Lord of the Far Island, Victoria Holt [world of reading TXT] 📗

do not understand. I trust you are not being pert again, Ellen. One in your position should be especially contrite."

"Why? What have I done?"

"My dear Ellen," she said in a voice that showed I was far from dear to her, "when a man commits suicide rather than marry, people will always look askance at the woman who was to have been his wife."

"It had nothing to do with our marriage. Philip was in love with me. He wanted our marriage more than anything. And he did not kill himself. I am sure of it. Only the day before he died. . ."

"No hysterics, please. You must remember your place."

"Are hysterics reserved then for rich relations only?"

"I don't know what you are talking about. You are distraught and the best thing for you is to go to your new life as quickly as possible. There is nothing like work to help you over an unfortunate spell. Work, work, and then more work. So, as Mrs. Oman Lemming is prepared to take you, I have said that you will go to her at the end of the month."

I felt as though I were drowning in my misery. Philip was gone and there was no one to help me now.

I must prepare my trunk. I needed good serviceable clothes, said Cousin Agatha. I looked at my dateless black evening gown. There was a slight stain on it where the orchid had rested. I wished I had kept that orchid. It would always have reminded me of Philip on that night when he had astounded me and Cousin Agatha by asking me to marry him.

What I did have was a wardrobe of beautiful garments which were to have been my trousseau. I was sure Cousin Agatha would have liked to confiscate them but she could scarcely do that. They wouldn't fit Esmeralda, as I was much taller and thinner than she was. But what comfort were clothes when one was lost in a cruel world! My little craft—once so jaunty, once sailing with full honors beside the Carrington galleon of plenty—was now soon to be wrecked on the rocks of misery presided over by the Honorable Mrs. Oman Lemming, compared with whom Cousin Agatha might be considered quite charming.

There were times when I felt indifferent to my future. What was my misery compared with Philip's death? I had lost my champion and I felt even more sad because I had not appreciated him when he lived. It sometimes seemed of small moment that I was drifting towards the colorless existence of a governess in a household of which the servants spoke in distaste.

I awoke the next morning to the feeling of depression which had overwhelmed me so often since Philip's death, to find that there was a letter waiting for me. I did not know the writing on the envelope. It was big and bold in thick black ink.

The letter was headed Far Island, Polcrag, Cornwall.

"Dear Miss Kellaway," it ran.

When you read this letter you will be wondering why I have not written before. The truth is that I only recently discovered your whereabouts. You will see that I live in this remote spot which was your father's home. When he died, about a year ago, he appointed me your guardian until you should reach the age of twenty-one. I know that you have not yet reached that age but will do so on your next birthday. It would give me great pleasure if you would visit the Island. I believe you have been kept in ignorance of your father's family and I am sure would like to know more. Do please come and visit us here. It would give me great pleasure if you would.

Jago Kellaway

I read the letter through several times. The Far Island. No one had ever mentioned it to me. My father's home! What had I heard of my father? Only that my mother had left him when I was three years old, taking me with her. I found a map and turned up the appropriate page. The Island must be off the Cornish coast but Pol-crag was not marked on the map.

My first impulse was to find Cousin Agatha and ask her what she knew of my father, but I hesitated. She was so set on my becoming a governess in the household of the Honorable Mrs. Oman Lemming that she would be capable of doing anything to prevent my going away. I was beginning to feel excited. There was something fateful about receiving a letter so fortuitously. The Far Island sounded romantic; and my father had been dead only a year. How tragic that he should have been living and I had never known him!

I said nothing about the letter, not even to Esmeralda, until by good luck I found an opportunity of speaking to Cousin William Loring. I showed him the letter and asked what he knew about it.

"Why, yes," he said, "your mother did marry and go off to this island. Something went wrong with the marriage and she ran away, taking you with her. Your father made no provision for her, which is not surprising, since she left him. When she ran away she forfeited everything—for herself and for you—apparently."

"Who is this Jago Kellaway?"

"He must be some sort of relation." He looked at me quizzically and I saw the compassion in his eyes. "Unfortunately I can tell you very little, Ellen, but I do remember that was the name of the island where your father lived. And if he is now dead and these people are asking you to visit them, perhaps they will make amends for his not bothering with you all these years." He laid a hand on my arm. "It is not my wish that you should take this post, Ellen. As far as I am concerned, you are welcome. . . ."

"I know. Thank you, Cousin William." I felt I wanted to stop his saying something disloyal about his wife which