The Secret Kiss of Darkness

by Christina Courtenay

  Kayla did as she was told and they laughed together. After a while, however, Jago’s voice began to sound tired and he said he had to go.

  ‘Go where?’

  ‘Back to my resting place, wherever it is. As I said, speaking to you for any length of time tires me. Forgive me.’

  ‘No, that’s all right. I understand, I think.’ She hesitated before asking, ‘Jago? Will you speak to me again?’

  ‘Certainly I will. If you wish it, that is.’

  Kayla smiled. ‘Yes, I actually think I do.’ She clapped a hand to her forehead. ‘I really am going mad, aren’t I?’

  ‘No, you’re not, I promise you. Have faith and all will be well. Goodnight, my dear.’ The voice faded away and silence reigned. There were only the usual sounds of traffic from the street outside and the distant rumbling of the underground. Kayla stared at Jago’s portrait for a long time before returning to her book. After trying unsuccessfully to concentrate, however, she gave up and went to bed, only to dream of a swarthy pirate with Jago’s features who didn’t speak to her, but did other things she liked even better.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jago was just coming up the stairs from the cellar of the inn with a keg of ale on his shoulder, when the door to the taproom was flung open so hard it slammed into the wall. It was late afternoon, the day after Mr Gainsborough and his nephew had finally departed. Only two customers sat nursing a tankard each by the fire, but they both looked up at the same time as Jago. Their mouths gaped when they saw who came striding in.

  Sir John Marcombe.

  Jago drew in a steadying breath and pretended he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. With slow and deliberate movements, he placed the keg behind the counter and tried not to show how hard his heart was thumping. Had John found out, he wondered. Was that why he had a face on him like a stormy thundercloud? Well, he couldn’t prove anything, or could he? Had Gainsborough talked after all? Jago swallowed hard.

  ‘You there.’ John slapped his riding gloves down onto the counter next to Jago. ‘I hear you’re the man in charge.’

  ‘I own this inn, yes,’ Jago replied warily and decided not to add, ‘as you well know’.

  ‘No, I don’t mean this miserable hovel.’ John lowered his voice, although only slightly. ‘The free-trading, you fool.’

  Jago felt relief flood through him when he realised John hadn’t come about Eliza. Then he registered what he had said and raised his eyebrows, seriously annoyed at being addressed like that by his half-brother. He decided to let it go for now.

  ‘What of it?’ he said non-committally. Did John really think Jago was stupid enough to admit to any such thing in public?

  ‘You owe me a lock, that’s what.’ John scowled at him. ‘I’ll not have anyone enter my property without permission and if I have a lock put in anywhere, it’s there for a purpose.’

  ‘A lock?’ It took Jago a moment to remember that behind the secret door he’d opened there were also stairs leading down to the Marcombe Hall cellars. As far as he knew, no one ever put Sir John’s share down there, but perhaps they had done so in the past? And he’d thought he was the only one who knew about the hidden entrance – obviously that was not the case. At least if John thought that was the reason for breaking the lock, it was better than the truth. And now he knew that John – and possibly others – were aware of the secret door after all, he’d be more careful.

  ‘Yes, I’m warning you, anyone found in my cellars will be handed over to the magistrate, brandy or no brandy,’ John said. ‘Is that clear?’

  ‘I’m sure everyone hereabouts will know about it before nightfall,’ Jago replied with a small nod towards their audience. The two men by the fire turned away when John fixed them with a glare, but Jago was sure they weren’t deaf.

  ‘Good. And if anyone tampers with the lock again, I’ll hold you responsible. Now you owe me three shillings for the old one.’

  ‘The hell I do.’ Jago stared his half-brother straight in the eyes, his gaze not wavering for a second. Eliza was one thing, he was guilty as charged if John ever found out about that, but he’d be damned if he’d kowtow to him over any other matter.

  John was the first to lower his eyes, red colour flooding his cheeks at what he obviously took for insolence. ‘Well, tell the free-traders they owe me an extra keg of brandy then. Someone’s responsible and I will have compensation.’

  Jago just continued to glare at John. There was no way he’d admit to knowing any free-traders or having any connections with them and this fact finally seemed to penetrate John’s fury.

  He turned on his heel and left without another word.

  During the following week Kayla had several conversations with Jago and each time it happened she became less incredulous and more accepting of the situation. She stopped doubting her own sanity – or at least caring about the fact that she might be going crazy – and began to take it for granted that he would reply whenever she addressed a comment to him. More often than not, he did.

  She even found that their talks helped her through the difficult time she was having at the office where, because it was a small firm, she was forced to see Mike every day. Although she managed to avoid having to speak to him directly, it was still an awkward situation. When she came home depressed after the leaving party some of her workmates threw for her in her last week, Jago tried to comfort her, even though she sensed he didn’t quite understand why she was upset.

  ‘It was time for you to move on, Kayla. And you can still see those people from time to time, surely? They’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘Yes, I know it would have been impossible to stay and of course I can still see them. I’m turning into a real Moaning Minnie, aren’t I? I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this. It’s all just been a bit too much lately.’

  ‘Think of it this way, you may be entering a new and exciting phase of your life. There are endless possibilities,’ Jago said.

  ‘Yes, the phase where I’m committed to a lunatic asylum for talking to paintings.’ But she couldn’t help laughing and felt better after that.

  Her mother made things worse by calling almost every day to try and persuade Kayla to change her mind. No one in her family seemed to want to believe the wedding was cancelled for good.

  ‘But darling, surely it was just a tiff? Everyone has them. It’s wedding nerves, that’s all.’

  ‘No, Mum.’ Kayla sighed. She was so sick of hearing about wedding nerves. Surely if she’d been marrying the right person there wouldn’t have been any and no doubts either? ‘I’m not going to change my mind, Mum. I’m sorry, but I mean it. There won’t be a wedding, okay?’

  ‘But Kayla …’ Her mother thought she was being hasty, but Kayla knew better now. Marrying Mike would have been a disaster, she could see that with hindsight. She could only be grateful to Jago for coming between them, even if he hadn’t done it on purpose. In the end, her mother had to admit defeat and reluctantly cancelled all the arrangements.

  ‘You do realise I’ll have to send all the wedding gifts back? It wouldn’t be right to keep them.’

  ‘Of course I know that.’ Kayla gritted her teeth. Why on earth would she want to keep them now anyway?

  When the two weeks were finally up, Kayla left the office for the last time with mixed feelings. She knew Jago was right, and she could visit her former workmates at any time, but she was quite sure she wouldn’t be going back for a long while, if ever.

  With nothing to do, other than to try and find another job, Kayla had no excuse for putting off her call to Sir Wesley Marcombe. She waited until the Monday morning, then gathered her courage and dialled the number quickly before she could change her mind. A woman’s voice answered.

  ‘Marcombe Hall, good morning.’

  ‘Could I speak to Sir Wesley, please?’

  ‘I’m sorry, he’s not in at the moment. I’m his secretary, can I help you?’

  ‘Well, yes, perhaps you can.’ Kayla hesitated, then quick
ly made up a story about being an art student wanting to study paintings by Gainsborough. ‘I’ve been told Sir Wesley might have one in his possession and I was wondering if I could come and have a look at it?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. There are loads of paintings here, just gathering dust if you ask me. Let me see …’ The secretary made a rustling noise as if she was leafing through a diary. ‘How about Wednesday afternoon at four o’clock? I think Sir Wesley is free then and I’m sure he’d be delighted to show you around.’

  ‘Wednesday. So soon? Er, yes, that should be fine. Thank you so much.’

  Kayla hung up and leaned back against the wall, taking deep breaths. Things were moving too fast and her heart beat a rapid tattoo of panic. She didn’t like lying, it made her feel very uncomfortable and she was usually betrayed by a blush staining her cheeks whenever she tried it. What if Sir Wesley caught her out? He might think her an art thief or worse.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she told herself. ‘You’re only going to have a quick look at the painting, then you’ll be on your way. Besides, why would Sir Wesley care who you are anyway?’

  Kayla set off for the West Country early on the Wednesday morning, having said a reluctant goodbye to Jago. It almost felt like parting from an old friend and the thought made her smile.

  ‘I promise I’ll come back and tell you what I find as soon as I can, but please don’t hold out too much hope. After all, over two hundred years have passed and there’s no guarantee Eliza’s painting even exists any more,’ she told him.

  ‘I know, but somehow I feel that I would know if it had been destroyed. I should have passed on to somewhere else, if you see what I mean. There would’ve been no reason for me to remain in this limbo if my link to her was gone. Am I making sense?’ For the first time he’d seemed vulnerable to Kayla, no longer the self-assured rogue she had become used to talking to. This, more than anything, strengthened her resolve to help him if she could.

  ‘Yes, I understand, Jago. I’ll do my best. Look after my flat and scare away any burglars, won’t you? Most people run a mile if they see or hear a ghost or anything paranormal. Don’t know why I didn’t.’

  ‘You may be certain I will. And Kayla?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Thank you. I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, no matter what the outcome may be.’

  Kayla had discussed her journey with Maddie. ‘I think I’ll make it easy for myself and take the M4 to Bristol and then the M5 down to Exeter,’ she told her friend. ‘If I stay on the motorway I can’t get lost, can I? Perhaps I’ll even make a little detour and stop for lunch at Bath, it’s such a lovely place.’

  ‘What about after Exeter?’ Their heads were bent over the road map and Maddie peered at it, following the route Kayla’s finger travelled.

  ‘I’ll have to try and follow the signs to Totnes and then on towards the coast. It shouldn’t be too difficult.’

  ‘Hmm. Maybe I should come with you? You know what you’re like when it comes to following directions. If you change your appointment and wait until next week I might be able to take a couple of days off.’

  ‘Come on, I’m not that bad. I don’t think it’s very far from Exeter and I can always stop and ask the way. It should be a piece of cake.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Maddie looked very sceptical and shook her head, but that only made Kayla even more determined to manage by herself.

  It had sounded like a nice, relaxing journey, a bit of a holiday after all the recent upheavals in her life, but Kayla later acknowledged she should have known better. Nothing was ever that simple, especially not for her.

  Everything went well to begin with and she drove into Bath just before lunchtime as planned. She even had time for a quick stroll around the busy streets before treating herself to an early lunch at the Pump Room. The spring sunshine flooded the large airy restaurant and Kayla felt as if she was eating in the lap of luxury. A pianist playing classical pieces softly in the background added to the atmosphere. She allowed herself to daydream for a while of how it would have been to promenade round the room in Jago’s day, taking the waters and greeting friends and acquaintances. Ladies in beautiful dresses, the men in long coats and cascading cravats, although perhaps none as attractive as Jago. Even so, it was a pleasant fantasy. Refreshed and relaxed Kayla continued her journey.

  Later that afternoon, however, she had to acknowledge that Maddie’s misgivings had been well founded. Mike’s words to her during their last holiday together came back to taunt her.

  ‘Honestly, the clichéd description “couldn’t find your way out of a paper bag” fits you perfectly, Kayla.’ They’d been driving around the sun-drenched landscape of Mallorca at the time, searching for some caves which the tourist brochures had promised were spectacular and easy to find. Instead they’d ended up somewhere in the middle of the island and that was when Mike decided he had better do the navigating. ‘You drive,’ he’d said with a sigh, and Kayla had taken her place at the steering wheel without a word.

  ‘I can’t believe I’ve done it again,’ she wailed now, trying to suppress the rising panic. She was completely lost in the Devon landscape and pulled up by the side of the road. In sheer frustration she hit the steering wheel with the flat of her hands. ‘Damn it all to hell!’

  There had been quite a lot of traffic around Exeter and in the confusion she had missed her turning at the southern end of the motorway, which meant she had to retrace part of her route. This took quite a while due to some roadworks on her side of the carriageway. After that she’d been fine as far as Totnes, but then something had gone seriously wrong.

  The roads became smaller and narrower the further she went. There were tall hedges on either side, completely obscuring the view, with the consequence that she lost what little sense of direction she possessed in the first place. Down towards the coast the roads were almost not worthy of the name. In fact, they were nothing more than a single track and not a wide one at that. Each time she met an oncoming vehicle, Kayla had to either reverse to a slightly wider meeting point, or squeeze her little Peugeot as far into the nearest hedge as possible.

  ‘Oh God, the scratches,’ she murmured, but tried not to think about the damage she must be causing the car’s paintwork.

  After several miles of these tiny, winding lanes, Kayla slowed the car to a crawl and tried to look around, but there was nothing to see. She had passed the occasional farm and small village, but they were few and far between and she couldn’t locate them on the map.

  ‘Argh, I’m going to be so late,’ she moaned now, glancing at her watch. She was pretty sure she hadn’t seen a road sign for quite some time, and she also had a sneaking suspicion that she’d already passed this particular turning before. It looked awfully familiar. Well, there was nothing for it but to continue.

  ‘Should I go right or left, or maybe straight on?’

  She gazed forlornly at the crumpled map, but couldn’t make head nor tail of it. There was no one to ask either, not a living soul for miles, apart from the occasional flock of sheep.

  As she finally decided to turn left a few raindrops spattered the windscreen, and these quickly turned into a complete deluge. It became impossible to see more than a few yards along the road and the windscreen wipers had to work overtime, squeaking in outraged protest.

  ‘Great, this is all I need,’ Kayla muttered, clamping her teeth together in frustration. And now was definitely not the best time to find out that the blade of the windscreen wiper on the driver’s side of the car needed to be changed. Why hadn’t she noticed that before?

  She checked her watch once more. It was only half past four in the afternoon, but it was so dark that she had to turn on the headlights. The wind picked up and she could feel the little car being buffeted again and again by a particularly strong gust. Every time she passed under a tree, torrents of rain slapped onto the car’s roof, making her jump, and Kayla had to slow right down in order to navigate safely around the sharp bends. To
add insult to injury, patches of mist began to appear and she started to despair in earnest.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, does this road never end?’ she exclaimed. Her eyes stung from concentrating so hard and she felt exhausted. It had been a very long day, and unfortunately it wasn’t over yet.

  Time became a blur and Kayla wondered if this nightmare journey would continue for all eternity. Then the road suddenly turned abruptly to the right and she thought she might be driving along the coast at last. She could just make out what seemed to be a sheer drop on her left and when she opened the window a cautious inch, the salty smell of the sea came wafting into the car. Ten minutes later the road wound its way inland again and Kayla caught sight of a light up ahead.

  Oh, thank God, at least I can ask for directions.

  The light turned out to be the porch lamp of a small house standing next to a massive pair of wrought iron gates, its posts guarded by two fierce looking eagles carved in stone. Kayla drew up in front of them and stopped the car. Grabbing her handbag and car keys she made a dash for a smaller gate, which led to the house, and shivering from the cold wind, she rang the doorbell.

  The owner of the house took his sweet time. Kayla was almost jumping up and down by the time a man in his mid-fifties with a weather-beaten face opened the door a crack at last and peered at her suspiciously. ‘Yes, can I help you?’ His West Country burr was much stronger than Jago’s, but even the familiarity of this didn’t calm Kayla.

  ‘I’m very sorry to bother you but I’m afraid I’m completely lost. Could you possibly tell me where I am and how to get to the nearest town?’ She held out her creased map and gave him a look that she hoped would have melted a heart of stone. The rain was pouring down her face and her jacket was soaked already. She prayed the man could help her.

  He narrowed his eyes for a fraction of a second, then apparently decided she was trustworthy. He opened the door wide. ‘You’d best come in then,’ he said grudgingly.