“So you are all alone in the world, Cousin Lucy?” he commented as Uther turned away to refill Demelza’s wine glass. “I congratulate you on your good fortune.”
Before I could speak, Demelza intervened in a tone of mild reproof. “Do strive for a little tact, Tynan.” She chided in the manner of one addressing a thoughtless child. “And of course Lucy is not alone. She has found us and we are very glad.” She raised her glass to salute me, and I felt some of the heat fade from my cheeks.
I was heartily glad when that strange meal was over. Uther and Demelza left the room together, but, before I could follow them, Tynan surprised me by catching hold of my upper arm and swinging me round to face him. “I did not realise that you had been brought here as Uther’s latest!” he muttered, his lips twisting into a bitter grimace. “You look at him in exactly the same way a mare regards her first stallion, just before he mounts her.”
I took a step back. “You are offensive! It is true that you do not know me, but I have done nothing to earn this disgust! And to Uther, your guardian, you owe respect, at the very least—”
“An impartial observer might say you are a little young for him,” he continued as if I had not spoken. “But you will no doubt be pleased to learn that Uther likes ’em young!” He bowed and, without another word, strode out of the room, leaving me shaking with anger and embarrassment as I stared after him.
* * *
It seemed an opportune moment, on the following day, to raise the matter that had much occupied my thoughts since my arrival here. Demelza was seated in the drawing room, setting infinitesimal stitches in an embroidered sampler. It was an incongruously restful occupation for one who was generally so fidgety.
“Aunt Demelza.” I took a deep breath and launched into my speech. “As kind as it has been of you to bring me here, I must, at some point, turn my thoughts to the future. I cannot trespass on you generosity forever.”
“Oh, Lucy dearest! I beg you, do not heed Tynan when he talks in that wild way he sometimes affects,” Demelza pleaded, her lips trembling into an attempt at a reassuring smile. “Truly, he does not mean half the things he says, and he delights in saying that which is outrageous. I declare, he should have taken to the stage. Though where he has inherited his dramatic tendencies from, I confess, I cannot guess.”
“Oh, no. I shan’t heed him,’ I replied coolly. I was not prepared to divulge his hateful comments of the previous night about my slavish glances at Uther. This was partly because I feared there was an element of truth in what he said. “Any more than I used to heed my father’s junior employees in India when they teased me unmercifully!”
“You are a sensible girl,” she said.
She seemed inclined to ignore my opening remark, but I persisted. “Aunt, I must soon seek another position.” I sounded rather sterner than I had intended.
“Are you not happy here, child?” Her tone was hurt, and I sighed inwardly.
“More than I have any right to be,” I replied. And it was true. Mere months ago, a group of bloodthirsty Arab brigands had, with a few swift, brutal slashes of their swords, completely altered the course of my life. The “meant to be” orderliness of my existence was no more. I had felt, for a while at least, that I no longer knew who I was and wished what had happened to my father undone. However unnerving I might find Tenebris, I was touched by the welcome I had received from Demelza and, in a very different way, from Uther. I could not afford the luxury, however, of drifting into a life where they—I could not, on first acquaintance, include Tynan—became my replacement family. I was fortunate beyond belief in the way that I had been treated since my arrival here. By and large, I knew that poor relations lived in the shadows, apologising, by their demeanour, for their very existence and striving to find use for themselves where none existed. Few were welcomed into the bosom of the family as I had been. But it was very clear, from last night’s exchanges, that Tynan did not view my presence here with the same affectionate complaisance as his aunt and uncle.
“Then why this talk of leaving us?” Demelza seemed genuinely puzzled.
I sighed. “Because this is not my home and I must not become accustomed to think of it so,” I said, hearing the wistful note in my voice. “When my father died, I was forced into becoming an employee. It was not what I expected from life, but I am resigned.” I could tell I was not making myself understood. “Dearest aunt, what will happen when Tynan marries? His wife will not want me, an unskilled, unwanted indigent—whose relationship is, at best, sketchy and, at worst, nonexistent—hanging about her new home like a wraith!”
Her silvery laugh rang out. “Is that what worries you? What an odd, fanciful little thing you are. If Tynan ever marries, you will continue as my companion, of course. Even if that should mean leaving Tenebris—” She broke off, as if even the contemplation of such an eventuality caused her pain. She regarded me thoughtfully from under the long sweep of her lashes. “And you may marry, too, you know,” she said, snipping a thread with her even white teeth.
Privately, I considered that an unlikely eventuality. The Jagos lived in near seclusion on their island-like peninsula and, even if I did chance to meet an eligible bachelor, my prospects could scarcely be considered advantageous. Something of my thoughts must have shown on my face because Demelza laughed again. “Foolish Lucy,” she purred, taking the sting out of the words by reaching out to stroke my cheek. “Let us not discuss this matter further just now. Can you not, at least for now, view your stay here as a sort of extended summer holiday? One designed to help you recuperate from the horrors you have so recently endured? There will be time enough, when the autumn chills descend, to talk of what next.”
Reluctantly, yet with a tinge of relief, I agreed to postpone any further job-seeking plans.
* * *
Tynan surprised me later that morning by offering to show me around the gardens. Since he seemed to have thrown off his black mood, he proved to be a surprisingly charming companion. He accompanied me to my bedchamber as I changed my light shoes for a sturdy pair of boots. Leaning his shoulders against the door frame, with his hands dug deep into his pockets, he watched me as I wrapped a woollen shawl about my shoulders.
Tynan’s attitude to his own clothing was one of casual grace. The barely starched points of his shirt collar drooped over a carelessly knotted handkerchief, and he wore a long shooting jacket open over an embroidered waistcoat. The customary lock of raven hair fell across his brow.
“Byron is my favourite poet, too,” I told him, with a mischievous sideways glance as we stepped out into the crisp sunlight.
He was quick-witted enough to instantly grasp my meaning. A bark of laughter escaped him. “Little wretch,” he said appreciatively. “Good God, is that what you think me? A Byronic imitator?”
“Not at all. I suspect you are quite unique,” I said blithely as we crunched across the gravel path. “But you do study the poetic in your attire, do you not? Do you write verse, as well?”
“I might,” he confessed, “if I were not devilishly bad at it! Yet you would think, would you not, that I have enough material in my own life to draw upon to produce the greatest tragedy of all time?” Without allowing me time to respond, he continued harshly, “Let us take a stroll to the walled garden, then the maze, the bower and the lake. Oh, wait, let us not forget the herb garden where Demelza grows the plants for her many potions.” I had already heard much of Demelza’s skills as a herbalist. “Then there is the shrubbery and the orchard…”
“May we start with the rose garden?” I asked, sliding my arm through his and effectively slowing his long stride. “I can see that from my bedchamber window, and it looks so pretty.”
He glanced down at me from his superior height. “You are a very unusual girl, hweg. Did you know that?”
“No,” I replied serenely. “And nor do you.” He quirked a brow at me and I said, “How many girls do you actually know, Cousin Tynan?”
“Oh, one or two,” he informe
d me breezily. “It might surprise you to know that Uther occasionally wheels out the cream of the neighbourhood. Just in case I might take a shine to one of them, you understand.”
“And have you done so?” I asked as we stepped into the sweet-scented rose garden.
“No,” he said bluntly, and the black cloud unaccountably descended once more on his brow. “I don’t suppose I shall ever marry.”
He looked so young and lost that I impulsively reached out and pressed his thin hand, smiling reassuringly up into those weary, yet still remarkable, eyes. He returned my stare hungrily for a moment, before raising his hand to study where I had touched it. It was as if he was looking for marks left by my comforting touch. I wondered what his childhood had been like. Demelza, despite her caressing ways, did not strike me as a warm woman. The only person for whom she seemed to care at all was Uther, and on him she doted. Uther, I had reason to suspect, was capable of great passion, but it was perhaps not of the sort required to nurture a delicate child.
“My aunt explained that you have endured considerable ill health in the past, but that does not mean you cannot look forward to a bright future.” I hoped my cheery tone would penetrate his melancholy. He did not answer, and we strolled amongst the fragrant blooms in silence.
“What does it mean?” I asked, wrinkling my brow. “That name you called me? Hweg.” He grinned, and I regarded him with suspicion. “Is it nasty? It certainly doesn’t sound very pleasant.”
He placed a hand over his heart in a mock-hurt gesture. “You wrong me, Cousin Lucy, truly you do!” But he would not be drawn on the meaning of the word and, eventually, I gave up and we strolled on into the orchard.
I had almost forgotten the exchange, but it came back into my mind as I was dressing for dinner. “Betty, what does hweg mean?” I asked. She seemed more herself this evening, although I thought she looked a little pale. I wondered if there had been bad news from home.
“Celery, I think,” she said, after some silent deliberation. “You know, like the vegetable,” she added in answer to my confused expression.
“Oh.” I frowned, at a loss for anything else to say.
Betty blushed, believing my frown to be for her. “Sorry, miss. My ma would proper scold, but I’m not quick at remembering the old language. It’s very rare to hear it spoken now.”
When she had gone, I studied my slender figure in the mirror, recalling my green dress of the previous evening. So I look like a stick of celery, do I, my lord Athal? My eyes darkened angrily. My cousin Tynan, it would appear, had a decidedly poisonous streak to his personality.
Chapter Four
The sun was setting and a rolling mist brought darkened silence in its wake. I paused to survey the rusty horizon, my thoughts taking flight and seeking solace once again in memories of my father. The stone walls behind me, cold as death, guarded the dreams of long-dead Jagos and the secrets of those still living.
“Cousin!” Tynan’s urgent whisper made me jump and I turned to remonstrate with him. He hushed me by putting a finger to his lips and jerking his head for me to follow him. He seemed excited and edgy. He held aloft a lantern and his eyes shone in the half-light it cast. Beyond its circle, the dim twilight revealed shadowy shapes.
“This is the best place to see it,” he said, leading me to a secluded bower at the far edge of the formal garden. He pointed to the east tower which stood proud and dark against the lowering sky. Placing the lantern on the ground, he removed his coat and placed it over the light, plunging us both into darkness. Seeming unaware of his actions, he draped a companionable arm about my shoulders, drawing me close and murmuring into my hair, “Watch!”
At first, it sounded like children’s footsteps running through brittle autumn leaves. Within seconds it had become a wild crescendo of noise. Hundreds of high-pitched squeaks filled the air as a mass of small, hungry bats surged forth from the tower. Serrated wings beat a wild tattoo in the pale moonlight as they swooped in crazy figures. I watched in amazement and delight, Tynan’s warm breath caressing my cheek, as a thousand sightless eyes sought out their prey with devastating accuracy. Gradually the tumult faded as the swarm swirled and looped away.
I turned to look at Tynan, starting to thank him for bringing me to witness this incredible sight, and he laughed. Dropping a light, inconsequential kiss on my cheek, he released me and bent to retrieve his coat. As the lantern was uncovered, it illuminated the bower and my eyes fell on a horrible spectacle just a few feet away.
“Tynan!” I gripped his arm and he followed the direction of my horrified gaze. It was the corpse of a dead rabbit, the ground all around glistening with the dark red of its spilled blood. The head, torn from its body in the vilest manner with the narrow skull crushed and broken, lay nearby.
“Ugh. It must have been foxes.”
“No fox did that!” I said shakily. “A fox kills for food! Whatever it was that did that, did it for sport.”
“Must have been a cat, then,” he remarked calmly. “Let’s go back before Demelza scolds us for keeping dinner waiting. I’ll get one of the lads to come and move it.”
“Dinner? How can you speak of eating and remain so unmoved?” I demanded, pointing a shaking finger at the rabbit. “And what sort of cat can rip the head off a full-grown rabbit?”
“A big one,” he said cheerfully, and then laughed at my outraged expression. “Sorry, hweg! I will be suitably disgusted and outraged from now on.”
“Tynan! Lucy!” Uther’s voice wiped the smile off Tynan’s face in a way the mutilated rabbit had not. “I’ve had the devil’s own job… What the…?” His eyes lighted on the rabbit and he hurried forward to me. “Are you all right, Lucy, my dear?” He scanned my face in concern. His eyes flickered over to Tynan.
“I am, but it is no thanks to my cousin here!” I announced crossly, giving that gentleman a furious stare. “He finds the whole matter hugely entertaining!”
Tynan muttered something incomprehensible and, leaving the lantern behind, sloped off toward the castle. Uther drew me into a warm embrace, running his strong hands up and down my back until the quivering in my limbs ceased. It was enough to make me almost—but not quite—forget the hideous sight I had just beheld. I must admit, I may have tarried there in his arms, beneath the stars, a little longer than was strictly necessary.
“Did you see what happened?” His hands moved now so that one held me lightly about the waist while the other gently tilted my chin up to look at him.
“No, I met Tynan in the garden and he brought me to see the bats swarming. He covered the lantern so that we could see better. When he uncovered it, I noticed…” I bit my lip. “It is fresh,” I said, and I could hear the shudder in my own voice. “It has happened very recently. And I do not believe Tynan’s theory that a cat or a fox did it.”
“Nor do I.” Uther picked up the lantern, and, drawing my hand into the crook of his arm, began to walk along the path. “Where did you meet Tynan?” he asked. I frowned in confusion and he added, “You said you met him, and then he took you to see the bat swarm. Where was he when you met him?”
“Oh, not far from the bower,” I said.
“And where did he come from? Was it the house?”
I stopped in my tracks and turned to look up at him again. “No,” I spoke very slowly, “Tynan didn’t come from the house. He came from the direction of the bower.”
* * *
“Aunt, would you mind very much if I asked you about Tynan’s parents?” We were alone in the drawing room. The room was long, with four windows looking over the moat and drawbridge towards the ocean beyond. It was comfortably furnished in old oak, with large carved cabinets and chairs cushioned with crimson velvet. The walls were tapestry-hung, the figures therein large as life in ancient garb and engaged in hunting, hawking and archery. Unlike the great hall, it was not too stately to be comfortable. It was to this room that we generally retired after dinner to take tea, coffee or chocolate according to our various tastes.
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Demelza sighed. “It all seems so long ago,” she said a trifle petulantly. Her restless fingers crumbled a sweet biscuit, stirred her tea and folded, then refolded, her napkin. Behind her, through the long windows, the colours of evening lent a daffodil tint to the watercolour landscape. I waited patiently, relying on her inability to remain silent. With a little sigh, she continued, “Ruan adored her. Eleanor was a dear, sweet girl. But, we discovered later, she was emotionally very fragile. Tenebris did not suit her feeble constitution. You need to be made of stern stuff to withstand its demands.” I thought that was an odd way of expressing herself. As though Tenebris was a living entity. “She was nervous and sickly whenever they stayed here, and she began to make excuses to remain in London. Ruan, however, wanted their child to be born here, and for Tynan to spend as much of his childhood as possible at Tenebris.” Her beautiful eyes were distant, as though she stared through an imaginary window to the past. “After Tynan was born, when he was just a few months old, Eleanor became obsessed with a desire to spend the summer at her parents’ home in Kent. But Ruan would not hear of it. They argued about it one day and she ran off. Ruan went after her. When night began to fall and neither had returned, Uther formed the servants into a search party. They found Eleanor in Athal Cove. A bloodied rock lay nearby…. Her skull had been caved in.” I gasped and her eyes flickered over me as if recalling my presence. “Oh, I am sorry to be so brutal with you, child! I have lived with the horror of it these many years, so I suppose it is almost commonplace to me now.” She reached for my hand and I clasped hers. We sat like that for several minutes while the lowering gloom of evening began to invade the room. A footman tiptoed unobtrusively in to draw the damask drapes and light several branches of candles.
“What of Ruan?” I prompted. Having lost my own father to violent death, I had some inkling of the awfulness of that night some twenty years ago.
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