The Secret Kiss of Darkness

by Christina Courtenay

‘Right, well you’d better. I’m going to want to know everything,’ Maddie said darkly. ‘Do you hear me? Every last detail.’

  ‘Yes, everything, I swear.’ Kayla resigned herself to a lengthy session of soul-searching that evening, even though it was the last thing she wanted. ‘But please, can you call Jessie for me now? I need her help.’

  With a sinking feeling she hung up and contemplated the next phone call she had to make. Somehow she had to tell her parents the wedding was off.

  It wasn’t something she was looking forward to.

  ‘So how did your mum take it?’ Maddie was comfortably ensconced on the sofa with a takeaway sandwich packet open on her lap, eating rapidly. Although tall and slim she had a very healthy appetite, which at the moment Kayla envied her.

  Kayla toyed with her own sandwich. The wrapping had advertised it as ‘an authentic American BLT’, but it didn’t look very appetising; the lettuce was limp, the tomatoes soggy and the bacon chewy. The bread tasted like sawdust, at least in Kayla’s opinion. She wrinkled her nose at it and recoiled from the strong smell of Brie cheese coming from Maddie’s corner. Instead she tried to concentrate on the question.

  ‘Quite well, actually, considering how happy she’s been that her youngest daughter was finally tying the knot. You know she’s revelled in all the planning and organising, it’s her forte, but I could tell she was upset and …’ Her voice tailed off forlornly.

  ‘I know. Guilt trip, right? Don’t let it bother you. All mums are like that, I think. Mine despairs of me ever making it down the aisle.’ Maddie chewed on another mouthful before turning a searching glance onto her friend. ‘You’re absolutely sure there’s no possibility of a reconciliation with Mike?’

  ‘No, none whatsoever.’ Kayla had no doubts about that. The thought of marrying Mike, which only a few weeks ago had filled her with such happiness, was now completely unappealing. ‘I think I was marrying him for the wrong reasons, you know. I was in love with the idea of getting married, not him. It was a sort of fantasy thing I suppose and everyone more or less expected it once he proposed. I mean, why wait once you’ve agreed to marry? But now I know Mike is not the right man and probably never was, to be honest.’

  ‘Well, as long as you’re sure. I don’t want you pining away or anything.’ Maddie glanced at the sandwich on Kayla’s lap that had hardly been touched.

  Kayla smiled and made an effort to take a bite. ‘No chance of that. Let’s forget the whole thing, okay? I’m sorry about your dress and everything, but I’m sure you’ll find another use for it. Maybe you’ll bump into your Mr Right soon and we can swap dresses.’

  ‘Not bloody likely. Besides, that would be quite a sight, wouldn’t it?’ They both dissolved into laughter as Kayla was several inches shorter than her friend and with a much curvier figure, at least up top.

  ‘Well maybe some other friend of yours will need a maid of honour. Please, let’s change the subject.’

  ‘All right, tell me instead about this sudden urge of yours to delve into your family history. I’ve been dying of curiosity all day, you know.’

  ‘I’m not sure I should. You’ll never believe me, Maddie.’

  ‘Try me.’

  So Kayla told her all about her strange dreams and Maddie completely forgot about her dinner and sat with the half-eaten sandwich dangling from her fingers during the entire story. When Kayla finished, Maddie snapped her mouth shut and looked at the painting. She whistled softly. ‘Wow! You really are hooked on this guy, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. It’s almost like when I was a teenager and was crushing on some unattainable pop star. Do you know what I mean? It’s hard to explain, but, oh, Maddie, I’ve got to find out. What if I didn’t make it up? Do you think it’s likely? I mean, how could I possibly know anything about anyone called Jago Kerswell who lived over two hundred years ago? I’ve only ever been to Devon for a holiday once and I was just a kid. Why would my mind come up with such a story? It seems crazy.’

  ‘I don’t know. It does seem weird. Maybe you read it somewhere. Or perhaps you knew him in another life. You’ve heard of people who think they’ve lived before, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I thought of that myself, but this is different somehow.’

  ‘Hmm. Did Jessie ring you?’

  ‘Yes, she’s going to take me researching on Monday. She had taken a day off work for that purpose anyway, so I’ll call in sick again. I can’t face Mike in any case. Just the thought of having to go to the office and act as if nothing has happened gives me a headache.’

  ‘I can understand that. Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see what you find on Monday then. How very strange. Are you going to finish that sandwich? Cause if not, I’ll have it.’

  Kayla laughed and handed it over. Only Maddie would talk about reincarnation in one breath and food in the next, but it was good to have someone to share her thoughts with. And she had no doubt Maddie would help her keep her feet on the ground.

  Together they would get to the bottom of all this.

  ‘Do you think he’ll tell anyone about seeing us together?’ Eliza fiddled with the buttons on the front of Jago’s coat, while staring up into his eyes with a troubled expression.

  They had stopped at the summer house, the scene of their first meeting, and just the thought of that encounter made Jago’s heart beat faster. His life had changed that night and there was no going back. Whatever happened, he would love Eliza forever, but how could they be together without this constant fear of discovery? He couldn’t bear the thought that it might all have to come to an end if John found out what had been going on. But he felt sure Mr Gainsborough wouldn’t be the one to tell tales.

  ‘No, love, he won’t. Why would he? And who is he going to tell? He doesn’t know anyone hereabouts. Besides, he seemed like a nice man.’

  ‘I can’t help worrying.’ Eliza’s hands were splayed across his chest now and Jago covered them with his own, stroking his thumbs over the softness of her skin.

  ‘Leave him to me. If need be, I’ll have a chat to him, man to man. But I honestly don’t think he’ll bring us any trouble. We still need to be vigilant though, as ever.’

  He glanced out at their surroundings. The summer house was set near the cliff top with a path leading down to a little used cove nearby. It was only for the occasional outing in summer and hardly anyone walked this way as it was on Marcombe land. But there was always the possibility that someone would, so how long could they keep their meetings secret?

  It was surely only a question of time before they were found out.

  Monday couldn’t come fast enough for Kayla and the hours crawled by for the rest of the week. Jessie had told her to meet her outside Farringdon tube station at ten o’clock. Kayla was so eager she arrived half an hour too early and ended up pacing up and down the pavement for what seemed like ages. Promptly at ten a fairly nondescript, brown-haired girl with glasses came up to her and asked if she was Kayla.

  ‘Yes, how did you know? I forgot to tell you what I looked like, so I was worried you wouldn’t find me.’

  ‘Actually, I think we met at a drinks party or something, but it was quite a while ago. I don’t go out much.’

  Kayla couldn’t help but wonder why. Although Jessie wore no make-up and had put her hair up into an untidy knot at the back of her head, she wasn’t unattractive and didn’t seem shy. The violet-blue eyes behind the spectacles were large and intelligent. Perhaps she just didn’t like socialising or preferred other pastimes, Kayla thought. Either way it was none of her business.

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s right. Now you mention it I remember Maddie introducing us. Anyway, thanks ever so much for taking the time to show me what to do today,’ Kayla replied. ‘I’m a complete novice at this, so I wouldn’t have had a clue how to even start.’

  ‘That’s okay. As I said on the phone, I was going anyway. Come on, it’s this way.’

  Jessie set off down the street. ‘We’re going to the Society
of Genealogists. It’s not too far from here. They have loads of information there, but if we don’t find what you’re looking for we can try somewhere else later. It might mean having to go to the National Archives at Kew, but it’s not a big deal. Can be done. There’s also a whole load of stuff online if you’re willing to pay to see it.’

  ‘Great. Thank you.’

  The Society of Genealogists was much smaller than Kayla had expected, but all the available space was crammed with genealogical information of every kind. There was a library, a bookshop and a large room full of microfilms and fiche. They left their jackets in a locker downstairs and headed for the library. Kayla felt as if she had entered a whole new world. She had never been interested in her family tree and hadn’t realised there were such places as the SoG, as Jessie called it.

  ‘Right, what are we looking for then?’ Jessie asked.

  ‘This is the information I’ve been given, but I’m not sure my, uhm, informant got it right so I’d like to verify these facts if possible.’ Kayla held out the piece of paper on which she had written down the things Jago had told her in her dream. Now that she was actually here she suddenly felt very stupid. Surely it must have been a figment of her imagination? After all, how could it not have been? And what would Jessie say when none of it was found to be true and no one of that name had ever existed?

  ‘Jago Kerswell, born 1754 at Marcombe in Devon,’ Jessie read out loud. ‘Okay, let’s see if there are any indexes here for the parish of Marcombe.’ The library had an entire shelf full of books relating to the county of Devonshire, and Jessie was soon browsing while Kayla waited nearby. She chewed on a fingernail and looked around in awe at all the other people in the room who seemed very busy with their research. She felt like a fraud, but Jessie’s next words calmed her down slightly. ‘You mustn’t expect too much, you know. Sometimes the records of a certain place haven’t survived and even if they have, they might be fragmentary. So don’t be too upset if we don’t find anything today.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Oh, look, here’s something.’ Jessie took a book off the shelf and started to leaf through it. ‘Hmm, well, it says here that Marcombe is a tiny little place by the coast and there is a family of the same name who held the manor for a long time, but there’s no index to the parish registers.’

  Kayla almost blurted out, ‘So it exists then!’, but managed to bite back the words. She didn’t want Jessie to think her completely mad. She was extremely relieved to find there was at least a place of that name in Devon though, but she supposed she could have heard it somewhere and still made the rest of the story up. ‘Er, so then what do we do?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ll have to go downstairs and see if they have the actual register on microfilm. Then it’s just a case of trawling through it. Let’s go.’ Jessie replaced the book and set off towards the stairs, looking over her shoulder with a smile. ‘You’ll have to excuse me if I get a bit carried away. It’s the thrill of the chase, so to speak. I just love it.’

  ‘You do this a lot?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m doing a one-name study on my mother’s surname which is Delessay and I’ve been working on it for years. My grandmother got me started with one of those stories about how the family had been rich and owned lots of land which they were subsequently cheated out of. I was curious to find out if it was true and pretty soon I was hooked on genealogy. It’s really addictive, you know.’

  ‘And was it true, the story?’

  Jessie laughed. ‘No, at least not back to the seventeenth century, which is as far as I’ve got. I think it was wishful thinking on Grandma’s part, but then she was never happy with anything she had. I’ve found farmers, blacksmiths and innkeepers, but the majority of my ancestors were agricultural labourers who couldn’t even read or write. None of them owned much land, if any.’

  ‘What did your granny say when you told her?’

  ‘Luckily she died before I got very far, so I didn’t have to disillusion her.’ Jessie smiled again. ‘I doubt if she’d have believed me anyway. She was the sort of person who would say it was a misprint if you showed her proof of something in a book.’ They both laughed.

  ‘I know the type. My dad’s a bit like that.’

  Kayla found the microfilm room fascinating. There were lots of other eager genealogists – whether amateur or professional she didn’t know – who were glued to the lit-up screens of the microfilm readers, quietly browsing through reel after reel of genealogical documents. She observed them and admired their patience, while Jessie left her to look for the Marcombe parish registers.

  ‘I’ve got it.’ Jessie returned, triumphantly brandishing a small plastic box. ‘That was lucky because they don’t have copies of all the registers here. Saves you going all the way to Exeter or waiting weeks for the film to arrive at the Mormon centre.’

  ‘What have they got to do with anything?’

  ‘They have a great research centre and they’ll order in microfilms for you but, as I said, we won’t need to go there.’

  Kayla wasn’t really listening to this explanation, however, but watched intently as Jessie extracted the film from the box and threaded it deftly onto the two reel-holders.

  ‘I can see you’ve done that before. It would have taken me ages to figure out which way it was supposed to go.’

  ‘Ah, yes, practice makes perfect, right? Okay, here goes.’ Jessie wound the film forward. It contained a number of different villages, since they were quite small and consequently didn’t have too many records, and soon Jessie found the right one. ‘Here’s Marcombe, look.’

  Kayla peered at the screen and the barely decipherable and decidedly spindly handwriting on the faded documents. ‘How on earth can you read that? Looks like Greek to me.’

  ‘Oh, you get used to it, although some are worse than others. I hate when they’re really faint. Anyway, let’s see, sixteen hundreds, seventeen, seventeen fifty-one, two, three and … four. Right, here it is.’

  Kayla’s eyes were now glued to the screen and she held her breath. This was it. The moment of truth. Now that they had actually found it she was suddenly not sure she wanted to know. If her brain had invented the whole story she would feel like a complete idiot, but on the other hand, if it turned out to be true, wouldn’t that be even more scary? It was too late for regrets, however. Jessie gave a whoop of delight, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

  ‘Oops, sorry, we’re supposed to be quiet in here. But look, Kayla, there it is.’ She pointed to a line of old-fashioned writing on the screen and read out, ‘Baptisms, 1754. Jago Kerswell, son of Lenora Kerswell, a Traveller. Baseborn. June 24th.’

  ‘Wow, I don’t believe it,’ Kayla whispered and let out a shaky breath. And she didn’t. Somehow she’d counted on the fact that it was all something her mind had dreamed up. But there it was, in black and white, right in front of her eyes. It was for real. She swallowed hard and added, ‘So he was right.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘What? Oh, just one of my relatives. Uhm, can we look for the rest of the things I wrote down?’

  ‘Sure, let me see. “Sir John Marcombe”, you want to find his christening? You haven’t written down a date.’

  ‘I know, but it should be around the same time, perhaps slightly before or after.’

  ‘Let’s check from 1740 onwards and see what we find. We’ll write down any Marcombes and then puzzle out their relationships later.’

  They found the christening of ‘John Marcombe, son of Sir Philip, gent. and his wife Martha, Lady Marcombe’ in 1750, then the baptism of another baby called Margaret roughly a year later. A week after the christening, both baby Margaret and Martha, Lady Marcombe, were buried, presumably together.

  ‘Oh, how sad,’ Kayla said. ‘So Sir Philip was left all alone with a one-year-old son, poor man.’

  ‘Yes, Lady Marcombe probably died of puerperal fever. A lot of the midwives didn’t know the meaning of hygiene in those days.’

  ‘How awful.
We’re so lucky nowadays, aren’t we?’

  They continued their search and the parish registers revealed that Sir Philip had died in 1774 and a year later, in 1775, his son, Sir John, married a Miss Mary Ashford.

  ‘They don’t seem to have had any kids though,’ Jessie commented when they found no children of that union. ‘And look, this Lady Marcombe is recorded in the burial register in 1778 having apparently succumbed to a fever of some sort, and barely a year later Sir John, widower, remarries a Miss Elizabeth Anne Wesley.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ Kayla could hardly believe her eyes. Everything Jago had said was true. Every last thing. Damn! How can that be?

  ‘Let’s see if they had any children then,’ Jessie muttered, scrolling the film slowly forward, not noticing that Kayla had gone very quiet. ‘Nothing in 1780 … nor ’81, strange. I usually find babies within the first two years of marriage. Oh, hang on, look.’

  Kayla peered at the screen and read, ‘Baptised, April 30th, 1782, Wesley John son of Sir John Marcombe, Bt. (born March 23rd). No mention of his wife. I wonder why?’

  ‘Their names weren’t always written down, it was the father who was important. Oh, and look, there’s a page missing here so we don’t know if mother and child survived. I hate when that happens!’

  There appeared to be no other children either before or after this date, although they checked the baptismal register up to and including the year 1810, by which time the son called Wesley John was married and had children of his own.

  ‘So does that help you?’ Jessie asked.

  ‘Yes, it was exactly what I needed. I don’t know how to thank you enough, you’ve been great.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, I enjoyed myself. Seriously, it’s always satisfying when you find what you’re looking for and believe me, that’s not usually the case. You see what I mean now about the thrill of the chase?’ Jessie’s violet-blue eyes were shining with excitement.

  Kayla nodded, but thought to herself that Jessie had no idea of the added spice involved in this particular chase.