fucked to death both thrilled and terrified him.
“That’s rubbish. You can’t be fucked to death,” Martin said, but his voice had turned soft and raspy as if he had a sore throat.
“I heard she’s got a dick and a twat,” Dev said, jamming his hands into his coat pockets and hunching his shoulders against the damp air. “My brother, Tom, said so. Griffin Paskin saw, and that’s why she killed him. Maybe she ate him after, and that’s why no one found his body.”
“Deevers is full of shit, and you’re as stupid as he is if you believe a word of it.” Martin jabbed a finger at them both.
“I’m not!” Charlie cried. “And I don’t care if you believe me, anyway.”
“I don’t believe you. I said so, didn’t I?” Martin shifted into his path, standing only a few inches away. “Everyone knows the witch left the island and hasn’t been back. How could you see her when she wasn’t even here?”
Charlie’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Oh, she’s been back. They’ve had another hired man go missing, haven’t they? And Stephen Paskin saw her, too.”
Dev and Robbie nodded in agreement. Ha, even Martin couldn’t dispute facts. The wind kicked up again and Dev wrinkled his nose. “Do you smell that?”
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