The Island

by Jill Jones

  “Where does Kevin Spearman fit in the picture?”

  Before answering the inspector, Keely looked up at Jack. “Can we go back up to the Council office? This place makes me nervous.”

  Sandringham offered his apologies. “I got ahead of myself,” he said. “I’m eager to learn the whole picture.”

  Back in her uncle’s office, Keely took a seat near the desk, while Jack lounged against the doorframe and the inspector sat at the table making notes.

  “Now, about Spearman…” he returned to his question.

  “Within the framework of the laws of Keinadraig, Dragoners are allowed to sell what we can to outsiders in order to sustain ourselves. Often, Genevieve and I would be sent with a boat full of fish to sell at the market in Penzance. Our instructions were to turn them over to Mr. Spearman, wait until he offloaded them, and to return promptly to the island.”

  “Did you ever see him come to the island?

  “Only last night, when he brought me here to turn me over to my uncle.”

  The inspector opened the ledger again. “Have you ever heard the term ‘Reave’?”

  “Why, yes. The kidnappers used it in reference to Kevin Spearman. And…” she paused, thinking back, “so did my uncle. What is a reave?”

  He found the page he’d marked and read from the historical archives of Keinadraig.

  “In this the yeare of our Lorde fifteen hundred and ninety-two, such dire conditions as continuing famine have caused it to become necessary to assign one amongst us to live away from us, to the ende of acting as our representative in commerce. Henceforth, there shall be added unto our Council he who shall be known as the Reave of Keinadraig. At great peril doth this Reave serve the Dragon, for he lives no longer under the protection of the island, but must appeareth as a stranger unto us. Therefore, unto him and his heirs shall fall twenty shares of every hundred of the goods and monies that passeth through his stewardship. The one who shall serve cometh from the line of Spearman of the ancient days.”

  Just when she could conceive of no other mysteries hidden by those who inherited control of the island of her birth, Keely was forced to learn yet another truth of her heritage. “Kevin Spearman is a Dragoner?”

  “Where is he?” Jack asked.

  “Unfortunately, that bird has flown,” Sandringham said regretfully. “Must’ve seen the flotilla headed out here. But we’ll get him.”

  The three sat in silence for a long while. Finally, Jack spoke. “So what happens now?” he asked. “Who owns the contraband? The Dragoners? The British government?”

  “It will take us some time to sort it all out,” Sandringham said. “At the moment, it is all in our custody. You only saw part of it. There are crates of paintings, authentic pre-Columbian artifacts, priceless china…you simply cannot imagine. I’m certain some insurance companies are going to be very interested in what’s uncovered, not to mention the owners who lost the goods in the first place.”

  “The question is,” Keely said, her heart heavy once again, “what is going to happen to the Dragoners?”

  Outside, the sun shone brightly, casting a deceptive glow against the whitewashed houses as it moved steadily toward evening. Jack took Keely’s hand as they walked the short distance from what had once been her home to the vessel waiting to take them back to Penzance. She had returned to her cottage only long enough to gather a few personal items. “I could never live here again,” she told him, shutting the door firmly behind her. She’d turned the building over to Inspector Sandringham to use during his stay on Keinadraig.

  From the water as they departed, the village looked pristine, as charming as anything Jack had ever seen in a travel brochure. It did not look like a place that harbored thieves and murderers. But there were guards posted on every street corner as well as the island’s perimeter, to keep the Dragoners in until Scotland Yard was satisfied no one else had conspired in the crimes, and to keep everyone else out.

  Some things never changed.

  “What will happen to them, Jack?” Keely said, her eyes never leaving the island as it receded into the mists. “They’re…like children. They’ve never had to make any real decisions about their lives. They’ve never paid a bill or learned to drive a car. They’re…like me.”

  “Sandringham told me he has an excellent contact with a social worker in London. He’s already asked her to come and work with the villagers to sort things out.”

  “What’s a social worker?”

  “People who specialize in helping others whose lives are disrupted for one reason or another.”

  “They help complete strangers?” Keely’s tone was more interested than surprised.

  “Yep. Total strangers. I doubt if Inspector Sandringham’s friend has ever met a Dragoner, yet she’s coming here to see what she might do to help them. Some of the Dragoners, probably the younger ones, will choose to leave, and they’ll need help adjusting to the outside world. Others may decide to stay, and for them, life will not change so much, although they’re in for a rude awakening, I’m afraid, when they learn how much was done for them that they never knew. Things they’ll have to do for themselves in the future.”

  Sandringham had discovered an orderly file kept by Alyn Runyon containing paid receipts for everything from the electricity that lit up their homes to the food that was purchased on the mainland and distributed co-op style. But the Dragoners knew nothing of this. The only money they knew of or thought they needed was derived from the sale of their fish. They divided the profits which gave them pocket money to exchange for such things as the ale and sandwiches Keely sold in her little pub. But the big expenses were covered by the bounty that lay unbeknownst to them in the caverns of the dragon’s lair.

  All in all, Jack thought wryly, the islanders had quite a remarkable little economy going, and if one overlooked the dark side of their activities, Alyn Runyon and Ninian Sloan had served the dragon well in providing for and protecting the people of Keinadraig. In a way he felt sorry for the island dwellers, because no matter if they stayed or left, their simple, rustic lives would be changed forever.

  Keely was silent for the rest of the short journey by water back to Penzance, and Jack chose not to interrupt her thoughts.

  “Hungry?” he asked, helping her from the boat to the dock.

  She smiled at him wistfully. “Hungry for a new life,” she said. “Jack, when can we leave here?”

  “Sandringham said we could go any time. He knows where to find us. I thought we’d take the first train in the morning.”

  “How about the next train out tonight?”

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  Fire crackled merrily in the hearth, warming the four people who nestled before its cheery glow, awaiting the arrival of their dinner guests. Outside, snow fell in large, plump flakes, and Keely heard the sound of people singing.

  Carolers, Jack had called them.

  This was a Christmas unlike any she had ever known, and she thrilled to the excitement of it all. She and Jack and Brad, who was recovering but still used a wheelchair to get around, had decorated the tall fir tree that now stood magnificently before the large, mullion-paned window of the old town house they had leased in a London neighborhood. Brad had wanted to stay near the medical center where he was undergoing rehabilitation therapy, and it was close to both Jack’s new office and the school Keely attended.

  Garrison had arrived from LA the day before, bearing their very American-style Christmas dinner. The smell of roasting turkey wafted from the kitchen, where Jack had undertaken the role of chef.

  Keely had laid a beautiful table, studying the pictures from a book Jack had brought her from the library to know exactly where to place each plate, utensil, and piece of crystal stemware. She still had much to learn, but she was an eager and quick student, and with the encouragement and support of her newfound “family,” she felt as if she could do anything.

  Seated on the luxurious carpet that covered the floor,
Keely tucked her ankles beneath the soft wool of her long tartan skirt and leaned against Jack’s trouser-clad legs. Across from them, Garrison occupied a matching chair to the one Jack was in and sat gazing into the flames, apparently lost in thought. By his side, Brad thumbed through a book.

  How different was this Christmas from last, she mused, running her hand absently over the material of Jack’s trousers. In many ways, it had been a tragic year, and yet, there was so much to be thankful for.

  This man, for one thing.

  For Jack Knight had been true to his word. He had been there for her from the moment she’d first met him, high on a windy hill in a land that seemed long ago and far away. He had helped her break away from fear and superstition. He’d shown her loyalty and integrity and had taught her about love, and about giving and receiving.

  The doorbell rang, and she jumped to her feet. “I’ll get it.”

  Richard Sandringham and Eleanor Green stood on the stoop, their arms laden with brightly wrapped gifts, their cheeks ruddy from the cold and their coats flecked with heavy flakes of snow. “Merry Christmas,” boomed the inspector, who looked merrier than Keely had ever seen him.

  “Come in, oh, do hurry in from the cold,” she squeaked, so excited she could scarcely stand it. In addition to Garrison and Brad, these two had become like family in the past six months, and she was both thrilled and nervous that they had agreed to spend their Christmas eve with them. Her pub cooking aside, it was the first time she had cooked a meal for anyone other than Jack and Brad.

  “How’s the social work training coming along?” Richard asked Keely as she took their wraps and handed off the gifts to Jack, who had followed her to greet their guests.

  “Fine, I think,” she answered, “thanks to Eleanor.”

  “She’s the star student,” the tall, striking woman said. “She’ll be out of school and on the streets in no time.” She gave Keely a generous hug. “The world needs people like you. I’m glad you decided to share your experiences.”

  Jack returned from placing the gifts beneath the tree. He put one arm around Keely and reached out with the other to shake the inspector’s hand. “I know the world needs her, but I’m not sure I want to share her,” he grinned.

  “Scrooge,” Eleanor teased.

  They joined Garrison and Brad by the fire. “Drinks anyone?” Brad asked, standing from his wheel chair. Bracing on a walker, he made his way to the bar. “I’m tending bar tonight.”

  Keely looked across at her new-found “brother,” and love and thanksgiving swelled in her heart. She was so grateful he was alive. Brad had had a tough time recovering from his wounds, but never once had he sought to lay blame on Keely or Genevieve, or even the Dragoners for what had happened. He was everything Jack had told her he was and more. He was a kind, caring man, and in spite of what had happened, Keely was glad that Genny had known Brad, if only for a moment.

  Brad mixed cocktails and Garrison served. “Merry Christmas,” Garrison said so softly that only Keely heard as she accepted a glass of sherry from the silver tray. “Welcome to the family.”

  “Ah…thank you,” she replied. What an odd thing for him to say. She had been treated like family all along, but she wasn’t and would never be a Holstedt. Although she had promised to marry Jack, that lay sometime in the future. She wanted to finish her schooling and join Eleanor’s practice, where her specialty would be exit counseling for people like herself who wanted to escape the clutches of whatever proverbial dragon held them down, be it a cult or an abusive family relationship.

  Richard raised his glass. “Merry Christmas,” he toasted. “Speaking for myself, I’d like to thank Jack and Keely for what they have brought us this year.” At first Keely thought he meant the presents under the tree, but how could he know what was in them? But he continued. “Not only is Eleanor getting a prize of a professional associate, but Scotland Yard’s happy to have another good man on board.” He raised his glass to Jack, who reciprocated with a grin.

  “I thought I was through with police work,” he said. “You are a very persuasive man, Sandringham. Here’s to you.”

  “Ah, but there’s more,” the inspector said mysteriously and went to stand by Eleanor, who sat in a chair close to the fire. “El and I, well, we’ve been friends…better than friends, for a long, long time. Never tied the knot, though. Too committed to the job, you know.”

  Keely saw Eleanor reach up and take Richard’s hand. What was this all about?

  Eleanor spoke, and her voice sounded uncharacteristically strained with emotion. “But something happened during the events of the Keinadraig investigation that changed our lives forever.”

  Richard picked it up from there. “That night when I ran into Jack and Garrison at the heliport, I realized that Jack was willing to risk everything for Keely, because he loved her. Later, I understood why she ran away without telling him. Because she loved him and was willing to risk it all to save his life. And I thought, you fool, Sandringham. You love a woman, too, but you’re too damned selfish to take a risk. That’s why I have worked very hard this past six months to convince Eleanor to marry me. And at last, she’s agreed to take a risk with me. We’ll be wed the first Saturday in January.”

  “Oh, El, that’s wonderful!” Keely rushed to give her new friend a hug. She turned to Richard and hugged him, too. “Congratulations,” she said, tears of happiness about to tumble down her cheeks.

  When the toasts and congratulations over this unexpected announcement subsided, Brad, who had returned to his chair, wheeled it forward slightly. “I’d like to make a presentation.” He glanced toward Garrison and gave his father a broad grin. Garrison smiled back and nodded his head.

  “For years, Jack has been a part of our family, although for some damned reason, reluctant kin. Now, I’m tired of having to fend off this old man all on my own, so I’ve decided to put a stop to it once and for all. I’ve had this document drawn up, and I’m giving it to you for Christmas, Jack.” He paused, and his expression grew serious. “Brothers don’t reject Christmas presents from each other, do they?”

  Keely saw a frown cross Jack’s brow, and she hoped he didn’t reject whatever Brad was handing him, for she could tell it meant much to the younger Holstedt.

  Jack read it in silence, then looked up at Brad. “You son of a bitch.” And then a smile brighter than any Keely had ever seen on his face lit his eyes from somewhere deep inside.

  “What is it, Jack?” she asked.

  “He’s adopted me,” Jack said, clearing emotion from his throat. “It’s a joke,” he explained, holding the cartoon of a legal document up for all to see, “but you know what, brother? You’re stuck with me now.” He turned to Garrison. “I guess that makes me an honorary Holstedt. But don’t you try to hire me again. I can’t stand the strain.”

  Garrison laughed. “You’re fired for good from Odyssey. But,” he added with a rueful shake of his head, “you’re still in the will.”

  Jack gave Garrison a long and meaningful look. “Okay, Dad,” he said, his voice husky. “I’ll stop fighting you. And thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me.”

  Keely thought both men might break down and cry, but Garrison cleared his throat. “It’s your turn, isn’t it?” he asked Jack.

  Jack looked at Keely and warmed her with that special grin. “I think it is.”

  He went to the stash of gaily wrapped gifts beneath the Christmas tree and rustled through the packages until he found the one he sought. It was a small box, wrapped in gold foil and topped with an elegant bow. He came to where she sat on the sofa, and placed the box in the palms of her hands. Then he knelt before her.

  “I know you have promised to marry me, and I’m not pushing you for a date, but where I come from, such a promise is sealed with a token of love. Will you accept mine?”

  Keely needed no token. She had Jack’s love, and that was all she would ever need. But she saw that this was as important to him as the “adoption papers” h
ad been to Brad. With trembling fingers, she removed the bow and tore away the paper. Inside was another, smaller box of deep blue velvet. And inside it was a golden ring bearing a stone that shone more brilliantly than the stars she’d seen overhead that night in Fowey. “Oh, Jack,” she murmured. “‘Tis beautiful.”

  Her future husband took the ring and placed it on the third finger of her left hand.

  “I love ye, Keely Cochrane. And I’ll be there for ye always.”

  More from Jill Jones

  Circle of the Lily

  Claire St. John lives in solitude near the grounds of the sprawling Hartford hall, an ancestral estate on the English countryside. Her life remains serene until she discovers a mysterious ring that belonged to the lady of Hartford Hall before her scandalous, unexplained disappearance a century earlier.

  When Michael Townsend arrives in town and rents Claire’s guest home, she instantly senses the darkness that surrounds him. Claire knows she should stay away from him, but the passion that ignites between them blazes too powerfully to be resisted.

  As Claire aids Michael in a dangerous quest, she soon finds herself caught in a web of magic, psychic battles, secret societies, and star-crossed love.

  Emily's Secret

  American professor Dr. Alex Hightower has always been fascinated by Emily Brontë and her brief and tragic life. But the question that haunts him is the one of her death. What were the secrets Brontë took with her to the grave?

  The answers begin in the village of Haworth, where Brontë lived and died. Alex journeys there in hope of proving his theory that Emily did not die a natural death, but rather committed suicide after a passionate and secret love affair.