Lord of the Far Island (22 page)

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: . 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 Jagowo portraits of him, facing each other. How she had caught the resemblance! They were like two different mennd 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: eware, 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 in prayer and she held a Bible in her hands. In the picture on the opposite page, the girl hair was unbound. It fell untidily and her face peeped out from the curtain of hair; the eyes were wild and there was a look of strangeness in the face that I found hard to define. The expression was in a way tortured, the eyes pleading; she looked as though she were trying to tell some secret and did not know how.

It was a horrible picture.

Then I saw the initial under it. .

I was quite shaken. I got out of bed and opened the cupboard door to look at the immature scratching there. I knew this was the same who had written her message on the wall.

Who, I asked myself, was S?

Sleep had deserted me. I turned over the pages and studied the peaceful landscapes, the colored parts of the castle, hoping they would soothe me; but I kept seeing the wild eyes of S and the picture of Jago had taken me right back to those moments in the house in Finlay Square.

There was a further shock from that sketchbooknd this was the greatest of them all. I was telling myself that my mother had just been amusing herself and that it might be she had conjured up pictures out of her imagination taking a face she knew well and adding touches to it to show how a line here and there could change the character.

I didn really believe that but the thought was comforting.

I turned a page and gasped in amazement. My first thought was that I had fallen asleep and was dreaming, that this was a new way of getting into the dream. There it was on the page and there could be no doubt of it: the room of my dream!

There was the fireplace, the chimney seat, the rocking chair, the picture over the fireplace everything was there as I had seen it in my dreams.

I was too stunned to do anything but stare at it.

One thought kept hammering on my brain: The phantom room existed. My mother had seen it. Could it be in the castle? But I had explored the castle.

The sketchbook fell from my hands and lay on the bed coverlet. What did it mean? What could it mean? I almost felt that the spirit of my mother was in this room and trying to get in touch with me through her sketchbook.

What did she know of Jago? She had seen him as two different men. And who was S who could look so demure and so wild?

But it was the picture of the room which haunted me. Where was that room? One thing I had learned: It must exist, for my mother knew it. She had sketched it in her book. It was there for me to see. It was no piece of imagination.

I tried to look back over the years to my grandmother garden when we had sat together on the lawn and her sketchbook lay on the grass between us.

One thing I could now be sure of: The dream room existed. But where?

On Sanctuary Island

I slept fitfully that night and oddly enough I did not have my dream. The first thing I did when I was awake was to pick up the sketchbook, for I had an idea, which I didn believe for more than a moment, that I had dreamed what I had seen in the book.

No. There it was. The room which I knew so well. But the picture of Jago looked different in daylight. Perhaps it was the candlelight which had made it seem sinister.

When Janet came in with my hot water I opened the sketchbook at the page where my mother had painted the dream room.

hat do you think of this room, Janet?I asked, watching her closely.

h, pretty, ain it?

ave you ever seen that room?

e it a real room then, Miss?

It was clear that she had never seen it.

After breakfast Gwennol came to my room to see if I was ready.

e been looking through my mother sketchbook,I said. t very interesting. Look at this picture of a room.

She looked and nodded.

o you know that room?I asked.

She was clearly puzzled. now it? Should I? It just an ordinary room.

An ordinary room! How odd to hear it so described! I wanted to say: That room has haunted me for as long as I can remember. If I could only find it I might understand why it is I dream about it and always feel in such an ordinary room such an overwhelming dread.

But I found it difficult to talk of it, so I said: wondered if it was somewhere in the castle.

She shook her head as though vaguely surprised that I should make so much of such an insignificant matter. She was not very interested in the pictures and no doubt put my preoccupation with them down to the fact that they had been painted by my mother.

At that moment there was a knock on the door. I called: ome in,and Slack entered.

hat wrong?asked Gwennol.

is just, Miss Gwennol, that I thought we best get an early start because of the tide.

oue right,said Gwennol. nd wee almost ready.

On impulse I took the sketchbook to Slack. I was determined to leave no stone unturned in my attempt to discover where that room was and how my mother had known it so well that she could reproduce it in every detail.

lack,I asked, ave you ever seen that room?

He did not exactly change colorn fact, I never saw Slack other than very paleut there was a change in his face. There was a tension about him and he kept staring at the page and did not look at me.

ou know it then?I prompted eagerly.

is a pretty room, Miss Ellen,he said slowly.

es, Slack, but youe seen it before, haven you?

Was it my fancy or did it seem as though a shutter had dropped over his eyes?

can tell e about a picture room, Miss Ellen,he said slowly.

hy not?

y dear Ellen,laughed Gwennol, oue obsessed by this room. Your mother just painted a cozy homely place and that all there is to it. What so special about that particular painting?

Slack nodded. A blank look was in his eyes. I thought: He is stupid after all.

et be going,said Gwennol. s everything ready, Slack?They exchanged a glance which seemed to have a meaning from which I was shut out.

verything be done and we ready to go,said Slack.

We went out of the castle and down to the shore where the boats were moored. The sea was calm that morning and the boat skimmed lightly over the water. There was a seraphic smile on Slack face as though he loved the task. He looked very different from the way he had when I had asked him about the room.

I watched himlack-Bakedot finished off. It was an apt description of him in a way. His hands were strong and yet they looked like a child hands; his eyes were childlike too, except when the shutters came down.

f the sea like this when we come back Il row,said Gwennol. o you row, Ellen?

little,I answered, and I immediately thought of rowing on the river near Trentham Towers where Philip and I had once overturned a boat. Philip image was so easy to invoke.

hen you should practice and do more than a little because youl find it very useful to row yourself round the Island. There usually someone available to row us but it good here to be self-reliant.

Nearer came the mainland and in due course we ran ashore on the sandy beach. Slack took off his boots and rolled up his trousers before jumping out and with the water halfway up his spindly legs pulled the boat in and tied it up. We then made our way to the inn.

Mrs. Pengelly came out beaming a welcome and her delight was obvious when she saw her son.

hy is you then, Augustus my boy,she said, and for a moment I wondered who Augustus was and then I realized that a mother would not use such a nickname for her beloved son.

nd welcome to e, Miss Gwennol, Miss Ellen. Would you like some refreshment? Youl be wanting horses, I reckon.

shall,said Gwennol. hall you, Ellen?

I said I would, for the thought had come to me that it would be pleasant to call at Hydrock Manor. After all, I had been invited to when I should visit the mainland and here was the opportunity.

ell, you go to the stables then, Augustus, and tell your father the ladies be here and what they do want. Then come to the kitchen where Il have a tidbit for e. Wee pasties straight from the oven. And what would the ladies be looking for? A glass of wine while you waiting?

Gwennol said: as anyone arrived at the inn yet?

o, Miss Gwennol. No one be here yet.

el drink a glass of wine then please,said Gwennol.

We went in and she brought out her blackberry wine and the saffron cakes with which I was becoming familiar.

We had not been there long when there was a commotion in the innyard and it was obvious from the sound of horse hoofs that someone had arrived.

Gwennol sat very still in her seat and a smile slowly touched her face, making it not only striking but beautiful.

n the inn parlor,said a voice which I recognized with pleasure was that of Sir Michael Hydrock.

As he entered Gwennol rose and went to him, holding out both her hands, which he took. Then he saw me and a smile of delighted recognition lit up his face.

iss Kellaway,he cried. iss Ellen Kellaway.

Gwennol looked in astonishment from one of us to the other. ou you know each other. Youyou can.

h, but we do,said Michael, dropping her hands and advancing towards me. I held out a hand, which he took and covered with both his. ow are you enjoying the Island?he asked.

finding it enormously interesting,I told him.

don understand this,said Gwennol rather impatiently.

t easily explained,Michael told her. And I added: hen I was waiting to come to the Island and had to spend a day at the inn I did a little exploring and got lost in Hydrock woods. Sir Michael rescued me.

see,said Gwennol coolly.

ou must come to the Manor now,said Michael warmly.

hank you. I should love that. I found your house enchanting.

re the Pengelly horses ready for you?he asked.

e already ordered them,said Gwennol.

ell, when youe ready perhaps we can go.

llen may have other plans,suggested Gwennol. he said she wanted to explore the countryside.

s a matter of fact,I answered, t had occurred to me that I might call at the Manor.I turned to Michael. ou did say that I might call when I was on the mainland.

n fact,he replied, should have been very hurt if you hadn.

looking forward to seeing the Manor again.

h, now youe lived in the castle. Wee not as grand as that, I afraid.

he Manor is beautiful,I said.

t the most beautiful house Ie ever seen,added Gwennol fervently.

hank you, Gwennol,said Michael. o you know, I rather think the same myself.

We went into the yard where the horses were ready for us. Mrs. Pengelly, delighted to have her son with her for a few hours and pleased, I think, to see me again, watched us ride off. In a very short time we were in the drive leading to the Manor.

going to show you the house, Miss Kellaway,said Michael to me. ou didn see it last time. By the way, how the ankle?

never felt any more from it. The next morning I shouldn have known anything had happened to it.

o you hurt your ankle then?asked Gwennol.

I told her in more detail what had happened; she listened intently, but her expression was less pleasant, as though she were brooding.

We went into the hall with its refectory table, pewter ornaments and companion benches and I felt that sense of peace which I had experienced when I had last been here.

here something so friendly about this house,I commented.

e all feel it,said Gwennol shortly.

es,added Michael, here a saying in the family that the house will either welcome or reject you and that one knows it almost as soon as one enters it. It certainly seems to welcome you, Miss Kellaway.

hat is endowing a house with a personality,I replied. do that. I didn know many people did.

ather a fanciful notion, you think. But as you are so impressed by the house I should like to show it to you. You don mind, Gwennol? Gwennol is a very old friend,he told me. he knows the house as well as I do.

love to see it,I assured him, and Gwennol put in: ou know very well I can see enough of the place.

ook at that armor on the walls. Those breastplates were worn by ancestors of mine during the Civil War. These pewter vessels have been used by the family for hundreds of years. I like to keep everything as it was as far as possible.