Lord of the Far Island

by Victoria Holt

  Jenifry said: "This way to your room." And crossing the hall we mounted the stone staircase. "You will soon get to know your way around," she added, "but for the first few days you may get lost now and then."

  "It's a vast place, this castle."

  "There is a great deal of room and we are not now a large family. A place like this is meant to be populated by a large family."

  We had come to the top of the staircase and we passed through a gallery. When we emerged from it and were mounting another staircase I recognized where we were.

  She opened the door. The room looked different from when I had left it. Now there seemed too many dark shadows; it had become an alien room. The curtains had been drawn across the semicircular window, shutting out the stone alcove with its window seat. The four-poster bed from which the curtains had been looped back seemed to dominate the room.

  "Just a moment," said Jenifry, and she lit the candles from the flame in the one she carried. There were already two on the dressing table and two more on the mantelpiece. There is something mysterious about candlelight, and feeling overexcited by the day's" events, I thought: I shall not sleep well tonight. A fatal mood when one is about to retire for the night.

  Jenifry was smiling at me.

  "I hope you'll be comfortable. You have been told, haven't you, to ring if you want anything." She indicated the red-and-gold bell rope. "That will ring directly to the servants' room and one of them will come immediately."

  "I'm sure I have everything I want," I said. I was getting used to the candlelight. "You are all so kind."

  She smiled at me, her expression benign as though I were a child and she a friend who was determined to look after me.

  I glanced in the mirror and saw myself—rather elegant in the trousseau gown and my eyes unnaturally bright, my cheeks flushed. I looked like a stranger.

  Then I caught a glimpse of Jenifry through the looking glass. Her expression had changed. Her face had changed; a different woman was standing there. Her eyes had narrowed; her mouth had hardened; it was as though a mask had slipped and revealed what was underneath. It was not pleasant to look at. I turned sharply. But her face had changed again and she was smiling at me.

  "Well, if you are sure you have everything I'll say good night."

  "Good night," I said.

  She turned at the door to smile at me.

  "Sleep well."

  The door shut. I stared at it blankly for a moment. My heart was beating unnaturally fast. Then I looked back at the mirror and saw that it was a very old one—a little mottled perhaps—though the frame was heavy gilt and beautifully wrought. It had probably stood there for two hundred years. It was a distorting mirror, but how it had changed her face! Had she really looked like that at me? Speculatively, wondering, evil almost, as though she hated me?

  I sat down and took the pins out of my hair. I shook it about my shoulders; it was dark and heavy and came to my waist.

  The trouble is, I told myself, I am so used to being unwanted that I can't really believe in all this friendship and that was why I had imagined she looked at me as she did. But for the moment it had been quite terrifying. I brushed my hair thoughtfully and plaited it, trying to relax and get ready for sleep. I drew back the curtains and, mounting the steps, sat down on the window seat. The houses of the Island seemed as though they were sleeping, though here and there a light showed in the darkness; the sea was calm and beautiful, the moon's pathway of light shining clearly on the water. A peaceful scene. How different from my thoughts! Of course I must expect to feel wide awake. So much had happened today. I had met Jago Kellaway and had learned that he was not a complete stranger to me; I had expected to come to a humble house on an island and had found myself in a castle of which this Jago was the proud custodian; I had found my long-lost relations and was going to learn about my family. I wished it was daylight, so impatient was I to go on discovering.

  The flickering candlelight was eerie; it threw long shadows about the room. I went to the dressing table and looked in the mirror and as I did so I seemed to see Jenifry's face suddenly distorted into an evil smile. It was all fancy, of course. I was overwrought. Tomorrow I would be laughing at myself, but this was tonight and there were several hours of darkness to be lived through before dawn.

  As I looked in the mirror I heard a sudden sound behind me. I was so startled I knocked one of the candles over. Hastily I picked it up, splashing hot grease on my hands as I did so, and swung round, holding the candle high as I looked round the room.

  No one was there.

  I turned to the door. It was shut. Then I heard the sound again and saw that it was coming from the cupboard. I went to it and laughed aloud in derision at myself for the sound had come from the door, which was not securely fastened.

  I opened it. My clothes were hanging up and as I stood there the blue dress which I had worn that evening slid slowly from its hanger and fell in a heap on the floor. I picked it up and in doing so I saw some writing on the wall of the cupboard. It had probably been scraped on the distemper by something with a sharp point.

  I pushed aside the clothes and held the candle closer.

  I read: "I am a prisoner here. S.K."

  I wondered who S.K. was and what was meant by being a prisoner. I guessed it was a child because there was something childish about the lettering and it was the sort of thing a child would scratch on a wall if it had been sent to its room as a punishment.

  I set the candle down again on the dressing table. The incident had not made me feel any more sleepy, but I got into the bed, which seemed very large, and I began to think of all the people who had slept in this bed over the last hundred years. S.K. had probably been one of them.

  I did not blow out the candles immediately. I wanted to retain a little longer the comforting light they gave me, so I lay looking up at the ceiling with its ornate patterns, which were difficult to make out in the gloom.

  Suddenly I was wide awake. I fancied I heard footsteps near my door. I sat up in bed, straining my ears.

  You are fanciful tonight, I thought. It's nothing at all. Why don't you lie down and go to sleep?

  Esmeralda would say I was "working myself up." In those days I used to make up stories about other people and only if a role was a pleasant one did I imagine myself in it. Now I was finding my imagination could work against me as well as for me.

  I slipped out of bed and noticed there was a key in the door. I turned it and now that I had locked myself in it was amazing what comfort I found, so I blew out the candles.

  I lay there for some time while scenes from the day's events kept flashing in and out of my head; and finally I was so tired, I suppose, that I slept.

  It was inevitable that the dream should come.

  There it was as vivid as it had ever been. There was the room with the red curtains, the table, the window seat, the firedogs . . . the china ornaments. The storm-at-sea picture over the fireplace. I noticed that the wind was blowing the curtains. The door was moving.

  Slowly it opened. Now . . . that awful fear, that certainty that I was in great danger.

  I was awake, with the familiar sense of doom upon me. At first I did not know where I was. Then I remembered that I was in the castle on Kellaway's Island.

  My heart was racing and I was trembling with fear.

  It's only the dream, I soothed myself, but the doom seemed to have come nearer.

  Discovery in a Sketchbook

  Sunshine filled my room and the terrors of the night had completely disappeared with the coming of daylight.

  I rang the bell and Janet came in.

  "Have 'ee slept well, Miss Ellen?" she asked.

  I said I had finally.

  " 'Tis always the same in a new bed," she answered, and went off to get my hot water.

  When I went down I found Gwennol and Jenifry at the table. They asked how I had slept.

  "Help yourself from the sideboard," said Jenifry. "There's ham, eggs and deviled kidney
s. If there is something different you would like, Benham will see that it's brought for you."

  I went to the sideboard on which were the breakfast dishes she had mentioned. I took some ham and eggs and sat down to eat them.

  We were talking of the weather when Jago came in. His eyes went at once to me and he inquired solicitously if I had slept well and found all that I needed. He said that in an hour or so he would be ready to show me the Island. Could I be ready by then? I said that I could.

  "Gwennol or I could show Ellen if you are busy," said Jenifry.

  "Indeed you will not," he retorted. "I am determined to have that pleasure."

  "Which mount will you give her?" asked Gwennol.

  "Ellen will choose for herself in due course," he replied. "I was wondering if I'd advise Daveth for a start."

  "She's a bit spirited," said Gwennol.

  "Perhaps they'll be well matched." He was eyeing me with an expression I couldn't quite understand but it made me determined to ride the spirited Daveth.

  After breakfast I changed into my riding habit—part of my trousseau. They were pale gray and very elegant, and I had a gray riding hat—tall-crowned like a man's top hat—which I was well aware suited me well.

  Jago looked at me with approval when I met him in the stable yard. "You are so elegant," he said. "You put us all to shame."

  I laughed. "This riding habit is part of my trousseau, and I can assure you I never had anything so grand before."

  "At least then you got something out of it! But we made a pact, remember, not to talk of the past? The people of the Island will be enchanted with you and I am going to enjoy introducing them to you and you to the Island. I shall take you first to the highest peak, from where you can see all around you and for miles out to sea if the air's clear enough. You'll get the idea of the lie of the land, as it were. Then we'll go down to our little township. It's hardly that—but what's in a name?"

  He was riding a white horse with a black mane and I had to admit that horse and rider looked magnificent; they suited each other. I found Daveth, as Gwennol had suggested, somewhat sprightly, but I was able to manage her. Jago glanced sideways at me on one or two occasions and I was delighted out of all proportion because I was a tolerably good horsewoman and, I believed, had his approval.

  We paused at the top of the hill. What a sight lay before us! I had a wonderful view of the castle with its gray stone walls and battlemented towers. What an impressive edifice it was! It seemed impregnable, almost as though it were truculently inviting an enemy to come and try to take it and see what the result would be. In the past it would have been a perfect fortification against marauders. I could see the Blue Rock Island rising out of the sea.

  Jago followed my gaze. "Blue Rock," he said. "It's a pity we allowed that to pass out of our hands. It belonged to the Kellaways at one time."

  "What happened then?"

  "Your grandfather sold it. He was in financial difficulties. To tell the truth, he was a bit of a gambler. I think the family have regretted the sale ever since."

  "Is that a house on it?"

  "Yes. It's Blue Rock House. The one built by that Gwennol I told you about."

  "Does anyone live there now?"

  "An artist. He inherited it from the man your grandfather sold it to. I think he's a nephew... or great-nephew or something."

  "Does he live there alone?"

  "Quite alone. He's not there all the time though. He travels around a bit, I believe."

  "Is he a well-known artist?"

  "I don't know enough about such matters to tell you. His name is James Manton. Have you ever heard it?"

  "I can't say I have, although I don't know very much about painters either. My mother was an artist. I remember how she always had a sketchbook with her and she used to draw pictures to amuse me. Perhaps I shall meet this James Manton."

  "He doesn't visit the Island. He and your father didn't like each other. Look. You can see the mainland. Can you make it out?"

  I could. "It's a comforting sight," I commented.

  "Comforting." A faint frown appeared between his eyes.

  "One doesn't feel so cut off from the rest of the world," I explained.

  "Does it bother you then ... to feel cut off?"

  "Not really, but I suppose one would always be aware of being on an island and therefore it's nice to know that the mainland is not far away."

  "One is, you know, when the weather is bad ... as you've discovered. There are some seas it would be folly to put out in."

  "Yes, but there is always the knowledge that it will change and that the bad weather won't last forever."

  He nodded.

  "I will show you our community. It's complete in itself. We are a little kingdom, you might say. There is much of long-ago times left on the Island and I intend to keep it that way."

  We cantered across a green stretch and had come to the shore.

  He showed me a stake stuck in the sand. "At high tide," he said, "that will be covered with water. It's been there five hundred years. At that time the lord of the Island—it must have been a Kellaway—would order that a criminal should be tied to it at low tide. He would be given two barley loaves and a pitcher of water and left there. When the tide rose he would be drowned."

  "How cruel."

  "It was the justice of the day."

  "You don't follow that practice now, I hope," I said jocularly.

  "No, but I keep good order here, as I told you. Look! There is the old ducking stool. It is used even now. . . . Sometimes a man's friend will duck his nagging wife, or there will be someone suspected of being a witch."

  "And that still goes on?"

  He shrugged his shoulders. "Old customs remain and in a place like this more so than on the mainland. Come along, I want you to meet some of the people. I want them to know that you are my honored guest."

  We had come to a group of houses surrounded by fields. A man driving a cart was coming towards us. He touched his forelock and called out: "Good day to 'ee, Mr. Jago."

  "Good day," responded Jago. "This is my ward, Miss Ellen Kellaway."

  "Good day to 'ee, Miss," said the man.

  "And a fine one, Jim, eh?"

  "Aye, Master, 'tis indeed a fine one."

  He passed on.

  "All these people," said Jago, "are our tenants. Every bit of the land is Kellaway land owned by the family for the last six hundred years."

  In the center of the houses was a shop, the window of which was crammed full of goods. It seemed to be a linen draper, hosier, tallow chandler, hardware man, grocer and baker all combined. I made up my mind that I would take an opportunity of visiting that shop as soon as possible.

  From one house in the street came the cheerful sound of much merrymaking.

  "I can guess what's happening here," said Jago, "because I know there's a new baby in the house. It's a christening party. They wouldn't like it if I passed by and didn't well-wish the baby. We'll dismount and join them for a moment." He shouted: "Boy! Come and hold the horses." And as if by magic a boy appeared.

  "Take mine and the lady's," said Jago; and we dismounted and went into the house.

  "Why 'tis the master," said a woman, dropping a curtsy.

  We were in a small cottage in which several people were gathered, and there was hardly room for Jago and me—particularly Jago. It seemed like a doll's room when he stood in it.

  " 'Tis honored we be," said the man who seemed likely to be the woman's husband.

  "Where's the baby?" asked Jago.

  "She be in her cradle, Mr. Jago. 'Twould be an honor if you'd bless the child like and take a piece of the cheeld's fuggan."

  He would, he said, and I should too.

  "And a glass of sloe gin, Master, to wash it down."

  "I'll have it," said Jago.

  The cake was cut, and both Jago and I had a piece and a glass of sloe gin, which burned my throat a little.

  "Good luck to the child," said Jago.
/>
  "May she grow up to be a good servant to her master," said the baby's mother.

  "Aye," said Jago, "so be it."

  We came out into the street where the boy was patiently waiting with our horses. We mounted them and drove on through the cluster of houses.

  "You'd find most of the houses similar," Jago told me. "They're what are known as Lives Cottages. They were put up in a night and therefore the owners have a right to live in them for a number of lives. For instance if a man builds it, it is his for his lifetime, that of his son and his grandson. Then the cottage reverts to the landowner. On the mainland there are Moonlight Cottages which have been built in a night but remain the property of the builder for evermore. The only condition is that they must be started after dark and finished before dawn."

  "Can anyone build a cottage in that time?"

  "If they are fully prepared and have their materials ready they can have the four walls standing and the roof on. That is all that need be. How did you like the cheeld's fuggan?"

  "A little too yellow."

  "Oh, that's the saffron—a great delicacy here. Don't let anyone hear you say you don't like it."

  I had learned a great deal about the Island that morning. It was a community of fishermen mainly, although there was some agriculture. There were many little coves where boats were moored and we passed fishermen mending their nets as they sat among the lobster pots. They all called a respectful greeting to Jago and I felt a certain pleasure in their respect for him.

  He told me that there was a fair once a month when traders came from the mainland. That was if the weather permitted. Then the islanders shopped and stocked up until the fair's next visit. Goods of all kinds and description were sold at the fair. It was an event much looked forward to.

  He then began to tell me of other customs. "Fishermen don't like to land with their catch until daybreak. They think the Little People might carry them off if they did. There is a great fear of the Little People or the Piskies, who are said to have very special powers, not always kindly."

  He went on to talk of their superstitions.