I certainly did not want to rest. I was too excited. There was plenty of time before dinner to explore the castle ground. I had been told very clearly that I was to make myself at home. Well, I would begin by looking round and taking stock of my surroundings.
I descended the staircase by which I had been brought to my room and came to the guardroom. Being there alone moved me in a manner I had not experienced when others had been present. Everything was so different from what I had imagined. A grand castle and a guardian who was not a middle-aged gentleman but a man not much more than thirty who behaved in an unconventional manner. There were his sister and daughter, whom I was to meet, and they were descended from that branch of the family which was reputed to have been entangled with the Devil. The prospect of the future, which I was sure in such a place dominated by such a man was going to be far from dull, stimulated me, and I felt more alive than I had since Philip's death. I wondered why my mother had left here so hurriedly and mysteriously. I was determined to find out. How different my life would have been if she had not!
And as I stood there the guardroom seemed to take on a menacing aspect, and it occurred to me that I had come here in rather a reckless fashion. Oh no, this was my family. I was just feeling uneasy because of the shock of finding that Jago Kellaway was the man who had frightened me in the house in Finlay Square. He was a sort of joker in an unconventional way. There were people like that. He had admitted he liked dramatic happenings. Yes, I thought, with him playing the leading swashbuckling role!
This apprehension was natural. Hadn't I always been impressed by atmosphere? I shuddered now to recall the repulsion I had felt when I had first entered the house in Finlay Square. This room—medieval in aspect—with the weapons on its walls—two swords crossed, an ax, something which was half spear, half battle-ax and which I believed was called a halberd—had subconsciously reminded me of the gun room at Trentham Towers where Philip had shown me the pistol, the fellow of which had been the weapon which had killed him. It was this shadowy memory which was tapping on my mind now, reminding me of hidden dangers. I fancied that just as I had sensed a warning in the house in Finlay Square, so I did now in Kellaway Castle.
I moved towards the door; my footsteps ringing on the marble paving stones seemed to fill the guardroom with sound. I stood still. What a silence! It is foolish to endow a house with a personality. But is it? When a house has stood for seven hundred years much must have happened within its walls. If those stones could speak what tales they would have to tell! And in houses such as this there would have been gaiety and sorrow, comedy and tragedy. I have the feeling sometimes that these emotions have been captured and held within stone walls and that there are times when they cannot keep them secret.
Stupid imaginings, but I was in an uncertain state. I was trying to throw off one life with all its unhappy repercussions and embrace a new one of which I was equally uncertain.
I stepped out into a courtyard and saw an archway which appeared to be cut into the wall. It led into another courtyard slightly lower than the one I had just left and I crossed it and went down steps to an even lower one. A few windows looked out onto this courtyard; they were small and leaded. There was yet another archway and from this wound a pathway with stone walls on either side. I took this pathway.
As I walked along it I heard the sudden flutter of wings and the cooing sound of birds. I had come into yet another courtyard. This was where the cooing sound had come from, for there were several pigeons pecking at maize which was scattered over the stones.
As I approached, some of them fluttered up and perched on the little dovecotes which were attached to the walls; others ignored me and went on picking up the maize. Most of the pigeons were the bluish gray common color but some of them were brown. I had never seen pigeons that color before.
As I stood there watching the birds I was aware of a shadow at a lower window. Someone was watching me.
I turned sharply. The shadow was no longer there.
I looked back at the birds and waited. Now the shadow had come back. I could see it from the corner of my eye.
I called: "Are these your birds?"
There was no answer. I went closer to the window where I had seen the shadow, but it was no longer there.
There was a little door in the wall and I tapped on it. I wanted to ask about the brown pigeons. I realized that it had been slightly ajar and as I stood there it was quietly shut. Someone on the other side of the door was clearly determined to keep me out.
I fancied I could hear the sound of heavy breathing.
How strange! Well, if whoever was there didn't want to speak to me, I wouldn't disturb him ... or her. Yet the impulse came to me to knock again on the door and I did so.
There was no answer.
I called out: "I only want to ask about the pigeons."
Still no answer.
How odd. How unfriendly. It was some servant, I supposed. I shrugged my shoulders, left the birds' courtyard and went back the way I had come.
Perhaps it was rather foolish to begin to explore the castle on my own. It would be far better if I had a guide to show me round. There would be someone who would be delighted to do so I was sure.
I found my way back to my room, where I must now dress for dinner. I decided I would wear the blue dress, which was extremely elegant, and I wondered if I should ever need the black serviceable one which I had worn on the night of Esmeralda's dance when Philip had proposed to me. If I had Philip's orchid it would look quite charming. . . .
Now I was back in the past again. Could I ever escape from it? Would I ever be able to thrust aside my memories? Even as I put on the blue dress I remembered how I had imagined wearing it dining with Philip on the Grand Canal. I shook myself angrily.
How clearly that first night in the castle stands out in my memory.
A servant came to my room to conduct me down to the anteroom where the family were waiting for me. Jago was standing in front of the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes shining with pleasure, dominating the room. On either side of him was a woman—the older one about forty years of age, whom I guessed to be his sister Jenifry, the younger his niece Gwennol, who he had said was about my age.
"Come, Ellen," said Jago. "Come and meet the family. This is Jenifry, my sister."
My heart sank a little as she stepped forward to take my hand. She was almost as dark as Jago and had the same high-bridged nose which gave her the arrogant look which I had noticed in him; the family resemblance was strong.
Her voice was soft and warm. "We are glad you have come, Ellen," she said; but there was something coolly appraising about her eyes which was in contrast to her words. I knew she was assessing me and I felt the same uncertainty about her as I did about her brother.
"It is good of you to be so welcoming," I answered.
"But of course we are delighted to have you at last. Gwennol, come and meet Ellen."
Gwennol was dark too. Her hair was almost black, her eyes dark brown, her nose a trifle retrousse, her mouth wide; and the entire effect was made striking by her soulful dreamy eyes and the alertness her nose and mouth seemed to betray.
"Hello, Ellen," she said. "Welcome to Kellaway Island."
"You two must be friends," said her mother.
"You must show Ellen the castle, Gwennol," said Jago, smiling from one to the other of us.
Almost immediately a servant came in to announce that dinner was served, and Jago put his arm through mine and led the way.
"As this is a very special occasion," he said, "we are dining in the hall. It is a custom reserved for feast days and special occasions, and what occasion could be more special than this one?"
I shall never forget the sight of the hall on that first night in Kellaway Castle. It filled me with wonder and awe which was none the less exciting because there was a strong flavor of apprehension mingling with it.
At one end of the vast room was a door leading to the kitchens
through which the servants hurried back and forth; above these doors was the minstrels' gallery; and at the other end was a dais set at right angles to the main room. Antlers decorated the balustrade of the minstrels' gallery and the walls were partially covered with fine tapestries. There was something royal about this hall with its lofty roof, its thick stone walls and the weapons displayed there. Places had been laid at the long oak table and on the dais and already the long benches on either side of the table were occupied. These people, Jago told me later, were those employed on the estate—those who farmed the land, the managers of the various concerns, his clerks, and—I could scarcely believe this—there below the salt were those who worked in a more menial capacity. This was the manner in which kings had feasted in the old days.
The scene he had set was truly medieval and when the minstrels in the gallery began to play softly I was amused by this determination to create an atmosphere of bygone days, and I was touched, too, because I knew it had all been done to honor me.
All those at the long table rose as we entered. Jago led the way to the dais, his arm still through mine, and he stood there at the table with me beside him.
"I have great pleasure," he announced, "in introducing you all to Miss Ellen Kellaway, my ward and cousin, who has come to stay with us, I hope for a very long time. This occasion is to welcome her to the castle and the Island and I know that you are delighted to see her here—as I am."
There was a murmur of assent. I was not sure what was expected of me, so I smiled, and as Jago was holding out my chair for me, I sat down.
There was a shuffling of chairs and everyone did the same. Hot soup was served to us at the table and afterwards the huge bowl was carried to the long table and those there were helped from it.
"What do you think of it?" Jago whispered to me.
"It's incredible. I never imagined anything like it."
He patted my hand.
"It's for you," he said. "To show you how we can do things here—and to let you know how glad we are to have you."
"Thank you," I answered. "You are so kind to me. I have never had such a welcome in the whole of my life."
"Then our purpose is served."
The soup was excellent and followed by venison and as I listened to the musicians softly playing I thought that this hall could not have looked very different three hundred years ago.
Jenifry sat on Jago's left hand and Gwennol was beside me. I noticed several people from the long table taking surreptitious glances at me, and I wondered what they were thinking about all this ceremony. But it occurred to me that they were probably used to it. This was confirmed by Jago.
"Christmas is the time when we can really go back to the old ways," he said. "Then the hall is decorated with holly and ivy, and the carol singers and mummers perform here. It's been a custom of the family for centuries."
"I can see you enjoy carrying on old customs," I said.
"We all do, don't we?" he replied; and Jenifry and Gwennol agreed with him.
"We are trying to discover the exact age of the castle," Jenifry went on. "Of course the place has been added to over the years. It was originally merely a fortress to protect the Island, and very uncomfortable it must have been in those days, until it was made more like a residence. Gwennol's very interested, aren't you, Gwennol?"
"Living here, it grows on you," Gwennol explained to me. "You discover some new aspect of the place and then you start trying to find out during what period it had been put there."
"You'll be the same," Jago said to me, "once you start getting the feel of the place. I want to show you the Island myself. Tomorrow we'll explore. You ride, I know."
"Oh yes. We used to ride in the Row when we were in London. In the country, of course, I rode a good deal."
"That's good. It saves us the trouble of having to teach you. We must choose the right horse for you."
"I shall enjoy it."
"That's what we want, isn't it?" said Jago, appealing to the women. "We want you to enjoy being here so much that you won't want to leave us."
"It's early days to say that," I reminded him. "You know what is said about guests."
"No. You tell me."
"That it's wonderful to have them for a few days, but if they overstay their welcome you can't wait to see them gone."
"You're not a guest, Ellen. You're family. Isn't that so?"
"Of course it is," replied Jenifry.
"Tell me more about the Island," I said. "I'm eager to explore it."
"You won't feel cut off," said Jago. "It's big enough to prevent that."
"There are times though," put in Gwennol, "when it's impossible to get to the mainland."
"And that," added Jenifry, "can last for days . . . perhaps weeks."
Jago cut her short. "Ellen knows that. Wasn't she held up at Polcrag Inn waiting for a boat? People here don't feel they're missing anything by not being able to reach the mainland. We can live without that. We have the local inn. People come and stay there to get away from the mainland."
"They only have four bedrooms for guests and they're rarely occupied," Gwennol said. "It's really a sort of public house where people go to drink and sing and find company."
"So much the better," said Jago. "We don't want the place spoilt with too many people."
I was learning how obsessed he was with the Island. He loved it; to him it was perfect. I could understand that. The Island was his and he was proud of it.
"Do you ever have any criminals here?" I asked.
"Hardly ever," he assured me. "I think I know how to keep the people lawful."
"So you don't have a prison?"
"There are dungeons in the castle which serve on the rare occasions they are necessary."
"And the law allows this?"
"I'm a Justice of the Peace. Of course in the case of a major crime. . . murder, for instance . . . the criminal would have to go to the mainland. But we can deal adequately with petty matters here."
"Is there anyone in the dungeons now?"
Jago laughed. "Why, you're not afraid that some desperate man will break out, steal to your room and demand your money or your life, are you? No, Ellen, my dear, there is no one in the dungeons now. There very rarely is. They're horrible, aren't they?"
Gwennol said: "Dank, dark and said to be haunted because in the past Kellaways put their enemies there and left them to die. The ghosts of those who didn't obey Kellaway law are said to stalk the dungeons. Naturally people think twice before doing something they shouldn't when it might result in a night or two in the dungeons."
"I'd like to see them," I said.
"So you shall," Jago promised me. "The whole place is at your disposal. Explore when you like."
"As a matter of fact I did explore a little before dinner."
"Did you then?" Jago looked pleased. "Well, what did you find?"
"I saw some pigeons, brown ones. I've never seen brown pigeons before."
"We've always kept a few brown pigeons at Kellaway," said Jago. "You tell her the story Jenifry."
"It's simply that one of our ancestors was saved by a pigeon—a brown one," his sister said. "I think they originated in Italy. He was imprisoned after being captured in some battle and a little brown pigeon came and perched on his windowsill. They became friendly; the pigeon brought his mate and they shared the prisoner's food. He tamed them and used to attach messages to their legs, hoping that some of his friends would see them. It seemed a forlorn hope and when after a long, long time the message actually did reach his friends it was regarded as something of a miracle and the pigeon an instrument of fate. He was rescued and he brought back the brown pigeon and his mate with him. It was said after that that as long as there were brown pigeons at the castle there would always be Kellaways on the Island."
"A pretty story, don't you agree, Ellen?" asked Jago.
"Charming," I replied.
When the meal was over Jago rose and Jenifry, Gwennol and I followed him to a doo
r at the end of the hall. The rest remained at table and I imagined how relaxed the company would be after we had gone, for they would surely be relieved that the ceremonial occasion was over and they would be able to talk naturally together.
We went to his parlor, where coffee was served.
The atmosphere there was decidedly more intimate. I sat beside Gwennol, who wanted to hear about my life in London, so I talked about the house near Hyde Park and how we took walks in Kensington Gardens, feeding the ducks on the Round Pond, strolling round the pleached alley which surrounded the Pond Garden.
"We have a pleached alley in our gardens," Jago told me. "And a pond garden too." It was as though he wanted the Island to compare favorably with everything I had ever known. Perhaps this was due to his pride in the Island, but I fancied too that he was anxious that I should be happy here and want to stay.
Gwennol was eager to hear more so I went on to tell her of the receptions at Cousin Agatha's and the Carringtons', of tea at Gunter's on winter afternoons, of the red carpet and awnings being put in place before the houses to receive the guests.
They all listened intently; then they talked more of the Island; and the life which I had known with Cousin Agatha seemed as remote as anything could be.
It was half past ten when Jago remarked that I must be tired.
"Jenifry will take you to your room," he said; and Jenifry took a candle from a table and asked me if I was ready.
I thanked Jago for a pleasant evening and said good night.
"In the morning we'll ride round the Island," Jago promised me.
Then Jenifry and I left them.
We made our way back to the hall. At intervals candles burned in the sconces fixed to the walls, making the hall look more medieval than ever.
Lord of the Far Island Page 15
