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

"I don't think you'd like some things to come out, Mr. Kellaway. You wouldn't want that to happen. . . . The young lady . . ."

"One thing I wouldn't allow to happen," interrupted Jago, "is give way to blackmail. You've been on the mainland, have you? You know that Miss Kellaway is here. You've been hearing gossip. I hope you haven't been adding to it, Hawley. But if you think you can come here and try to blackmail me, you've made a big mistake. Remember what happened in Philip Carrington's bedroom."

"I was only working for you. . . ."

"You be careful. Things could go badly for you."

I felt limp with horror. I leaned against the wall, my fingers clutching unconsciously at the stones of my necklace. Could it be that Philip had been cold-bloodedly murdered by a man employed by Jago to kill him! There were such people as professional murderers. But why? The answer was clear. Because Jago knew that I was the heiress to the Island. He did not want me to marry Philip because he wanted to marry me himself.

There was a second or so of silence in the dungeons and during it I heard a slight clatter as though something had fallen.

Jago heard it. "What's that?" he cried sharply. "There's someone here. Did you bring someone with you, Hawley?"

"I didn't. I swear I didn't."

"I'm going to look," said Jago. "I'm going to search every one of these dungeons."

I crouched against the wall. I should have been numb with fear after what I had heard but somehow I couldn't believe it even now. There must be some explanation of all this. It was like some absurd masque in a melodrama and I could not—I would not—believe that Jago who had said he loved me could be the man my common sense was trying to tell me he was.

He would soon discover me crouching there. I would demand: Jago, what does this mean? For God's sake explain. Hawley is your man. I know that. You sent him to London. Why? And then you came yourself.

I heard him say to Hawley: "You hold the lantern."

The light moved away and I peeped through the door. They had their backs to me and had started searching the dungeons on the other side. There was just a chance that if I were quick enough, and quiet with it, I might escape.

I waited for my chance, my heartbeats threatening to choke me, until they were as far as they could be from my dungeon. Then I slipped out silently, while their backs were still towards me, and in a flash I was up the spiral staircase. Luck had been with me. My escape had been perfectly timed and they had not seen me.

What now? I asked myself as I came out through the west door. If I could get to the main building and join Jenifry and Gwennol in the parlor I could behave as though I had not heard that revelation and have a little time to plan what I ought to do next.

I forced myself to look in at the parlor. Gwennol was reading and her mother was working gros point on a canvas. Neither of them expressed any surprise to see me; they must have presumed that I had written my letter.

I picked up a magazine and leafed through it, my mind busy.

Oh Jago, I was thinking, what does it mean? Why did I let myself be so foolish as to fall in love with you? Hadn't I heard enough? He had paid Hawley to come to London. Philip had died. What had he said about Philip's death? "Remember what happened in Philip Carrington's bedroom."

Hawley must be a professional murderer. There were such people. The real criminals hired them to commit crimes for them and paid them well for it. Hawley did not think he had been paid enough and had come to blackmail.

It was too horrible. I could not believe it. I had misconstrued what I had heard and there must be some explanation. And yet a ray of hope here—if Jago wanted the Island, why murder Philip, why not murder me?

Why did my foolish heart go on fighting against my mind? Why did I go on trying to tell myself that it was a ridiculous mistake, a misconstruction? There must be a simple explanation and I must find it because what I had heard in the dungeons this night had brought home to me one overwhelming and undeniable truth: Whatever Jago was, whatever he had done, I loved him.

Could I, Ellen Kellaway, be such a fool? I knew he wanted the Island; he had confessed that much. But that was not all. He wanted me too.

He was coming into the room now. So he had got rid of Hawley. I kept my eyes on the magazine but I could feel his gaze fixed upon me. I knew that I was flushing as he sat down beside me on the sofa.

He said: "Have you lost something, Ellen?"

I looked at him in surprise. His eyes were gleaming and there was in them an expression I could not understand. There were mingling emotions there—passion, reproach and a certain amusement. The sort of amusement a cat might feel when playing with a mouse?

He held out his hand and I stared down at it in horror, for there lay the necklace and I knew at once where he had found it. I knew what that clatter I had heard in the dungeons had been. The catch was weak; I had grasped the stones in my agitation and when I had released them the necklace dropped onto the floor. Jago, searching the dungeons, had at last come to the one in which I crouched and there on the floor lay the necklace.

So he knew I had been there. He would know what I had heard.

I took it from him and hoped my hands would not visibly