by TJ Bennett
Chapter Ten
Gerard did not dine with me that night. When I finally inquired after him of Jeffries, the butler merely intoned that the master was otherwise occupied and would not be in attendance until further notice.
“Coward,” I muttered, and Jeffries’s watery blue eyes widened in insult. “Not you, for heaven’s sake. Never mind. If you would, please have Cook prepare a tray for me. I shall eat in my room instead of the dining room for now in order not to inconvenience the staff for only one person. If the master puts in an appearance tonight, I ask that someone come fetch me.” I decided it would be wiser not to brave Gerard in his rooms again after what had transpired between us last time.
Jeffries bowed. “Very well, madam.”
I ate a solitary meal in my room, reflecting on all I had learned, or rather not learned, about Ynys Nos thus far. I could no longer pretend that Ynys Nos or its inhabitants were in any way ordinary. There was too much evidence to the contrary. I was more determined than ever to find the answers to questions I could not begin to understand. Where did my future lie? Would I ever be able to leave this island and return to those who needed me most? Had the years truly left me behind? And what did that mean for me—a chance to start over here, or would this island become the punishment for my sins, my very own hell on earth?
That night, the nightmares visited me again. I slept fitfully, grasping the pillow beneath my head, visions of disaster reeling through my mind. Slowly, the dreams changed and the images faded, bleeding away until they filled with a soft, peaceful gray the color of Gerard’s eyes. In the dream, I heard him murmur, “Be at peace.” Something brushed across my temples, and a soothing warmth overflowed my body. I may have spoken his name, though I cannot be certain.
I remembered nothing else until I awoke the next morning to the sunlight streaming into my room. I arose and went to the window. It was ajar, the curtains thrown wide, their edges billowing slightly in the morning breeze.
I distinctly remember having closed the window before I’d gone to bed.
I reached to pull it shut, and my hands stilled. The breeze felt so fine. The scent of the island filled the room: fresh dew, ocean air, and sunshine. My view showed the sloping skirt of land surrounding Alexander Hall, the tranquil sea, and the sun rising in all its butter-yellow glory beyond.
I leaned my elbows against the windowsill and rested my chin in my hands, taking a deep breath while staring idly at the sea. I almost did not notice the winking light on the horizon when it appeared this time. I stood straight and leaned farther out the window to try to clarify the image, but I could not. Again, frustratingly, it disappeared.
With a sigh, I left the window open and set about preparing for my day.
The sun’s appearance had warmed the temperatures until the nip in the air felt only mildly bracing. After breakfast, I imposed upon the redheaded footman, Bill, to fetch the carriage for me, instructing him to tell no one where I intended to go.
“No, ma’am, and I am sorry. The master would have my head for it. I’ll have to bring an escort for you and at least let Mr. Jeffries know.”
I pouted, giving him the heavy-lidded look that had worked on him before. Although he swallowed manfully, he did not relent, the blackguard.
“Now, ma’am, none of that,” he said, pinking up. “The master had something to say about it after he realized someone must have led you to his rooms last night. ’Twas lucky, I was, he didn’t find out who. I’ll not be rolling those dice again.”
I sighed in defeat. “But I merely wish to visit with the vicar. Surely, that will not require the presence of my guard. It seems a bother to disturb so many people.”
“Orders is orders, ma’am. I’ll be back in a thrice to get you all set up.” He dashed away, leaving me fuming in the foyer while he arranged for my transportation.
Soon enough we were on our way to the vicarage, with Bill and another footman at the back of the carriage and the driver flicking the reins in front. Mrs. Jones did not accompany us this time.
The townspeople bustled in the streets, going about their daily business. Curious stares followed the carriage, but unlike before, no one approached. Perhaps they were simply shy, but more likely Gerard had warned against conversing with me without his permission. Despite his interference, I was determined to uncover whatever secrets he seemed more determined to conceal.
As I disembarked from the carriage, I noted Mr. Howard lingering in a doorway across the street, idly chewing on a stalk of grass. His eyebrows rose with interest when he saw me, and he made a little bow, the gesture almost mocking, before he tossed the stalk and strolled away.
I had the sensation that he had been watching the vicar’s house. I found his demeanor disquieting. I shook off the sensation and knocked at the Pangburns’ front door.
Matthew Pangburn greeted me warmly. “Mrs. Briton, it is a delight to see you again. Would you be amenable to a stroll? It would be a shame to waste the sunshine by sitting indoors.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful.” I had seen little of the island so far, and I would regret, if I ever found a way home, to have left it unexplored.
“Perhaps, if you are up to it,” he said with a wink, “I’ll even introduce you to Carrickey Vane, one of Ynys Nos’s most spectacular waterfalls. We can take the country lane along the burn and through the wooded gorge. It’s a most peaceful and grand route to walk on such a lovely day.”
I readily agreed. Discussing my inquiries during our walk would avoid any awkwardness with his cousin should she be at home. I fully intended to question her as well, but not yet.
Matthew tried to dismiss the footmen with a friendly smile, indicating he would take care of me from there, but Bill cast an anxious glance over me and let it be known they would follow behind us.
I sighed but allowed it, knowing I had no choice in the matter. Matthew grinned and took my arm after assuring himself I was suitably turned out for a walk. In honor of the lovely day, I had donned a pelisse of palest green. I had taken to the more natural styles; they were easier to maneuver in than the huge hooped crinolines popular back home. My straw bonnet with dark green ribbons was rather smart, and I carried a warm wrap in case the weather turned.
Matthew and I set off on the path leading behind his cottage, the two footmen in tow.
We followed a farm access track for about a half mile, then crossed over into an adjacent glen. I marveled at the autumnal colors of yellow and gold decorating the high grasses and spreading trees. Wild fuchsias still shed their blossoms, although it was late in the season, and added their purple plumes to the mix.
We engaged in idle conversation for a while, the vicar and I, settling into the day. The footmen trudged a discreet distance behind while Matthew periodically pointed out the occasional thrush or redwing singing in the high branches of surrounding trees.
I looked at him and realized comfortable was a word that aptly described Matthew Pangburn. He was a man who made the people around him feel at ease, a handy trait for someone in his profession.
The exact opposite of Gerard. There was nothing remotely comfortable about him.
I forced my mind back to the gentleman by my side. Matthew seemed in no hurry to address the reason I had come to him. He peppered me with questions about the state of the world outside Ynys Nos and seemed fascinated by the middle-aged queen Victoria and her royal consort, as well as by our changed relationship with the colonies. Aware of the time passing swiftly, I finally directed the subject to the matter at hand.
“Mr. Pangburn—”
“Matthew. Please. Ynys Nos is too small a place to stand on ceremony.”
I smiled. “Matthew, then. And you must call me Catherine. I have so many questions about the island and about Gerard. He is not the most forthcoming of men, and I do not feel I am well served by ignorance where he is concerned.” I paused as we walked, watching him intently while he listened, his blue eyes studying me. “I am desperate to return home, and yet I will nev
er be able to do so if I do not know what I am dealing with here.”
Matthew put his hands in the pockets of his brown tweed coat, the elbows of which had been mended with leather patches. The sun warmed his cheeks, giving him a healthy, rosy look, and bringing out the glitter of gold strands threaded throughout his brown hair. He made a decision, nodding to himself. “Ask your questions and I will tell you what I can.”
“Your cousin indicated the island has not always been isolated. Something happened to cause it to become so. Can you tell me what it was?”
Matthew slowed his stride and I stayed by his side. Though we were some distance from the seaside, the smell of salt water lingered in the air.
“Ynys Nos has always been an enchanted isle. Legend claims that when Lucifer was cast down from Heaven, he fell beneath the ocean floors here. Ynys Nos’s ancient warriors helped battle Lucifer’s mortal minions. Mannanan, it is said, was appointed to disguise the island so outsiders, or those seeking the portal to the underworld, would not stumble upon it. We, the warriors’ descendants, became the protectors of this island, and the people believe the masters are a gift from God for our sacrifices.”
He bent to pick up a small twig, absently stripping the dead leaves from its bark. “And there have always been those among us who displayed certain gifts.”
“What kind of gifts?”
“It varies. The ability to interpret signs in the heavens or to heal or to divine secret thoughts, for example. They are the Chosen, called the Masters, and once even a Mistress. The elders of the council are too old to serve as masters anymore. So they in turn choose the most gifted of the youngsters to be our future leaders who are taken away and trained, sometimes for years.”
“How old are they when they are taken away? Where do they go?”
“I believe the master was eight when he was anointed. The council decided his training could not wait—that his abilities had to be brought under control or there could be consequences. They sent him into the caves to prepare him for his destiny. He came out two decades later, and became our master when the old master stepped down.”
I gasped in astonishment. “Two decades! But what of Gerard’s parents? Did they not try to gainsay this-this council’s decision?”
“He was an orphan.”
My heart ached with sympathy for the little boy who had no one to stand up for him. I thought of the orphans I championed back home. What would happen to them without me? “Gerard must have been too young to understand the consequences of their decision.”
Matthew slanted me an enigmatic look. “He was given authority over this island, its inhabitants, and the very elements. He has unlimited wealth, power, and servants to do his every bidding. Some would argue it was a fair exchange.”
“Power and wealth can never compensate for the lack of love and affection.” Sadness engulfed me as I imagined what his life must have been like with no mother to dry his tears, no father to teach him the ways of the world. “Is it any wonder he is so lonely?”
“I never thought of it that way. I have little use for material wealth myself, but have always held the regard of family and friends above all but my relationship with God.”
I pulled the wrap around my shoulders. The temperature had taken a dip. “This is all too amazing, and yet everything I learn about Ynys Nos makes me believe it might be true.” I gave Matthew a thoughtful glance. “I have noticed Gerard does not seem to grasp some of the more basic principles of social interaction between people, as though he missed a part of that education growing up.”
Matthew smiled. “Perhaps for some reason he was unable to receive whatever finishing education one gets when one is near to being a god.”
How strange that Matthew would compare Gerard to a pagan god, but I could see how Gerard’s powers could make one inclined to such comparisons. The old Celtic beliefs held strong sway here still, even with the advent of Christianity centuries ago.
Matthew tossed aside his stick. “The master has a keen intellect,” he went on, “but with a curiosity about our history that went far beyond those before him. He’s always seemed to yearn for something else, to look beyond our boundaries, to reach farther than his own powers to effect change, relying as much on science as on magic. And in a way, he was more prideful, too, more arrogant. Still, he provided for the people, as it has been for generations.”
Matthew stilled, his gaze taking on a faraway look, one filled with the pain of remembrance. “And then, one day, something terrible happened. A disaster, a judgment from God. Perhaps we angered Him, or failed in our duty in some way—I do not know. There was a huge explosion in a crag near Alexander Hall—one of immense proportions that shook the village and the island upon which it stood. Then a great wall of water smashed into the island, crushing buildings and carrying people off into the sea. The sea itself seemed to boil with anger, frothing and glowing and writhing all around us.”
I shivered at the images he described.
“Those of us who survived were terrified,” he said, “and we ran to the master’s house to beg him to protect us. No one could find him, however, not that day or the next or the next. For three days the sea boiled, and the land was seized by tremors until we were convinced we would all die and Ynys Nos would sink into the ocean, like the city of Atlantis, never to be heard from again.” His face took on a bleak expression, the memories obviously still vivid. “But, eventually, the sea quieted, and the land grew peaceful again. Except something was different.”
“What?” My voice was a mere whisper in the wind.
He looked up and I thought he did not see the same clouds I did, but rather those from the dark days of terror replaying in his mind.
“The sun was in the wrong place, and the stars did not make sense. And when we tried to sail off the island to find refuge elsewhere, reefs of sharp rocks rose up in front of our ships, refusing to allow us to pass. The mist that had once cloaked us in friendship now seemed to menace our vessels, confusing their compasses and sextants and sending us in hopeless circles back to the island. In short, we could not leave.”
“And Gerard? What had become of him?”
“He showed himself on the third night after the tragedy. The people were very angry with him because they believed he had run away from us, but he had been injured in the cataclysm and had wandered the entire time in the caves beneath Ynys Nos. The look in his eyes said he had seen terrible, unspeakable things.”
“Do you know what happened to him?”
Matthew hunched his shoulders against the cold. “No one knows, and he cannot, or will not, say. He closeted himself in the great house that very night, and never came out in the light of day again. Whatever happened that day, he no longer holds himself accountable to the council. Who can gainsay him? He is still the master we knew, for the most part, if somehow more humbled.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “You say he is humbled? He hardly seems to know the meaning of the word.”
Matthew smiled faintly. “You should have seen him before.”
“But surely there are theories of why he will not brave the day? Suspicions of what happened to him when he was missing?”
Matthew said with a smile, “One has time to speculate wildly about such things here. My cousin is convinced, for example, that the master is some foul creature who roams the island in another form during the daytime. At night he seduces maidens in order to mark them so he may later find and devour them and spit their bones into the sea, or some such nonsense.”
“And have any maidens gone missing in all this time?”
He glanced at me sharply, as if to determine whether I actually entertained the wild notion for truth. I kept my face blank, praying the knowledge of what had happened between Gerard and his cousin would not show on my face.
“No, no missing maidens,” he said slowly. “Although, perhaps a small handful who are maidens no longer, if one wishes to put a fine point on it.” He sighed heavily. “Our master is quite att
ractive to women. Even before the Great Disaster, they pestered him so. I suppose it was to be expected he would avail himself, on occasion, of what was offered so freely. But since the disaster, he has changed, though the women have not. He has taken the extraordinary step of banning all females from his home except for his elderly servants. That is, until you arrived. He is rather attentive to you, from what I have seen.”
“Hmm,” I said, my tone noncommittal, my cheeks growing warm.
His gaze turned speculative in the extreme. “He has never formed an emotional attachment to any other person on this island since I have known him. It is…exceptional.”
I remembered the heat of Gerard’s kisses and shifted uncomfortably beneath Matthew’s regard. Only Bill’s timely approach saved me from having to respond.
“Ma’am, sir, best to be getting back. The fog is coming in something fierce.” Bill indicated with a worried glance at the heavy mist now rolling in between the trees.
Matthew startled. “Yes, yes, of course. One doesn’t wish to be wandering about in it. Not the safest thing to do. I am afraid our waterfall will have to wait for another time.”
“Why? What have we to fear of the fog?” I asked.
Matthew hesitated. “It can be quite thick when it lays on. We could get lost, wander off a cliff…one never knows.”
“But from what you have said, you would not come to any harm.”
“No, Catherine, we might not be killed, but we certainly feel pain like any other being. Besides, we do not know what might happen to you. It would be better to be cautious.”
I agreed, and we hastened back in the direction we had come. “Matthew, I saw dozens of infant graves in the churchyard the other day. Do you know the story behind them?”
Matthew’s head sank down upon his shoulders. “Oh, that’s an awful thing,” he whispered. “The most awful thing of all.”
I clutched at his arm, forcing him to stop. “Tell me, please,” I begged him.
He took a deep breath. “Ever since that day—the day of the cataclysm—no woman on this island has given birth to a live child. Every single one of them has been stillborn.”
