The Secret Kiss of Darkness

by Christina Courtenay

  Chapter Ten

  As Jago soon discovered, Mr Gainsborough was an easy enough man to please. Plenty of good wine and a willing serving wench and the man was happiness personified. Long after his nephew had retired, Mr Gainsborough entertained Jago’s other customers with his witty comments, animated conversation and musical abilities. Having caught sight of a fiddle, he played a number of tunes, and the taproom was a lively, happy place that evening.

  Jago found the time to sit with his guest for a while.

  ‘Ah, Mr Kerswell. This is a very snug little inn you have here. Very nice indeed.’

  ‘Thank you kindly. Most gentlemen find it beneath their expectations.’ Jago grinned to show he didn’t care about such men or their opinions.

  ‘Bah! Gentlemen. There is only one good thing about them – their purse. Do you know,’ Mr Gainsborough leaned closer to whisper confidentially in the manner of someone who has drunk slightly more than is advisable, ‘if it were not for the fact that I must needs earn some money and my wife won’t stop her infernal nagging, I wouldn’t paint another portrait. Not ever.’

  ‘You paint a lot of them then, Mr Gainsborough?’

  ‘Oh, yes. The wretched face business is what keeps the wolf from my door. If I had a choice, I would spend all my time painting landscapes. To me, there is nothing more wonderful than such tranquil, rural scenes – it’s what life is all about.’

  ‘I agree, sir.’

  ‘Mind you, there are the occasional faces which are worth capturing in paint. Take the lady we met with this morning, for instance. Now that is what real grace and beauty looks like. I would like to do a portrait of her, indeed I would.’

  ‘Why don’t you stay for a few days then, at my expense of course, and paint the lady? I’m sure she would be agreeable.’ And I would love to have a likeness of her, Jago added silently to himself. ‘No doubt she’ll pay you well for your efforts too. Her husband is well to do. In fact, I’m sure she could persuade him to buy some of your landscapes and seascapes too.’

  ‘Excellent idea, dear fellow. I shall tell my nephew in the morning.’ Mr Gainsborough’s decision made with admirable speed, he continued with the evening’s entertainment.

  Eliza proved uncommonly stubborn, however, and refused to have her portrait done unless Mr Gainsborough promised to do one of Jago as well. He grudgingly agreed and set up his easel near the cove where they had first met.

  ‘Why do you wish to paint me here, Mr Gainsborough? Would it not be more convenient indoors?’ Eliza asked him.

  ‘No, dear lady. You see, your colouring blends in perfectly with the natural environment here and that is how I wish to capture you.’

  The artist chalked in the rough position of the face on his canvas, then he released it from the stretcher and pulled it over by strings fastened temporarily at the back until he came to the edge of the canvas. He placed his easel right up against Eliza’s head and she glanced at him in confusion.

  ‘I need to see your features at close quarters, my lady,’ he explained. ‘It will make for a better likeness, I assure you.’

  ‘Very well.’ Never having sat for her portrait before, Eliza didn’t argue. She was wearing a simple moss-green gown, of which Mr Gainsborough had heartily approved, and he insisted on her hair hanging loose.

  ‘Wonderful. Your ash-blonde hair, hazel eyes and green gown blend in with the rocks, moss and lichen perfectly. This will be a superb composition, I promise you.’

  Jago, keeping watch from a respectful distance, felt sure the man was right. Besides, any picture with Eliza in it was bound to be delightful.

  ‘You actually found it? All of it?’ Maddie’s voice on the phone sounded incredulous, which was exactly how Kayla herself felt.

  ‘Yes, down to the last detail. It was amazing, truly amazing.’

  ‘And you thought you dreamed it all?’

  ‘I did dream it, I swear to you. I can’t possibly have talked to a man in a painting. But how do you explain all the facts we found?’

  ‘It’s weird. Really spooky, actually. It’s sending shivers down my spine. Maybe he’s haunting you and it’s not the painting you’re talking to but a spirit.’

  ‘It’s a possibility I suppose. I hadn’t thought of that. A ghost.’ Kayla drew in a deep breath. She had always been slightly afraid of the supernatural and never wanted to hear ghost stories as a child.

  Maddie was quiet for a while before asking, ‘So what are you going to do now?’

  ‘I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to find out if this Marcombe Hall is still owned by Sir John’s descendants, and then maybe pay them a visit. What do you think? Does that sound crazy to you?’

  ‘Actually, I think this is the most exciting thing I’ve ever heard. And the most incredible.’

  They both started laughing in a slightly hysterical way, which let out some of the tension and made it all seem more bearable somehow. Kayla felt that maybe everything was going to be all right after all. If Maddie believed her and was on her side, she could face anything. She had proved beyond doubt her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her. Now she had to continue the search. What else could she do? It was too intriguing not to.

  ‘When will you go?’ Maddie asked.

  ‘Who knows? I’m afraid I have to sort out my own life first before I can even think of doing anything about this. I’m going to have to find a new job as I can’t possibly work in the same office as Mike now, it would be unbearable. Even if I switch with one of the other girls, I’d still have to see him all the time. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be?’

  ‘Yes, not a good thing, that’s for sure. You’d better tell them as soon as possible.’

  ‘I’ve handed in my notice already. I figured the sooner, the better.’

  ‘You can always do temp work like me until you find another permanent job. It pays the rent and it’s very flexible.’

  ‘Yes. It’s a great shame though. I really liked it there, but I’m sure they understand.’

  ‘Oh, I wish I could go to Devon with you, but I have a really good assignment at the moment and I had to agree to stay for at least a month or they wouldn’t give it to me.’ Maddie sounded wistful. ‘That’s the only problem with temping, you have to take what you can get.’

  ‘Hey, slow down will you. I’m not even sure I’ll be going to Devon. The Marcombe family might have moved away ages ago. We’re talking over two hundred years here. Or the house might have crumbled and fallen into the sea or whatever. I’ll have to find out.’

  ‘Well, either way you’ll be going somewhere, and it sounds a lot more exciting than working.’

  Kayla smiled. ‘You’re right. I think I’m actually going to enjoy this search.’ She glanced at the portrait of Jago and could have sworn he winked at her. ‘Wretched man,’ she whispered, after she had hung up the phone, but she couldn’t help but smile at him.

  It was all surprisingly easy in the end and Kayla almost started to believe in the fate that Jago had talked about in her dream.

  Because old Mr Martin, the head of Human Resources, liked her and sympathised with her dilemma, he’d agreed to let her work for two weeks in a different department and then take the rest of the time as unpaid holiday.

  ‘Of course we’ll miss you,’ he told her kindly, ‘but I can quite see that it would be impossible for you to stay on. I have no doubt you will easily find another position, but I will write you a glowing reference just in case it’s needed.’ Kayla was extremely grateful and almost burst into tears.

  She bumped into Mike a few times during the next few days and she could tell he had expected her to apologise for her ‘hasty’ words. Since no such apology was forthcoming, he made a great show of asking one of the other secretaries out to lunch and buying her a bouquet of flowers the next day. Red roses, naturally. Kayla ignored him and a few days later he left some carrier bags on her desk, which contained items of clothing and a few other bits and pieces she had left at his flat. Kayla reciprocated
with a bin bag full of his possessions and sent him an internal e-mail to say thank you, but received no reply. And that, it seemed, was that.

  ‘Isn’t it strange how relationships can be over so abruptly?’ she said to Maddie on the phone that evening. ‘A year is quite a long time, really, and all I have to show for it are three plastic carrier bags of stuff.’

  ‘Yes, but look on the bright side – at least he didn’t chuck them in the bin. And think of the wisdom you’ve gained,’ Maddie added in a theatrical voice. Kayla giggled. You could always count on Maddie to cheer you up.

  ‘The only thing I’ve learned is that I should stay the hell away from auctions,’ she retorted and glanced over at Jago, who was doing his Mona Lisa impression yet again.

  The following Saturday, Kayla made her way to the central Kensington library, near the Town Hall, to search for further information. She lived within walking distance of the huge, Victorian red-brick building, so it was familiar to her. Books were as necessary to her as breathing and she went to the library on a regular basis since her flat was too small for her to buy more than her absolute favourites, but this time she wasn’t looking for reading matter.

  She was directed to the second floor, and there in the Reference Library she found what she was looking for – the enormously fat volume of the current issue of Debrett’s Peerage & Baronetage. She took it to a reading table and sat down to find the right page. The names were all in alphabetical order, so it didn’t take her long.

  ‘Bingo!’ she exclaimed without thinking, and was given several dirty looks from other readers. She blushed and shrugged her shoulders in silent apology, then stared at the page in front of her. There it was in black and white:

  MARCOMBE (E) 1740, of Marcombe Hall, Marcombe, Devon

  Sir Wesley John, 7th Baronet, born 1977, elder son of Sir John Philip, m. 2002 Caroline Marie Campbell, d. of Henry Andrew Campbell, and has issue.

  Daughter Living. Eleanor Elizabeth Marie b. 2005

  Brother Living. Alexander Philip b. 1980

  So there was still a descendant of Sir John living at Marcombe Hall. ‘Excellent,’ Kayla whispered and made a note of this information before returning the book to its shelf.

  Next, she had a look in the telephone directory for Devon South East and noted down the phone number listed under ‘Marcombe, W.J.’. There was no mention of his title, but since there were only a few other Marcombes, all with different initials, and the address was Marcombe Hall, she assumed he had to be the right one. Now all she had to do was find the courage to call and ask if he had any paintings by Gainsborough, and if so, whether she could come and have a look at them.

  Before she left the library, she borrowed three books about Thomas Gainsborough, just in case there might be any further clues in them. Although she still doubted Jago’s story about the famous artist, it would be best to be properly prepared for any eventuality, she thought.

  Her mobile rang as Kayla walked in through the door of her flat and she hurried to answer. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Kayla, it’s Maddie. I was just wondering if you feel like going out tonight? There’s a group of us going to a really nice pub we’ve just discovered. It’s down by the river.’

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks. I’m going to spend the evening with Jago.’

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘No.’ Kayla giggled. ‘I’m perfectly serious.’

  ‘Is he talking to you again? If he is, I’m coming over straight away. I want to speak to him too. It’s not fair that you should have all the fun.’

  ‘No, no, you’re not missing out on anything. And he doesn’t talk to me when I’m awake, only in my dreams. I think. I just meant I’m doing some research that has to do with him, so I really don’t have time to go out.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Maddie didn’t sound convinced. ‘Well, if I really can’t tempt you?’

  ‘Nope, sorry. I’m not really in the mood anyway after all that’s happened. I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry, I should have thought about that. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?’

  ‘All right. Come over for lunch or something.’

  Kayla fixed a quick supper of scrambled eggs on toast, and settled down on the sofa with a glass of wine and one of the Gainsborough biographies. Outside the incessant noise of traffic, sirens and humanity that made up the everyday sounds of London continued as always, but Kayla’s flat was quiet and she was able to concentrate on her reading. She soon became absorbed in the details of Gainsborough’s life and found that he’d been a fascinating man. When she read about some of the things he was alleged to have said, or the somewhat bawdy notes he added to some of his letters, a chuckle escaped her. Time flew by and when she looked up at last, it was past midnight. She drained the last of her wine, which was now lukewarm.

  ‘Please, won’t you tell me what is so amusing?’

  Kayla choked on the drink and the heavy book fell to the floor with a thump. Between coughs she looked up at the enigmatically smiling face of Jago and gave him an angry glare. He wasn’t moving, but she had recognised his voice. It was the voice she heard in her dreams. There was no mistaking it.

  ‘Damn it, Jago, you could have waited until I had swallowed my wine,’ she grumbled. The coughing fit over at last, she bent to retrieve the book. ‘I think I need to see a doctor, I really do. Or maybe I’ve had too much wine, though I could have sworn it was only the one glass.’

  ‘I apologise.’ She could hear his voice clearly, although it sounded as if it was coming from a long way off. ‘I shall try to be more careful in future.’

  A cold sensation swirled around her stomach and it had nothing to do with the wine she’d drunk. It was pure fear, its icy tentacles spreading through her veins. She stared at the painting. He really was talking to her and she didn’t think she was asleep this time. ‘Are you a ghost?’ she whispered. ‘Is that how you talk to me?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ came the reply. ‘I am certainly dead, but whether I’m a ghost or not, I have no idea.’ He didn’t sound too bothered about either condition.

  Kayla closed her eyes. If she allowed herself to think about what was happening, she would faint. It scared the hell out of her. Talking to a ghost or a painting, both were equally frightening prospects, and yet that was apparently what she was doing. She pinched herself viciously to make sure she wasn’t dreaming this time and watched the red mark spread on her arm.

  ‘Try not to think about it,’ he advised, as if he could read her mind. ‘Now please tell me what was amusing you. I’m rather lonely over here and could do with a diversion.’

  ‘I’m not sure I should be talking to you at all. If anyone heard me they’d lock me up for sure. Besides, I’m absolutely terrified.’

  ‘Of me? You needn’t be. I can’t hurt you.’

  ‘No, not of you exactly, but of what’s happening.’

  ‘But you told your friend you were going to spend the evening with me. I heard you distinctly. She didn’t seem to mind. Was it that lovely red-head who was here the other day?’

  ‘Jago! Are you eavesdropping on all my conversations and spying on me?’ The thought gave her goosebumps, but some of her fear drained away and was replaced with righteous indignation.

  ‘Well, not all of them.’

  ‘Are you alive all the time? I mean, not alive precisely, but … you know, conscious or whatever?’ Kayla sighed. ‘I can’t believe I’m even asking this,’ she muttered before looking up at him again. He still wasn’t moving a muscle.

  ‘It’s difficult to describe.’ Jago hesitated. ‘I suppose you could say I exist. I can hear some things, I can see others, although by no means everything. Sometimes I find myself in darkness. When that happens, I have no concept of time passing by and I hear nothing. I can only think.’ He paused for a moment. ‘There appears to be something which prevents me from speaking to anyone other than you. I expect it is part of the spell.’

  ‘Spell? What spell? God, I don’t believ
e this – ghosts, spells, whatever next?’

  ‘I can’t go into any details at the moment. Suffice it to say that what is taking place between us right now is courtesy of a spell, which is why I need you to find Eliza for me. When you do, and when I am reunited with her, the spell will be broken.’

  ‘And you won’t be able to talk to me any more?’

  ‘That I can’t tell you. It might be possible, but we will have to see when the time comes.’

  ‘Great, I can’t wait.’ Kayla was silent for a while before continuing. ‘It’s strange, you know, but now that we’ve been talking for a while I don’t feel quite so scared. I feel more sort of numb. It’s like I have conversations with dead people all the time.’ Kayla blinked. It was true, the frozen fingers inside her had eased off and she felt almost frighteningly calm. She wondered vaguely why she wasn’t panicking and running for the door – anything, except sitting there talking to a disembodied voice.

  ‘I believe that is part of the magic. If you were too frightened of me you wouldn’t be able to help me. Now if you like me, on the other hand, then you will do your best. Therefore, the spell makes you like me, I think.’

  Like him! If only he knew. ‘Like’ was not the word she would use to describe how she felt when she gazed at him. It was far too tame. ‘Obsessed’ or ‘love-struck’ would be nearer the mark. But maybe that was part of the spell too. Spell? She shook her head. She really didn’t believe in such things, nor in ghosts, but what was she supposed to think now?

  ‘So why aren’t you moving this time? Or did I dream that part?’

  ‘No, but sometimes I have less energy and it’s too much of an effort. Just speaking to you is hard work. I’m sorry, I can’t explain it. Now please, Kayla, entertain me. What were you reading?’

  ‘Hmm? Oh, I’m reading about Thomas Gainsborough. He must have been quite a character. Honestly, the things he’s supposed to have said.’

  It was Jago’s turn to chuckle. ‘That’s nothing. You should have seen him in action, but truly, I don’t think I should sully a lady’s ears with such tales. Read to me from the book, please, and I will tell you if it rings true.’