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

the servants; whether they went through love or fear I don't know, for she was reputed to be a witch and it was said that the Devil was the father of her child." Again his eyes showed that flicker of amusement. "It may well have been true, for we Kellaways could be said to have some of the Devil in us. Does that apply to you, Ellen? But of course not! You're not of the Devil's strain. You come from the respectable side of the family. Well, this Gwennol went to the Blue Rock Island, which is only half a mile from here. You have seen it perhaps."

"I have. Mr. Tregardier pointed it out to me and I can see it from my window."

"That was where she went. She had a shelter built for herself there made of wood and grasses and she lived in it until her house was built. The house still stands. In it her son was born. He was my father."

"I begin to understand the relationship. We are a sort of cousin."

"Several times removed, but we are both Kellaways. I was quite young when my father died and I was brought to live at the castle with my sister Jenifry. Your father and I shared a schoolroom and played our games together. He and I managed the Island Estate together for some years; then he became too ill to do anything much and I took over completely. Last year your father died."

"And he never wanted to know where I was for so many years."

Jago looked at me steadily and shook his head. "But before he died he thought of you. He asked me to find you and to be your guardian until you reached the age of twenty-one."

"I'm not far off that now. He must have known that."

"Certainly he knew your age. It was not easy to find you. Your mother had determined to lose herself when she left the Island."

"She went to her own family, you know."

"Your father told me nothing of them. But when I saw the papers and learned that you were about to be married, I came to London."

"It seems strange that you should not have told me who you were."

"Ah, that was due to a little quirk in my nature. I have them, as you will discover. I like to surprise. I like life to be dramatic. I wanted to know you before you knew me. So I came to the recital."

"How? The Carringtons didn't know you."

"Shall we say I gate-crashed. It's easy enough—with a certain amount of aplomb. A quality which I possess in abundance. One didn't have to produce a ticket."

"What. . . impudence!"

"Yes, I have my share of that too."

"How did you get into the house in Finlay Square. You said the agent gave you a key, but it seems there were only two keys."

"That was what the agent told you. You know what these house agents are. They want to make sure of a sale and apparently there was some hesitation about this one."

"How was it that you were there at exactly the same time as I was?"

"I waited until I saw you enter the house. Easy to understand, eh? Let me tell you this: I had a duty. I am your guardian. I wanted to make sure what sort of family this was you were marrying into."

"You quickly discovered who the Carringtons were, I'm sure."

"Yes, I discovered a good deal about them. And then the tragedy happened and I asked you to come here. Is it becoming clear to you now?"

"Yes," I answered.

"I hope, Ellen," he said very earnestly, "that you will stay with us for a very long time."

"You are kind," I replied with a touch of asperity, for I didn't believe he was telling me the whole truth even now.

"I want you to like this place," he went on. "I feel strongly about it. It's been my home for so long. Your mother took you away but now you are back with us. You have come through a bitter tragedy and I hope that we shall help you grow away from it."

He looked sincere now. His heavy lids were lifted and his eyes seemed serene and very friendly. I think his was the most expressive face I had ever seen. A few moments before, he had looked so mischievous and I remembered that in the house in Finlay Square he had seemed almost satanic; now his looks matched his words and he had become the kindly protective guardian.

I was not sure of him but I did find him interesting.

"What shall I call you?" I asked.

"Jago, of course. That is my name and we're distant cousins. Don't let the fact that I am your guardian overawe you."

"Indeed I shall not. I have stood on my own feet most of my life and I certainly don't need a guardian at this stage."

"But you have one, Ellen, whether you want him or not, and as he is a man blessed—or cursed—with a very strong sense of duty, however much you object to his guardianship, he will feel obliged to honor his promises. So call me Jago and we'll be friends. It's the British form of James, you know, and it dates back to earliest times. As a student of the past—and I hope I'm going to interest you in some of our old customs—I make a point of knowing such things. James from the Latin Jacobus. It has no Spanish origin at all. Some people think it has because of the Spanish element along this coast. We were constantly raided by the Spaniards in Elizabethan days and then when the Armada failed, many of its seamen were wrecked here. But Jago is simply Old British . . . not English, mind you. What do you know of ancient history?"

"Very little," I answered. "I suppose I learned something from our governess, but I don't remember much."

"We're the pure British," he went on. "Uncontaminated by the races who made