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

"These stairs are so treacherous. You never really get used to them. A few years ago one of the maids fell down and wasn't discovered for a day and a night. The poor creature was nearly out of her wits when they did find her—not so much with pain as with fear of ghosts. She swore some ghostly hand pushed her down and nothing would convince her to the contrary."

We had reached a kind of enclosed courtyard, the floor of which was cobbled; it was surrounded by doors. There must have been about eighteen of them. I pushed open one and saw a cell which was like a cave in which it would have been difficult for a man of normal height to stand upright. Fixed to the wall on a chain was a heavy iron ring. I shivered, realizing that this would be used to prevent the cell's inmate from escaping. The walls were seeping with moisture and there was a damp noisome odor about the place.

I shivered and shut the door. I opened another; there was a similar cavelike cell. I explored others. They were not all alike though equally dismal. Some were lofty with half windows high in the wall, glassless and barred. On one wall the sketch of a gallows was cut into the stone; on another an evil grinning face had been drawn. It was a dark gloomy place in which I knew many must have suffered utter despair.

"It's gruesome," I said.

Gwennol nodded. "Imagine yourself a prisoner here. You'd call and no one would hear you and if they did perhaps they wouldn't care."

"You can almost sense the suffering, the mental agony, the frustration and desperation that has gone on here," I said.

"Ugh! Morbid," she commented. "I can see you've had enough, but you had to have a look at them, of course. They're an important part of the castle."

We climbed the stairs to the upper regions and she took me through so many rooms that I lost count of them. We explored the towers—north, south, east and west; and we went along galleries and up and down staircases. She showed me the kitchens, the bakery, the buttery, the winery and the slaughterhouse; she introduced me to the servants, who bobbed their curtsies or touched their forelocks according to their sex and watched me guardedly and with obvious curiosity.

There was one room which led off the hall which interested me particularly because as we entered it she said: "I heard this was your mother's favorite room. Her name was Frances, wasn't it? Some of the older servants still call it Frances's room."

There was a step leading down to it and I followed Gwennol in. She seated herself on a settle which fitted exactly into an alcove.

"She used to paint, I heard," she went on. "She couldn't have used this room as a studio. It's not light enough. I don't think anyone has used it much since she went."

I looked round the room eagerly trying to picture her there. It was certainly not a bright room. The window was small and its panes leaded. It was furnished as a sitting room. There were a few chairs, a table, but little else apart from the wooden settle.

"I wonder if any of her things are still here," I said.

"Look in the cupboard."

I opened the door of this and cried out in triumph, for inside was an easel and some rolls of paper.

"These must have been hers," I cried, and as I picked up the roll of paper I saw a sketchbook lying on the floor. Written across it was her name: Frances Kellaway. This was indeed a discovery and I was so excited by it that my hand shook as I turned over the leaves. Gwennol rose from the settle and looked over my shoulder. There were sketches of the castle from various angles.

"She was quite an artist," said Gwennol.

"I want to take this book and look through it at my leisure," I said.

"Why not?"

"It's so exciting. You're amused, but I knew so little of my mother, and my father I can't remember at all. You must have known him."

"Nobody knew him well. I saw very little of him. I don't think he liked young people. He was ill for a long time and kept in his own rooms. I'd see him now and then in a wheelchair; Fenwick, his valet-secretary, looked after him. Uncle Jago would spend a lot of time with him discussing business. But he hardly seemed like a member of the household."

"It's strange when you come to think about it. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him and I never knew him."

"Console yourself that nobody knew him well either. Uncle Jago once said he was a loner. Fenwick could tell you more about him than anyone else, I daresay."

"Where is Fenwick?"

"He left when your father died. I think he lives somewhere on the mainland."

"Do you know where?"

She shook her head and seeming to find the questions about my father becoming boring, she changed the subject. "I wonder if there are any of her things in the settle. Look, the seat is the lid of a sort of trunk."

She lifted it and I went over to look inside. There was nothing there but a traveling rug.

"It was evidently used chiefly as a seat," said Gwennol, putting the lid down and sitting on it. But she jumped up almost immediately. "Let's go and see Slack," she said. "I want him to row me over to the mainland tomorrow. Would you like to come? I know you haven't explored the Island yet and you did spend some time on the mainland waiting, but I always like to take advantage of calm seas. I shall be visiting friends so perhaps you'd like to explore a bit. We could go to the inn and get horses there, if you liked. It's what I often do."

I said I would like to do that.

"Very well, though of