I frowned. That didn’t make sense. Demelza told me that Eleanor ran out of the castle after arguing with Ruan, and that he followed her. So how could he be waiting at the cove for her? Perhaps Violet was right and Gem really was too feeble-minded to remember.
“She stopped by the water’s edge, she were frightened,” he continued. “He grabbed her and shook her, then he tried to kiss her, but she slapped his face and pushed him away.” His lip trembled pitifully and bright tears washed the blue of his old eyes. “He hit her back hard and she fell down. He grabbed up a rock and…”
“Don’t worry, Gem, I know what happened next,” I said softly. His story only confirmed the sad truth. “What did the man do next? After she was dead?”
“He stood over her. He were breathing hard.” He demonstrated by releasing several panting breaths. “Then the other man came. The brother.”
“Uther came along then, while Ruan was still alive?” I must have raised my voice because I startled Gem, who tried to rise from his chair in alarm. Laddie gave me a soft, warning growl and then, as if to take the sting out of his threat, wagged his tail apologetically. “I’m sorry, Gem.” I patted his hand again and he relaxed a little. “Let me get this straight in my head. Do you mean that Uther Jago—” my mind sought a way to easily distinguish between the brothers “—the man with the scar on his cheek, came along before his brother killed himself?”
He shook his head, confusion written all over his face. “No!” he said with stubborn emphasis. “I’m a-telling you ’twere him, the one with the scar, what killed her! The other, His Lordship, as were, he came along after.”
When at last I left the old wharf behind me, my thoughts acted like lead weights on my feet. The early promise of the morning did not disappoint. I entered the formal garden and sat there amongst the great puffs of nodding blooms with their heart-shaped leaves. I breathed deeply of the dense, perfumed air while the fountain’s gentle rain soothed my disordered thoughts. Great wafts of air tossed the branches to and fro, and cherry blossom bowed its remorseful head.
My instinct, when I left Gem, had been to run and find Tynan and pour out the whole story. But a brief period of reflection made me pause. What would the effect of Gem’s story be on Tynan’s poor, confused mind? It could cause him to lose the tenuous grip he had on sanity permanently. And for what? After this distance of time—and always supposing Gem was right about what he remembered—was there anything that could be done?
But I remembered Eleanor’s words: I cannot rid myself of this terrible premonition that something bad will happen to us in this place. Dear God, take care of my child. I could not ignore what I knew. Gem had gone on to describe Ruan’s horror when he came across Uther, bloodied rock in hand, standing over Eleanor’s ruined body. The brothers had fought desperately, but Gem described an uneven battle, with Uther overcoming his brother with a blow to the head. Gem told me he had smiled as he tossed Ruan’s unconscious form into the hungry waves.
I would never be brave enough to confront Uther. I hated myself for that. And it would be pointless to take my newfound knowledge to Demelza. She would not listen to a word said against her adored brother. And, from what Gem had said, it did not seem she would be entirely sympathetic toward a poor, befuddled old man.
“Hweg, do you know you look as though you have the weight of the world on those narrow shoulders of yours?” Tynan threw himself down onto the bench next to me and shoved his hands into his pockets, regarding me with interest. His expression changed, and the fey light he reserved only for me fired the depths of his eyes. “What troubles you, Cousin Lucy?”
I almost laughed aloud! Since my arrival at Tenebris, my cares seemed to double in size and intensity every day. Hell and Paradise resided together on earth in this infernal place.
“There is someone I would like you to meet….” I began.
Chapter Ten
The sky was an artist’s palette, with colours running and merging into the sea. The coastal path gave us scarlet fields of poppies daubed with splashes of paler wild flowers on one side and the contrasting drama of cliffs and wild breakers on the other. Surf roared and gulls screeched as I made my way, for the second time that day, down the steeply hewn rocks and into Athal Cove. The tang of salt, seaweed and summer frisked and played on the lilting breeze.
“What exactly do you want me to see here, hweg?” Tynan turned to offer me his hand as we neared the base of the cliff.
“There is someone I need you to talk to,” I explained, “or rather, I want you to listen to what he has to say.”
The white sand cove snuggled cosily under protecting cliffs. Sparkling turquoise waters reflected sharply off the white walls of a smattering of tiny cottages. Tynan told me that one of his earliest memories was of his father teaching him to swim in the placid waters of the bay. If you stood at the water’s edge, the uppermost towers of Tenebris could be seen, sentinel-like, guarding the bay. A row of long-ruined slate cottages huddled against the far cliff face and it was close to these that a small, agitated crowd had gathered.
Tynan, with an air of authority I had not dreamed he could possess, parted the crowds and bent over the prone form on the slipway. I knew before he eased the body over that it was Gem. In spite of the horror of the scene, the men doffed their caps to Tynan, and a woman, whom I recognised as Gem’s sister Violet, bobbed an awkward curtsy. Gem was recognisable by the right half of his face, which was still intact. The left side was a bloody pulp of bone and brain. Streamers of crimson blood flowed over the rocks and disappeared into the sea. A few curious gulls hovered expectantly. I raised a trembling hand to cover my mouth as hot bile surged into my throat.
“What happened here?” Tynan’s cool voice cut through the chatter.
“It’s my brother, Gem. He always came home at two for a bite to eat, my lord.” Violet’s voice wobbled, then righted itself. “I could set me clock by him, so I could. When it got to ten past, I came out to find him….”
“We heard Vi here shouting and come down to see what all the fuss were about,” a young man explained. “Then Your Lordship arrived.”
“He must’ve slipped on the rocks,” another man volunteered, but his companions rounded on him.
“Like a mountain goat he were on these cliffs!”
“Never missed his footing, even after a barrel o’grog!”
“Half his head’s been bashed in, cabbage-wits!”
“Aye, and there’s the stone the bastard—begging your pardon, miss—used!” This was said with a trembling finger levelled at the fist-sized, blood-covered rock that lay beside Gem’s sad body.
“But ’twere broad daylight and anyhow…why? Old Gem didn’t have the sense to be no harm to no one.”
I tuned out the voices and studied Tynan’s face as he rose, automatically brushing the knees of his trousers. It could not have escaped him. Gem had died in exactly the same place, and manner, as Tynan’s mother.
Uther’s belief that Tynan was controlled by a primal bloodlust seemed nonsensical to me then. True, his face was white and his mouth pinched, but there was no trace of hysteria or instability about him, despite the gruesome spectacle. As he took charge and gave orders for a doctor and magistrate to be summoned to the scene, he remained calm and in control. I looked around me. Laddie sat close by. His eyes were fixed on his beloved master and he swallowed convulsively, his whole body trembling. As I approached, with my hand outstretched, he looked up at something past my shoulder and commenced a low, keening howl. My eyes followed the dog’s old gaze. A rider had paused on the cliff edge. His glossy black horse plunged and sidled as he strained to bring it back under control. The horseman surveyed the scene below him for a long moment, before spurring his steed into a gallop.
* * *
“How much of my heart was shaped by these stone walls before I was even born, Lucy?” Tynan asked sadly. I wished I had an answer for him. In the darkest hours of the night, my fears for him soaked my pillow with tears. Gem’s mu
rder had cast a melancholy pall over the village and permeated the castle. There was endless fascinated gossip about what might have happened. No longer could I share what the doomed old man had told me with Tynan, or anyone else. When Tynan eventually asked me to explain why I had taken him to the cove that day, I made a feeble excuse. Without Gem himself to tell it, the story of Uther’s involvement in the deaths of Ruan and Eleanor was not mine to share.
We were standing before the largest, most commanding portrait in the great hall. Arwen Jago looked down on us. “Well known for his venomous, hate-filled sermons and—er, shall we say ‘unconventional’?—lifestyle,” Tynan said, regarding his infamous ancestor with distaste.
“Uther told me all about him,” I studied the man in the portrait again. It still unnerved me to see those familiar features on that long-dead face.
“Did he now?” Tynan asked with interest. “I’m surprised at Uther, sullying your innocent ears with lewd stories! It’s not the sort of stuff one normally shares with a lady,” he said primly. I laughed, teasing him for his old-fashioned notions. But, at the same time, something snapped inside my chest. I wondered what he would think if he knew how very “uninnocent” I had become since I met Uther. I could not bear the possibility that Tynan’s warm, appreciative gaze might change abruptly to one of contempt.
“Arwen here had a theory that blood was the elixir of life. The more of it he could shed, the longer his own life would be. Mad as a box of frogs, of course…like so many of my dear family.” His tone was rueful, but his eyes twinkled at me. I marvelled anew at his ability to talk so lightly and openly about his affliction.
“Uther said Arwen killed children as part of a satanic pact.” A cold chill trickled down my spine as I studied the cruel, lascivious face that stared scornfully down at me.
“Yes, a regular charmer, wasn’t he? It was common knowledge that he killed his own brother in order to get his hands on the title.”
I shivered. He did not know, of course, how closely his words of past hatred and nameless violence echoed what I knew of present misdeeds. “Quite open he was, by all accounts. Said Satan had promised him eternal life if he gave him enough sacrifices in return. He had to keep trying to find Lucia, his lost love.” Tynan dug his hands into his pockets, pondering. “Thing is, why would anyone want to keep coming back as an evil, murdering debaucher?”
“I suppose if he enjoyed those things—and it appears he did!—then he might wish to do them for all eternity,” I said.
“Thank goodness he was unsuccessful, then.” He laughed. As we turned away, I had the oddest fancy that Arwen Jago’s stare continued to burn into the back of my neck.
* * *
Wadebridge was a pretty market town, and I exulted in the luxury of a whole day there with no company other than my own. I had explained to Demelza a few days before that I needed to purchase several items to refurbish some of my gowns. Port Isaac did not boast a haberdashery, so the market at Wadebridge was the most suitable place to fulfil my needs. She had exclaimed in delight at the prospect of a day’s shopping, and announced her intention of accompanying me.
When the morning of the proposed jaunt dawned, however, Demelza appeared at breakfast early and begged me to excuse her. She had a sickly headache (it must be the heat, she explained) and would probably spend much of the day resting in her room. I offered to postpone the expedition, but she would not hear of it. Tynan, accompanied by the ever-watchful Desmond, had set off early for the dubious pleasure of a day’s fishing, and Uther, my aunt informed me, had locked himself away in the Muniment Room with a pile of papers. Would I mind very much taking the carriage to Wadebridge by myself? Trying to hide my delight, I gave my solemn assurance that I would not. Giving Demelza a dutiful kiss on the cheek, I skipped away to get ready. My spirits were unusually light.
The journey took just over an hour, mainly because the roads were so poor, but I didn’t mind. I resolved to buy a newspaper and scan the situations for a suitable post. My pleasure at being away from Tenebris, however briefly, could not be ignored. My heart was sending my brain a loud, clear message.
Originally known as Wade, the town spanned two parishes, Egloshayle and St Breock, which were situated either side of the river Camel. It was said that medieval travellers gave thanks at both sides if they succeeded in safely crossing the fast-flowing waters at this dangerous fording point. When a bridge was built in the fifteenth century, the name was changed. I walked across that bridge on this fine sunny morning and pictured Cromwell’s men holding it for the Roundheads during the Civil War. Tynan told me that the Earl of Athal at that time—who was the brother of none other than the notorious Arwen Jago—had fought bravely on the side of the Cavaliers. He had been amply recompensed upon the restoration of King Charles II. Sadly, he had not lived long enough to enjoy his reward.
Having completed my few purchases, I stood on the old bridge, with its fifteen arches, enjoying the late August sunshine and looking out across the river. Crowds of visitors ebbed and flowed around me. The town had taken on a new fascination since the Wadebridge and Bodmin Railway Line opened a few years ago. This feat of modern engineering carried the first steam trains in Cornwall, and was the first in West Britain to carry passengers. It was there, on the bridge, that I spied a familiar figure walking toward me.
I waited until she drew level. “Betty?”
Her shock at seeing me was written plainly across her face. I thought she looked thin and drawn. She glanced nervously about her as though seeking a means of escape. Then she seemed to steel herself and said quietly, with a formal little nod, “Miss Lucy.”
“Can we go somewhere and talk?” I asked. My stomach actually churned in anticipation of her refusal, but after a minute’s silence, she nodded again. It was as if she had come at last to a decision and was glad of it.
“I live along here, just at the end of the bridge road,” she said quietly, and we fell into step with each other. “My mam might be a bit chuntery—you being from the castle, and all—but she’ll not refuse you a cup of tea.”
The house was set in the middle of a small terrace, its bland, grey exterior enlivened by pots of bright geraniums placed on either side of the door. The narrow hallway was dark and cool after the bright sunlight. Mrs Doughty, Betty’s mother, was a formidable little lady with a shadow of her daughter’s prettiness about her careworn features.
“She’ll not be going back there, miss!” she declared when Betty introduced me. Her hands, flour-coated from pie-making, were planted firmly on her hips to emphasise the point. “Not for a big clock she won’t!”
“Mam,” Betty said reproachfully, “Miss Lucy’s the lady I told you about…. She’s always been kind to me and anyway, she’s not one of them!”
Mrs Doughty seemed disappointed to be deprived of a fight in this manner and continued to eye me dubiously. Relenting slightly, she offered to make some tea. “Which I would not do for t’other one,” she told me darkly. “Ladyship or no ladyship! And no better than she should be, by all accounts. But my lips are sealed on that matter.”
I had a feeling that, with a little encouragement from me, her lips would be speedily unsealed. It was not for idle chit-chat about the Jagos that I had come to her home, however. And the “accounts” about Demelza to which she referred must be based on gossip. No one knew better than I that Demelza, even if she wished to behave in a less than respectable manner, never had any opportunity to do so. Whatever she may have been in her younger days, she certainly did not now encounter any men with whom she might even consider having an improper liaison.
Even so, Mrs Doughty’s word took my mind back to the time I thought I heard Demelza laughing with a man behind her bedroom door. But, apart from the night of the ball, there were no male visitors to the castle. Could it have been a servant? Surely not! Uther’s anger, should the family name be so defiled, would know no bounds, and his opinion mattered to his sister above all others.
Betty persuaded Mrs Doughty t
o leave us alone and, after plying me with tea and home-baked bread with thick yellow butter and honey, she reluctantly did so. I studied Betty thoughtfully, wondering how to broach my concerns with her, but she started the conversation.
“I’ve not told mam the whole story,” she said, twisting her hands together in her lap. “She thinks they—the family—were just a bit unkind to me.”
“What is the whole story, Betty? Please tell me.”
Her lip trembled pitifully, but she got it back under control. “I do want to tell you, miss. I did even then while it was happening, to warn you, but I was scared. It started pretty much straight away. He said he’d noticed me because I was new and young. He said the castle needed more young people.” Tynan’s words at the dinner table the night Betty left came back to me and chilled me. “Then he seemed to go out of his way to seek me out. Said I was pretty and… Oh, Miss Lucy, I liked it! I liked him saying those things to me, at first.”
“Of course you did, Betty!” I reassured her. “What girl doesn’t want to hear that she’s pretty? And when the compliment comes from her employer…”
“But he changed. It was around the time you came, miss. I was so happy to be serving you, but he started…” She swallowed hard. “Touching me.”
“Where did he touch you?” I asked. Did I really want to hear this? All of the details?
“Here,” she placed a hand to her breast. “And he kissed me. It was horrible,” she said with candid innocence. “He put his tongue in my mouth! And he was panting. He told me it was my fault! He said he couldn’t help himself. And then, the night of the storm…” Her hands were squirming now as if they had a life of their own, and her eyes were huge with unshed tears. I went and sat next to her, placing an arm about her shoulders. She rested her head on my shoulder gratefully. “He asked me to come and build up the fire in his room. I was surprised because the footmen usually do that in the west wing, but I didn’t think anything of it.” Her voice sank to a whisper. “He locked the door and then he…he did things to me.”
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