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

"So Slack will row us over."

"Yes, he loves to and it gives him an opportunity to see his mother."

"He's a strange boy. I discovered him when he was feeding the pigeons."

"Oh, so you've already met Slack. They say he's 'lacking' but over some things he's quite bright. It's just that he's different from most people. He came to us when he was about eleven. Uncle Jago noticed him. He had found a baby robin and was looking after it. Jago thought he'd be useful to look after the pigeons, which at that time were being attacked by some disease, and you know there's a legend about when the pigeons go the Kellaways will lose the Island. Not that Jago would believe that, but he always says he's respectful about superstitions because other people believe in them. Well, he found out that Slack was quite knowledgeable about birds and nature generally, so he took him on. The pigeons thrived immediately. Poor Slack, he can only just read and write and when he was on the mainland he used to go away for days at a time. He drove his mother frantic. Then he'd come back. He'd been in the woods watching the birds. Now of course he wouldn't dream of going away. He has his pigeons to care for."

"When I stayed at the Polcrag Inn his mother mentioned that he was here."

"Yes, Slack's her only child. When he was a little one and showed himself not quite like other children she used to say there was nothing wrong with him but that he came before he was quite done. He was born two months before he should have been apparently. She said he was slack-baked and then people started to call him Slack. Few people understand him and I think they underestimate him. He's a good boy at heart and he made a magnificent job of the pigeons."

"I could see how he felt about them and oddly enough they seemed to be aware of it."

"There's no doubt he's got a way with him. Come on. Let's go and find him now."

He was in the outhouse nursing a pigeon; he scarcely looked at us as we entered.

"She have hurt her leg, see?" He murmured. "There, my pretty, 'tis only Miss Gwennol and Miss Ellen. They'll not harm 'ee."

"Can you heal it, Slack?" asked Gwennol.

"Surely, Miss Gwennol. There be this power in me."

Gwennol looked at me and smiled. "I want you to row me over to the mainland tomorrow, Slack. That's if the sea's like it is today."

"I'll have the boat for 'ee, Miss Gwennol."

"Miss Ellen is coming with me."

He nodded but his attention was all for the bird.

"You know what to do, Slack?" asked Gwennol.

"Oh, aye, Miss Gwennol, I do know."

"And the strange thing is," said Gwennol when we had left him, "that he does, and in a short time that bird will be hopping around so that you won't know him from the rest."

We went back through the courtyards.

In the afternoon I went for a walk and explored various parts of the Island. During dinner I talked to Jago about what I had seen and found I was beginning to catch his enthusiasm.

When I retired for the night I was pleasantly tired. Each day, I promised myself, I would learn more about my family. I was looking forward to more conversation with Gwennol during the next day's trip and I thought I might have a further word with Mrs. Pengelly.

Then, as I was about to get into bed I noticed my mother's sketchbook which I had found that morning, so setting the candle down on the little table by the bed, I started to look through it.

How interesting it was to see parts of the castle reproduced. She had had undoubted talent. One could feel the antiquity of those gray stone walls which she had drawn so realistically. There was a lovely picture of the Blue Rock Island with just a hint of the mainland in the distance. There were some portraits too. There was one of a plump child looking out on the world with large inquiring eyes. I stared at it; then I saw the caption: "E. Aged Two." Why yes, now I recognized myself. So that was how I had looked when I was two. I turned the pages. I was looking at Jago—two portraits of him, facing each other. How she had caught the resemblance! They were like two different men—and yet they were both Jago. Strangely enough, he was smiling in both of them, but in one the smile was benign and in the other . . . ? It was that one which interested me. It was painted so that wherever one looked the eyes followed one. I had seen him look like that. Had it been in the house in Finlay Square? The heavy lids had fallen slightly over the eyes and it gave them a veiled, almost sinister look; and there was a certain twist about the mouth as though he were plotting something which could brook no good to someone.

I looked at that picture for some time and the pleasant drowsiness which I had felt before I had picked up the book had completely disappeared.

What was my mother trying to say in those pictures? One thing was certain: Jago is not what he might seem to be at times. Could it be that she was saying: "Beware, there are two Jagos"?

I felt uneasy because I was beginning to enjoy his company more than I cared to admit to myself.

I turned the pages and there was another double portrait. My mother seemed to have a fancy for that kind of art, and these two pictures, although clearly of the same subject, were as different from each other as those of Jago. In one of these I saw a rather demure girl, her hair in plaits, one of which fell over her shoulder. She was looking upwards as though