"So if you see a mermaid about, Ellen," said Jago, "help her back to the sea. You'll probably be rewarded."
" 'Tis true," said Tassie. "The seventh child of a seventh child and pellar into the bargain." She came close to me. "I can help you to lift a spell that be cast on you, to turn aside an evil wish. So come to me, young maid, if you be in trouble."
"That's more than an invitation, I must tell you, Ellen," said Jago. "It means that Tassie accepts you as an Islander."
He placed several coins on the table and I saw an avaricious gleam in Tassie's eyes, for she couldn't help watching and, I was sure, counting them as he laid them down.
We came out into the autumn sunshine.
"You must admit she gave you a pleasant fortune, Ellen," said Jago.
"And it seemed to me that she was well paid for it."
He looked at me sharply. "Well, she deserved it, didn't she?"
"If clients are going to pay according to what they're told, isn't that a temptation to the seer to be overoptimistic?"
"I don't think she was about yours. In fact, I know you're going to have a good one."
"Don't forget that rests with me."
"But you're a wise woman, Ellen. I knew it from the moment I saw you. But joking aside, she's a colorful character, our white witch, don't you think? She provides quite a bit of entertainment for our young. They think it's a great adventure to visit her at night in secret to get a love potion which they can administer to a lover."
"Is she really the seventh child of a seventh child?"
"So she tells us and whether her ancestor in fact found the mermaid, I'll leave you to guess. Old Tassie has always been there as long as I can remember."
"And people really believe in her!"
"Some do. If their wishes are granted they think Tassie has helped them. If they aren't, they think it's due to something they have failed in. It couldn't work out better than that from Tassie's point of view."
"And what about you? Do you believe her?"
He looked at me steadily. "I'm like the rest. If I get what I want, I do."
"And if you don't?"
"My dear Ellen, I always make sure I do."
We returned to the castle and I was preoccupied all the rest of the day thinking of this new aspect in our relationship and asking myself if it had really been there or I had imagined it; and when I retired to my room and lighted my candles and the shadows began to form I remembered Silva, and it seemed to me that her spirit brooded over the dimly lit room.
"My sister," I whispered; and I seemed to sense a response about me. It was fancy, of course. Jago would laugh at me. He laughed at so much—at Tassie (and how much had he commanded her to say?), at the manner in which he had behaved in London both at the recital and the house in Finlay Square. The disconcerting aspect was that when I was with him I could accept these things in the light he wished me to; it was only when I considered them calmly that they seemed, at the least, exceedingly unconventional. But then he was unconventional; he was also unpredictable. I could not understand him; yet he had betrayed something during the afternoon. He did not want my friendship with Michael Hydrock to grow any more than Gwennol and Jenifry did; but was I right in thinking it was for a different reason?
He had enjoyed listening to Tassie, the wise woman who gave her clients what they wanted whether it was something to cure their warts and sties or wedding bells.
Could it really be that Jago Kellaway wanted to be my husband!
It was a disturbing thought, but if I was honest I must say that it was one which excited me. Yet what did I really know of him? What did I know of anyone here?
"Silva," I whispered into the gloom. "Are you there, Silva?" I listened. The curtains moved lightly in the breeze but there was no sound but the distant murmur of the sea.
The next day I went to find Slack.
He was in the courtyard feeding a sea gull which stood on the cobbles and was eating fish from a saucer.
"Her can't fly, Miss Ellen," Slack told me. "Found her on the cliffs I did. Her wings be all clogged with oil. Cowering on that ridge she were and I reckon had had no food for days. 'Twasn't only that—the others was pecking at her. Birds be terrible cruel one to the other. If one be maimed or different-like, they peck it to death. People be like that sometimes. They don't always like them as are different."
He spoke without sadness, merely as though he were stating a simple fact, although I knew he was likening himself to a bird who was "different." He accepted what life had given him. He was content to be different and never forgot that God had given him the Power, as he called it.
"What a good thing you found it," I said.
"Her's frightened yet. But her's calmer when I speak to her. When I picked her up first her tried to flutter and fight me but when I spoke to her and told her it was only Old Slack, who knew what to do and make her well again, her was quiet. See, I'm getting the oil off her wings. But I don't want her flying yet. I want to feed her . . . slow-like at first. Mustn't gobble up too much yet. There now, my pretty, Slack 'ull look after 'ee, you see."
"What happened to the pigeon with the injured leg?"
"Bold as brass now. He have forgot he were ever hurt."
"And suitably grateful to Slack, I hope."
"I wouldn't want that, Miss Ellen. Tis thanks enough to see him there, pecking at his maize, sitting on my hand, head cocked on one side as though to say: 'Hello, Slacky. I'm myself again.'"
"Slack," I said, "I've come to ask you something. Will you come out in a boat with me. I shall do the rowing. I just want you to sit with me. I've promised Mr. Jago that I won't take a boat out alone . . . yet."
He was pleased to be asked. His great pleasure in life was looking after people, and the fact that I trusted him enough to ask him to go with me delighted him.
I rowed round the Island.
"You be proper good with the oars, Miss Ellen," he said. "And you soon get to know where the rocks are. 'Tis safe enough if you don't go too far out to sea though there'd be little danger on a sea like this one. But you do know how quick a breeze can arise. The sea can be smooth like a sheet of silk; then in fifteen minutes she can get all angry and ruffled up. That's what 'ee've got to watch for if 'ee be going to the mainland. Rowing round the Island be easy enough. There be many little bays where you could land if need be."
"Do you hear of many people drowning?"
I was watching him intently and I saw the shutter come down over his eyes.
"There have been," he said.
"There was my half sister Silva," I suggested.
He was silent.
I went on: "You knew her, of course, Slack."
"Yes, I did know her."
"Just think. She was my sister and I never knew her. I was three years old when I left here and I believe she must have been about twelve then . . . perhaps thirteen. I should love to know about her. Tell me what you know."
"She were fond of birds," he said.
"Ah." So there had been a sort of bond between them. I had guessed that.
"Did she often come to the dovecotes and help you feed them?"
He smiled and nodded. "Yes, her did. And they knew her too. They'd perch on her shoulder. She were terrible fond of birds and little things. Kind and gentle she were to them."
"So you and she were great friends. I'm glad of that."
He looked suddenly happy and I knew he was seeing pictures of Silva there with the pigeons or perhaps cradling some hurt animal in her arms while she discussed with him what should best be done.
"Did she talk to you much, Slack?"
"Oh yes, Miss Ellen. She'd always talk about the birds."
"And about herself? Did she tell you whether she was happy or not?"
"She'd talk and talk . . . like I wasn't there and then she'd look up and smile and say, 'I do run on, don't I, Slacky? That's because you're such a good listener I forget you're there.' "
"And was she very unhappy?"
He looked frightened and nodded. "Yes, her used to cry and that was terrible ... I never saw anybody cry like Miss Silva did. It was laughing and crying all at once and she'd say she hated the castle and Mr. Jago and all of them."
"Why did she take the boat out that night? Do you know, Slack?"
"It were wild and stormy."
"I know. But why?"
I saw his lips press together. I believe he does know something, I thought.
"And she was drowned they say?"
He nodded, his lips still tight. "The boat were washed up," he said as though with a sudden inspiration.
'Did she go out in that boat because she was unhappy, because she was tired of living at the castle? Was she running away from something? You know, don't you, Slack?"
He nodded. "You might say she were running away."
"But to go away in a heavy sea . . ."
"There was a storm that night she left the castle," he said. "I remember the thunder and lightning. They do say that be God's anger. Do you think they'm right, Miss Ellen?"
"No," I said. "If she went out on a night like that she must have deliberately tried to kill herself. No boat could survive in a sea like that, could it?"
"You can never be sure, Miss Ellen, what can happen to boats on the sea."
"But this was washed up some days later. . . without her."
"Aye," he confirmed, "without her. I pray she be happy in the new life. 'Tis all we can do."
"Some of the servants say she haunts the Island, Slack."
"Aye, 'tis so."
"Do you believe that?"
"I do think she be still with us."
"So you believe that the ghosts of people who were unhappy in this life or met violent ends still live on."
"I'm not clever enough to say, Miss Ellen."
His pale face was impassive; the shutters were down over his eyes. I was convinced that he knew more about my half sister than he had betrayed and that I had not yet won enough of his confidence for him to tell me.
Perhaps in time he would. In the meanwhile I was obsessed by my curiosity.
The Ellen Is Lost
I had now become a good oarswoman and was as capable of handling a boat as Gwennol or Jenifry, both of whom had not referred again to Michael Hydrock and seemed to be trying to convince me that their outbursts on the subject had never taken place.
Jago was busy on the Island. He personally supervised the farms and arranged the Island's business transactions, which meant that he was constantly going back and forth to the mainland. He usually managed to spend some time of the day with me and liked nothing better than for us to ride round the Island together, when he would introduce me to the farmers and shopkeepers, the innkeeper, the parson of the little church, the doctor and all those who made up the life of the Island. We were growing closer and almost against my will I was being drawn into that magnetic aura which seemed to surround him, so that I was beginning to feel that I needed a strong dose of his society every day.
He was delighted with my progress in rowing and one morning he took me down to the cove and there was one of the boats freshly painted with "Ellen" written on the side of it. I was very proud of that.
After that I used to take the Ellen out by myself but I never went far out to sea. I liked to skirt the Island and put in at some bay which I had not visited before; there I would lie and think of what had happened to me and wonder what the future held. There was so much I had to learn and it seemed to me that those about me were inclined to be overreticent, which in itself suggested a mystery. I believed that if I could discover what had really happened to Silva I would have a key to the whole situation. Why had Silva gone out in a flimsy boat during a violent storm? If she had really done that there was only one answer: Because she was tired of life and saw that as a way out of what had become intolerable.
Had she determined to end it all? My poor sister, how unhappy she must have been! "I am a prisoner in this room." Oh, but she had been a child when she wrote that, shut in her room and told to do some task before she was released. It happened to most children at some time, but she had overdramatized the situation. She was unbalanced, Jago had said; and he did not want to talk of her. He had not been interested in her and had dismissed her as unbalanced. The foolish girl had been unable to adjust herself to life and had found a dramatic way of ending it. So the boat was washed up . . . without her. That was an obvious answer to what had become of her.
My father—who was hers also—had hated her, she said. Perhaps he disliked children generally. He was not emerging as a very pleasant person. He had quarreled with one wife, and another—my mother—had left him. I did know a little of her and my memories were of love, care, security, all that a child looks for in a mother. If she had loved her child and left such memories, could it be her fault that she had failed to make a happy marriage? There could be all sorts of reasons, of course. Good mothers were not necessarily good wives. Oh, how I wished they would tell me what I so desperately wanted to know!
Then I remembered something I had heard. My father had kept to his room a good deal but he had had a valet-secretary, Fenwick. What had I heard of him? That he had left the castle and gone to the mainland. Now if I could have a word with Fenwick, I might discover something about my father. I decided to try and wondered how best to tackle the problem. If I asked Jago he would say: "What can Fenwick tell you that I can't?" Perhaps he was right but all the same I could not discover what I wanted to know from him and a second person's opinion was always valuable. Secretary-valets often knew more of their employers than a close relation. I couldn't ask Gwennol or Jenifry because there was too much restraint between us.
While I was pondering this, letters came from the mainland. One of the boats went over each day—weather permitting—to collect mail. In this bag I was delighted to find one from Esmeralda. I had written to her from the mainland about my journey and again from the castle, giving her my early impressions. I seized on her letter and took it to my room to read.
She was glad that I was finding life with my relations interesting. The castle sounded wonderful. She longed to see it. Her parents had given several balls for her and she had met a very pleasant young man named Freddy Bellings. He was a second son but the Bellings were wealthy and her mother was not displeased at the friendship between them. There was a good deal about Freddy—the color of his eyes, the kindness of his manner and the way in which he could make jokes without hurting anyone's feelings in doing so. I could see that Esmeralda was delighted with Freddy and that pleased me because I had always had a conscience about Philip, who had been intended for her.
"Mrs. Oman Lemming's governess has a bad time, I think. She looks such a poor frightened creature. Oh, Ellen, you would never have done it. You were lucky to escape that.
"We see a great deal of the Carringtons," she went on. "Lady Emily has started to give parties again. No one mentions Philip but Lady Emily looks a little sad at times. She asks me how you are getting on and hopes you are happy. There is someone else who asks about you. Rollo. He wanted to know where you had gone and whether you were settling down. I had just received your letter about that exciting island and castle and everything. He was most interested."
I dropped the letter. I was so glad Esmeralda had found her Freddy and it seemed too good to be true that she should feel as she obviously did about him and Cousin Agatha also approved. I was surprised though that Rollo should be interested in what I was doing. Perhaps he repented of his harshness to me. It was an indication of how far I had grown away from the past when my thoughts were almost immediately back with the problem of the moment. How to find Fenwick and talk to him about my father.
The Pengellys were knowledgeable about what was going on in the neighborhood and would be as likely to know the whereabouts of Fenwick as anyone. I decided I would go to the inn and see what I could discover.
I would rather enjoy rowing myself over, and as the sea was very calm and I was now well practice
d, I thought it would be a good opportunity to do so. Once I had rowed to the mainland and back I should feel competent enough to do it often.
I set off in the Ellen and when I, in due course, reached the mainland I went straight to the inn, where I found Mrs. Pengelly and asked her if she could spare a few moments, as I had something I wished to say to her.
She brought out the inevitable homemade wine and saffron cakes, and over them I asked if she had any idea where I might find Mr. Fenwick.
"You be thinking of him who worked up at the castle for Mr. Charles Kellaway."
"Yes, my father's secretary-valet."
"Well, he did leave, you know, when your father died."
"That's not very long ago. Where did he go? Did you hear?"
"Why yes, I did. He retired to a little cottage down in Fallerton."
"Where is that?"
"Oh, 'tis but six or seven miles from here. I did hear he were a market gardener of sorts—growing vegetables and flowers and such-like."
"I want to go and see him."
She looked alarmed.
"I want to talk to him about my father."
She shook her head. "Your father were very ill at the end, Miss Ellen. 'Twould only distress you, maybe, to hear how very ill."
"I naturally want to hear about my family. It seems so difficult to get people to tell me."
"Well, I can't tell 'ee much, Miss Ellen. I was away seventeen years ago. When your mother went, there weren't nothing for me to stay for."
"I understand he was rather an unhappy man. My mother left him. . . ."
"She couldn't abide the Island, that was what. She used to say she was like a prisoner there."
"You must have known Silva."
"Oh yes, Miss Silva. She were a strange girl."
Lord of the Far Island Page 21