Lord of the Far Island

by Виктория Холт

  Through the crack in the door I saw a faint ray of light. Jago was carrying a lantern.

  "Are you there?" he shouted.

  There was no answer.

  I cowered into my dungeon and asked myself what Jago's reaction would be if he discovered me there.

  Footsteps at last.

  "Well, here you are," said Jago. "What do you mean by sending a message that you were coming here?"

  "I had to see you," said Hawley. "Times are hard. I'm in debt and I need money."

  "You were paid for what you did. What's your purpose, Hawley?"

  "I just want a little something, that's all. I did a good job for you."

  "You did a job and were paid for it. That's the end of it. I'm no longer employing you. You made a pretty good mess of it too, I must say."

  "It wasn't easy," said Hawley. "I wasn't used to valeting."

  "All good experience for you," said Jago.

  "After all the trouble I got into ..."

  "That was your own fault."

  "I might have been accused of murder."

  "You weren't. There was a verdict of suicide, wasn't there?"

  "It could have been different. Think what I had to do. I had to get friendly with that girl, the maid, and find out what your young lady was doing. Then I had to get the key cut for you. That was a tricky job."

  "It was child's play," said Jago.

  "I wouldn't call it that when a man was killed."

  "You should have managed better than you did. Now listen, Hawley, you came here to make trouble. Or so you think. You're saying: 'You pay me or else... .' There's a name for that and it's blackmail, and that's something I would never accept."

  "You wouldn't like the girl to know... ."

  "There, you see. The blackmailer's talk! I won't have it, Hawley. I tell you I won't have it. You know what we do with people here who break the law? Offenders like you? We put them in prison... in these dungeons. They don't like it. There's something about the place. Perhaps you sense it. By God, Hawley, I tell you this: I'll lock you up here and hand you over to the courts for the blackmailer you are. You wouldn't like that"

  "I don't think you'd like some things to come out, Mr. Kellaway. You wouldn't want that to happen.... The young lady ..."

  "One thing I wouldn't allow to happen," interrupted Jago, "is give way to blackmail. You've been on the mainland, have you? You know that Miss Kellaway is here. You've been hearing gossip. I hope you haven't been adding to it, Hawley. But if you think you can come here and try to blackmail me, you've made a big mistake. Remember what happened in Philip Carrington's bedroom."

  "I was only working for you... ."

  "You be careful. Things could go badly for you."

  I felt limp with horror. I leaned against the wall, my fingers clutching unconsciously at the stones of my necklace. Could it be that Philip had been cold-bloodedly murdered by a man employed by Jago to kill him! There were such people as professional murderers. But why? The answer was clear. Because Jago knew that I was the heiress to the Island. He did not want me to marry Philip because he wanted to marry me himself.

  There was a second or so of silence in the dungeons and during it I heard a slight clatter as though something had fallen.

  Jago heard it. "What's that?" he cried sharply. "There's someone here. Did you bring someone with you, Hawley?"

  "I didn't. I swear I didn't."

  "I'm going to look," said Jago. "I'm going to search every one of these dungeons."

  I crouched against the wall. I should have been numb with fear after what I had heard but somehow I couldn't believe it even now. There must be some explanation of all this. It was like some absurd masque in a melodrama and I could not—I would not—believe that Jago who had said he loved me could be the man my common sense was trying to tell me he was.

  He would soon discover me crouching there. I would demand: Jago, what does this mean? For God's sake explain. Hawley is your man. I know that. You sent him to London. Why? And then you came yourself.

  I heard him say to Hawley: "You hold the lantern."

  The light moved away and I peeped through the door. They had their backs to me and had started searching the dungeons on the other side. There was just a chance that if I were quick enough, and quiet with it, I might escape.

  I waited for my chance, my heartbeats threatening to choke me, until they were as far as they could be from my dungeon. Then I slipped out silently, while their backs were still towards me, and in a flash I was up the spiral staircase. Luck had been with me. My escape had been perfectly timed and they had not seen me.

  What now? I asked myself as I came out through the west door. If I could get to the main building and join Jenifry and Gwennol in the parlor I could behave as though I had not heard that revelation and have a little time to plan what I ought to do next.

  I forced myself to look in at the parlor. Gwennol was reading and her mother was working gros point on a canvas. Neither of them expressed any surprise to see me; they must have presumed that I had written my letter.

  I picked up a magazine and leafed through it, my mind busy.

  Oh Jago, I was thinking, what does it mean? Why did I let myself be so foolish as to fall in love with you? Hadn't I heard enough? He had paid Hawley to come to London. Philip had died. What had he said about Philip's death? "Remember what happened in Philip Carrington's bedroom."

  Hawley must be a professional murderer. There were such people. The real criminals hired them to commit crimes for them and paid them well for it. Hawley did not think he had been paid enough and had come to blackmail.

  It was too horrible. I could not believe it. I had misconstrued what I had heard and there must be some explanation. And yet a ray of hope here—if Jago wanted the Island, why murder Philip, why not murder me?

  Why did my foolish heart go on fighting against my mind? Why did I go on trying to tell myself that it was a ridiculous mistake, a misconstruction? There must be a simple explanation and I must find it because what I had heard in the dungeons this night had brought home to me one overwhelming and undeniable truth: Whatever Jago was, whatever he had done, I loved him.

  Could I, Ellen Kellaway, be such a fool? I knew he wanted the Island; he had confessed that much. But that was not all. He wanted me too.

  He was coming into the room now. So he had got rid of Hawley. I kept my eyes on the magazine but I could feel his gaze fixed upon me. I knew that I was flushing as he sat down beside me on the sofa.

  He said: "Have you lost something, Ellen?"

  I looked at him in surprise. His eyes were gleaming and there was in them an expression I could not understand. There were mingling emotions there—passion, reproach and a certain amusement. The sort of amusement a cat might feel when playing with a mouse?

  He held out his hand and I stared down at it in horror, for there lay the necklace and I knew at once where he had found it. I knew what that clatter I had heard in the dungeons had been. The catch was weak; I had grasped the stones in my agitation and when I had released them the necklace dropped onto the floor. Jago, searching the dungeons, had at last come to the one in which I crouched and there on the floor lay the necklace.

  So he knew I had been there. He would know what I had heard.

  I took it from him and hoped my hands would not visibly tremble.

  I heard myself say: "The clasp is weak."

  "Where do you think I found it?" he asked, his eyes still regarding me with that odd expression.

  "Where?" I asked.

  "You were wearing it at dinner. Just think where you have been since."

  I looked into space, foolishly trying to give the impression that I was trying to remember.

  "You must remember, Ellen," he said gently. "It was the dungeons. What on earth were you doing there?"

  I laughed rather shakily and was aware of Gwennol's watching me intently.

  "Oh, I often wander about the castle, don't I, Gwennol?" I said.

  "You're
certainly fascinated by it," she answered.

  "It takes courage to go to the dungeons at night," commented Jago.

  "I'm not afraid," I said, looking straight at him.

  He put his hand over mine and gripped it hard.

  "I have a good deal to say to you," he said. "Will you come into my sanctum."

  "I'll join you shortly," I said.

  "Don't be long."

  I thought: I must act quickly and I've not time to think what I should do. I must have time. I must digest what I have heard. I must consider the implication and suppress my absurd romantic longings.

  Instead of going to my room I ran down to the hall and out across the courtyard. Slack was at the dovecotes.

  "You look proper scared, Miss Ellen," he said. "Have the time come?"

  I thought of Philip in his room... shot. Jago had ordered that.

  No, that was too wild. I couldn't believe it. I had to talk to him. I had to listen to what he had to say. But I had been listening to Jago for a long time and whenever I was with him I believed whatever he had to tell me. No. I must get away. I must consider everything calmly, coolly, and I could not do that when he was there.

  Slack was saying: "Go to the room, Miss Ellen. I'll join 'ee there. Don't be afraid. It'll be as it was with Miss Silva."

  Oh Slack, I thought. What are you saying? It will be as it was with Miss Silva who had gone off in a boat and the boat came back but not Miss Silva.

  "Come quick, Miss Ellen," he said. "Maybe there's no time to lose."

  He took my hand and we went into the castle. Slack picked up a candle as we came through the hall and lighted it.

  "Hold this candle for me, Miss Ellen," he said. I took it from him and to my surprise he lifted the lid of the settle.

  "Do you want me to hide there?" I cried in amazement.

  He shook his head. "You see now, Miss Ellen. This ain't no ordinary old settle."

  He leaned forward and to my astonishment he lifted the base, which came up like another lid. I could see down into darkness.

  "Be careful, Miss Ellen. There be steps there. Do 'ee see 'em? Go down 'em... very careful-like. I'll follow 'ee. But do take good care."

  I got into the settle and lowered myself down and sure enough my feet found the steps. I went down six of them. Slack handed me the candle and followed me, after shutting the lids of the settle. We were standing side by side in what appeared to be a dark cave.

  "Where are we?" I asked fearfully.

  "This be a great cave which do go right under the sea. 'Tis where I brought Miss Silva when she did fly away."

  "What happened to her?"

  "She did live happy ever after as she told me she would. It goes down deep. It goes down and down and up again. It comes out on Blue Rock."

  "How did you know about it?"

  "I knew from my mother. It's what they do call a natural cave, but the entrances was made in the old smuggling days. There was a lot of smuggling done here. 'Twas a hundred years ago and more. It weren't much used since then. My mother were the daughter of the innkeeper and she knew of it from her father, who knew of it from his. They used to store the liquor down here. 'Twere a good place for it. Ships could come from France to the Island and liquor would be unloaded and stored in this place until it were safe to bring it to the mainland."

  "And when we get to Blue Rock, what then?"

  "The artist will help us. He helped Miss Silva. He were very kind to Miss Silva, he had a real fancy for her. He helped her."

  "So that was the way she went."

  He nodded. "Her went away to live happy ever after."

  "And the boat was washed up."

  "That were a trick like. Her weren't in it. 'Twasn't till later on a dark calm night when she did cross."

  "How do you know all this, Slack?"

  "Well, I helped her, didn't I? Her talked to me, her did. Happy she were at the last. She were different from what her'd ever been before. She talked to me... like talking to herself, she thought it, but she liked me to be there. I was company, sort of. Her father had been cruel to her... terrible cruel... and she thought he'd laugh at her and try to stop her if he knew ... so she ran away with her own true love."

  "What happened to her? Where did she go?"

  "That I never heard on, Miss Ellen. Be careful. The ground be rough going."

  Down we went, down a steep slope below the sea. It was damp and cold and we passed little pools of water; at times my feet sank into the sand and the surface changed to rocks. Fortunately Slack was surefooted and it was clear that he knew the way.

  "Now," he said, "we are beginning to go up. It's a climb now. 'Tis no more than half a mile... the distance between Kellaway and Blue Rock."

  I said: "What will Mr. Manton say when he sees us?"

  "He'll be ready to help 'ee get to the mainland if that be what you want."

  I did not want to leave the Island. I only wanted time to think. I wanted to talk to Jago, to demand an explanation. But not just yet. I wanted a day or two to think clearly about everything, to make an attempt to piece together the evidence I had gathered, to try to stand outside the enormity of those emotions which Jago aroused in me and assess the scene dispassionately. I wanted to discover how deeply involved I was with a man who was unscrupulous and might well be involved in the murder of Philip Carrington.

  That was at the heart of the matter. I could understand his passion for the Island and his desire to possess it. To keep it he must either marry me or be rid of me. I wouldn't accept the fact that he didn't love me a little. He could not act as well as that. Perhaps in time he would love me even more than the Island, I promised myself, which showed how obsessed I was by the man, since I was so ready to compromise. But if he really were caught up in the murder of Philip... that must make a difference.

  I was bemused and bewildered.

  If he had hired an assassin to murder Philip what were his intentions towards me? What if he did not love me at all? What if I married him? I saw myself willing everything to him and then what would he do when he had no further use for me? What did I know of Jago? That I loved him. That was all. Is it possible to love a man whom one can suspect of murder? The answer seemed to thunder in my ears: "Yes, yes, yes."

  But there was one thing he was unaware of. He thought Silva was dead and Slack talked of her living happy ever after. What did that mean? She must have married the lover of whom she wrote and eloped with him. On the Island they had believed she was dead because the boat had come back empty. But if she still lived then on my death she was the next in succession. Jago did not consider this because like everyone else he thought Silva dead.

  Where was Silva?

  If only I knew.

  "Can 'ee hear the sea now?" That was Slack. "We be nearly there."

  We had been climbing steadily uphill while my thoughts had run on and now I could hear the sea. I could feel the fresh air on my face.

  "We'm through," said Slack, and we were pushing our way through bushes and now were right out in the open. The wind caught at my hair, which escaped from its pins and streamed down my back.

  "There be the house, look," he said. "There be a light in the window."

  He took my hand and dragged me forward. As he said, there stood the house. The door was open. Slack went through calling: "Mr. Manton. Mr. Manton. I be here with Miss Ellen."

  There was no answer. We had stepped into a small hall and Slack pushed open a door and we entered a room.

  I felt my senses reel. There it was... the red curtains tied with gold fringe, the open brick fireplace, the rocking chair, the gate-legged table and even the "Storm at Sea" hanging on the wall.

  In every detail it was there—the room which had come to me so often in my dreams.

  This was a nightmare. It couldn't be real. I had strayed into the dream somewhere. The dungeons, the terrible suspicions about Jago—they were all part of it. It was a new form of the dream. I should wake at any moment.

  Slack wa
s looking at me oddly.

  "Slack," I stammered, "what is this room... ? What is this place?"

  He did not seem to understand. He said soothingly: "You'll be all right here. Miss Silva were ..."

  My eyes were fixed on the door. It was that door which had been the center of the dream. It was not the one through which I had come, for there were two doors in this room. The slow moving of that door which had never opened but behind which I had subconsciously known was the reason for my fear.

  I saw the door handle slowly turn. I could not take my eyes from it. The door was beginning to open.

  This was it—the moment in the dream when the terrible sense of doom had come over me. I was terrified of what the opening of the door would reveal.

  . Thoughts flashed in and out of my mind as they do in moments such as that one. It could only have been a matter of a few seconds, but time had slowed down. The fear had come to me... just as in the dream, but this was not a dream. I was now face to face with the moment of revelation. The artist! I thought. What has he to do with my life? I scarcely know him. Why should I feel this terrible fear of him?

  The door opened. A man was standing on the threshold of the room. It was not the artist though. It was Rollo.

  I was trembling with terror, but it was only the dream. Amazement was taking over fear. Rollo! What could Rollo possibly be doing at Blue Rock?

  "Ellen!" He smiled. "How good to see you here. How did you come?"

  I stammered: "I... I had no idea. ... I thought... the artist lived here."

  "He's gone to London for a few days. He lent me his place. You look scared out of your wits. Sit down. Let me get you a drink."

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm so bewildered. I can't think clearly."

  "Come and sit down."

  Slack was staring at Rollo. I heard him whisper: "Something terrible have happened to Miss Silva."

  Rollo had led me to the table and made me sit down in the chair which I had seen so many times in my dreams.

  I just could not believe I was awake and this was really happening.

  "You must tell me everything, Ellen," said Rollo. "What happened at the castle? The boy brought you, I see."